Читать книгу Pacific Heat - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

IN FACT, Olivia left most of her unpacking until the next morning. After Bonnie left, she felt too exhausted to do much more than take out her nightshirt and the bag containing her toothbrush and soap. A shower, in a fluted glass cubicle, refreshed her sufficiently to order a light supper, but she fell asleep without finishing the shrimps and salad they’d brought her.

She was awake before it was light. Her watch said it was lunchtime, but the clock on the bedside cabinet told a different story. Four o’clock! she thought, in dismay. At least three hours until she could order an early breakfast. Goodness, how long would it take her body to adjust to an eight-hour time change? She’d be falling asleep when by Pacific time it would only be four p.m.

She was hungry now, so she rescued one of the bread rolls they’d supplied her with the night before and spread it with butter. The coffee was cold, but the water from the tap was a palatable alternative, and after enjoying her small feast she fell asleep again.

The next time she opened her eyes, a pale dawn was turning the sky to palest yellow, with fluffy white clouds shredding before the rising sun. Slipping off the huge bed, she went somewhat disbelievingly to the window. She was actually here, in California, she thought, running a hand through the tumbled weight of her hair. Incredible! Twenty-four hours ago she had just been leaving London.

She discovered, when she rang down for breakfast, that it was in fact a twenty-four-hour room service, which meant she could have ordered herself a snack at four a.m. Still, it was much more pleasant to eat cereal with fresh strawberries and scrambled eggs seated at the table in the window with the sunshine streaming over her. She felt much brighter this morning, and far more optimistic than she’d done the night before.

She’d unpacked her suitcases while she’d been waiting for her breakfast, and in consequence she was dressed and ready by eight o’clock. She’d taken another shower and decided on a simple short-skirted dress of lime-green cotton, and because her hair was too silky from the shampoo to behave neatly she’d used a scarf to hold it back instead.

The effect was quite dramatic for her, and she studied her reflection for some time before turning away. Was her skirt too short? Was her neckline too low? Should she have chosen something more businesslike? She realised she was starting to spook herself, and dismissed her misgivings. She’d need all the ammunition she possessed to face the interview ahead.

Assuming that no one was likely to contact her before nine o’clock, Olivia decided to go and take a look at the rest of the hotel. She knew that if she stayed in the suite she’d start worrying, and it would be much better if she kept her mind occupied with something other than the reason why she was here. Besides, she told herself fiercely, she was curious about her surroundings, and if she was staying here for any length of time she should know where everything was.

The lift transported her down to the foyer without incident, and she discovered that far from being the only person who was up and about the ground floor of the hotel was fairly buzzing with activity. She remembered now that when she’d stayed in New York she’d noticed this same phenomenon. Americans very often held business meetings at breakfast, and as if to prove this there were lots of immaculately suited men and women with briefcases passing in and out of the terrace restaurant.

They reminded her of Joe Castellano, and she wondered if he ever ate breakfast at this hotel. It was an unlikely scenario, she had to admit. Did she actually think he might come looking for her?

Brushing such a ridiculous thought aside, she saw the glint of a swimming pool through the long windows that flanked a palm-shaded courtyard. The hotel appeared to be built around this inner courtyard, and she moved towards the automatic doors that gave access to the pool area. Striped umbrellas, cushioned loungers and a wealth of thick towels piled on an old-fashioned handcart invited investigation. The whole place had a ‘twenties’ feel about it, but the facilities were as luxurious as they come.

Still, it was good to know that she could take a swim whenever she felt like it She could imagine how delightful that would be in the heat of the day. She smiled. She was in danger of enjoying this temporary exile. She had to remember exactly why she was here.

She’d had no problem remembering last night. Then, the strangeness of her surroundings, the fact that she hadn’t met Diane, after all, and the news that she was to stay here and not at her subject’s mansion, had left her feeling decidedly down. The only bright spot in her day had been her meeting with Joe Castellano at the airport, but she was intelligent enough to know that she was unlikely ever to run into him again.

But he had been kind, and because of him she hadn’t done anything stupid. Like trying to ring Richard, or crying herself to sleep. And this morning she could safely say she was looking forward to starting work. That was the only reason she was here, she assured herself. She didn’t care if she saw Richard or not.

She sighed. As she sauntered round the huge pool, she was forced to acknowledge that her last assertion wasn’t precisely true. She did want to see Richard again—but only to reassure herself that he was all right, she told herself firmly. They had known one another for a long time, after all. It was natural that she should care what happened to him.

The fact that he hadn’t particularly cared what happened to her when he walked out on her followed on from this assumption. But she wasn’t like Richard, she reminded herself. She did care about people’s feelings. She couldn’t help it. But what she had to remember was that Richard had hurt her. She mustn’t give him the chance to hurt her all over again.

The message light was flashing on the phone when she got back to her suite. Checking in with the receptionist, she learned that a car was coming to pick her up at ten o’clock. She was asked to be waiting in the foyer at that time, and she guessed that Bonnie Lovelace would be coming along to identify her to the driver.

Which left her just a short time to worry about her appearance. Having seen so much informal attire downstairs, she wondered if she ought to wear shorts. But no. Meeting Diane again, she wanted to look half decent. And a vest and shorts would put their association on far too familiar a level.

She was downstairs at five to ten, still wearing the lime-green cotton, with a tote bag containing her notebook and tape recorder slung over her shoulder. She’d managed to tame her hair into a French braid so it looked considerably tidier, and she’d added a pair of gold earloops for good measure.

‘Liv?’

She’d been watching the antics of a toddler, who’d got away from his mother and was presently causing a lot of grief to one of the waiters who was trying to serve coffee from the foyer bar, when a hand touched her shoulder. She hadn’t been aware of anyone’s approach, and the unexpected British accent took her by surprise. She swung round, all thoughts of hiding her feelings going out of her head, and stared at the man behind her with her heart in her eyes.

‘Richard!’

‘Hello, Liv.’

His response was every bit as emotional as hers had been and before she knew what he was doing he’d bent his head and bestowed a lingering kiss on her mouth. His lips were warm and wet, as if he’d been licking them in anticipation, and although Olivia had expected to be gratified by the warmth of his greeting she found she didn’t care for his assumption that she’d welcome it.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Liv,’ he added, and she was dismayed to see that his eyes had filled with tears. Eyes that were slightly red-rimmed, she noticed, with a telling puffiness beneath each one.

Indeed, as she came to look at him properly, she saw that his eyes weren’t the only evidence of change about him. He’d put on weight, for one thing. His limbs had thickened, and his stomach swelled over the leather of his belt. He’d bleached his hair, too, and although it accentuated his tan it looked artificial. In a polo shirt and shorts, he looked little like the man she remembered.

‘You look—terrific,’ he went on, surveying her slim figure and bare legs with greedy eyes. ‘Come on.’ He gestured towards the exit. ‘I’ve got the car waiting.’ His lips twisted. ‘Is Diane going to get a shock when she sees you!’

‘I doubt it.’

Olivia let him escort her towards the glass doors with some reluctance. Although it was true that she had lost weight since the divorce, otherwise she looked much the same. Her hair was longer, of course. When she’d been married to Richard and working in the city, it had been easier to handle when it was shorter. But compared to Diane Haran—or should she say Diane Haig?—she was very ordinary indeed.

And no one knew that better than Richard himself.

Outside, the limousine in which she and Bonnie had travelled from the airport the previous afternoon was waiting, with Manuel at the wheel. Actually, Olivia was quite relieved to see the chauffeur. For a moment, she’d wondered if Richard had come alone. But, whether the unhappy rumours about his marriage were true or not, Diane had evidently decided they needed a chaperon. Or perhaps it was the fact that, even at this early hour of the morning, Olivia could smell the sour scent of alcohol on Richard’s breath.

Once they were in the car, she took care to put a good twelve inches of white leather between them, and Richard turned to give her a wounded look. ‘Don’t you trust me, Liv?’ he protested, making an abortive attempt to take her hand. ‘God, you didn’t used to look at me like that. What an unholy mess I’ve made of both our lives.’

Olivia caught her breath at this assertion. Although he was staring straight ahead, she prayed Manuel wasn’t listening to Richard’s maudlin complaints. Not only was he full of self-pity, but he was acting as if she shared his regrets.

And she didn’t.

Well, not really, she amended, trying to be brutally honest with herself. She couldn’t deny that she’d hoped it hadn’t been all plain sailing for him. She was human, after all, and when Kay had said his marriage to Diane was in trouble she had felt a quiver of anticipation. But she’d never expected that Richard might really want to see her. Or that he might covet what he’d lost.

‘So—how are you?’ Richard asked now, evidently deciding he’d said enough about his feelings for the present.

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, with determined brightness. ‘The jet lag’s a bit of a problem. I was awake at four o‘clock; can you believe that?’ She grimaced. ‘Thank goodness I managed to go back to sleep.’

Richard relaxed against the soft upholstery, one arm spread expansively along the back of the seat. ‘It affects different people in different ways,’ he said carelessly. ‘Myself, it’s no problem. But then, I’m used to travelling a lot.’

Olivia wound the strap of her bag round her fingers. ‘With Diane?’ she asked, and he gave her a jaded look.

‘I used to,’ he said. ‘I used to think she wanted me with her. But these days I usually stay at home.’

Olivia pressed her lips together. ‘Well, you certainly have a beautiful place to live in,’ she murmured, gazing out of the car window. She didn’t know what to say, what to think, and it was easier to talk about impersonal things. ‘Is this Beverly Hills?’ she asked as the limousine wound its way up quiet streets flanked by high hedges and stone walls. There was little to see of the estates that sprawled behind the wrought-iron security gates.

‘You’ve been in Beverly Hills since you left the hotel,’ replied Richard indifferently. ‘This whole area is known as the City of Beverly Hills. What a laugh! It’s really just the west side of Los Angeles. But people like my wife think it’s paradise on earth.’

‘Oh, I’m sure—’

‘She does. I’m telling you. Diane’s really into this West Coast lifestyle. My God, I don’t think a scrap of meat has passed her lips in the last four years! It’s all fruit and cereal and therapy and body massage. God, you don’t know how sick of it all I am, Liv. That’s why I’m so glad to have you here.’

‘Richard—’

‘It’s not real, Liv. The people who live here don’t live in the real world any more.’ He cast a disparaging glance out of the window at the walled estates. ‘Fortress America! Can you honestly say you know what all the excitement is about?’

Olivia’s lower lip curled between her teeth and she bit on it, hard. It seemed obvious that whatever comment she made Richard was going to put it down. When had he got so cynical? she wondered unhappily. She didn’t know what to say so she decided to hold her tongue.

‘I suppose I should congratulate you on your success,’ he remarked, after a moment, and once again she heard the bitterness in his voice. ‘My Liv, an author! Who’d have thought it? I told you you were wasted at that rag you used to work for.’

He hadn’t, actually. Quite the reverse, but she didn’t contradict him. She had no desire to arrive at Diane’s estate while he was in this mood. If she wasn’t careful he’d be crying on her shoulder. God knew what Diane would say if she found out

She wished he’d pull himself together and stop treating her like an accomplice. As if the only reason she’d come here was to be with him. She drew an uneven breath. She was beginning to wonder what she’d ever seen in him. Had he always blamed other people when things went wrong?

The memory of what he’d said when they’d been trying to have a family returned to haunt her. Although they’d both had tests and there’d seemed no reason why they shouldn’t have a baby, she knew he’d blamed her. And perhaps it was her fault, she reflected. They’d probably never know. And at that time she’d been far more willing to blame herself.

‘I meant what I said, you know, Liv,’ he muttered, attracting her attention. ‘I have missed you more than you’ll ever know. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I wanted to tell you that right from the start.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have!’ exclaimed Olivia hotly, convinced that Manuel could hear what he was saying. He had no right to involve her in his marital problems, whatever excuse he thought he had. She chewed her lip. She suspected his confession was a deliberate attempt to gain her sympathy, and also make her a party to his resentment whether she liked it or not.

‘I can’t help myself.’ he told her now, and once again she had to suffer his efforts to touch her. His arm along the back of the seat descended onto her shoulders and she felt his fingers stroking her neck. ‘I know I hurt you, Liv, but I’m hoping you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. The love we shared—I can’t believe we let it go.’

‘You let it go, Richard,’ said Olivia flatly, removing his arm from her shoulder and shifting onto the opposite seat. She glanced about her. ‘Is it much further?’

Richard heaved a heavy sigh. ‘No,’ he said, and although his tone was sulky Olivia was relieved. Sulky was acceptable; tearful wasn’t. She gave a slight shake of her head. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

The limousine began to slow a few minutes later, and as Olivia glanced round to see where they were Manuel turned between wrought-iron gates that had opened at their approach. A long curving drive confronted them, hedged with laurel and acacia, and she felt her nerves tighten as they drove up to the house.

A pillared façade of cream sandstone confronted them. Within its shadows, a shaded loggia stretched along the front of the house. Built on two floors, its many windows protected by terracotta-painted shutters, it was large and impressive, with a wealth of flowering shrubs and trees surrounding its manicured lawns.

‘Well, this is it,’ said Richard sardonically as Manuel got out of his seat to open the rear doors. The Villa Mariposa. Are you ready to meet your employer?’

‘She’s not my employer,’ said Olivia, rather too vehemently, and was annoyed when Richard’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

‘No, she’s not,’ he applauded, ‘and don’t you let her forget it.’ He clutched her arm, and she was forced to follow him out of the car. ‘Go for it, Liv,’ he added softly. ‘I knew you weren’t as indifferent to me as you pretended.’

Olivia dragged her arm away as soon as she was able, aware that once again Manuel was watching their exchange with curious eyes. And who could blame him? she thought, regarding Richard with some frustration. This was hard enough without Richard making it worse.

The doors at the top of the shallow flight of steps had opened, and Olivia glanced somewhat apprehensively in that direction. But she saw to her relief that it was just a maid who stood there, dressed in a navy uniform and a white apron.

She gestured for Olivia to come up the steps and offered a polite smile as they entered a cool marble-floored reception hall with an arched ceiling stretching up two floors. At its peak, a circular stained-glass window cast a rainbow shaft of sunlight down into the hall, while the gentle hum of air-conditioning prevented any surge of heat.

‘Mees Haran is waiting by the pool, Mees Pyatt,’ she said, inviting Olivia to follow her. And her announcement solved Olivia’s other problem of what to call Richard’s wife.

‘Thank you.’

Olivia shouldered her tote bag, and, not caring whether Richard was following them or not, she accompanied the maid across the hall. An arched doorway exposed several steps down into a sunlit garden room, where a pair of glass doors stood wide to a flagged terrace. Rattan tables and chairs stood in the shade of the upstairs balcony, and a pair of inquisitive sparrows picked crumbs from between the stones.

There were flowers everywhere, Olivia noticed. In pots and planters in the garden room, in tubs and hanging baskets on the terrace, and climbing over the columns that supported the balcony above. The scent was glorious, but perhaps a little overpowering, and she was glad when they descended more steps and she glimpsed the aquamarine waters of the pool glinting below them.

She saw Diane at once.

The woman she had never expected to meet again was propped on a cushioned lounge chair, with a huge yellow umbrella protecting her from the direct rays of the sun. Although she must have known that Olivia had arrived, she didn’t look in her direction. Her attention was focussed on a child who was splashing about at the edge of the pool beside her.

Her child?

Olivia caught her breath. If it was, it had been a well-kept secret. She couldn’t believe she wouldn’t have heard about Diane’s having a child if it had appeared in the press. Richard’s child, too? she wondered, aware of a not unnatural sense of envy. Not for the fact that it was Richard’s child, she assured herself, but because she would have so much liked a child of her own.

Diane had evidently heard the sound of her feet on the tiled apron, and with another quick word to her companion she got smoothly to her feet. In a one-piece bathing suit with exotic orchids adorning its navy background, she looked magnificent. No sign of excess flesh here, thought Olivia ruefully. Diane was every bit as beautiful as she recalled.

‘Hi,’ Diane said, by way of a greeting, coming to meet her. Her bare feet left damp patches on the tiles, revealing that she had been in the water, too. It made her seem more human, somehow, Olivia thought, aware of how tense she was feeling. No statue, this, but a living, breathing woman.

‘Hello.’

The word stuck in Olivia’s throat, making any further speech impossible at that moment, and she glanced behind her, half hoping that Richard was there. But if she’d expected his support she was disappointed. She and Diane were alone together, apart from the child.

‘I’m so glad you agreed to come.’ Diane pushed a hand through the sun-streaked cap of blonde hair that curved confidingly in at her chin. The action was unstudied, but so elegant that Olivia could only admire her composure. ‘Ms Pyatt—or may I call you Olivia?—you probably won’t believe this, but I’m hoping we can be friends.’

Olivia felt the hot colour invading her cheeks and despised herself for it. It was Diane who should be feeling uncomfortable here, not her. But Diane was probably used to handling difficult interviews, and she wasn’t. Indeed, the other woman’s casual approach took her breath away.

‘I don’t think that’s possible, Ms Haran,’ she declared now, swinging her tote bag off her shoulder and allowing it to hang from its straps in front of her knees like a shield.

‘Well—we’ll see,’ said Diane, with an enigmatic little smile. She indicated the chair beside hers. ‘Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it? Oh, and call me Diane. Ms Haran is far too formal.’

Olivia drew a breath. In fact, what she really wanted to do was turn around and go back to the hotel. Her anticipation of this meeting had not prepared her for Diane’s familiarity, and she wondered now what she had expected from Richard’s wife.

But the sun was hot, and she knew she shouldn’t take unnecessary risks by standing in its glare. Besides, however surreal this seemed, she had come here to do a job. Unless she was prepared to be sued for breach of contract, she had to do as Diane said and accept the status quo.

Nevertheless, she seated herself on the next but one chair to Diane’s, grateful for the shade offered by its striped canopy and the distance it put between them. With her face in shadow, her colour subsided, and she opened her tote bag and extracted her notebook and tape recorder.

Meanwhile, Diane had approached the child again, who was still hanging onto the tiles at the side of the pool. He was a little boy, Olivia saw as Diane lifted him out. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, with a mischievous smile that exposed several missing teeth.

‘Go and find your mother,’ Diane advised him, after wrapping a fluffy towel about his shoulders. ‘My maid,’ she added, by way of an explanation as the boy ran off. ‘She and Manuel have three grown-up sons. Antonio is their baby.’

‘Ah.’

Olivia nodded, making a play of checking that there were batteries in the recorder. But Diane’s careless clarification had answered her question. Not Richard’s son, but Manuel’s.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Diane had seated herself again and was regarding her with enquiring eyes and Olivia wondered what she was really thinking. Was this any easier for her than it was for Olivia? Was she really as indifferent to her feelings as she’d like to appear?

‘Oh, I don’t think—’

‘Oh, yes, let’s have some coffee.’ Without waiting for her guest to finish, Diane got up again and pressed a button that Olivia now saw was set into the wall beside a row of changing cabanas. She came back and sat down again. ‘I think we should get to know one another before we start work.’