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But it was then, as she dipped her head to avoid his cool appraisal, that she noticed the ring on his left hand. Her stomach hollowed at the realisation that it was a wedding-ring, and, although she knew she had no right to feel the way she did at that moment, a feeling of absolute nausea swept over her.
She thought she was going to be sick. For one awful moment, she really thought she might throw up, there, in Matthew’s car, the feeling was so intense. But, somehow, she fought it back, though her forehead beaded with perspiration in the process. Dear God, she thought, surreptitiously wiping the back of her hand across her temples, it shouldn’t matter to her what Matthew had done in the years since their separation. It was perfectly reasonable that he should have found someone else, that he should get married, and probably start a family. That was what most men did, after all, and a man as attractive to the opposite sex as Matthew had always been was unlikely to have stayed single for too long.
Nevertheless, as the feeling of sickness subsided, Olivia knew that she was still not entirely objective where Matthew was concerned. Briefly, she had known again all the pain of that earlier betrayal, and, while it was easy to dismiss their relationship from a distance, a one-to-one confrontation was something else entirely.
In spite of her efforts to avoid his attention, the unevenness of her breathing could not be disguised, and Matthew had always been fairly perceptive where she was concerned.
‘Are you ill?’ he demanded, his attention torn between concern—and curiosity—about her welfare, and the heavy pressure of traffic around the airport. ‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well before you got into the car?’
‘I—just felt—sick, for a moment,’ Olivia protested, wondering what he would say if she told him the truth. But then, he would probably enjoy the vindication of believing she had regretted severing their relationship. Whatever, the truth was not hers to tell, and that was all there was to it.
‘Hmm.’ Matthew sounded impatient, and she wondered if he believed her. Still, he opened the electrically controlled windows, and the cool draught of air was marvellously refreshing. ‘We’ll find a service area, and pull off and have some coffee,’ he said, giving her another glancing look. ‘Didn’t you have breakfast on the plane?’
‘I wasn’t hungry,’ admitted Olivia, smoothing her damp palms over her knees. ‘Airline food is so tasteless.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I probably haven’t travelled as much as you,’ responded Matthew, keeping his eyes on the road. Then, braking to avoid a reckless queue-jumping motorcyclist, he added flatly, ‘You don’t look as though you eat enough these days.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Olivia’s response was tight and defensive. ‘I really appreciate hearing that you think I look under-nourished!’
‘I didn’t say that.
Matthew’s response was clipped, but Olivia was in no mood to consider the incongruity of this conversation. ‘Didn’t you?’ she retorted. ‘Well, it may interest you to know that where I come from you can’t be too thin!’
‘Or too rich, so I hear,’ responded Matthew caustically. ‘I suppose you can’t have one without the other, can you?’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’
Matthew shrugged. Then, ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head, as if thinking better of arguing with her. ‘I was just making polite conversation, that’s all.’ He deftly moved the Mercedes into the lane that would take them on to the M3 motorway, and merged with the traffic coming from the east. ‘There’s—er—there’s a service area around here somewhere. Yes, there’s the sign. It’s just a couple of miles further on.’
‘You don’t have to stop for me,’ said Olivia shortly, aware of a feeling of tension out of all proportion to what he had been saying, but Matthew just gave her a speaking look.
‘We’re stopping,’ he said, putting his words into action as the slip-road for the service area came in sight. ‘I could do with some coffee myself. It was barely half-past-six when I left home this morning.’
Olivia’s lips tightened. ‘Why did you come, anyway?’ she asked ungraciously. ‘I could have managed.’
‘Could you?’ Matthew swung the big car into a parking bay, and switched off the engine. ‘Well, your mother asked me if I would, and how could I refuse? She and your father, and the rest of the family, are pretty cut up about the old lady’s death, you know. It’s been fairly rough for them, ever since she had that first stroke, just before Christmas.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘She had a stroke before Christmas?’ she exclaimed. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No. Well, I guess they didn’t think you’d be interested,’ said Matthew evenly, thrusting open the door. He paused. ‘Are you coming? Or are you determined to make this even more difficult than it already is?’
Olivia caught her breath, as she scrambled out. ‘More difficult?’ she echoed, aware that he could misinterpret the indignation in her tone. But it wasn’t fair that he should make judgements about her. She hadn’t known about her grandmother’s illness, and he had no idea how painful this all was.
‘Yes, more difficult,’ Matthew said now, slamming the car door and locking it. ‘Don’t remind me what a selfish little bitch you are!’
Olivia stared at him through tear-glazed eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you to come,’ she exclaimed, taking refuge in the childish retort, and Matthew sighed.
‘No,’ he conceded, after a moment. ‘You didn’t ask me to come. And you’re making it bloody plain you wish I hadn’t.’ He glanced round, as if assuring himself that their conversation was not being overheard, and then added wearily, ‘But, please—don’t make a scene here! For your grandmother’s sake, I’m prepared to forget the past, and so should you. Ten years is too long for me to bear a grudge—or for you to feel a sense of guilt!’
CHAPTER TWO (#u604fcc91-46c1-5499-ab8a-9f03372b77d2)
THE sun came out as they sat at a table by the window, in the self-service restaurant. It streamed through the faintly dusty panes, bathing Olivia in its light, and soothing her raw emotions. She had made no response to Matthew’s final accusation in the car park, and now she sat staring at the coffee in her cup, wondering again why she had been so foolish as to respond to her mother’s telegram. After all, no one had asked her to come and, whatever Matthew said, ten years was not long enough to heal some wounds.
Not that he seemed to be suffering too badly, she thought uncharitably, her eyes straying to the brown, long-fingered hands gripping the knife and fork across the table from her. Matthew was tucking into bacon, eggs and fried tomatoes with apparent relish, and Olivia envied him his ability to ignore her evidently unwelcome presence.
He had nice hands, she reflected unwillingly, a tremor of awareness causing an unwanted shiver to slide down her spine. Once, those hands had been as familiar to her as her own, and when they were together they had seldom been far from hers. If they weren’t holding hands, he had had his arm about her shoulders, and she had revelled in the possessive pressure he had displayed. She had wanted him to touch her; she had wanted to touch him just as urgently, and when they were alone——
She caught herself up short, swallowing a hasty mouthful of her coffee and almost scalding her mouth in the process. But allowing her thoughts to drift in that direction was not only wrong, but futile, and she made a determined effort to rekindle the sense of resentment his cool, disparaging comments had aroused in her. Only so long as she could maintain some feeling of anger towards him could she hope to sustain her detachment. She had not realised how fatally easy it would be to delude herself about their relationship, or that, even knowing who he was, she might still want him. Time had changed a lot of things, it was true, and the idealistic young girl she had been when she’d boarded the plane for the United States was gone forever. But because she was older, and more experienced in the ways of the world, she was also more tolerant of human frailty. Not least her own. She was realising that those years had also blunted the edge of her conviction.
Dangerously so, she acknowledged now, giving Matthew another covert glance. She would never have believed she could still be attracted to him. But he had been her first love, after all, and didn’t they say that you never forgot your first love?
He lifted his eyes from his plate then, and caught her looking at him. And she had to steel herself to meet the cool challenge in his gaze. She wondered if he suspected what she was thinking. Once, he had been able to interpret her every expression, but that was before she had learned the art of dissimulation. Nevertheless, his gaze was disturbingly intent, and it took all her powers of resistance to withstand the desire to look away.
‘Don’t,’ he said after a moment, putting down his knife and fork and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, picking up the cup beside his plate, he emptied its contents and set it down. ‘Drink your coffee, Olivia. It’s time to go.’
‘Is it?’ Perversely, Olivia was disposed to linger. It was crazy, she knew, but there was one sure way of retaining the animosity between them, and that was by provoking his anger, too. ‘I was just thinking I might have some breakfast, after all.’ She gave the buffet shelves a provocative appraisal. ‘A hot Danish, perhaps. That’s what I usually have at home.’
Matthew’s mouth tightened. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait for you in the car. Don’t hurry. I’ll buy a paper, and catch up on the morning news.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘You’d do that, wouldn’t you?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘After I’ve sat and watched you wolf down the most revolting mess of fried food I’ve ever seen!’
Matthew’s lips twitched. ‘You’re talking about the great British breakfast,’ he told her sardonically. ‘We’re not all health freaks.’
Olivia wanted to tell him that the amount of cholesterol he had swallowed that morning would go a fair way to clogging his arteries, but she refused to let him gain the upper hand. And besides, it had to be said, he didn’t look as if he suffered any ill effects. On the contrary, he looked disgustingly healthy, and observing his tanned skin she wondered exactly what kind of occupation he had chosen.
‘Well, anyway,’ she said, back-tracking, ‘we’re not in any great hurry, are we?’
‘You may not be,’ remarked Matthew, but he remained in his seat, and Olivia moistened her dry lips.
‘Does that mean you are?’
‘I do have responsibilities,’ conceded Matthew evenly. ‘Oh, go on. Get yourself a Danish, if that’s what you want. I must admit, if you were feeling sick earlier, food is probably what you need.’
Olivia looked across at him. ‘Will you get it for me? I—er—I don’t have any change.’
Matthew gave her an old-fashioned look, but he got to his feet and walked back to the buffet, flexing his shoulders as he did so. He was wearing jeans with his jerkin, and a pair of worn leather boots, like the ones he used to wear when they were together. She watched him as he exchanged a smiling comment with the girl on the pay-till, and she felt a stabbing sense of envy. He should be smiling at her, not at some stranger, she thought painfully. He had such a nice smile, and when he was relaxed the years just fell away.
‘There you are,’ he said, setting the plate containing the apricot Danish pastry down in front of her. ‘Hot, as you ordered, but probably nowhere near as delicious as you’re used to.’
Olivia looked up at him, as he made no move to drop into the seat opposite. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said, unconsciously using all her charm to persuade him to stay. ‘You’re not really going, are you?’
Matthew’s eyes darkened perceptibly. ‘Liv——’
‘That’s the first time you’ve called me that!’ she exclaimed, digging her fork into the Danish, and lifting a sugary morsel to her lips. Her tongue came out to accept the delicate mouthful, and in Matthew’s eyes she saw a reflection of the torment she was feeling.
‘I’m married, Olivia,’ he said in a strangled voice, and although the news was no real surprise to her it still had the power to constrict her throat.
‘So—what?’ she managed, swallowing the fragment of pastry with a valiant effort. ‘I only want to talk to you.’
Matthew hesitated, but after a moment he subsided into his seat again, and only the heaviness with which he did so revealed his reluctance to accede to her request. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Talk. I’m listening.’
Olivia dragged her eyes away from his, and made an issue of detaching a slice of apricot from its sticky base. ‘It’s not that easy,’ she said, knowing she should have let him go. Playing games with Matthew Ryan was quite simply playing with fire. She knew the dangers. She knew the risks. And yet, she couldn’t seem to help herself.
‘I guess—I guess I just want us to be friends,’ she said, at last, lifting her eyes from her plate. ‘As you said, ten years is an awfully long time.’
‘No way!’ Matthew lay back in his chair, and regarded her with barely disguised hostility. ‘I said I was prepared to forget the past, and I am. But that doesn’t mean I want us to be friends.’
‘But isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’ Olivia sighed. ‘How can you say you’re prepared to forget something, and then use that something as a reason for rejecting any contact between us?’
‘I’m not interested in discussing it.’ Matthew ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘Now, do you mind getting on with that, if you really want it?’
‘But—we’re different people,’ protested Olivia, putting down her fork and unconsciously leaning towards him. ‘You’re—married, as you say. And I’m—involved—with somebody. We don’t know anything about one another really. And—and I’d like to know about you. I would. Purely objectively, of course. Wouldn’t that be more—civilised?’
‘Civilised!’ Matthew almost choked on the word, and a wave of colour invaded his face. ‘What was ever civilised about our relationship? You don’t know the meaning of the word. You used me, Olivia. You let me think you cared about me as much as I cared about you. But you didn’t. It was all a game to you. You just wanted the experience of knowing how crazy I was about you! Well, not any more. I learned my lesson well. You won’t ever make a fool of me again.’
Olivia gasped. ‘I didn’t make a fool of you——’
‘Didn’t you?’ Matthew’s expression was bitter, and he came forward in his chair, so that he could thrust his face close to hers. ‘And I suppose having the girl you had told everyone you were going to marry clear off to the States with a guitar player wasn’t a humiliating experience?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘You know I went as the Kramers’ nanny. Stephen Kramer wasn’t interested in me. He was far too much in love with Denise.’
‘All I know is, one minute we were talking about setting up house together, and the next you’re jumping on a plane to New York. It was pretty mortifying, I can tell you. Not to mention emotionally shattering. My God, you seduced me, Olivia! And you sit there and talk about civility!’
Olivia swallowed. ‘I—seduced you!’ She caught her breath. ‘Have you forgotten, I hadn’t even been to bed with a man, until you—until you made love to me?’
‘I didn’t make love to you, I made love with you,’ Matthew corrected her, in a low impassioned tone. ‘Oh, what’s the use? Love’s another word that doesn’t figure very highly in your vocabulary, isn’t it? Come on. Let’s go. I don’t propose to discuss this any longer.’
Pressing his palms down on the table, he got to his feet, and towered over her. ‘Are you coming?’ he demanded grimly, and Olivia bent her head. She didn’t have a lot of choice, and he knew it.
But, as she followed his stalking path to the door, resentment flared anew. Some of what he had said she could not dispute. But she refused to accept that she had been wholly responsible for the development of their relationship. Dear God, she had been a total innocent when she’d first gone to his rooms at the university. He couldn’t blame her for seducing him. Not when he had taught her all she knew about …
Her anger was instinctive, and uncontrollable. For a few brief moments indignation blinded her, and as they walked through the swing glass doors she caught his arm.
‘I don’t care what you say—you wanted me!’ she declared huskily, gazing up into his narrowed eyes, and with a muffled oath Matthew put out his hand and grasped her nape with strong, unyielding fingers.
‘I know that, dammit,’ he swore, the pressure of his fingers increasing. And then, before she truly realised what he intended to do, he bent his head and brought her lips to his.
Olivia’s senses swam. She couldn’t help it. It had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, and the sudden heat of his mouth against her parted lips made her dizzy. In consequence, instead of pushing him away, she clutched the front of his shirt, and a button parted to allow her fingers to brush the hair-roughened skin beneath.
‘Christ!’
The revulsion of Matthew’s withdrawal was like a slap in the face, and Olivia opened her eyes to find him striding away in obvious agitation. But it was nothing compared to the agitation she was feeling, and the horror that enveloped her at the thought that, whatever she had expected, nothing had changed. Matthew was still the only man who could turn her bones to water, and that realisation was enough to make her wish she had never left New York.
A man, who looked as if he might be a sales representative, emerged from the building behind her, and paused to give her a concerned look. ‘You feeling OK?’ he asked, his eyes moving approvingly over her slim, attractive figure, and Olivia summoned up the energy to give him a tight smile.
‘Um—yes, thank you,’ she replied, after a moment. ‘Just—taking a breather, that’s all.’
‘Ah.’ The man nodded, and then, glancing over his shoulder, he added, ‘Looks as if he’s getting impatient, hmm?’
‘Who—oh!’ Olivia gasped in dismay, as she saw the Mercedes heading towards the exit. It was moving slowly, but there was no mistaking its intention, and, gesturing helplessly at the man beside her, she started after it.
A few yards from the restaurant, she broke into a run, catching up with estate car fairly easily, but not without soaking herself in perspiration. ‘You—you bastard!’ she exclaimed, jerking open the door and scrambling inside, and Matthew gave her a dark, hooded, look.
‘I can’t help it if you choose to make eyes at every man you see,’ he retorted coldly, accelerating into the filter lane, and Olivia caught her breath at the cutting accusation.
‘I was not making eyes at anyone,’ she exclaimed, struggling to fasten her seatbelt, and Matthew’s mouth twisted.
‘He didn’t get past you, though, did he?’ he taunted. ‘What did you say to him? Did you tell him I was mistreating you?’
‘No!’ Olivia glared at him. ‘As a matter of fact, he spoke to me! He asked if I was all right, that’s all.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Olivia found her own anger was dissipating in the face of Matthew’s obvious resentment. ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded recklessly. ‘Are you jealous?’
He didn’t answer her. But then, she hadn’t really expected him to. So much for her hopes that she and Matthew might be able to salvage something from the wreck of their relationship, she thought wearily. All they seemed capable of doing was hurting one another. Well, he could hurt her, she appended. More than he knew, or would ever know.
Expelling a breath of air in an upward draught over her hot face, she unbuttoned the neck of her shirt. It seemed unseasonably hot for England, but then, she had just sprinted a hundred yards. It was lucky she was wearing low-heeled shoes. In high heels she’d never have made it.
Or would she? Would Matthew really have driven away and left her? Somehow, she doubted it. But perhaps she was being unduly optimistic. It was obvious he despised her—and what her incautious accusation had made him do.
Realising there was still at least another hour to go to their destination, Olivia decided to try again. After all, they could hardly arrive at her parents’ house not speaking to one another. Surely there was some way she could appeal to his common sense.
Moistening her lips, she said softly, ‘So—tell me about your wife. How long have you been married?’ And, the hardest question of all, ‘Do you have any children?’
She thought he wasn’t going to answer her. The silence between them stretched oppressively, and the heat of Olivia’s body wouldn’t subside. She told herself it was because the sun was shining, and the car was getting warm, but that wasn’t the reason. The truth was, her high temperature was self-induced, brought on by her awareness of the man behind the wheel.
And then, as she was casting about in her mind for something else to say, he said abruptly, ‘You were right, of course. I was jealous.’
It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and Olivia found it difficult to get her breath. ‘Matt——’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he interrupted her swiftly, his tone self-denigrating. ‘I don’t intend to do anything about it. It’s just an aberration, and I’ll get over it. I did it before, and I can do it again. I just have to keep reminding myself what a little tramp you are.’
Olivia swallowed the instinctive desire to defend herself. It was probably safer to let Matthew believe what he liked about her. Being friendly with him wasn’t going to work. Not for him; not for her; probably not for anybody.
Pressing her trembling lips together, she held up her head. ‘So,’ she said, adopting a deliberately mild tone, ‘why don’t you tell me about your wife? Who is she? Do I know her?’
Matthew gave her a contemptuous look. ‘Why should I talk to you about my wife?’ he demanded. ‘You don’t have to humour me, Olivia. I won’t embarrass you in front of your parents, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’
Olivia sighed. ‘I’m not afraid of anything,’ she retorted heavily. ‘For heaven’s sake, Matt, I’m just trying to find some common ground between us. Something we can talk about, without ending up at one another’s throats——’
‘And do you imagine talking about my marriage will accomplish that?’ Matthew demanded scathingly. ‘I hardly think so. Still, Helen is nothing like you, I can tell you that.’
‘Helen?’ Olivia frowned. ‘Not—Helen Berrenger?’
‘No. Helen Ryan,’ said Matthew succinctly. ‘We’ve been married nearly ten years.’
‘You mean …’
