Читать книгу A Woman Accused - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 6

OLIVIA sat at her desk, her dark head illuminated by the light from the brass gooseneck lamp beside her. It was late, almost eight o’clock on a Wednesday evening, and the studio was quiet, the silence broken only by the whisper of paper as she leafed through the documents that had been contained in the file folder that now lay on the floor beside her.

She read slowly, carefully, scanning the words with intensity, until they began to dance before her eyes, and then she sat back, put her hands to her temples, and sighed deeply.

The papers proved what she’d known, all along. Edward Archer’s threats had been just that—threats, nothing more. Olivia’s Dream was hers, lock, stock and drapery rods. So long as she made her loan payments and mortgage payments on time, she had nothing to fear from anybody.

Why had she let him intimidate her so? She wasn’t the sort of woman who could be driven into a corner—you couldn’t be, not if you were going to get ahead in business. As for the rest...

Olivia got to her feet. She didn’t even want to think about the rest, about how she’d let him force a response from her when he’d kissed her, so that she’d behaved exactly like the woman of low morals he’d accused her of being. All she could do was hope that he, even in his incredible arrogance, understood that she’d acted that way because she’d been distraught and confused, that her momentary weakness in his arms hadn’t had a damned thing to do with him.

Not that it mattered. She would never have to face him again. He’d made threats, and that was it. He’d known, all along, that he didn’t have a leg to stand on. The money Charles had lent to her was hers, so long as she kept up her end of the repayment agreement, and nobody, not even Archer, could do a thing about it.

As for the ugly things he believed about her relationship with his stepfather—well, that didn’t surprise her. The Edward Archers of this world were only too ready to believe the worst. They were men of privilege and money who thought girls—and women—of a different class were toys that could be bought for a price.

Once he found out that it was Ria who’d been involved with his stepfather and not she, there would be the satisfaction of rubbing his patrician nose in the information.

Olivia sighed as she tucked the legal papers into their folder. Well, that would have to wait for later. She couldn’t say anything about Ria, not until she’d talked with her—and Ria wasn’t talking to anybody just yet. The only communication she’d had from her was a short note delivered by messenger the day after Edward Archer’s explosive visit.

‘Oh, Livvie, it’s awful!’ the note had said in Ria’s spidery hand. ‘We’ll talk soon, but right now I need to be alone. I know you’ll understand. Bless you.’

There was nothing to do but dig in and wait for Ria to surface, Olivia thought as she put the folder in the wall safe and closed the door. Until that happened, she’d keep a stiff upper lip and go on about her business, which was making Olivia’s Dream succeed. And Edward Archer could just take all his angry threats and—

‘Olivia?’

Olivia clapped her hand to her heart and swung around. Dulcie was standing in the open doorway, her shoulder-bag on her arm, a steaming mug in her outstretched hand.

‘Dulcie!’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘You scared me half to death. I thought you’d left an eternity ago.’

‘Coffee? You look as if you could use some.’

‘Thanks.’ Olivia took the mug, blew lightly on the black liquid, then took a sip. ‘Perfect. You’re right, this is exactly what I needed.’ She took another mouthful, then put the mug on her desk. ‘What are you doing here?’

Dulcie walked into the room and leaned back against the desk. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this,’ she said. ‘But—there’s something you should see in today’s Chatterbox.’

‘That rag?’ Olivia made a face. ‘What could possibly be of interest to us in—?’

‘It’s—it’s about Charles.’

‘About Charles? But...’ Olivia went very still. Why was Dulcie looking at her that way? ‘Maybe you’d better tell me what the article was about,’ she said softly.

‘I hate these tabloids,’ the girl said with sudden ferocity. ‘They’re just—just so sleazy. I mean, hey, the guy was your partner, that’s all, he—’

‘My backer. Charles Wright was my backer. He loaned me the start-up money to open this shop.’ Olivia fought against the faint notes of panic in her voice. ‘You know that.’

Her assistant’s shoulders lifted and fell in an eloquent shrug. ‘Sure. That’s what I meant. And if he was anything else—’

‘Dammit, Dulcie, what are you saying?’

‘Listen, whose business is it if he—if you and he...?’ Dulcie’s face turned pink. ‘I would never say anything, Olivia, not even if that guy from the Chatterbox came sniffing around. I’d just tell him I think he’s a slimeball to have printed that stuff about you.’

Olivia felt the blood drain from her face. She reached out and grasped the back of the chair for support.

‘About—about me?’

‘Yeah.’ Dulcie nodded unhappily. ‘About—about you and Wright.’

‘What kind of stuff?’ Olivia touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘That he lent me the money to buy this place? Is that what you mean?’

Dulcie shook her head as she dug into her holdall and pulled out a folded newspaper.

‘Here,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s probably best if you read it yourself.’

Wordlessly, Olivia took the paper and looked at it. The bold print leaped at her accusingly.

‘MILLIONAIRE FINANCIER FEATHERED A SECRET LOVE NEST‘, it said, and below, in slightly smaller letters, ‘Sutton Place Home to Charles Wright and Dark-haired Mystery Woman’.

The paper shook in Olivia’s hands as her eyes travelled down the page to a grainy black and white photo of a tall, slender woman, her back to the camera, her shoulder-length dark hair flying as she stepped from a low-slung sports car. ‘Do You Know this Gorgeous Bird?’ the caption asked.

Olivia caught her breath. Yes, she thought, I know her. Of course I know her.

It was Ria.

‘You don’t have to worry.’

Olivia blinked and looked up. Dulcie was watching her closely. ‘Worry about what?’ she said slowly.

Dulcie lifted her chin. ‘I wouldn’t tell a soul, not a single soul.’

‘Good,’ Olivia said absently, as she stared at the photo again. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to know. It would be upsetting, with all the publicity and—’

‘Oh, I understand.’ Dulcie put her hand on Olivia’s arm. ‘Mr Wright would never have wanted to drag your name through the mud. Why, he always treated you so—so politely. No one would’ve guessed that you and he were—that you were...’

Olivia looked up in horror as the girl’s voice faded. ‘But this isn’t me,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s...’

It’s Ria, she almost blurted. But Dulcie and Ria had never met—Ria had not been by since the shop had opened.

Besides, how could she say that without telling Dulcie everything?

She looked down at the photo again. Yes, it was Ria. But if you didn’t know any better, you might easily have thought it was Olivia. Olivia, with her dark hair flying. Olivia, getting out of Charles Wright’s little black Mercedes...

‘It’s not me,’ she said again.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ Dulcie said compassionately, but what she was really saying, what Olivia could clearly hear her saying, was, We both know it’s you, Olivia, but if you don’t want to admit it, I understand.

‘I’d never judge you, and neither would anybody else with half a brain. If it were you they were talking about.’ Dulcie touched her tongue to her lips. ‘Which, of course, it isn’t.’

Olivia looked up.

‘This is the 1990s, not the Dark Ages.’

‘That’s—that’s good to know. I—I...’ Olivia swallowed drily. ‘It’s late,’ she said softly. ‘Why don’t you head home? It was—it was kind of you to stay after hours.’

‘Listen, if you need to talk... If you need a shoulder to lean on... Even tonight. I could stay a while, or we could go out for a bite...?’

‘No,’ Olivia said quickly, ‘no, that’s all right. You—you go on. I’m fine.’

‘Sure?’

Olivia nodded. ‘Sure,’ she said. Somehow she managed to smile. ‘I’m going to go upstairs, get into my robe, and make myself an omelette. Then I’ll take a long, hot bath and climb into bed with a good book.’

It was a good prescription. But it was impossible to fill. Instead, she stood immobile in the centre of the room, listening to the tap of Dulcie’s heels on the stairs, then to the muffled thud of the front door as it slammed shut, and then she sank down into the chair at her desk.

Dear heaven, what a mess! First Edward Archer, now Dulcie. Dulcie, of all people. How could she think such a thing? Never mind. She could survive it, at least until Ria surfaced and she could tell Dulcie the truth.