Читать книгу Smokescreen - Anne Mather - Страница 8

‘Alex!’

The man inclined his head. ‘How did you guess?’

Olivia straightened away from the door. ‘How—how did you get in? Did Mrs Winters——’

‘I let myself in,’ he responded laconically, putting his hand into his pocket and pulling out a key, allowing it to hang from its silver chain like some kind of hypnotic device. ‘Do I need an invitation? To Henry Gantry’s house?’

Olivia struggled for composure. ‘No. No, of course not.’

‘Of course not,’ he mocked, putting the key back into his pocket and indicating the leather armchairs set at either side of the fire. ‘Won’t you sit down—Mother? You look as if you need some support.’

Olivia looked at him uneasily, moistening her lips with a nervous tongue. This was a contingency she had not prepared herself for, and in spite of her half-formed intentions to try and find Henry’s son, she was shaken to the core of her being by his unheralded appearance.

‘When did you arrive?’ she ventured. ‘When did you get here? Do—do you know——’

‘—that Henry’s dead?’ he finished flatly. ‘Yes, I know. Cosgrove informed me.’

‘Adam Cosgrove?’ Olivia gazed at him, then shook her head. Of course. Adam had asked her if she had heard from Alex. He had obviously been aware of his whereabouts and informed him accordingly.

She stepped across the Persian carpet now, and determinedly held out her hand. Whatever her impressions, she had to conduct this first interview calmly, even if his expression did not encourage a closer liaison.

‘Hello, Alex,’ she said now, and after a moment’s consideration he shook her hand. ‘I’m sorry you had to learn about your father’s death so abruptly. He’d been ill for some time, and it was not unexpected.’

‘So I believe.’

Alex held on to her hand rather longer than was necessary, and Olivia had to pull it away before crossing to the desk and seating herself beside it. She felt more sure of herself sitting down, less vulnerable somehow; and she needed that space between them, to recover her sensibilities.

‘You’ve been living in Africa, I believe,’ she remarked, trying to keep her tone light. ‘As we didn’t know your address, we—I—had no way of contacting you.’

‘Cosgrove knew where I was,’ he pointed out dryly.

‘Yes, obviously. But unfortunately he didn’t tell me.’

Alex shrugged, pulling out a crumpled pack of cheroots. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, and after gaining her permission, he added: ‘I’ve been living in Tsaba for the past eight years. Do you know it? My—partner and I set up a mining company. Some of these central African republics are rich in mineral wealth.’

Olivia nodded. She was quite prepared to believe he had lived in rougher circumstances than these. There was a roughness about him, a hard virility, that seemed out of place in this elegant room. He looked as if he would feel more at home in the raw civilisation of a mining community, although she had to admit he did not seem at all concerned that his appearance did not match his surroundings.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he offered, and she noticed the empty glass standing on the curve of the fender. He must have been sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire when she entered the room, she thought incredulously, but she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she had not noticed him.

‘Thank you, no,’ she said now, realising as she did so that it was she who should have made that remark. Summoning her most cordial tone, she said; ‘Tell me, where are you staying? If I’d known you were coming——’

‘—you’d have had the welcome mat out, I’m sure,’ Alex cut in mockingly, his eyes, which were amazingly dark in his tanned face, narrowed and insolent. ‘You surprise me, Olivia. I never expected such civility. I’d have thought you’d have kicked me out by now.’

Olivia’s pale face gained colour. ‘Then you’re wrong, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know.’ He studied her intently. ‘I guess you knew how old Henry felt about his son.’

Olivia expelled her breath cautiously. ‘Yes, I knew.’

He sneered. ‘But you’re prepared to be generous.’

‘Henry’s dead——’

‘Too right.’

‘—and I see no reason why we should not behave like civilised human beings——’

‘The hell you don’t!’ Alex’s lips curled.

‘As—as I was saying,’ Olivia continued determinedly, ‘we can hardly be enemies when we don’t even know one another.’

‘Can’t we?’

He was not making it easy for her, and Olivia wished she was more prepared for this interview. She should have had her speech written, her arguments marshalled; as it was, she was stumbling and faltering like a schoolgirl up before the head.

‘I see no point in prolonging past grievances,’ she declared steadily. ‘Your father’s dead. I don’t know what happened between you two, but whatever it was, it had nothing to do with me.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Alex’s lips were white now. ‘So what’s your game?’

‘My game?’ Olivia was speechless.

‘Yes, Livvy, your game! God, my turning up here like this gave you one hell of a start, didn’t it? My God! You must have thought you had it made. Henry’s heiress, inheriting all this!’ He waved a careless hand towards the ceiling. ‘You’re cool, I’ll give you that. In your place, I’d have thrown you out and asked questions afterwards. But you—you’re cleverer than that, aren’t you? You must have been to hook old Henry in the first place. You realised straight off that my intervention might, just might, upset the applecart, so you’ve decided it might be safer to play both ends against the middle!’

‘No!’ Olivia was indignant, but Alex didn’t believe her.

‘No?’ he mocked. ‘You’re not even the tiniest bit concerned that I might bring this house of cards down about your pretty ears!’

‘No!’

‘No what? No, you’re not concerned, or no, you don’t believe I can do it?’ He took an indolent step towards her, and it was all Olivia could do to remain sitting in her seat under that insolent regard.

‘I mean—no, you couldn’t overset the will,’ she said, through tight lips. ‘It’s tied up too securely for that. Didn’t Adam tell you? He drew it up, on your father’s instructions, of course.’

Alex’s dark eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘Livvy, you know as well as I do that in any civilised society, a man’s heirs are his sons, not his wife.’

‘Henry obviously did not consider he had a son——’

‘A court of law might not agree with you.’

‘I don’t care what a court of law might think.’ Olivia fought to defend herself. ‘The will is watertight, Mr Gantry. Henry was far too astute not to have considered every possibility.’

Alex snorted. ‘What you mean is, you’ve got expensive tastes as well as greedy fingers!’ he snapped. ‘You’re scared to death someone’s going to come along and take a slice of it away from you!’

‘That’s not true!’ Olivia sprang to her feet then, her pulses racing and her breasts heaving beneath the clinging folds of the caftan. ‘How dare you come here and speak to me like this? It’s not my fault that you and your father came to despise one another. That had nothing to do with me. I don’t know why you split up and I don’t care. But you have no right to accuse me of being greedy, when the minute your father’s dead, you come here threatening to contest the will in your own favour!’

She had not meant to say that, but Alex surveyed her evident upheaval with unwilling admiration. ‘So—it has claws, does it?’ he mocked, as she struggled to control herself. ‘And so vehement, too. When it obviously knows nothing about it.’

‘I know enough,’ declared Olivia tensely, not wanting to defend Henry, but unable to defend herself without doing so. ‘I know something must have happened between you and your father to drive him to disown you. But that’s in the past now——’

‘No, it’s not.’ He stared at her contemptuously. ‘You’re here, aren’t you? His grieving young widow! What’s the matter, Livvy? finding it lonely?’

Olivia drew a deep breath. ‘Please don’t call me Livvy.’

‘Why not? Is that what he used to call you?’

‘No. No, your father always called me Olivia.’

‘Okay, so I’ll call you Liv,’ he remarked carelessly. ‘As I’m going to be around for a while, I guess we can dispense with formality. We are—related, after all. Unless,’ his dark eyes were disturbing, ‘unless you’d like me to call you Mother.’

Olivia flushed. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

‘What’s ridiculous? You are my—stepmother, aren’t you?’

Olivia’s nervous tension was expanding not decreasing. This whole conversation was quite ludicrous, and yet it was all happening. ‘I—I don’t think that’s relevant,’ she said now, wishing she smoked so that she had something to do with her hands. They were fluttering about quite distractedly, and she knew he could not be unaware of her state of agitation. ‘You didn’t tell me where you were staying,’ she said now. ‘Do you have a base in London? What arrangements have you made?’

‘None.’ Now it was his turn to offer the negative. ‘I didn’t tell you where I was staying because I didn’t know.’

Olivia’s lips parted. ‘You mean—you came right here from the airport?’

‘Via Cosgrove’s office, yes.’

‘You’ve seen Adam?’

‘Obviously.’

Olivia shook her head. ‘But—how——’

‘I hired a car at the airport,’ he explained carelessly. ‘I knew there was no chance I could get here in time for the funeral—my flight didn’t land until four o’clock. So I made the diversion while I was in Chalcott. It’s only an hour’s drive, after all.’

‘Yes.’ Olivia was thinking hard. ‘So—do you have any immediate plans?’

He studied the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘You tell me.’

Olivia hesitated. ‘I suppose you need a bed for the night.’

‘Yes.’ He looked at her. ‘Are you going to turn me out?’

Olivia caught her breath. ‘Turn you out?’ she echoed faintly, knowing as she did so that if she intended going through with her intentions, he should stay here. But after the things he had said, she was no longer certain of anything.

‘I seem to remember you saying something about us being civilised,’ he reminded her sarcastically.

‘Yes, that’s true. But——’

‘But what?’

Olivia shook her head. She was getting out of her depth with this man. He was so totally different from what she had imagined, what she had expected. He disturbed her, he was an unpredictable quantity; and whatever she intended to do, she did not want him living in the same house.

‘You said yourself, you—you and your father despised one another,’ she began.

‘No, you said that.’

Olivia pressed her palms together. ‘You didn’t disagree.’

‘All right.’ Alex tossed the remains of his cheroot into the fire behind him. ‘So I didn’t. But Henry’s dead now, as you say, and there’s just you and me, Liv. As Henry’s surviving relatives, don’t you think we should stick together?’

She knew he was baiting her. He didn’t like her, and she was sure she didn’t like him. It was strange how one’s opinion could alter when faced with the realities of a situation. Earlier, she had half sympathised with Alex Gantry. She had been prepared to believe he was the innocent victim of his father’s despotism. Now she was not so sure. Alex Gantry did not strike her as the kind of man who would care twopence for his father’s feelings. He was hard, he was a predator; and no matter how he might excuse himself, she could not forgive his arrogant assumption that she had been cast in the same mould.

‘What—what are your plans?’ she ventured now, playing for time, needing a space to consider what she was going to do.

‘Plans?’ He was annoyingly obtuse. ‘Why, some food and a good night’s sleep. In that order,’ he responded lazily, and Olivia’s lips came together in a compressed white line.

‘I mean—how long do you plan to stay in England? she exclaimed. ‘You said you’d been working in Tsaba. How long do you intend to remain here? Surely your partner will expect you back.’

‘My partner’s dead,’ he declared grimly, his eyes suddenly hard and uncompromising. ‘And I have no immediate plans to return there. As it happens, I was planning to come to England quite soon, and it was a comparatively mild inconvenience to bring my trip forward.’

‘You mean—you were coming to see your father?’

‘We’ll never know that now, will we?’ he remarked flatly.

Olivia lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t know what to suggest,’ she was beginning stiffly, when a light tattoo on the panels of the door interrupted her and a moment later Mrs Winters appeared in the open doorway.

‘I’ve had Cook make you a nice light omelette——’ she started comfortingly, only to break off abruptly at the sight of the man standing squarely between herself and her mistress. Alex had turned his head at her entrance, so that Mrs Winters’ first sight of him was in profile, and her mouth dropped open. Olivia, tense herself, was nevertheless aware of a certain tension about him as he confronted the housekeeper, and she realised with a pang, that he was apprehensive of her reaction. And why not? Olivia asked herself wryly. Mrs Winters had worked for his father for almost twenty years, and her loyalty might well not include a welcome for the son who had deserted Henry Gantry almost fifteen years ago.

Watching the housekeeper Olivia knew a sudden sympathy for her. This could not be easy, and the veined hands holding the tray shook a little as comprehension dawned. ‘Alex?’ she mouthed, almost inaudibly. ‘Master Alex, is that you?’

He moved then, taking the tray from her and setting it carelessly on one of the elegantly polished tables that flanked the armchair where he had been sitting. Then he smiled, and Olivia’s heart took an unaccountable jolt. ‘Don’t you recognise me, Mrs Winters?’ he demanded, his tone warm and teasing, and with a broken cry, the normally reserved Mrs Winters cast herself upon him.

‘Oh, Master Alex,’ she sobbed, clutching his shoulders, and gazing up into his face with unconcealed emotion. ‘Oh, if only you’d come a week sooner!’

‘I know, I know.’ Alex allowed the housekeeper to enfold him in a convulsive embrace, but over the housekeeper’s head, his eyes were mocking Olivia. Look, he seemed to be saying, you may have had it all your own way so far, but how do you feel about it now?

‘Master Alex—that is, I mean—Alex—has just arrived from Africa, Mrs Winters,’ she exclaimed, needing to exert her authority for no other reason than to reassure herself. ‘He—I—perhaps you could prepare a room for him. And—and something to eat.’

‘You’re staying?’ Without looking at Olivia, Mrs Winters addressed herself to Alex, and after exchanging another challenging look with Olivia, he nodded.

‘It appears so,’ he conceded, with infuriating coolness. ‘Liv—Olivia—insists that it would be foolish for me to stay anywhere else.’

Olivia’s gasp of indignation went unheard beneath the housekeeper’s eager confirmation. ‘Where else would you stay?’ she exclaimed, drawing away from him with evident reluctance, and squeezing one of his hands between both of hers. ‘If Mr Gantry was still alive——’

‘But he’s not,’ Alex interrupted her firmly. ‘It’s better not to probe too deeply into old wounds, Mrs Winters. Who knows what would have happened if—if my father had still been alive?’

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘He never forgave you, you know.’

‘I know that.’

‘I think he wanted to.’

‘Do you?’ Alex looked wry. ‘You’re very tactful, Mrs Winters.’

She sighed, gazing up at him with hungry eyes, almost as if she was afraid he might suddenly disappear again without notice. ‘And you’re much too thin,’ she exclaimed, through trembling lips. ‘Where on earth have you been all these years? What have you been doing? If only you’d written!’

Alex heaved a deep breath. ‘Later, Mrs Winters,’ he assured her gently. ‘Right now, I could surely do with a bath and a change of clothes.’

‘Of course.’ Mrs Winters controlled herself and turned to Olivia now. ‘With your permission, Mrs Gantry, I’ll put Master Alex in his old room. It’s the one overlooking the stables, and I think he’d like——’

‘I know which room he used to occupy,’ Olivia interposed briefly, her eyes the only indication of her angry indignation, and Mrs Winters, too bemused by Alex’s reappearance to notice, smiled beneficently.

‘Of course you do,’ she beamed. Then she remembered the food cooling on its tray, and put an anxious hand to her throat. ‘Would you like me to tell Cook you’ll have a bit of dinner with Master Alex, instead of bothering with your omelette. I’m sure, now that you’ve got company——’

‘The omelette is just fine,’ replied Olivia crisply. ‘I suggest you inform Cook of our unexpected guest’s arrival, and she can prepare him a meal while he takes his bath. I—I shall be going straight to bed. I am rather—tired, after all.’

Mrs Winters’ eyes widened. ‘Oh, but——’ She cast a troubled look in Alex’s direction, and he, interpreting her anxiety, made an irritatingly complacent gesture.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Olivia and I will have plenty of time to talk tomorrow. It’s natural that she’s feeling a little tired. Let’s face it, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it, Liv?’

Olivia moved her head from side to side in an oddly confused way. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she was dreaming all this. Perhaps none of it was really happening! But she knew that she wasn’t, and it was; and she was blankly aware of being outmanoeuvred at every turn.

Mrs Winters dragged her eyes away from Alex sufficiently long enough to give Olivia an encouraging smile. ‘Then I’ll go and attend to the arrangements,’ she said, in the tone that falls midway between a statement and a question. And at Olivia’s indifferent consent, she added: ‘What about your luggage, Master Alex? Is it being sent on or what?’

‘It’s outside, actually. In the car I hired,’ he declared casually, producing the keys.

‘Then would you like me to get Murdoch——’

‘Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.’ Alex pocketed the keys again. ‘I’ll get them myself.’ He glanced at Olivia for a moment, and then went on: ‘But perhaps you could arrange with the hire company to have the car collected tomorrow. I suppose while I’m here, you could lend me a car, couldn’t you, Olivia?’

Olivia made another gesture which could have been acquiescence, and Mrs Winters’s smile reappeared. ‘Very well, then, I’ll leave you for the moment.’ She shook her head. ‘Wait till Murdoch hears about this! He’ll never believe it.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Alex remarked in a low tone, as the housekeeper closed the door again behind her, and Olivia’s resentment erupted into blazing anger.

‘How dare you?’ she demanded. ‘How dare you? I did not insist that you stayed here, and as for lending you a car——’

‘Yes?’ His eyes were narrowed and wary.

‘Oh—it’s ludicrous!’ Olivia thrust her hands forward, as if to ward off a physical presence. ‘Whatever my feelings, you’ve inveigled your way in here—which reminds me: how did you get in? The gates are electrically operated, and we have a very efficient security system.’

‘You forget, I used to live here,’ Alex retorted blandly. ‘And before you tell me the guard on the gate couldn’t possibly remember me, I know. But it’s amazing what the production of a passport will do, particularly when I explained how sorry I was not to have got here sooner. A son’s grief still means something, Liv, even to hard-bitten security guards.’

Olivia pursed her lips. ‘I don’t believe you’re sorry at all. I think you timed your arrival perfectly!’

‘Oh, Mother! How can you say that?’

His words mocked hers, and Olivia felt a helpless sense of impotence. Almost without volition, she was being backed further and further into a corner, and although she didn’t want to fight him, he was making it impossible for her not to do so. What did he want? Why had he come here? And how long would he stay, if she did not make a stand?

With another bemused shake of her head, she moved then, intent on reaching the door and the comparative privacy of the hall beyond. But he moved too, stepping deliberately into her path, and she looked up at him angrily, incensed by his arrogance.

‘Do you mind?’ she exclaimed, her breathing quickening in concert with her emotions. ‘I think we’ve said enough for one day, don’t you? You’re here—and thanks to Mrs Winters, you’ve acquired a certain respectability. But don’t expect me to applaud your methods, because I won’t. I don’t know what your intentions are, but let me remind you, I am the mistress here, and don’t you forget it!’

‘Oh, I don’t.’ But he was mocking her again, his thin lips curling lazily as he surveyed her obvious frustration. ‘You’re the one who seems in danger of forgetting it. I mean, is this any way to treat a long-lost son?’

Olivia clenched her fists. ‘Will you stop that!’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘You’re completely despicable, aren’t you? I’m beginning to understand why Henry threw you out. I——’

‘Correction, Henry did not throw me out,’ Alex cut in harshly. ‘I—walked out. Of my own free will.’ He looked down at her contemptuously. ‘He practically begged me to stay, do you know that?’

‘Then you can’t blame him, can you?’ she exclaimed, seizing the opportunity he had given her, but he only shook his head.

‘I don’t,’ he retorted coldly. ‘But that doesn’t stop me despising him, and what he did. I’m afraid your husband was no saint, Mrs Gantry.’ He lifted a finger and before she could stop him, had brushed a sooty tendril from her cheek. ‘Now ain’t that a shame!’

Olivia flinched away from him, fumbling at the thread of hair with unsteady fingers, thrusting it back behind her ear, as if by doing so she would remove the unwanted touch of his skin. ‘Don’t do that!’ she choked. ‘Don’t touch me! And please, get out of my way, before I——’

‘Yes? Before you what? Throw a tantrum? Scream?’ He rucked up his jersey to tuck his thumbs into the low belt of his jeans. ‘Dear me, I wonder what Mrs Winters would have to say about that? A nice piece of gossip to end the day with!’

Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she exclaimed tremulously. ‘What do you want? I’ve said you can stay. Isn’t that enough?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m thinking that as we’re what you might call—kissing kin, we should exchange something more than just goodnights.’

Olivia gasped. ‘You must be crazy!’

‘Why?’

He was a disturbing tormentor standing there, and in the warmth of the room, Olivia could not help but be aware of the raw male scent of his skin. It was not a sensation she was enjoying. She did not want to be aware of him, in any way; and her life to date had not led her to believe that she was likely to be affected by members of his sex. But the fact remained, she was disconcerted by his proximity, and uncomfortably conscious of his superior strength.

‘Mr Gantry——’

‘It was Alex a moment ago.’

‘Alex, then——’ She squeezed all her small store of composure into a tight ball. ‘I think this conversation has gone far enough, don’t you? If you’ll just allow me to reach the door …’

‘You haven’t touched your supper,’ he reminded her provokingly, and Olivia’s shoulders sagged.

‘I intend to take the tray up to my room,’ she stated raggedly, although in fact she had only just remembered it. ‘Alex, please, stop teasing me!’

‘Teasing!’ He made a stifled sound of derision, and before she could move, his hands gripped her waist, hard through the fine wool of the caftan. ‘Teasing,’ he said again, bending his head towards her. ‘Oh, Liv, I’m not teasing!’ and although she twisted her head away, his mouth sought and eventually imprisoned hers.

It was a cruel assault, made the more so by the savage way he forced her head round to his. His jaw was hard against her cheek, the roughness of his unshaven beard scraping her sensitive skin. His teeth bruised her lips as his own forced them apart, and the brutal pressure of his mouth on hers was a suffocating debasement.

Olivia tried to fight him off, but he was much too strong and much too determined to be thwarted by her puny efforts. Her hands pummelled uselessly at his back, but her breasts were crushed against his chest, and the rigid muscles of his legs were a solid barrier to any physical protest she tried to make.

His mouth silenced her verbal objections. Although sounds of resistance gurgled in her throat, she was powerless to help herself, and as the searching sensuality of his mouth continued to ravage her senses, new and disturbing sensations began to trouble her. His hands slid from her waist to her hips and evoked an uncontrollable response, and Olivia’s defences crumbled. With the hungry demand of his lips softening to an unbearable intimacy, weakness enveloped her, and the hands which had only moments before been hammering at his shoulders were suddenly clutching the rough wool of his sweater.

‘You—bitch!’ he muttered suddenly against her lips, as his leg insinuated itself between hers, but the sound of his contemptuous voice, combined with the stirring pressure she could now feel against her stomach, brought Olivia to a horrifying awareness of what was happening.

‘Oh, my God!’ she choked, tearing her mouth from his. ‘My God!’ and because he chose to let her go, she was able to drag herself away from him.

She wished the ground would open up and swallow her when she saw the mocking gleam in his dark eyes, eyes that were almost black now as they raked her frozen revulsion. ‘Poor Liv,’ he taunted unkindly, making no attempt to hide his own arousal, ‘you didn’t find much satisfaction in your husband’s bed, did you? You must have been desperate—’

Olivia’s instinctive response rang quietly in the book-lined room, and her fingers stung horribly after impacting with his cheek. Gulping back a sob, she practically flew out of the door, and lifting the hem of the caftan she ran quickly up the stairs.

With the door of her room closed firmly behind her, she was forced to face the fact that his accusation had not been unjustified. Dear God, she thought disgustedly, she had behaved like the common slut he evidently thought her. How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? And today of all days! Henry was dead. Had Alex no respect? And how could she have played into his hands, and betrayed her own self-esteem? The tears she had not shed through these long and lonely hours spilled from her eyes and she wept for the realisation that she was not immune after all …