Innocent Sins

by Anne Mather

  He felt an unwelcome tightening in his groin at the memory. If she hadn’t brought him to his senses then, it would have been too late. In his own mind, he had already stripped her trousers and sweater from her, and he was already imagining how sweet it would be to part those slick petals between her legs...

  ‘Are you going to eat those eggs?’

  Aunt Nell’s down-to-earth tone caused an immediate reaction. He felt like a schoolboy who’d been caught looking at girlie magazines under the sheets. A faint colour invaded his tanned face, which he hoped she’d put down to the heat of the dining-room fire. He’d hate to think she could detect what was going on in his mind.

  ‘I’m not very hungry,’ he said, pushing his plate aside. Which was true. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

  The woman pulled a disapproving face. ‘You need food,’ she said. ‘I’ve noticed that your appetite has been sadly lacking all the time you’ve been here. I can’t believe that Griffs death is responsible, and I wouldn’t have thought a man like yourself would have any trouble with his weight.’

  Oliver gave her a wry look. ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘It’s nothing but the truth,’ averred Laura’s aunt firmly. She paused. ‘Now, do you know if your mother is planning on getting up this morning? Marcus Venning said he’d be back by ten o’clock and it’s almost that now.’

  ‘Is it?’ Oliver was surprised. He’d spent longer than he’d thought deliberating over the eggs. ‘As far as I know, Stella is planning on meeting Marcus this morning.’ He forced a casual tone. ‘Is Laura up?’

  ‘Laura’s been up for hours,’ replied Aunt Nell, starting to clear the table. ‘She had breakfast in the kitchen with me at seven o’clock.’

  ‘So where is she?’ Oliver’s voice was sharp, but he couldn’t help it. He was half afraid that now that her father was buried she’d decided there was no reason for her to stay.

  ‘How should I know?’ Aunt Nell didn’t take kindly to being spoken to in that fashion. ‘She went out about an hour ago. I didn’t ask her where she was going.’

  Oliver sighed. ‘But you know, don’t you?’ he said, pushing back his chair and getting up from the table. His mouth compressed. ‘Must I remind you that Marcus will want to see her, too?’

  Laura’s aunt gathered the remaining cutlery on to the tray and then looked up at him defiantly. ‘I believe she’s gone to the church,’ she said. ‘She said something about visiting her father before she left.’

  ‘Oh...’ Oliver breathed a little more easily. ‘Oh, right. So she’ll be back soon?’

  ‘Very likely,’ said the old woman, heading for the door. ‘Oh, and by the way, Beth will be starting on the bedrooms directly. I asked her not to come in yesterday, what with the funeral and all.’

  Oliver nodded. Beth Llewellyn came up several times a week from the village. Although Aunt Nell enjoyed running the house herself, she drew the line at doing all the heavy work. In consequence, Beth had been a part of the establishment since before his mother had married Laura’s father, and although Stella complained that she was a gossip she wasn’t prepared to participate in the housework herself.

  Aunt Nell had gone back to the kitchen with the tray and, leaving the dining room, Oliver decided to go and check on the fire in the library. Marcus wouldn’t be too happy if the room was chilly. Despite the old man’s sprightly appearance Oliver knew he was troubled with arthritis in cold weather.

  He also hoped it might serve to exorcise his memories of the night before. In spite of a determined effort to do so, he couldn’t get the thought of Laura out of his head. Sitting at the square leather-topped desk, gazing out at the bare trees that were appearing again in the garden as the snow melted, visions of the past engulfed him. He found himself wondering when it was that he’d first noticed that Laura was growing up...

  He guessed he must have been about seventeen when he’d realised she wasn’t a kid any more. Not that he’d been attracted to her in those days. She’d been more of a nuisance than anything else, always wanting to know where he was going, and with whom; fouling up his relationships, cramping his style.

  He’d seemed to spend his days trying to get rid of her, although he’d done his best not to hurt her even then. He’d been aware of the fragility of her confidence. Unlike his mother, he’d never believed that Laura was the brat she claimed.

  He supposed he’d been lucky that the summer she turned fifteen, he’d taken a holiday job in Snowdonia. He’d worked at a cafe near the mountain railway and had spent his free time mixing with hikers and climbers from all parts of the world. That was when he’d first conceived his interest in backpacking, which had proved so advantageous the following year.

  He’d begun taking photographs, too. Of his friends, to begin with, and then subsequently of the magnificent scenery in the National Park. Learning how to process the pictures himself had come later, as had the realisation that this was what he wanted to do with his life.

  It was during his final year at Rhosmawr Comprehensive that his relationship with his stepsister had altered. At sixteen, Laura had had all the charm and freshness of a young woman, with the added bonus of not knowing exactly how attractive she was. Because she was taller than her peers, she’d walked with a certain diffidence, but Oliver had been fascinated by her slim limbs and long, long legs.

  Her hair, of course, had been instantly noticeable. It had been longer then, a riot of fiery curls that fell almost to her waist. She’d said she hated it because people called her a redhead, but even in those days Oliver had known it wasn’t red. It was actually strawberry blonde.

  In any event, he’d found himself waiting for her, instead of the other way about, sitting with her at lunch break, walking her to the bus. Because her birthday was towards the end of the school year, in June, and his was at the start of the year, in October, there were only two school years between them, and pupils in the fifth year often mixed with pupils in the sixth year, so there was no one to object.

  Not at school, at least.

  At home, it was very different. His mother objected strongly to the attention he was paying to Laura. She’d warned him that Laura’s father would never stand for it, though in all honesty Griff had never voiced any disapproval. On the contrary, he’d seemed pleased that his daughter and his stepfamily seemed finally to have settled their differences. He’d had no idea that his wife was as opposed to his daughter as ever.

  The summer before Oliver was due to go to Oxford at the start of the Michaelmas term had been an unseasonably hot one. For weeks the temperature had hovered somewhere in the middle eighties, and he and Laura had spent much of their time trying to keep cool. The River Madoc that meandered through the village widened into a pool near Penmadoc Bridge, and it was a popular meeting spot for all the young people in the village. It was deep enough to swim, and the water was deliciously cold on a hot day.

  They’d talked a lot that summer, about anything and everything, sharing their deepest thoughts and dearest wishes. Their relationship hadn’t been like the relationships he’d had with other girls his own age. He’d been attracted to her, sure, but it had been her personality that had intrigued him. He’d wanted to be with her, but he hadn’t had anything sexual in mind.

  Or so he’d told himself.

  He scowled now. It had been so easy to delude himself. So easy to pretend that the reason he liked looking at her was because she appealed to the artist in his soul. Her creamy skin, the freckles in her complexion, the provocative upthrust of her small breasts had given a natural sensuality to the photographs he’d taken of her, and he’d fooled himself that his interest was objective, or at least innocent of any prurient intent.

  How Laura herself had interpreted his attentions was another story. Or perhaps it was the same one, only he’d been too blind to see where things were heading. During those long summer days, she’d become his soulmate, and he liked to tell himself he’d been unaware of how dangerous her attachment to him had become.


  Until the night she’d come uninvited to his room...

  The sound of a car’s engine interrupted his thoughts. Marcus, he guessed grimly, half relieved at the sudden reprieve. God knew, he didn’t want to think about what had happened between him and Laura at this moment. What had nearly happened the night before was still too blatantly vivid in his mind.

  The door was pushed open a few moments later and Aunt Nell appeared. ‘The solicitor’s here,’ she said, without ceremony, and stood aside to let Marcus Venning into the room. ‘Will I tell your mother or will you?’

  ‘There’s no need for anybody to tell me anything,’ retorted Stella’s sharp voice behind her. ‘I’m here.’ She flashed her son a defiant look before turning to the solicitor and giving him a thin smile. ‘Marcus,’ she added, rather less belligerently. ‘Punctual as ever, I see.’

  The old solicitor huffed a little self-importantly. ‘Yes, well, I always like to keep to a schedule,’ he said, approaching the desk that Oliver had just vacated. ‘I’m glad to see you’re feeling much better this morning, Mrs Williams. It was such a pity you couldn’t join us yesterday.’

  Stella’s lip curled. ‘I wouldn’t call it a pity that I couldn’t attend my own husband’s funeral. You don’t imagine I wanted to let him down—’

  ‘You were devastated, I’m sure,’ remarked Venning drily, and Oliver suspected the old man was no more convinced of his mother’s incapacity the previous day than he was. He deposited his briefcase on the desk and looked around. ‘Where’s Laura?’

  ‘She’s coming,’ said Aunt Nell from the doorway. ‘She’s just taking off her boots.’ She glanced behind her. ‘She went to the church earlier.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Marcus accepted this explanation with an approving nod and Oliver saw the look of irritation that crossed his mother’s face at the realisation that so far as the old solicitor was concerned Laura was still the mistress here. And always would be, he reflected, whether she chose to live here or not.

  Laura’s appearance a few moments later brought its own tension into the room. Oliver wondered if he was the only one who felt it or whether his mother was as indifferent to Laura’s presence as she appeared. Surely she must feel some sympathy for her, he thought uneasily. At a time like this, they should have been able to support one another.

  But, as usual, Stella chose to ignore her stepdaughter, and although Laura glanced a little uncertainly at her father’s widow she didn’t attempt to bridge the gulf that Stella had created between them.

  For himself, Oliver had the greatest difficulty in keeping his eyes off Laura. She was wearing a skirt this morning, a pale heathery tweed whose hem ended a good four inches above her knee. He guessed it wasn’t deliberate, but it exposed a considerable length of shapely thigh, particularly when she sat down and crossed her legs, and that, along with the vivid glory of her hair, was a potent combination.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, her cheeks flushed from the cold air outdoors. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. I was talking to Father Lewis and I’m afraid I forgot the time.’

  ‘I’m sure we all understand how that could happen,’ Venning assured her warmly, earning another resentful look from Oliver’s mother. He looked towards the doorway, where Aunt Nell was still hovering, half in and half out of the room. ‘Come and sit down, Miss Tenby. You’re a beneficiary, too.’

  Laura’s aunt looked as if she would have preferred to forego the privilege, but she was obliged to come into the room and take a seat. Then, after assuring himself that Oliver was quite content to remain standing in front of the fire, Venning seated himself at the desk and opened his briefcase.

  There was no mistaking the tensions in the room now. Glancing at his mother, Oliver saw the way her knuckles were whitening over the arms of her chair. Even Aunt Nell couldn’t hide her own uneasiness, and Oliver wondered if she was anticipating her departure if, as she expected, Griff had left the bulk of his estate to his wife.

  If only she knew...

  His lips twisted as the old man drew out an envelope. Marcus was enjoying this, he thought. He must know what was in the will and he was deliberately taking his time to prolong the suspense. Or perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps, like Laura and her aunt, he’d been kept in the dark. Perhaps he assumed Griff had left everything of importance to Stella. Maybe this was just his way of showing his disapproval, of dragging out his own moment of power because it might be the last time he performed a duty of this kind.

  The documents Venning drew from the envelope crackled ominously and Oliver could fairly feel his mother’s agitation. Calm down, old lady, he urged her silently, meeting her distracted gaze with a cool look. It was just as well the others were watching the solicitor, he thought drily, or they might have wondered why Stella was looking so apprehensive.

  Venning cleared his throat, quickly scanning the several pages he held in his hand. Then, sonorously, and with all ceremony, he began, ‘‘ ‘I, Griffith Henry Williams, being of sound mind—’’’

  ‘Must we drag this out?’ Stella’s nerve snapped at the indication that the solicitor intended to read every word of the will. Then, as if realising how unfeeling she must have sounded, she forced a strained smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not as strong as I thought I was.’

  Venning sniffed and looked round at the rest of them. ‘Of course, of course,’ he said, though whether that was an answer to her question or a confirmation of her frailty Oliver couldn’t be sure. ‘If no one else has any objections,’ the old man added, ‘I see no reason why we shouldn’t—what is it they say nowadays?—cut to the chase?’ He looked at Oliver. ‘Perhaps your mother would like a little brandy.’ He shuffled the papers between his gnarled hands. ‘None of us minds waiting, I’m sure.’

  ‘I think we’d all prefer it if you got on with it, Mr Venning.’ It was Laura who spoke, and for once Stella gave her a grateful glance.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right.’ She cast a bitter look towards Oliver. ‘I don’t usually drink this early in the day.’

  ‘No, but these are exceptional circumstances,’ persisted the solicitor, and Oliver found himself expelling an impatient breath.

  ‘Please,’ he said, controlling his tone with an effort, ‘won’t you continue, Marcus? It may be that we’ll all need a drink when you’re finished.’

  ‘What?’ Venning thought for a moment he was serious, and, indeed, Oliver rather thought that he was. But then the old man seemed to sense the irony behind his statement, and, clearing his throat again, he began to speak.

  There were one or two small bequests, small sums of money bestowed on colleagues and acquaintances, like the landlord of the pub in the village and the doctor, who’d also been a friend. Oliver wondered if Griff had suspected that his health might be a problem. There was a comfortable legacy for his sister-in-law, too, and Aunt Nell relaxed after her name had been read.

  ‘And now we come to the bulk of the estate,’ declared Venning solemnly. ‘Naturally, you are all anxious to hear how Mr Williams divided his property, and I don’t intend to keep you in suspense any longer than I must. Or course, I must impress upon you that this will is legal and binding and Mr Williams thought long and hard before coming to his decision.’

  ‘Oh, do get on with it.’

  Aunt Nell was evidently getting irritated now, and Oliver realised that the old lady still had a stake in the proceedings. If, as she evidently suspected, Stella had inherited Penmadoc, her own position in the house was hardly secure.

  ‘Very well.’ If Venning was offended by her impatience, he hid it well and, clearing his throat for the third time, he began again. ‘“To my wife, Stella,”‘ he said, glancing across the desk at her, ‘“I leave one half share in my house and all my personal possessions, save those articles of jewellery that were given to me by my first wife, Maggie, and which I would like my daughter, Laura, to have as a memento of the love her mother and I shared. I further bestow sufficient funds to e
nable my wife to continue to live at Penmadoc, if she so wishes, on the understanding that my sister-in-law, Eleanor Tenby, shall always have a home there as well. Should my wife, Stella, choose to marry again, or live elsewhere, the house will revert wholly to my daughter, Laura, as it will, in any event, at my wife’s death.”‘

  There was an audible gasp after he’d finished reading this clause of the will, though who had uttered it Oliver wasn’t sure. His mother, he suspected, though it would be dangerous for her to show any surprise that this wasn’t the same will she had seen. It might even have been Laura. She was certainly paler now than she’d been when she’d entered the library. Like his mother, she must have expected she knew what was in the will.

  ‘Um...shall I go on?’

  The solicitor hesitated. Oliver guessed he’d been expecting some kind of outburst from his mother, but Stella seemed too shocked to say a word. It was lucky her reaction could be attributed just as easily to the fact that she hadn’t inherited all of Penmadoc, he reflected. But what the hell was he going to do now?

  Realising that Venning was waiting, Oliver gave him a terse look. ‘Of course,’ he said, his lips tightening in sudden frustration, and the solicitor turned once again to the will.

  ‘“To my daughter, Laura,”’ he said, smiling encouragingly at her, ‘“I bequeath the aforementioned jewellery, as well as all my books and pictures and one half share in the home we shared for many years. Perhaps this shared responsibility will create an understanding between my wife and my daughter that was never evident in my lifetime, and I appoint my stepson, Oliver Kemp, as executor to this effect.”’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Despite Aunt Nell’s pleas to the contrary, Laura left Penmadoc that afternoon. She knew there would be things to do, papers to sign, arrangements to be made, but she couldn’t bear to stay in the house any longer. She needed time—and space—to come to terms with what had happened, and so long as Oliver was in the same building she knew she’d never have any peace.