Smokescreen

‘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.’