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But Olivia found she couldn’t go on. It was too painful. To think that he must have married Helen only months after they split up! It hurt. Helen Berrenger, she thought disbelievingly. Helen, who had always been more interested in horses than anything else. But eminently suitable, she couldn’t deny that. Her lineage went back almost as far as Matthew’s, and her father, Conrad Berrenger, owned a string of racehorses, as well as a generous portion of the county.
Her silence was noticeable, and eventually Matthew cast a glance in her direction. ‘Well?’ he demanded harshly. ‘What did you expect? An undying commitment?’
‘No!’ Olivia was defensive. ‘Of course not. But—Helen Berrenger!’
‘Why not?’ Matthew’s dark brows ascended. ‘I wasn’t about to make another mistake.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, Helen would never have done what you did,’ he retorted coldly. ‘She understands about things like—honour—and integrity.’
‘And I don’t, is that it?’ Olivia flared, using some of the hurt she was feeling to fuel her defence. ‘Oh, don’t tell me—it’s the old class system, isn’t it? My father is only one of your father’s tenants, so naturally I don’t have the right pedigree——’
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Matthew overrode her angrily. ‘And don’t think you can assuage your own guilt by turning it on me. You know damn well there was never any question of your not being good enough for my family. Both my parents liked you, you know that. You were always made to feel at home at Rycroft. Hell, they were as shocked as I was when you walked out!’
‘Even so——’
‘Even so nothing. Any contempt they feel for you now is entirely justified. My God, my father actually wanted me to go after you. He offered to pay my fare, so I could try and persuade you to come back.’
Olivia swallowed. ‘But you didn’t.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Matthew’s lips twisted. ‘I still had some pride. And besides, your grandmother told me your leaving wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. Apparently, you’d been planning it for some time.’
‘That’s not—oh!’
Olivia pressed a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from voicing the instinctive denial. What good would it do now to try and explain herself? How could she explain herself, without betraying the very people she had gone away to protect? It was ironic, really, that Matthew’s father should have wanted him to go after her. But then, he was as ignorant of his responsibilities as Matthew himself.
‘That’s not what?’ Matthew asked now, as the traffic thinned, and he was able to give her more of his attention. ‘The way it was? Well? How was it? You tell me. Tell me how you came to get that job with the Kramers, if you didn’t answer an advertisement?’ He grimaced. ‘An advertisement I knew nothing about.’
Olivia sighed. What was the point? she thought tiredly. She could have explained that her brother, Andrew, had met Stephen Kramer, when they were at school, and that, although Stephen was older, when his family had moved away to London the two of them had kept in touch, but she didn’t. It was probably better if Matthew continued to believe what her grandmother had told him. Although she might feel better if he stopped hating her, what would that really achieve?
‘All right,’ she said, twisting to stare out of the window. ‘I behaved badly. I admit it. But——’ her skin prickled ‘—as you and Helen got together so—quickly, I probably did you a favour.’ She turned her head. ‘Didn’t I?’
A pulse in Matthew’s jaw was beating rapidly, but he didn’t say anything. He just gave her a contemptuous look, and Olivia had to be content with knowing she had averted any chance of a reconciliation.
They left the M3 at Winchester, and after circling the old Roman town took the road to Abbot’s Norton. They didn’t stop again, even though Olivia would have welcomed another drink, and by half-past eleven they were cresting the hill that ran down into Lower Mychett.
It was all achingly familiar now, and Olivia had to press the palms of her hands together to prevent herself from revealing how nervous she was. She had to force herself to sit still, too. The need to pluck the legs of her trousers away from her damp body was almost overwhelming.
Lower Mychett lay in some of the most beautiful countryside in England, and as Matthew drove down the winding road to the village Olivia had plenty of time to absorb the view. The grey spire of the church was still the most obvious landmark, with the River Mychett embracing the churchyard, before flowing under Fox Bridge. The river divided Lower Mychett from its neighbour, Upper Mychett, and the Rycroft estate owned most of both.
Fortunately, as it was almost lunchtime, there were not a lot of people about, although there were children playing outside the post office cum general stores, and several old people were seated on the bench beside the green. Of course, they all recognised Matthew’s car, thought Olivia bitterly, as he raised his hand again, in acknowledgement of someone’s greeting. Everyone knew and respected the Ryans. And not just because they controlled the village’s livelihood.
‘Isn’t that Jenny Mason?’ exclaimed Olivia, suddenly, stung out of her reticence by the sight of a girl she had once gone to school with, wheeling a twin pushchair containing two toddlers across the street. A third child, of perhaps four or five, trailed along behind, and Olivia stared at her disbelievingly, hardly recognising her friend.
‘That’s right,’ said Matthew flatly, apparently realising that they were nearing their destination, and that he would have to appear to be sociable for her parents’ sake. ‘Except that she’s Jenny Innes now. She married your brother’s friend, Tony.’
Olivia shook her head. ‘Jenny married Tony Innes,’ she echoed blankly. ‘But she was the cleverest girl in the class. I thought she was going to university. She always wanted to be a teacher.’
‘Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?’ observed Matthew, his hands flexing on the steering-wheel. ‘She obviously thought more about Innes than getting a degree.’ He shrugged. ‘Some people do the craziest things when they’re in love.’
Olivia sighed. ‘Nevertheless,’ she said patiently, ‘you know what Tony Innes was like. And, looking at Jenny, it doesn’t appear that he’s changed.’
‘So what?’ Matthew’s mouth compressed. ‘Why should it matter to you?’
‘Because Jenny was my friend,’ retorted Olivia shortly. And now she looks tired, and disillusioned, she added silently, watching the way the other woman turned and, catching the hand of the little boy, who was walking behind her, yanked him up to the pushchair. Jenny looked worn, and tight-lipped, and if she hadn’t known better Olivia would have taken her for a woman of nearly forty.
‘You didn’t keep in touch with her while you’ve been away, I gather,’ Matthew commented drily, and Olivia hunched her shoulders.
‘No.’
‘Not such a good friend, then,’ he remarked, as she turned to look back over her shoulder. ‘I doubt if Jenny wants your sympathy. She’s probably forgotten you ever existed.’
Olivia pressed her lips together for a moment. Then, ‘That’s a rotten thing to say,’ she said at last, as Matthew turned on to the road that led to the Stoners’ farm. ‘We weren’t that close. Not really. I mean, by the time I was seventeen——’
She broke off then, realising what she had been about to say, but Matthew chose to finish the sentence for her.
‘By the time you were seventeen, we didn’t have time for anyone else,’ he said grimly. ‘Did we? I came home every weekend, so that we could be together.’
‘I know.’
Olivia’s response was barely audible, and Matthew uttered a harsh expletive. ‘I could have killed you, you know,’ he muttered, in a bitter voice. ‘I wanted to. I think that’s why I didn’t go after you. I didn’t trust myself. And your family had suffered enough.’
Olivia shivered, but then, seeing the look in his eyes, she frowned. ‘My family?’
‘Well—your mother,’ he said, obviously expecting her to understand. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair to cause her any more——’
‘My mother?’ broke in Olivia blankly. ‘What are you talking about? Why should you single out my mother? Oh—you mean because of her angina——’
‘No. Not her angina,’ said Matthew shortly. He glanced her way, and then gave her a more studied look. ‘But—you must know.’
Olivia was getting anxious. ‘Must know what?’
‘That—that your mother had a heart attack, the day after you left home? Do you mean to say you don’t know she’s been confined to a wheelchair ever since?’
CHAPTER THREE (#u604fcc91-46c1-5499-ab8a-9f03372b77d2)
OLIVIA couldn’t sleep. For over an hour she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, and then, unable to stand the torment of her thoughts any longer, she threw back the sheet.
The silk wrap, which matched the oyster satin nightgown she was wearing, was lying at the foot of the bed, and she put it on. Perhaps if she went downstairs and made herself a warm drink it would help her to relax, she thought. Whatever, she had to escape from the bedroom, and the steady sound of Sara snoring in the other bed.
Evidently her sister harboured no uneasy memories, Olivia reflected wryly, as moonlight illuminated Sara’s sleeping form. But then, her sister was heavily pregnant with her first child, and probably needed her sleep more than most. Like Olivia, she had arrived today, but only from Portsmouth. Married to a naval rating, Sara lived in married quarters there, and she had come home for her grandmother’s funeral.
Opening the door as quietly as she could, Olivia slipped out on to the landing of the old farmhouse. Although the landing was carpeted, the boards squeaked beneath her feet, and she stifled a sigh. She had never been able to sneak downstairs without announcing her coming. It had been quite a feat, when she and Sara were younger, to raid the larder without their parents knowing. But it was years since she had trod these stairs, and she had forgotten which of them to avoid.
Still, she made it to the kitchen without any apparent disturbance and, switching on the light, she went to fill the kettle. An old cat, which might or might not have been the tabby they had had when she went away, miaowed appealingly as she took the milk from the fridge, and, although she was sure it must have had its ration for the day, she filled its dish with some of the creamy liquid. She had forgotten what real milk tasted like, she reflected, licking a drop from her finger. She had become so used to the skimmed variety.
She was pouring a mug of tea when the kitchen door opened, and her hand shook a little as her father came into the room. In his dressing-gown and slippers, he seemed slightly less remote than he had appeared earlier in the day, though his features were unforgiving as they viewed his older daughter.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Olivia stumbled into words, feeling distinctly like an interloper. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself a drink. Would—would you like some?’
‘Not for me.’ Robert Stoner approached the table, and she thought how much older he looked now than when she had left. His hair was almost completely grey, and his lean frame was prematurely stooped. ‘Your mother heard you come downstairs,’ he added, looking down at the teapot with unseeing eyes. ‘She sent me to investigate.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Olivia moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘Um—well, do you think she would like——?’
‘Your mother doesn’t drink tea at night,’ declared her father heavily. ‘It makes her restless.’
‘Oh.’ Olivia bit down on the inside of her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry—sorry if I disturbed you, that is. I—I never thought.’
‘No.’
There was a wealth of meaning in that one word, and Olivia sank down on to one of the wooden kitchen chairs. So much for hoping her father might have forgiven her, she thought wearily. If she had known yesterday what she knew now, would she still have made the trip from New York?
‘I’ll leave you to drink your tea, then.’
Robert Stoner moved back towards the door, and, risking another rebuff, Olivia got to her feet. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Won’t you at least stay while I drink my tea? We—we haven’t exchanged more than a dozen words since I got here. Don’t you think we could try to make amends? For—for Mum’s sake, at least.’
Her father turned. ‘For your mother’s sake!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Since when have you ever cared about your mother?’
‘I’ve always cared about my mother—and you,’ replied Olivia huskily. ‘For heaven’s sake, Dad, what did I do that was so terrible? Nothing more than what thousands of other girls do every day!’
‘You can stand there and say that, when you know what it did to your mother?’ said her father harshly, and Olivia sighed.
‘I didn’t know what—what happened to Mum,’ she protested.
‘But you never bothered to come home to find out, did you?’
‘Oh, Dad, I wanted you to come to New York. When—when you didn’t——’
‘You forgot about us, right?’
‘Wrong.’ Olivia pushed back the weight of her hair with a trembling hand. ‘I thought—oh, I don’t know what I thought. That you hadn’t forgiven me, I suppose.’ She looked at him helplessly. ‘And you haven’t.’
‘What did you expect?’ Robert Stoner’s face was bitter. ‘It hasn’t been easy for us, Livvy. We could have done with another pair of hands around the house, particularly since your grandmother was taken ill. But you didn’t care, did you? You were too busy making a lot of money; getting yourself involved with God knows how many other men! Shaming your mother and me by pretending young Matt wasn’t good enough for you.’
Olivia’s cheeks flamed with colour. ‘It wasn’t like that——’
‘Wasn’t it?’ Her father came back to rest his hands on the table. ‘Let me tell you, that’s exactly what it was like. Do you have any idea what could have happened to us when you turned Matt down?’
Olivia swallowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, we’re tenants here, Livvy. This house, the land it stands on, the land that gives us our livelihood, is Ryan property. How would it have been if old Matthew Ryan had decided to throw us out——’
‘He wouldn’t!’
‘He could have.’ Her father’s knuckles were white against the weathered skin of his hands. ‘He had that right, Livvy. And when you threw young Matt over, there was some in the village who thought it was nought but what we deserved.’
Olivia shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have done it,’ she said again, but there was less conviction in her voice now. What had Matthew said? That he had wanted to kill her? If his father had felt even half the anger his son had felt at what she had done revenge might have sounded very sweet.
‘Anyway, he didn’t,’ she tendered, in a small voice, and her father’s lips curled.
‘No. Because your mother was rushed to hospital, the day after you went away, and the Ryans had compassion for our situation. Young Matt even came and helped Andy, while I spent time at the hospital. My God, I hope you found what you were looking for, because I doubt you’ll ever meet a finer man than Matt Ryan!’
‘Bob! Your voice carries all over the house!’
The door behind him had opened, and now Felicity Stoner wheeled herself into the room. Since her mother’s heart attack, one of the downstairs rooms had been converted into the bedroom, which her parents occupied. Now, Mrs Stoner looked questioningly from her husband to her daughter and back again, and then shook her head reprovingly as she comprehended what was going on.
‘Cissie, what are you doing out of bed?’
Robert Stoner’s voice altered amazingly when he spoke to his wife, but for once she did not respond to its warm solicitude. ‘Never mind what I’m doing, what are you doing?’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Bob, the girl’s barely been in the house five minutes, and already you’re encouraging her to leave again.’
‘I am not!’
Her husband was indignant, but Olivia’s mother was equally adamant. ‘Yes, you are,’ she said. ‘I heard at least a part of what you were saying, and I want you to know I don’t agree with you. What was the point of Olivia’s marrying Matt if she wasn’t in love with him? Would you have had them live a miserable life together, just because you were afraid of offending the Ryans?’
It was fair, and it was reasonable, and Olivia just wished she had thought of that explanation. But then, she hadn’t left because she wasn’t in love with Matt; rather because she was.
But, not for the first time, she looked at her mother with wondering eyes. Felicity Stoner seemed so frail and defenceless, and yet, at times, she could assert a remarkable strength of purpose. For instance, never once, in any of the letters she had exchanged with her daughter, had she so much as hinted at the deterioration of her condition. And here she was now, finding a perfectly reasonable explanation for Olivia’s leaving home.
But Olivia didn’t think it was pride, or a misplaced sense of compassion, that caused her mother to defend her. Even though she had never mentioned it to her daughter, she must have known why Olivia had chosen to leave. In spite of her grandmother’s admonition to Olivia to keep what she had learned to herself, there had always been one other person who knew the truth. And that was her mother. Olivia wondered how far she would have let her relationship with Matthew go, before she had had to tell her daughter the truth.
Now, however, it was her father who was forced to defend himself. ‘Things had to be said,’ he muttered, giving his thinning hair a smoothing touch. ‘Livvy can’t come back here and think we’re going to treat her like the prodigal daughter——’
‘I don’t think she expects that,’ said Mrs Stoner drily. She gave her daughter a thoughtful look, and then her pale face broke into a smile. ‘But I am glad to see her, whatever you say. And I’m hoping she won’t run away again, as soon as your mother’s funeral’s over.’
Olivia’s throat was suddenly tight with emotion, and, leaving the table, she approached her mother’s chair. Kneeling down beside her, she felt the years just slip away, and when Felicity put a hand to her cheek she covered it with her own.
‘I’d—I’d like to stay—for a little while,’ she said, as her mother’s thumb wiped an errant tear from her chin. Perry wasn’t going to be too pleased, but Agnes could manage without her. ‘I’m sorry about—about Grandmother, but I’m glad it gave me a reason to come.’
‘You didn’t need one,’ declared her father roughly, but she saw his face had lost much of its cold severity. ‘Now, I suggest we all try and get some sleep. The cows won’t thank me if I’m late for early morning milking.’
The sun was streaming through the kitchen windows when Olivia came downstairs next morning. She had overslept—it was already after ten o’clock—but she felt so much more optimistic today.
The previous day now seemed like a bad dream. Her encounter with Matthew, her tense arrival at the house, and her subsequent confrontation with her father, had all combined to make her wish she hadn’t come. But her mother had changed all that. With a few words she had cleared the air between them, and, although Olivia didn’t delude herself that Robert Stoner was completely won over, at least they might be civil with one another.
The day before, the house had been full of friends and neighbours, all of whom had come to offer their condolences. In one way, it had made it easier for Olivia; she had felt like just another visitor, and certainly her father had made her feel like an outsider. But in another it had made it harder; she had known that sooner or later she would be called to account, and even her sister, Sara, had treated her like a stranger.
Well, she supposed, they were strangers, after all. Sara had only been fourteen when Olivia went away. Now, she was twenty-four, a young married woman, on the verge of having her own family to care for. What did they know about one another really? Only what their mother had conveyed to them, through the medium of her letters.
However, it was her brother, Andrew, who was sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a pot of coffee with Enid Davis, the daily woman, when Olivia entered the room. Apparently Mrs Davis had been employed on a temporary basis, just after her grandmother had been taken ill. But, when it had become apparent that Harriet Stoner was not going to be able to do very much for herself, she had stayed on. Olivia had been introduced to her the day before, and although Mrs Davis was no one’s idea of a rosy-cheeked retainer, she seemed competent enough.
Now, both she and Andrew rose as Olivia came into the room, and she shook her head disarmingly, urging them to stay where they were. ‘Do carry on,’ she said, conscious that her cream silk trousers and matching vest-top were coming under close scrutiny. ‘I’ll join you, if I may. It smells delicious.’
Her brother hesitated for a moment, and then subsided back into his seat, but Mrs Davis moved away from the table. ‘I’ve finished,’ she said, ‘and I’ve got the bedrooms to see to. Oh,’ she paused, ‘unless you’d like me to get you some breakfast, Miss Stoner. We’ve home-cured bacon, and our own eggs, if you’d like some.’
Olivia shook her head, aware that if she had chosen to take the woman up on her offer it wouldn’t have been welcomed. Tall and angular, Enid Davis had assumed an air of possessive authority, and even the way she said ‘Miss Stoner’ seemed to underline her opinion that Olivia was an outsider.
‘I’ll get myself some toast later, if I want it,’ Olivia said now, collecting a cup from the pinewood dresser, and seating herself beside her brother. After all, she thought defensively, this was still her home. But she managed a tight smile anyway. ‘Thank you.’
