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‘I just don’t believe this,’ she told him fifteen minutes later after her parents had left and Jack had gone out to a friend’s. She had gone from her childhood bedroom to the small attic guest-room where Caspar was unpacking his case. ‘They might at least have put you up in the room next to mine.’
‘It’s only for a couple of days,’ Caspar reminded her, adding teasingly, ‘and I don’t mind. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to the rest. Have you any idea how much you move around in your sleep?’ he asked her mock-aggrievedly. ‘It’s been months since I got a decent night’s sleep.’
‘Two months six days and … eight hours,’ Olivia told him lovingly, counting the actual hours on her fingers whilst Caspar grinned at her. ‘It’s ridiculous of Mum and Dad to expect us to sleep in separate rooms,’ she continued, perching on the end of his small single bed.
After studying it, Caspar had already decided ruefully that there was no way it was going to be long enough for him, and despite what he had said to her, he knew already that he was going to miss having Olivia next to him, and not simply because of the sex, in fact, not really at all because of the sex.
He was thirty-two years old and had had good sex before, and if he was honest, great sex before, but the difference now was that he had never been in love before, never loved before, never really believed that love, the kind of love he felt for Olivia, could actually exist. He had watched his parents go through various sets of mix-and-match relationships, taking on partners, then abandoning them to take on new ones. He had managed to avoid the trap of an early marriage fatally programmed for failure, had realistically accepted that he would marry perhaps some time in his thirties and that maybe it would last long enough for him and his partner to see their children through their teens or maybe it wouldn’t and that was all any sensible, mature right-thinking adult could expect.
‘It’s the fact that it’s all so damned hypocritical that really infuriates me,’ Olivia complained, nibbling at her lower lip in the same way that she worried over the issue of their not being able to sleep together. ‘It’s always the same. We’ve always got to fall in line behind what Gramps decides we should do.’
‘Morally speaking …’ Caspar started to say, but Olivia shook her head, refusing to let him continue.
‘Morally speaking nothing. Gramps just likes controlling other people. He isn’t in the least bit concerned about my moral welfare or about any aspect of my welfare,’ she declared fiercely. ‘He never has been. Now if I’d been a boy … a grandson …’ She broke off and shook her head a second time, a rueful smile curling her mouth. ‘Look at me. I haven’t been back for twenty-four hours and already it’s starting. I promised myself when I left home that I’d leave my chip behind me.’
‘You’ve said yourself that you wouldn’t really have wanted to go into the family practice,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes, I know,’ she agreed, ‘but I should have had the opportunity to choose. Gramps and Dad did everything they could to dissuade me from studying law. Only Aunt Jen supported me and encouraged me. Oh, and Aunt Ruth, as well. You’ll like them and Uncle Jon.’
‘Your father’s twin?’
‘Mmm … although they aren’t at all alike, well, physically they are, of course, because they’re identical, but Uncle Jon …’ She stopped in mid-sentence.
‘Uncle Jon …?’ Caspar pressed but Olivia shook her head.
‘I can’t really explain. You’ll see for yourself when you meet him. It’s as though somehow he’s always standing in the shadows—in Dad’s shadow—and yet …’
She stopped, her brow furrowed in thought. ‘It’s as though he deliberately makes less of himself and more of Dad. Everyone, but most especially Gramps, focuses on Dad and on Tiggy because she’s his wife, and yet to me it sometimes seems as though both of them are somehow unreal, that they’re just cut-out card-board figures with no substance to them….’ She gave a small shiver.
‘It used to frighten me a bit when I was younger, seeing them like that and wondering why no one else seemed to see them in the same way.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Sort of like the old fairy story about the emperor’s new clothes in a way, I suppose. You heard Tiggy going on earlier about the flowers, about them making a house a home. Everyone always says what a marvellous flair for décor my mother has, and granted, the house is always perfect but it’s not a home. Aunt Jen’s house is a home. This place is just like … like a set out of a film or a play … the right furniture, the right colours, the right flowers.’ She grimaced again.
‘Dad was originally supposed to qualify as a barrister, you know, but something went wrong. I’m not sure what exactly. Oh, Tiggy makes references to how they met, the fact that my father was playing in a pop group, the fact that she was modelling and he fell in love with her on sight. They were married at Caxton Hall—it was the fashion then. Tiggy was already pregnant with me and that was why they decided to move back to Haslewich. Dad wanted his children to be brought up here, so he abandoned his plans to work as a barrister for our sake … at least that’s what I’ve always been told and, of course, Gramps has never really forgiven me for it. He so desperately wants to have a QC in the family.’
‘But I thought there already was, your great-uncle Hugh.’
‘Hugh was a QC, yes,’ Olivia agreed. ‘He was actually appointed a judge last year, but Hugh isn’t true family, at least not as Gramps defines it. Hugh is merely Gramps’s half-brother. Gramps’s father, Josiah, remarried after Gramps’s mother died and Hugh is his second wife, Ellen’s, son.
‘Although Gramps would never admit it, secretly I think he’s always been a little bit jealous of Hugh. Ellen’s family had money and Gramps’s father was, according to Aunt Ruth at least, always that little bit more indulgent towards Hugh than he was towards them.
‘It was Ellen’s family’s money that paid for Hugh to train as a barrister. Gramps, of course, had to go into the family business—there wasn’t anyone else who could. I suspect that really he’s still disappointed that Dad wasn’t called to the Bar, which is why he’s so determined that Max will be.’
‘Ah, Max.’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ Olivia questioned.
‘Do you?’ Caspar returned dryly.
‘We’ve never really got on, even when we were younger. Oh, I know everyone thinks I’m jealous because Max is Dad’s favourite, but it isn’t that. I just don’t think Max is a very likeable person. No one else agrees with me, of course. Tiggy thinks he’s wonderful. He flirts outrageously with her and she can’t see that underneath it all he’s really laughing at her. She’ll probably try to flirt with you as she would him. She doesn’t mean anything by it … it’s just her way … she can’t help it, she needs …’
Olivia paused, groping for the right words to explain her mother’s vulnerability and then abandoned the attempt, saying quietly instead, ‘Sometimes when I see Aunt Jenny watching Max I sort of get the impression that she doesn’t like him much herself but, of course, that can’t be true. She’s his mother after all and mothers always love their children.’
‘Do they?’ Caspar asked her wryly. ‘I’m not sure that’s true. What certainly isn’t true is that children always love their parents. There’s virtually a whole industry growing up now around analysing why so many adult and sometimes not-yet-adult children murder their parents.’
‘Mmm … I was reading about that case involving …’
They were off, both of them quickly becoming engrossed in the intricacies of the legal case Olivia had referred to.
She was more beautiful than ever when she was animated like this, Caspar acknowledged, watching her, but never, nowhere ever near so beautiful as she was when she lay in his arms and opened her eyes, her body, her soul to him.
‘Caspar,’ she complained when she realised that she didn’t have his full attention, ‘what are you doing?’
‘Just testing this mattress,’ he explained.
‘Why?’ she demanded curiously.
‘Why do you think?’ he responded softly, turning round to kiss her before asking, ‘How long do you suppose we have before your parents come back?’
‘My bed’s bigger,’ Olivia whispered between returning his kisses.
‘Mmm …’ he murmured distractedly, nuzzling the soft, tender flesh of her throat. ‘You can show me later. Right now, right now …’
He exhaled in masculine, sensual pleasure as he peeled down her top and exposed the taut curves of her breasts, teasing first one and then the other erect nipple with the tip of his tongue, feeling her whole body quiver in response to his touch.
He could still remember the first time he had gone down on her, the intensity of the quicksilver shudders of pleasure she hadn’t been able to conceal from him. Thinking about it now made his own body harden.
‘We haven’t had any supper,’ Olivia reminded him, gasping the words between tiny shivers of responsive pleasure.
‘Mmm … who wants supper? I’m going to eat you instead,’ Caspar told her lovingly.
Olivia closed her eyes; she loved the way Caspar was so wonderfully vocal in his lovemaking. He wasn’t poetic as one would-be admirer had been when she was at college, nor did he talk dirty as some men—and women—enjoyed doing, but he had a way that was somehow totally unique, totally Caspar, a way that was both deliciously erotic and entrancingly funny, and sometimes whilst she was laughing, her own arousal caught her unawares. But not Caspar. He seemed to sense that moment, that second, that heartbeat of time when between one breath and the next, laughter turned to desire and her need for him overwhelmed everything else. Just as it was doing now.
‘Caspar,’ she demanded, tugging urgently at his hair, feeling the hot sweetness of his breath feeding the soft, fluttering pulse he had so lovingly conjured up with his tongue.
‘Mmm …?’ he murmured teasingly, knowing full well what that urgent little tug on his hair actually meant.
‘I thought you said that Olivia was coming back tonight,’ Joss protested when his third attempt to telephone his cousin had met with no response.
‘I thought she was,’ Jenny agreed, deliberately keeping her back to him and to Jon.
‘Well, she can’t be there, otherwise she’d have answered the phone, so you must have got it wrong, and now there won’t be time to show her the badger cubs,’ Joss announced, patently aggrieved.
‘Livvy won’t want to see the badgers. She’s bringing her boyfriend back with her,’ Louise told her brother with elder-sister superiority.
‘Louise,’ Jenny warned, frowning her disapproval.
‘So … why should that stop her wanting to see the cubs?’ Joss demanded.
Behind her back, Jenny could hear the twins’ stifled, knowing giggles.
‘Girls!’ Joss pronounced with exasperated contempt, then added, ‘Aren’t you going to eat that pie, Lou, because if you’re not …?’ He stared hopefully at his sister’s plate.
‘You’re looking tired,’ Jenny commented quietly to her husband when they were finally on their own.
‘Not really. It’s just … well, I suppose this party brings home the fact that we’re not getting any younger.’
Jenny didn’t say anything; she knew quite well who carried the heaviest part of the burden at work in the practice. She knew equally well that any attempt by her to protest would meet with that same polite, distancing withdrawal that Jon used whenever he considered that anyone was attempting to attack his twin brother.
In the early years of their marriage she had found it unbearably hurtful, knowing that someone else would always come first; that his loyalty, his love for his twin, would always be the most important, would always come before his feelings for her. But then she made herself recognise that it was that same loyalty to David that made him the man he was, the husband he was … the father he was … and she had said to herself that she must not fall into the same trap as others and try to make her husband what she wanted him to be rather than appreciate what he was. In their marriage at least, he would have the opportunity to be himself—to be an individual. She owed him that much. That much, and much, much more. So very much more …
3 (#ub3fc8e3b-e803-58a1-86cf-cb0dbf918eb8)
‘Thank you, Mr Thompson, everything looks lovely, and you’ll be here in the morning to finish off?’ Jenny asked the man in charge of the team that had erected the marquee.
They had arrived earlier in the day, a dozen or more of them, all neatly dressed in an eye-catching uniform of jeans and T-shirts bearing the marquee company’s logo. Most of this group of energetic young men and women, Jenny had discovered, were students working through their summer vacations.
They had erected the marquee with commendable expertise and speed under the watchful eye of the forty-odd-year-old foreman, breaking only for an hour’s respite and a picnic meal before going on to hang the interior awnings, put up the lights and erect the connecting ‘tunnels’ that led from the house to the marquee, one for the guests and another for the caterers.
‘We’ll be here sharp on the dot at eight,’ the foreman assured Jenny.
‘And the tables will be set up and the chairs in place by twelve?’ she checked.
‘By twelve,’ he agreed.
‘It looks absolutely wonderful,’ Olivia approved as the foreman turned to gather his team together.
She and Caspar had called round just as Jenny was on the point of leaving home to check on how things were going and had elected to go with her. Max, who had arrived home late the previous evening, had also announced that he would join them. Jenny wasn’t sure why. He was standing on his own, scowling and looking thoroughly bored and irritated.
‘I hope having plain cream isn’t going to be too dull,’ Jenny worried as she turned back to study the interior of the marquee again.
‘No, it’s perfect,’ Olivia assured her. ‘So elegant—anything else would have been too fussy … too weddingy.’
The marquee team were piling into the vehicles that had brought them and that Jenny was relieved to see were all neatly parked well away from Ben’s precious lawn.
Apart from being present when they arrived to check that everything was in order, Jenny had left the marquee people to get on with their work on their own, having given them her telephone number in case there were any problems, but she had gathered from the comments Ben had made since they arrived that he had spent most of the day keeping a stern eye on their activities.
She wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that they had worked so efficiently without causing any damage, but she rather suspected it might be the latter.
‘Damn fuss,’ he muttered now. ‘In my day a fiftieth birthday was nothing to make any fuss about. They’re forecasting rain, you know.’
‘Not until Monday at the very earliest,’ Jenny returned serenely.
‘I was wondering if I ought to offer Aunt Ruth some assistance with the flowers,’ Olivia told her, ‘but I don’t know whether I’d be more of a hindrance than a help.’
‘I’m sure she’d be only too grateful to have another pair of hands, even if it’s only to help fetch and carry,’ Jenny assured her.
‘Make that two pairs of hands,’ Caspar joined in.
Jenny smiled at him.
Apart from being introduced to him by Olivia when she had brought him round, neither she nor Jon had had much opportunity to talk to Caspar at any length as yet, but Jenny had liked him immediately.
When one looked beyond the remarkable sexuality of his stunning good looks, there was a steadfastness about him that reassured her maternal heart as well as a certain strength of purpose that told her he was not a man to be deflected from any path he had chosen—any person he had chosen—and it was plain that the person he had chosen, the person he wanted was Olivia.
Jenny watched her niece affectionately. There was no doubt at all that Olivia wanted him, too.
Deep in her heart of hearts Jenny knew with that kind of knowing like a well-spring in the human psyche that cannot be ignored or dammed and was impossible to deny that out of all their children, her own as well as David and Tiggy’s, that Olivia was her favourite and extraordinarily special to her. It couldn’t be because she was David’s child … Her heart had started to beat a little too fast. Fiercely she started to mentally run through the list of things she still had to check up on.
‘So, young man, you’re a teacher, I gather.’
Caspar inclined his head towards Ben as he spoke. Ben was a tall man himself and it irritated him to acknowledge that this American Olivia had got herself involved with had the advantage over him in that department. Since his accident Ben had started to stoop slightly and he frowned in exasperation as he discovered that he was obliged to take a small step back and actually look up at Caspar.
Americans! Ben didn’t like them, never had. American servicemen had been stationed locally during the war, loud-mouthed, gum-chewing individuals with more money than sense, bragging and strutting about, turning the local girls’ heads and causing all manner of havoc.
‘I’m a lecturer,’ Caspar affirmed dryly.
‘And only over here temporarily, so I understand,’ Ben persisted.
‘That’s right,’ Caspar agreed.
‘Hmm … Well, over here in this country we have a saying,’ Ben told him disagreeably, ‘that those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.’
‘Gramps,’ Olivia protested, but Caspar shook his head gently at her and smiled. If he chose to take it, there was a partnership waiting for him with one of Philadelphia’s most prestigious law firms. It would certainly make him far richer than his present occupation, but he enjoyed what he was doing and as far as he was concerned that was more important than making money.
But then, as he would have been the first to admit if challenged, it was easy for him to make that decision when he was the beneficiary of a considerable family trust set up by his maternal grandfather.
‘That depends on the teacher,’ he said simply, both his face and his voice calmly neutral, but Jenny, who had overheard the conversation and who happened to be looking at Ben as Caspar made his response, knew that Caspar’s refusal to be dominated by him had reinforced Ben’s antagonism towards him.
It was just as well that Olivia lived and worked in London and not here, she decided, even though she knew how hurt Olivia had originally been when her tentative hopes of being allowed to join the family business had been contemptuously dismissed by her grandfather.
‘The law isn’t a business for women,’ he was fond of saying. ‘They’re too emotional, get too involved.’
Her own daughters were going to make him eat those words, Jenny suspected, especially Katie, but then Katie was far tougher emotionally than Olivia. She would never allow her grandfather’s views, or anyone else’s, Jenny surmised, to deflect her from her goals, a trait she had inherited from Ben himself, and one reinforced by her own family’s sturdy ability to withstand whatever shocks life chose to throw at them. As farming stock they had needed that characteristic; she had needed it at times.
‘No, the only way anyone can really come to know the law is to practice it,’ Ben was telling Caspar doggedly. ‘I know—I’ve done it and I don’t mean the namby-pamby diluted kind of work you get in some company’s legal department like Olivia here does,’ he added.
‘Olivia is a very highly qualified and professional young woman,’ Caspar retaliated.
‘Oh, she’s passed the exams right enough,’ Ben agreed, ‘but it takes more than a piece of paper to make a good solicitor. The law isn’t sitting at some desk shifting pieces of paper. It’s getting out there in it, doing the kind of work young Max is doing. That’s the law.’
Jenny could see Caspar stiffening slightly and her heart sank. She knew why, of course. Olivia for all her modesty and her grandfather’s deliberate hypocrisy was far more highly qualified than Max and, Jenny was convinced, of far more value to any prospective employer. For starters, Olivia’s experience was wider and for another … Well, Jenny knew which of the two of them she would want to handle her most personal affairs and it wouldn’t be her own son.
‘I’m sorry,’ she heard Caspar saying slowly and frowning slightly at the same time. ‘Forgive me … I’m still not completely au fait with the intricacies of the British legal system but so far as I understood matters Max is still merely a squatter in his present chambers and, as such, unable to take on any potential clients. Olivia, on the other hand, is in charge of her own highly specialised department and I know for a fact—’
‘Caspar,’ Olivia protested in a stifled voice, ‘Gramps doesn’t—’
But it was too late. Ben was swinging round to frown at her, sensing a much softer target than the unexpectedly obdurate barrier Caspar had thrown up against him. Ben wasn’t used to being challenged and he didn’t like it.
‘What’s this …? Her own department …? What’s this …?’
