Читать книгу Betrayed - Anne Mather - Страница 9

OLIVIA couldn’t sleep. For over an hour she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, and then, unable to stand the torment of her thoughts any longer, she threw back the sheet.

The silk wrap, which matched the oyster satin nightgown she was wearing, was lying at the foot of the bed, and she put it on. Perhaps if she went downstairs and made herself a warm drink it would help her to relax, she thought. Whatever, she had to escape from the bedroom, and the steady sound of Sara snoring in the other bed.

Evidently her sister harboured no uneasy memories, Olivia reflected wryly, as moonlight illuminated Sara’s sleeping form. But then, her sister was heavily pregnant with her first child, and probably needed her sleep more than most. Like Olivia, she had arrived today, but only from Portsmouth. Married to a naval rating, Sara lived in married quarters there, and she had come home for her grandmother’s funeral.

Opening the door as quietly as she could, Olivia slipped out on to the landing of the old farmhouse. Although the landing was carpeted, the boards squeaked beneath her feet, and she stifled a sigh. She had never been able to sneak downstairs without announcing her coming. It had been quite a feat, when she and Sara were younger, to raid the larder without their parents knowing. But it was years since she had trod these stairs, and she had forgotten which of them to avoid.

Still, she made it to the kitchen without any apparent disturbance and, switching on the light, she went to fill the kettle. An old cat, which might or might not have been the tabby they had had when she went away, miaowed appealingly as she took the milk from the fridge, and, although she was sure it must have had its ration for the day, she filled its dish with some of the creamy liquid. She had forgotten what real milk tasted like, she reflected, licking a drop from her finger. She had become so used to the skimmed variety.

She was pouring a mug of tea when the kitchen door opened, and her hand shook a little as her father came into the room. In his dressing-gown and slippers, he seemed slightly less remote than he had appeared earlier in the day, though his features were unforgiving as they viewed his older daughter.

‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Olivia stumbled into words, feeling distinctly like an interloper. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself a drink. Would—would you like some?’

‘Not for me.’ Robert Stoner approached the table, and she thought how much older he looked now than when she had left. His hair was almost completely grey, and his lean frame was prematurely stooped. ‘Your mother heard you come downstairs,’ he added, looking down at the teapot with unseeing eyes. ‘She sent me to investigate.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Olivia moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘Um—well, do you think she would like——?’

‘Your mother doesn’t drink tea at night,’ declared her father heavily. ‘It makes her restless.’

‘Oh.’ Olivia bit down on the inside of her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry—sorry if I disturbed you, that is. I—I never thought.’

‘No.’

There was a wealth of meaning in that one word, and Olivia sank down on to one of the wooden kitchen chairs. So much for hoping her father might have forgiven her, she thought wearily. If she had known yesterday what she knew now, would she still have made the trip from New York?

‘I’ll leave you to drink your tea, then.’

Robert Stoner moved back towards the door, and, risking another rebuff, Olivia got to her feet. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Won’t you at least stay while I drink my tea? We—we haven’t exchanged more than a dozen words since I got here. Don’t you think we could try to make amends? For—for Mum’s sake, at least.’

Her father turned. ‘For your mother’s sake!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Since when have you ever cared about your mother?’

‘I’ve always cared about my mother—and you,’ replied Olivia huskily. ‘For heaven’s sake, Dad, what did I do that was so terrible? Nothing more than what thousands of other girls do every day!’

‘You can stand there and say that, when you know what it did to your mother?’ said her father harshly, and Olivia sighed.

‘I didn’t know what—what happened to Mum,’ she protested.

‘But you never bothered to come home to find out, did you?’

‘Oh, Dad, I wanted you to come to New York. When—when you didn’t——’

‘You forgot about us, right?’

‘Wrong.’ Olivia pushed back the weight of her hair with a trembling hand. ‘I thought—oh, I don’t know what I thought. That you hadn’t forgiven me, I suppose.’ She looked at him helplessly. ‘And you haven’t.’

‘What did you expect?’ Robert Stoner’s face was bitter. ‘It hasn’t been easy for us, Livvy. We could have done with another pair of hands around the house, particularly since your grandmother was taken ill. But you didn’t care, did you? You were too busy making a lot of money; getting yourself involved with God knows how many other men! Shaming your mother and me by pretending young Matt wasn’t good enough for you.’

Olivia’s cheeks flamed with colour. ‘It wasn’t like that——’

‘Wasn’t it?’ Her father came back to rest his hands on the table. ‘Let me tell you, that’s exactly what it was like. Do you have any idea what could have happened to us when you turned Matt down?’

Olivia swallowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, we’re tenants here, Livvy. This house, the land it stands on, the land that gives us our livelihood, is Ryan property. How would it have been if old Matthew Ryan had decided to throw us out——’

‘He wouldn’t!’

‘He could have.’ Her father’s knuckles were white against the weathered skin of his hands. ‘He had that right, Livvy. And when you threw young Matt over, there was some in the village who thought it was nought but what we deserved.’

Olivia shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have done it,’ she said again, but there was less conviction in her voice now. What had Matthew said? That he had wanted to kill her? If his father had felt even half the anger his son had felt at what she had done revenge might have sounded very sweet.

‘Anyway, he didn’t,’ she tendered, in a small voice, and her father’s lips curled.

‘No. Because your mother was rushed to hospital, the day after you went away, and the Ryans had compassion for our situation. Young Matt even came and helped Andy, while I spent time at the hospital. My God, I hope you found what you were looking for, because I doubt you’ll ever meet a finer man than Matt Ryan!’

‘Bob! Your voice carries all over the house!’

The door behind him had opened, and now Felicity Stoner wheeled herself into the room. Since her mother’s heart attack, one of the downstairs rooms had been converted into the bedroom, which her parents occupied. Now, Mrs Stoner looked questioningly from her husband to her daughter and back again, and then shook her head reprovingly as she comprehended what was going on.

‘Cissie, what are you doing out of bed?’

Robert Stoner’s voice altered amazingly when he spoke to his wife, but for once she did not respond to its warm solicitude. ‘Never mind what I’m doing, what are you doing?’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Bob, the girl’s barely been in the house five minutes, and already you’re encouraging her to leave again.’

‘I am not!’

Her husband was indignant, but Olivia’s mother was equally adamant. ‘Yes, you are,’ she said. ‘I heard at least a part of what you were saying, and I want you to know I don’t agree with you. What was the point of Olivia’s marrying Matt if she wasn’t in love with him? Would you have had them live a miserable life together, just because you were afraid of offending the Ryans?’

It was fair, and it was reasonable, and Olivia just wished she had thought of that explanation. But then, she hadn’t left because she wasn’t in love with Matt; rather because she was.

But, not for the first time, she looked at her mother with wondering eyes. Felicity Stoner seemed so frail and defenceless, and yet, at times, she could assert a remarkable strength of purpose. For instance, never once, in any of the letters she had exchanged with her daughter, had she so much as hinted at the deterioration of her condition. And here she was now, finding a perfectly reasonable explanation for Olivia’s leaving home.

But Olivia didn’t think it was pride, or a misplaced sense of compassion, that caused her mother to defend her. Even though she had never mentioned it to her daughter, she must have known why Olivia had chosen to leave. In spite of her grandmother’s admonition to Olivia to keep what she had learned to herself, there had always been one other person who knew the truth. And that was her mother. Olivia wondered how far she would have let her relationship with Matthew go, before she had had to tell her daughter the truth.

Now, however, it was her father who was forced to defend himself. ‘Things had to be said,’ he muttered, giving his thinning hair a smoothing touch. ‘Livvy can’t come back here and think we’re going to treat her like the prodigal daughter——’

‘I don’t think she expects that,’ said Mrs Stoner drily. She gave her daughter a thoughtful look, and then her pale face broke into a smile. ‘But I am glad to see her, whatever you say. And I’m hoping she won’t run away again, as soon as your mother’s funeral’s over.’

Olivia’s throat was suddenly tight with emotion, and, leaving the table, she approached her mother’s chair. Kneeling down beside her, she felt the years just slip away, and when Felicity put a hand to her cheek she covered it with her own.

‘I’d—I’d like to stay—for a little while,’ she said, as her mother’s thumb wiped an errant tear from her chin. Perry wasn’t going to be too pleased, but Agnes could manage without her. ‘I’m sorry about—about Grandmother, but I’m glad it gave me a reason to come.’

‘You didn’t need one,’ declared her father roughly, but she saw his face had lost much of its cold severity. ‘Now, I suggest we all try and get some sleep. The cows won’t thank me if I’m late for early morning milking.’

The sun was streaming through the kitchen windows when Olivia came downstairs next morning. She had overslept—it was already after ten o’clock—but she felt so much more optimistic today.

The previous day now seemed like a bad dream. Her encounter with Matthew, her tense arrival at the house, and her subsequent confrontation with her father, had all combined to make her wish she hadn’t come. But her mother had changed all that. With a few words she had cleared the air between them, and, although Olivia didn’t delude herself that Robert Stoner was completely won over, at least they might be civil with one another.

The day before, the house had been full of friends and neighbours, all of whom had come to offer their condolences. In one way, it had made it easier for Olivia; she had felt like just another visitor, and certainly her father had made her feel like an outsider. But in another it had made it harder; she had known that sooner or later she would be called to account, and even her sister, Sara, had treated her like a stranger.

Well, she supposed, they were strangers, after all. Sara had only been fourteen when Olivia went away. Now, she was twenty-four, a young married woman, on the verge of having her own family to care for. What did they know about one another really? Only what their mother had conveyed to them, through the medium of her letters.

However, it was her brother, Andrew, who was sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a pot of coffee with Enid Davis, the daily woman, when Olivia entered the room. Apparently Mrs Davis had been employed on a temporary basis, just after her grandmother had been taken ill. But, when it had become apparent that Harriet Stoner was not going to be able to do very much for herself, she had stayed on. Olivia had been introduced to her the day before, and although Mrs Davis was no one’s idea of a rosy-cheeked retainer, she seemed competent enough.

Now, both she and Andrew rose as Olivia came into the room, and she shook her head disarmingly, urging them to stay where they were. ‘Do carry on,’ she said, conscious that her cream silk trousers and matching vest-top were coming under close scrutiny. ‘I’ll join you, if I may. It smells delicious.’

Her brother hesitated for a moment, and then subsided back into his seat, but Mrs Davis moved away from the table. ‘I’ve finished,’ she said, ‘and I’ve got the bedrooms to see to. Oh,’ she paused, ‘unless you’d like me to get you some breakfast, Miss Stoner. We’ve home-cured bacon, and our own eggs, if you’d like some.’

Olivia shook her head, aware that if she had chosen to take the woman up on her offer it wouldn’t have been welcomed. Tall and angular, Enid Davis had assumed an air of possessive authority, and even the way she said ‘Miss Stoner’ seemed to underline her opinion that Olivia was an outsider.

‘I’ll get myself some toast later, if I want it,’ Olivia said now, collecting a cup from the pinewood dresser, and seating herself beside her brother. After all, she thought defensively, this was still her home. But she managed a tight smile anyway. ‘Thank you.’

‘If you say so, Miss Stoner.’ Mrs Davis was evidently not prepared to make any concessions, and Olivia pulled a face as she marched out of the room.

‘You really shouldn’t make fun of Enid,’ Andrew declared, as soon as the woman was out of earshot, and Olivia mentally drew a breath. ‘She’s been good to us, you know, and we all rely on her.’

‘I wasn’t making fun of her,’ Olivia protested quietly. ‘But—well, I do know where our bacon and eggs come from. And all this—Miss Stoner! Doesn’t she know I used to live here?’

Andrew shrugged, and Olivia thought how much more like their father he had become. When she’d gone away, Andrew had been seventeen; still a boy really, and lots of fun to be with. After all, if it hadn’t been for him, she might never have had the opportunity to go to the States. It was when he’d told her that the Kramers were thinking of getting a nanny, to look after their little girl while they were on tour, that the idea of applying for the job had occurred to her. And it had been due to Andrew’s influence that she had got it. She had had little experience, when all was said and done, and none of it professional. But when she got to know him better Stephen had confessed that he had been dreading having to employ some snooty graduate from a nursing academy, and right from the beginning Olivia and Denise Kramer had really got along.

But now, Andrew was much more serious. He was married, too. She had met his wife the day before. But Laura, as she was called, had seemed shy and self-effacing, happiest with their two children, leaving Andrew to make the decisions.

‘I expect she feels a bit uncomfortable with you,’ Andrew volunteered now, and Olivia had to make an effort to remember what they had been talking about.

‘Oh—Mrs Davis,’ she said, pouring herself a cup of black coffee, and inhaling the aroma. ‘I don’t think it’s that at all.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps she’s afraid her position is being threatened. The prodigal’s return, and all that jazz.’

Andrew snorted. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, pushing his own cup aside. ‘Why should Enid feel threatened by you? You’re hardly likely to want to get your hands dirty, are you? I mean——’ he gave her a scathing appraisal ‘—that’s hardly the outfit for swilling out the barn.’

‘And is that what Mrs Davis does?’ enquired Olivia coolly, realising Andrew was only reflecting his father’s attitude, and her brother coloured.

‘No——’

‘So why should I be expected to do it?’ Olivia regarded him steadily. ‘I’m sorry if you don’t like what I’m wearing, but it’s cool and comfortable, and washes very easily.’

Andrew’s jaw hardened. ‘I didn’t mean that, and you know it.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’ He blustered. ‘I mean, this is just a duty visit for you. You’ll go to Gran’s funeral tomorrow, pay your last respects, and then you’ll be off again. Back to New York, with your swish friends, and your swish flat——’

Olivia gasped. ‘How do you know I live in a swish flat, as you call it? You’ve never even seen it.’

‘No. But I’ve heard plenty about it,’ he retorted. ‘Mum reads us all your letters, you know. About what you’ve been doing, and where you’ve been——’

‘Then you must also know that for the first five years I was in New York I lived in a one-bedroom walk-up in Queens,’ declared Olivia hotly. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing swish about Queens. But I worked hard—and I saved—and eventually, eventually, I managed to buy the lease of a small apartment on the lower east side.’

Andrew’s mouth curled. ‘You saved!’

‘Yes, I saved.’

‘And what about Perry Randall? I suppose he didn’t make a contribution.’

Olivia sighed. ‘Perry helped me, yes. But it was my idea to start an agency for British nannies in New York, and it was because of its success that I was able to afford something better. Heavens, Stephen helped me as much as anyone; surely you know that? Perry just thought I was a good investment, that’s all. It—it wasn’t until later that—that——’

‘That you became his mistress,’ finished Andrew disparagingly, and Olivia had to steel herself not to slap his smug face.

‘It wasn’t easy, living alone,’ she said instead. ‘You’ve always had a family to support you. I haven’t.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ demanded Andrew harshly. ‘I was a fool. I should never have let you persuade me to ask Stephen to take you with him. I suppose I never thought you’d really go. And then, when Mum had her heart attack, Dad blamed me.’

‘Did he?’ Olivia expelled her breath unsteadily. That explained a lot. She should have realised their father would need to find a scapegoat. Much as she loved him, she was not blind to his failings.

‘Anyway, it’s nothing to do with me what you do with your life,’ Andrew declared now. ‘If you ask me, Matt was well rid of you. I never thought a sister of mine would get a reputation for sleeping around——’

‘I do not sleep around,’ protested Olivia. ‘And if you’re talking about Perry again, I should tell you that he has asked me to marry him.’

Andrew looked sulky. ‘Are you going to?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘No.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘Look, Andy, just because you still imagine that marriage is the be all and end all of everything don’t expect everyone to feel the same. I’m an independent woman; I have my own business. How I choose to spend the rest of my life, and with whom, is no one’s concern but mine.’

Her brother scowled, and got up from the table. ‘If you’d married Matt, and had a couple of kids, you wouldn’t be talking that way. It’s—it’s ungodly!’

‘Oh, really!’ Olivia found it difficult to contain her anger. So far as Andrew, and her father, were concerned, a woman only had one role in life. And if she deviated from that role, she was both selfish and wicked.

‘Anyway, I’ve got to be getting on,’ said Andrew, placing his chair squarely against the table. ‘Some of us have work to do.’

Olivia rode the jab. ‘All right,’ she said, cradling her cup in her hands, and looking up at him over its rim. ‘I may come and join you later. Where is everyone, by the way? Sara’s bed was empty when I woke up. I thought she’d be down here.’

‘I dare say she’s about somewhere,’ replied Andrew reluctantly. ‘I heard Mum say she was going to gather some vegetables, and I think Sara went with her. Why don’t you go and join them? They probably need your help more than I do.’

‘Oh, Andy!’ His almost childish desire to get his own back broke through Olivia’s reserve. Unable to sustain her anger against him, she got up from the table, and ignoring his instinctive withdrawal, she gave him a swift hug. ‘We’ve got to forget the past,’ she told him gently, looking into hazel eyes that were several shades darker than her own. ‘I have missed you—all of you—terribly. But—well, there were reasons why I couldn’t come back before now. Please—believe me.’

Andrew’s sun-browned features were wary. ‘Don’t think you can get round me, the way you got round Dad,’ he exclaimed, but she could sense he was weakening. ‘Oh—all right,’ he muttered. ‘I missed you, too. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you for staying away so long.’

He left, after bestowing a rather awkward kiss on her cheek, and Olivia gave a wistful smile as she seated herself at the table again. Slowly but surely, she told herself firmly. Eventually they would all come round. They were her family, weren’t they? And in spite of everything, they loved her. She had to believe that.

Which was more than could be said about her grandmother, she thought ruefully. It was obvious where Harriet Stoner’s loyalties had lain, and they had not been with Olivia. She had been a potent reason to stay away from Lower Mychett. So long as Harriet Stoner was alive, Olivia would always have felt the outsider, the cuckoo in the nest.

Not that she could totally blame her grandmother for that, Olivia admitted. And, in all fairness, she had not been the only reason Olivia had stayed away. Her dread of seeing Matthew again, of rekindling all the pain and anguish she had felt at leaving, had provided a far more powerful deterrent. And she had been right to take those precautions, she conceded uneasily. Even now, the chemistry was still active, and avoidance seemed the only cure.