Читать книгу Melting Fire - Anne Mather - Страница 8

OLIVIA ran the shower cold, and was shivering when she emerged from the cubicle. Clutching a huge yellow bath-sheet about her, she padded into the bedroom, her bare feet making damp patches on the soft white carpet. Standing before the long wardrobe mirror, she towelled herself dry vigorously, and then allowed the folds of towelling to fall about her ankles.

The reflection facing her was of a girl of nineteen or so, with a wealth of curly red-gold hair tumbling about her shoulders. Her breasts were firm and well-developed, and her waist was small, and long shapely legs drew attention to narrow ankles. An appealing combination, no doubt, but Olivia was not impressed by her attributes. She had viewed them too many times to feel any sense of accomplishment in her appearance, and her greatest concern at the moment was how best to explain to Bella—and Richard—that she wanted to get a job. She hadn’t yet decided what kind of job she wanted. Office work of some kind, she supposed, or maybe as she was good at languages, she could get a job as an interpreter. But where? Not in Chelmsbury, she realised. London was the only likely place, which would mean either travelling the forty or so miles every day to the city, or getting accommodation in town.

She sighed, turning away to rummage through her dressing table drawers for clean underwear. Richard travelled every day, when he was at home. He drove to Chelmsbury, and caught the early morning commuter train into the city. So long as he was at home, she might travel with him. He did keep an apartment in town, but it was for entertainment purposes mostly, and almost every evening when he was at home he returned to Copley. But when he was away …

Frowning, she stepped into bikini briefs, and followed them with a pair of cream-coloured Levis. Then she knotted a sleeveless shirt beneath her breasts, and began to pull her hairbrush through the tangled weight of hair. It was much too long, she thought, tugging viciously at a recalcitrant strand, and she would certainly have it cut before she took up any employment. Why couldn’t it have been straight, like Richard’s hair? she wondered impatiently, and flung the brush down in disgust as it refused to respond to such rough treatment.

A tentative knock at her bedroom door dissipated her annoyance, and she called: ‘Who is it?’ smiling affectionately when Bella’s grey head appeared.

‘Oh, you are up,’ she said, coming right into the room. ‘I sent Eliza up with your breakfast, just in case you wanted to spend the morning in bed.’

‘On a day like this!’ Olivia indicated the cloudless sky beyond her open windows. ‘I can’t wait to get outside. I intend to get really brown before——’

She broke off abruptly, half expecting Bella to take her up on it, but the older woman was busy straightening the pale green undersheet on the bed, plumping the lace-edged pillows.

‘I’m going to cycle into West Cross this morning,’ Bella declared, straightening with Olivia’s striped cotton nightshirt in her hands. ‘I promised Mrs Morrison I’d call and see old Mr Raynor. He hasn’t been at all well lately, and I thought I’d take him some of my home-made strawberry jam. I want to call at the church anyway with some flowers, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, as they say. Do you want to come?’

Olivia hesitated. Mrs Morrison was the vicar’s wife, and although she was good-hearted enough, she was a terrible gossip. She would welcome Olivia’s return as a new source of conversation, and it was too nice a day to waste in idle chatter.

‘I don’t think so,’ she answered now, sorry she had to disappoint Bella. ‘I thought I might sunbathe. Can I use the pool?’

‘Considering Richard left orders for Thomas to clean it out specially before he went away, I think perhaps you might,’ retorted Bella shortly, and Olivia flushed.

‘That was kind of him,’ she offered awkwardly, and Bella sniffed.

‘Yes—well, people try to be kind to you,’ she averred, picking up Olivia’s used breakfast tray and marching towards the door. ‘They may not understand these newfangled ideas you have about independence, though,’ she added, and left the room.

Olivia watched her go with troubled eyes. She knew Bella was referring to the conversation they had had over the dinner table the previous evening. Olivia had tried, not very successfully, to persuade her old nursemaid that she couldn’t remain a drain on Richard’s resources any longer, but Bella had been obstinately stubborn. If Olivia was a drain, then what was she? she insisted, deliberately ignoring the fact that she had a job running the household, supplementing her argument with the opinion that to a man of Richard’s means, the support of his stepsister was not only his duty, but his pleasure. Olivia’s protest that Richard’s means had nothing to do with it met with blank indifference, and Bella had retired to bed soon afterwards, complaining of a severe headache.

Now Olivia left her bedroom and walked slowly along the hall to the landing. Her room was at the back of the house, overlooking the tennis courts and the stables beyond, and as she passed Richard’s door she felt her lips tighten. She guessed that he would share Bella’s opinion, and it was frustrating to realise that their feelings were justified.

On impulse she stopped, and opening Richard’s door she entered his bedroom. This was the master bedroom of the house, and overlooked the courtyard at the front of the building. Because it was occupied solely by a man, it was sombrely furnished in shades of brown and gold, but the drift of apricot silk at the windows provided a vivid splash of colour. Bella had already been into this room, Olivia guessed, noticing the open sashes, and the coolness that came from the shadow of the north side of the house. Later in the day, the room would be bathed in the afternoon rays of the sun, but presently it was chilly.

Olivia sauntered lazily round the square fourposter bed, which Richard had bought along with the house, and picked up the framed portrait of herself standing on his bedside table. She grimaced. The picture had been taken over a year ago, and to her eyes she looked terribly young and puppy-fat. It had been taken while she was still at boarding school, and although she wasn’t wearing her uniform, her hair was neatly plaited into one thick braid. She remembered he had taken it himself, in the garden here at Copley, and she was smiling that inane smile which meant he had been especially nice to her.

She thrust the picture down again, wondering how he could bear to see that every morning when he woke up, and walked across to the windows, resting her arms on the sill. From here it was possible to see the lane beyond their drive, winding away to the village, and the whole wooded sweep of the valley, lush with the ripeness of summer.

A crunching on the gravel beneath her drew her eyes to the old-fashioned bicycle Bella was wheeling round the side of the house. There was a basket set in front in which Bella had laid several jars of her famous conserve, and an armful of lupins, carnations and gladioli. Bella herself had donned the flowered straw hat she always wore for cycling, and as Olivia watched, she set her foot on the pedal and was off down the drive, wobbling as she levered herself on to the narrow seat. Watching her go, Olivia half wished she had agreed to go with her, but then she remembered Mrs Morrison and changed her mind.

With a sigh, she turned and went out of Richard’s bedroom again, and started down the stairs. The banister rail was smooth beneath her fingers, and below her in the hall, the wolfhound watched her approach with lazy eyes. Even as she wondered if she had the house to herself, Eliza, the parlourmaid, came out of the morning room and gave her a shy admiring stare. Eliza came from the village, and unlike many of her contemporaries was quite content to work at the big house. She was engaged to the gardener’s son, Peter, and Bella had confided that after they were married Richard intended to give them a cottage on the estate. Between them she and Bella managed to cope with the housework, and on special occasions, her mother also came to help out. Copley wasn’t overly large. It had four bedrooms and three bathrooms, as well as the staff flat Bella occupied, with its own bathroom and kitchen, and Richard provided every labour-saving device to make their task easier.

‘Miss Ponsonby’s gone to the village,’ Eliza said now, as the other girl reached the bottom of the stairs, and Olivia nodded.

‘Yes, I know. I saw her leave a few minutes ago, from Richard’s bedroom window.’ Eliza nodded, and in case she should wonder what she was doing in her stepbrother’s bedroom, Olivia added: ‘I was just looking around, renewing my acquaintance with the place, so to speak.’ She laughed. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Yes, it has, Miss Ross. Six months and more. Miss Ponsonby was ever so upset when you didn’t come home at Easter.’

‘Was she?’ Olivia had guessed that, but she didn’t say so. ‘Well, I’m here now, and it’s lucky that the weather is so perfect.’

Eliza agreed. ‘Is there anything you’re wanting? A cool drink, perhaps? Or some coffee?’

‘No, nothing, thanks.’ Olivia shook her head. Then, as Eliza turned away, she added: ‘I’ll be at the pool, if you want me.’

Leaving Jess to prowl in the shade, Olivia walked through the garden room and out to the patio. Richard had furnished the room which had been the previous owner’s breakfast room as a comfortable sun lounge, with sliding glass doors opening on to the tiled patio. On cooler days it was pleasant to use the garden room, combining all the benefits of a south-facing position with none of the draughts that sitting outside afforded.

The pool area was sheltered by a circling trellis hung with rambling roses and other climbing shrubs, and the pool itself lay green-based and inviting, within its mosaic of terrazzo tiles. Olivia went and dipped her hand into its chilly depths, and shivered at its coldness. But it would be refreshing later, after she had let the sun overheat her too-pale skin.

Dragging a striped lounger into the direct rays of the sun, Olivia rolled the legs of her jeans up to her knees and stretched her length. It was gloriously hot, and she closed her eyes against the glare, thinking how lucky she was. She could hear Thomas somewhere near at hand, using the motor mower, but apart from this there was no other sound except the steady humming of the insects that skimmed the surface of the pool

She drowsed, occasionally lifting a languid hand to brush away the more daring insects who came to disturb her slumbers, and thought lazily that very soon she would have to go indoors in search of some protection cream.

She wondered idly where Alex was this morning. She had not seen him since her arrival the previous afternoon, but that was not unusual. Although he stayed at the house, he seldom intruded on family meals, and when Richard wasn’t here he divided his time between Copley and London, handling all her stepbrother’s business affairs in his absence.

The distant drone of a car’s engine seemed a long way away, and she assumed someone was going up the lane to the farm that lay beyond the estate. Arnold Foster farmed at Low Cross, and his daughter, Shelley, was a friend of Olivia’s. She supposed she would have to contact her within the next couple of days and let her know she was home, if Mrs Morrison hadn’t already spread the news, but for the present she was content just to relax for a while.

Rolling on to her stomach, she untied the knot holding her shirt in place and wriggled out of it, dropping it carelessly on to the ground beside her. No one was likely to disturb her, least of all Alex, she mused wryly, and if anyone did come she could easily put it on again.

The plastic cushion of the lounger yielded as she subsided again, exposing her shapely back to the sun. There was something rather sensuous about lying there half naked, and she wondered what it would be like to sunbathe without any clothes at all. It was not a circumstance she was likely to experience, she decided, unless she married someone who had a private beach somewhere. She didn’t think she would like to expose herself to all and sundry. That didn’t sound at all inviting.

The drop of icy water that splashed on to the centre of her back almost brought her upright with a start. But in time she remembered her state of undress, and lay there frustratedly, wondering who would do such a thing. She twisted her head round and her eyes widened disbelievingly as they moved up over suede boots and long powerful legs, presently clad in fine grey worsted, lean hips where the lap of his jacket was pushed aside to allow one hand into his trousers’ pocket, a pale grey silk shirt and matching tie, pulled away from his unbuttoned collar for coolness, to the dark amused features of her stepbrother. He was holding a half empty glass of lager in one hand, and it was the condensation from this which he had deliberately allowed to drip on her spine.

‘Rich!’ she cried excitedly, and uncaring of propriety, she jack-knifed backwards and flung herself at him.

‘Hey!’ he muttered protestingly, keeping his balance with difficulty, as he endeavoured to retain the lager in his glass while preventing her from catapulting them both into the pool. ‘There’s no need to strangle me!’

‘I’m not trying to strangle you,’ she declared, drawing back from his involuntary embrace with reluctance to gaze eagerly up at him. ‘Oh, Rich, it’s so good to see you again!’

‘It’s good to see you too, kitten,’ he assured her dryly, but lazy green eyes, between the thickest lashes she had ever seen on a man, drooped questioningly to her uncovered bosoms. ‘Though I trust you don’t greet all our callers with the same permissiveness.’

Only then did Olivia become aware of her breasts pressed against the silky texture of his shirt, the muscles of his chest hard beneath. Surprisingly, she wasn’t embarrassed, she realised. Richard had seen her unclothed on frequent occasions when she was younger, and in any case, it was too late now for false modesty.

‘I was sunbathing,’ she explained lightly. ‘I’m not embarrassing you, am I? You’ve seen me before, without protest, haven’t you?’ she teased. ‘Alex thinks I have a nice figure.’

She winced in dismay when his hand suddenly closed about the nape of her neck, his thumb pressing her chin up so that she was forced to face him. ‘Bishop hasn’t seen you like this, has he?’ he demanded, and she could tell from his expression that he was furiously angry.

His change of mood was so unexpected that she could only stare at him for several seconds, fighting back the tears of pain his cruel grasp was bringing to her eyes. Then, with a gulping sob, she wrenched herself away from him, snatching up her shirt and pulling it over her shoulders.

‘No,’ she retorted, and she was annoyed to find her voice was tremulous. ‘Of course he hasn’t. What do you take me for?’

There was a moment’s silence, and then, as if having regained control of himself, Richard caught her arm and swung her round to face him as she struggled to tie the knot again. Brushing her shaking hands aside, he completed the operation, before taking a deep breath and saying: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

Olivia, whose gaze had been glued to her toes while he tied the ends of her shirt beneath her breasts, lifted her eyes reluctantly. She felt indignant that he should arrive home twenty-four hours after she had without a word of apology, and then get so angry just because she had spoken facetiously. It was she who should be angry with him, she thought, but looking up into his lean intelligent face, she knew she couldn’t be. She had so looked forward to seeing him, and now he was here, and already they were on the verge of a fight.

‘Oh, Rich!’ she mumbled helplessly, stretching out her fingers and twining one inside a buttonhole of his jacket, and he bent and deposited his glass on the table nearby.

‘Come on,’ he said dryly, ‘let’s kiss and make up!’ and with a rueful smile she lifted her face to his.

His mouth came down on hers, his hands holding her shoulders, not cruelly now, but warmly, familiarly, the long fingers probing inside the sleeveless shirt to stroke the sun-warmed skin. He had kissed her before, many times, he liked to kiss her, she thought, and she liked him to be happy. But this time it was different, this time her lips parted in remembrance of Jules’s kiss, and Richard responded with an urgency that was alien to her. He kissed her deeply, lingeringly, and while her senses were spinning her mind was rejecting what her instincts told her. This was her stepbrother, her guardian; the man she had always regarded as the mentor in her life, and her eyes had opened, seeking wildly for some way to escape him, when she saw Alex Bishop watching them from the sliding doors of the garden room.

With a gulp she tore her mouth from Richard’s, taking a step backwards and saying jerkily: ‘He—hello, Alex.’

Richard seemed unperturbed, however. With a wry glance in her direction, he turned to Alex Bishop, loosening his tie as he asked: ‘Did you make the call?’

‘Yes.’ Alex, his face slightly embarrassed, stepped on to the patio. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything …’

‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ declared Richard easily, smiling at Olivia, and she felt a ridiculous sense of relief. This was the Richard she knew and loved, and she was glad she had not embarrassed them both by treating his kiss as anything more than a demonstration of his delight in seeing her again. It was nine months, after all, since he had accompanied her to Paris and seen her safely installed at St Helena’s, and that was the longest parting they had had. It was natural that he should feel relieved to have her home again, safe and sound.

Listening to him giving Alex his orders, she relaxed completely, resuming her position on the sun lounger, and feeling an intense sense of contentment sweeping over her. Richard always gave her this feeling of warmth and security, and she lifted her shoulders in a little gesture of happiness. She wondered how long he was staying, and then dismissed the thought. She didn’t want to have to put a limit on their time together, and she looked up at him surreptitiously, thinking with detachment what an attractive man he was. Shelley Foster thought so, she knew that, the girl had told her so many times, but Richard wouldn’t marry her. Olivia guessed when he did marry it would be to someone like himself, rich and successful, the kind of woman who could run his home and be his hostess, and talk intelligently to the foreign guests he often brought to stay at Copley.

Curiously enough, the idea of Richard getting married didn’t particularly appeal to her. She guessed it was partly a selfish desire to continue to regard Copley as her home, which she would feel less able to do with another mistress there, but there was more to it than that. A wife would demand more of his attention than Olivia wanted to give, and she could never share her anxieties with him knowing he might go and confide them to his wife!

She sighed, and as she did so she lifted her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the pressure of his. Had it been her fault that he had kissed her that way? she wondered. Was that how he kissed the women he went out with? Had her experience with Jules affected her response? Certainly, until the Frenchman had taken her in his arms and taught her the more passionate aspects of kissing, she had been singularly naïve. But Jules had not aroused that feeling of panic inside her, he had not stroked her lips with his—an intimacy which even now brought a disturbing sensation that was half pain, half pleasure, to the pit of her stomach.

‘So—how was St Helena’s?’

Richard had rescued his glass and was speaking to her again, and glancing round she realised Alex had disappeared once more. Endeavouring to push her discomfiting speculations aside, she forced a smile to her lips and replied: ‘It was interesting. The girls were very friendly—particularly Michelle. I wrote you about her.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded, raising his glass to his lips and draining its contents before continuing: ‘The girl whose family you stayed with at Easter. Tours, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Olivia nodded. ‘How about you? Did you have a good time in Athens?’

Richard grinned. ‘It was—interesting,’ he teased, mocking her reply to his question. ‘The girls were very friendly.’ Then, as she coloured, he added: ‘Seriously though, I was sorry to be away when you arrived home, kitten. It wasn’t intentional, believe me. But you know how it is.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, the dark tan of his skin revealing that he didn’t spend all his time in the boardroom. ‘Have you been in the pool yet? It looks as if Thomas has made a good job of cleaning it out.’

Olivia looked towards the pale green water, shading her eyes against the glare. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t bring my bikini downstairs, and I was too lazy to go and get it.’

Richard laughed. ‘Well, you’d better get it. Unless you want me to tip you in fully clothed.’

She looked up at him eagerly, her anxieties dispersing once more. ‘Are you going to swim?’

‘Try and stop me,’ he agreed, walking towards the house, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and get out of these clothes. See you in a few minutes.’

Olivia waited only long enough to ensure he would have reached his bedroom, before following him up the stairs. She had heard Jess giving little wuffs of pleasure, and guessed the wolfhound had accompanied him. She was intensely loyal, and Richard had had her for a great number of years, which accounted for her lack of energy on days like this, Olivia supposed dryly.

In her room, she quickly found the brown bikini she had bought in Paris. Edged with gold beading and fringed below the bra, it accentuated the honey-gold of her skin, and she was pleased with the faintly reddish glow she found on her arms and legs. She would soon tan in this weather, she thought, but never as strongly as Richard. His skin was much darker than hers, matching the ebony dullness of his hair.

A towelling smock provided an adequate cover for the walk from bedroom to pool, but as she passed Richard’s room he emerged wearing only the frayed denim shorts he used to swim in. He raised mocking eyebrows at her modest appearance, and she dug him in the ribs playfully, before darting away down the stairs with him chasing her. Even Jess joined in the excitement, barking more noisily than before, and following them out to the patio.

Olivia tore round the pool, half afraid Richard would throw her in, smock and all, but he halted at the opposite side, allowing her to stand panting, facing him across the tinted water.

‘I can wait,’ he averred threateningly, and she gurgled with laughter as she pulled off the smock to expose her shapely body.

If, after what had occurred earlier, she had expected Richard to gaze at her, entranced, she was very much mistaken. Before she had dropped her smock on to the ground, he had dived cleanly into the water, the spreading ripples of his entry disturbing the calm water. He emerged just below where she was standing, his hand reaching for her ankle, and she skipped away from him just in time.

‘Come on,’ he said, treading water, ‘what’re you afraid of? Getting wet?

Olivia stepped to the rim and dipped her toe tentatively. ‘It’s freezing,’ she protested, hanging back, and again he swam to just beneath her.

‘Give me your hand,’ he suggested, stretching out his towards her, but she knew better than to trust him.

‘Go away and I’ll get in,’ she promised, and with a shrug, he did a backward somersault and swam obediently across the pool.

He came up, pushing back his hair from his eyes, and she watched him warily. When he grinned, the lines that bracketed his mouth were erased, and she thought how good it was to be seeing his harsh features again. He was not handsome, she conceded, not like Jules, who was the idol of hundreds of French teenagers, but there was something about his heavy-lidded eyes and strong cheekbones, his nose which had been broken once in an amateur boxing tournament, that she could see now was equally attractive. Certainly, she knew, there had been women in his life, and beautiful women at that, women sometimes whose husbands had been unaware of their wives’ penchant for the sexy chairman of the Jenner corporation. But until now, Olivia had not really assessed him in that way, and it was disconcerting to realise that she did not like the sensation. He was her stepbrother, not someone she was attracted to, and she wished she could forget the way he had kissed her and resume their old relationship.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he demanded now, growing impatient with the delay, and hurriedly she sat down on the side of the pool and dipped her legs into the water. She was hardly thinking about what she was doing, and a gulp of dismay escaped her as he swam strongly back to her and caught her ankles, jerking her into the water.

She floundered and came up choking, spitting her words at him. ‘You—you rotten pig!’ she gasped, threshing about wildly. ‘Oh, it’s icy. I’m chilled to the bone!’

‘Then get moving,’ he advised evenly, from the middle of the pool. ‘Come on—I’ll race you from end to end. You can swim to the side, and I’ll stay here so that you’ve got half a length start on me.’

‘Big deal!’ she muttered sulkily, twisting her hair into a coil at her nape. ‘I suppose you think you’ll win.’

He laughed. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, and her pursed lips accepted the challenge.

In the event, she beat him, but not convincingly. She suspected he had slowed his pace to suit her rather laborious crawl, and it was a hollow victory. Nevertheless, it did warm her up, and they swam and played in the water for another half hour before Richard said he had had enough.

Afterwards they lay on adjacent loungers, and Olivia talked more fully about her work at the Academy. Her aptitude for languages pleased him, and he spent some time speaking to her in both French and German, assessing her ability in both. She was at ease with him again, and half tempted to tell him about Jules, and her decision to get a job, but she was loath to disrupt the harmony of the moment.

The morning was soon over, and it seemed no time before Bella appeared to announce that lunch was ready when they were. Olivia’s flesh was feeling quite prickly by that time, the sun having dried the pool water on her, and without lotion to soothe it, her skin was burning. While Richard got to his feet to greet his old nursemaid, Olivia rescued her smock, and was quite glad of the protection it afforded.

Lunch was a cold meal, and while Richard went to change, Olivia took a quick shower before applying some cream to her overheated arms and legs. She came down to the dining room feeling rather like a tomato oiled ready for frying, and resented the amused stare Richard subjected her to. He was annoyingly cool, black jeans clinging to his lean hips, a black sweat shirt accentuating his tan.

‘You’ve overdone it,’ he remarked impatiently, surveying the rosy picture she made with critical eyes. ‘Why on earth didn’t you ask me to rub some cream into your arms? You’re going to find it pretty painful at bedtime.’

‘Thank you, Dr Jenner!’ Olivia retorted sarcastically, ‘I am aware of the discomfort, you know. But as I’m the one who is suffering, I see no reason for you to get upset.’

‘Now, Olivia …’ Bella was already seated at the table beside an enormous platter of salad and dressing, colour-fully adorned with red and green peppers. Bella usually ate with the family, except when there were guests, and Alex Bishop was standing waiting for Olivia to sit down, a look of sympathy on his face. ‘Richard’s only concerned about you, you know. Now, do sit down so that the men can join us.’

The dining room was cool. Bella had slatted the blinds, and as it was at the side of the house, the sun had not yet entered the room with any strength. Pale green walls added to the illusion of coolness, and the long polished table was very attractive with its slatted cane place mats, and wooden-handled knives and forks.

There was melon to begin with, juicy-sweet and sprinkled with ginger, and then Bella’s special salad, together with a cold meat pie, spiced with herbs and decorated with parsley. There were crisps, and potato sticks, and a variety of vegetables served in different sauces, with a delicious fruit salad to finish. They had wine with the meal, and for the first time Olivia was able to appreciate it, thanks to the course she had taken in wine appreciation during her stay at St Helena’s. It was a white wine, light and only slightly sweetened, but heady after the morning in the sun.

‘Did you give Mr Raynor his jam?’ Olivia asked, as she forked melon into her mouth, and Bella turned her attention from asking Richard what flight he had taken and what time he had got back to say:

‘Yes, and delighted he was with it.’ She tilted her head reprovingly. ‘Mrs Morrison asked how you were, and wondered why you hadn’t gone with me, but I explained that you were too tired after your journey.’

Richard’s eyes twinkled as Olivia attacked her melon with more aggression than enthusiasm. ‘I wasn’t tired,’ she retorted, feeling herself assailed on all sides. ‘I just didn’t feel like answering the catechism today.’

‘Olivia!’ Bella was shocked. ‘That—that’s blasphemy!’

Olivia hunched her shoulders. ‘No, it’s not. You know what I mean. She asks too many questions.’

‘She’s interested in you, that’s all,’ protested Bella, glancing to Richard for support, but it was Alex who chose to speak next.

‘I think Olivia has a point, Miss Ponsonby,’ he declared, earning himself a grateful look. ‘The vicar’s wife is inclined to gossip——’

‘What do you know about it?’ Bella was not in the mood to mince her words. ‘I’ve known Amy Morrison for eight years, and I’ve never had cause to complain about her—natural interest in the affairs of the village.’

Richard poured himself more wine. ‘I gather you invited Olivia to join you, Bella,’ he observed, studying the contents of his glass with a critical eye, and she hastened to explain that she had ridden into the village to visit Mr Raynor.

‘Naturally, I called at the vicarage with some flowers for the church,’ she added, casting another injured look in the girl’s direction. ‘Olivia didn’t want to accompany me, and I understood she was tired after her journey. I didn’t know she was too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she is!’

Olivia gasped, and even Alex looked taken aback at this statement. But it was Richard who asked her to explain herself, the mildness of his tone not fooling Olivia for a minute. He was furiously angry, and she could have slapped Bella for deliberately landing her in this situation.

However, now Bella chose to be obtuse, perhaps regretting the impulse to repay Olivia for her impertinence, and when Richard asked what she meant by ingratitude, she tried to evade the question.

‘After all I’ve done for her!’ she declared, urging Alex to try some of the potato salad, but Richard wasn’t satisfied with that.

‘You said—Olivia might be too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she was,’ he reminded her tautly. ‘I want to know exactly what she’s done to warrant such a remark.’

‘Oh, Rich …’ It was Olivia who spoke now, still hoping to avoid the inevitable with an alternative explanation. ‘You know what Bella’s like. She always exaggerates. I may have said something to hurt her, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s not important, so eat your lunch.’

She had never noticed how cold green eyes could become, with the glacier quality of packed ice. They stared into hers unblinkingly, and unwillingly she felt the betraying colour flooding her cheeks. Thank goodness for sunburn, she thought weakly, but it was a brief respite. Her interpretation of Bella’s remark was not accepted, and his voice was as icy as his eyes, as he said:

‘You might as well tell me, Olivia, because I mean to know. In what way have you convinced Bella that you’re ungrateful?’

‘Because I want to get a job!’ she declared with a rush, and then sat back, aghast, at the realisation that she had actually told him.

There was a pregnant silence, like the one that had followed his anger with her that morning, and then, with immense control, he asked: ‘What kind of a job?’

Olivia expelled her breath on a shaky sigh. ‘I—I’m not sure. It depends what’s available. I—I’m good at languages. I thought I might be able to use them in some capacity.’

Richard nodded slowly, thoughtfully, almost as if he was considering her suggestion on its merits. Then he looked at her again, and although his eyes were still emotionless, the glittering coldness had gone.

‘Good,’ he said, and she almost sank through her chair in amazement, but her relief was also shortlived. ‘You can work for me. I need a social secretary, someone who can play hostess when I have guests, and speak their own language. It was a suggestion I was going to make, not immediately perhaps, but eventually, and now you’ve taken the decision out of my hands——’

‘No!’ Olivia stared at him across the table, her eyes wide and indignant. ‘No, Richard! I—I don’t want to work for you. I want to be independent. I want a job that I’ve managed to get on my own merits, not a position created by you to keep me occupied.’

Richard’s fingers smoothed the stem of his wine glass. Their caress was almost sensuous, and Olivia’s eyes were drawn to their sensitivity and their strength. They could snap the stem with only the lightest of pressures, and intuitively she knew he could have snapped her neck as easily.

‘This is not a contrived solution, Olivia,’ he stated at last, and she knew that he was deliberately slowing his words to keep her in suspense. ‘It was my intention all along that you should become my hostess, and mistress of Copley. Bella knows as well as I do that I intend you should learn the management of the estate from every angle, so that when she retires in a couple of years you’ll be able to take over.’

‘No——’

‘Yes.’ He was adamant. ‘You don’t imagine I sent you to St Helena’s for the good of your health, do you?’ His lips thinned. ‘The girls who attend academies like St Helena’s do so to learn the art of entertaining, of being a good hostess. They learn about food and wine, and how to handle people—languages, too, if they have an aptitude.’

‘Richard——’ Olivia was conscious of Alex’s eyes upon them, as well as Bella’s, and his embarrassment was almost as great as hers.

But Richard was undeterred. ‘Listen to me, Olivia,’ he said, ‘because I only intend to say this once; you owe it to me to stay here. For the past fifteen years I’ve been grooming you to this position. I didn’t spend all that money on expensive boarding schools and an even more expensive finishing school to have you go and waste it all in some pitiful little bid for independence! You belong to Copley, Olivia, and don’t you forget it. And to me!’