Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair Read online

  It made Nick grin and, after an inward struggle, he joined in, but mimicking Laurel and Hardy instead. It was the kind of witty, spontaneous funning that they'd often shared when they were together back in New York, when they had been close in mind as well as in body, striking sparks off each other mentally as well as sexually. Inevitably it brought back memories, all of them good. Her eyes alight, laughing, Olivia tried desperately not to say, 'Do you remember?' But Nick must have been thinking it too, because he stopped laughing quite suddenly and turned away, a lost, unhappy look in his eyes.

  Reaching out, Olivia put her hand over his. 'We had such good times,' she said softly.

  'Yes.' Nick nodded, his face softening.

  'Please—won't you tell me what's the matter?' she pleaded.

  His hands doubled into fists. 'I can't.' He looked into her eyes. 'Don't ask me again, Olivia.'

  It was a statement, a question, and a plea. He waited, and she knew she had no alternative but to give him the assurance he wanted. 'No, all right,' she agreed with deep reluctance.

  That afternoon she had arranged to visit another castle a little further south but still on the coast, but this one, Bamburgh, was very different. Again she had to walk quite a way to reach it, but Nick didn't come with her this time. Olivia didn't mind so much because the castle was full of the most beautiful things: armour, porcelain, jade, paintings; she spent much longer than she'd intended looking round, and then had to hurry back to the village and the field where Nick waited. But on the way she passed the little Grace Darling museum, and just had to go inside to see what it was all about. The main feature was a big, heavy-looking rowing-boat which the twenty- three-year-old Grace Darling had helped her father, the local lighthouse-keeper, to row through through wild seas to rescue the crew of a ship driven on to the rocks in 1838. The story caught at her imagination as it had caught at that of Grace's contemporaries, who had turned her into a national heroine.

  'Olivia.'

  She turned from the showcase she was poring over. 'Oh, hi, Nick.'

  'I thought I'd find you in here. You're already an hour later than you said you'd be.'

  'I didn't know I was going to find this place. And the castle was full of fascinating things,' she explained excusably.

  He didn't stop to tell her off, just said sharply, 'We've got to get going. The weather is closing in.'

  They went out into the street and she saw that the sun had gone completely, the air smelt cold and damp and there were swirls of mist rising. Olivia hesitated. 'Will it be all right to go back? Perhaps we ought to stay here tonight and go back tomorrow?'

  'No way,' Nick said firmly. 'Come on, let's get going.'

  It had been an innocent enough suggestion, but Nick had obviously taken it the wrong way, perhaps even seeing her tardiness as a ploy to make it necessary for them to stay at a hotel together. Olivia realised this, belatedly, and almost wished she had, but Nick was in no mood, and hurried her along to the chopper. He shooed off the usual group of people who had come to have a look, and took off immediately.

  The mist was below them, on the ground, but the sky overhead was almost as dark as night. Leaving off her head-set, Olivia concentrated on speaking her impressions into her microcassette recorder, her eyes half closed, unaware of her surroundings. She was still concentrating hard when Nick reached over and tapped her on the knee to attract her attention. He pointed to the headset and she put it on.

  'I'm going down to re-fuel.'

  He landed at a small airfield, and Olivia climbed out of the chopper after him. 'Is there somewhere we can get a drink?'

  'Sorry, there's no time. The fog is spreading south and I need to keep ahead of it.'

  But Nick not only had to fly south but also westwards, and as they travelled towards Stratford the mist gradually enveloped the ground below them. Olivia sat quietly, not exactly unconcerned but not afraid either. She knew Nick was a good pilot so she let him concentrate on flying by his instruments, and listened as he spoke on the radio to men at stations on the ground who were guiding them home.

  As they neared Harnbury he pressed another button on the radio and they heard Bill Fairford's voice in relieved answer. 'About time you checked in, boss. I was just going to go home and have my supper.'

  Nick grinned. 'We're almost there. Turn the lights on, will you, Bill?'

  Almost immediately a group of powerful floodlights bit through the fog a couple of miles or so over to the west. Olivia pointed excitedly and Nick nodded.

  'Do you see them, boss?'

  'We see them, Bill. Be with you in a couple of minutes. You should be able to hear us soon.'

  'I'll go outside and wait. Over and out.'

  It was a strange, ghostly feeling as the 'copter descended slowly into the circle of light and then into the mist, the rotor blades sending it swirling madly about them. The ground was completely invisible and it was as if they were going down into a bottomless tunnel of grey cotton wool. But then they touched the ground as lightly as if it had been broad daylight, and Nick switched off the engine, letting the silence encompass than. He turned to Olivia. 'Sorry about that. You were very brave. I hope you weren't too frightened.'

  Olivia took off her head-set. 'I wasn't brave because I wasn't frightened. I trust you.'

  Nick seemed about to say something, but Bill came over and opened her door. 'You all right, Olivia?'

  'Sure. Fine.' He helped her out and she was amazed at how thick the fog had become. He had turned off the big floodlights and there were only the lamps by the hangars and that from the windows of the offices to penetrate the enveloping murky darkness. 'This way,' Bill said, taking her arm to guide her to the office building.

  Nick followed, bringing her camera-bag. 'Have the others got back safely?' he asked Bill.

  'Been back for hours and gone home before it got thick. Jane, too. The roads are really bad,' he added with relish, "flraffic jams for miles on all the major roads and approaches into the towns. There was a bulletin on the radio telling people not to drive, said it would be suicidal.'

  Nick frowned. 'Olivia has to get to Stratford.'

  'Not tonight she won't. There was a pile-up on the A439 about an hour ago, and the tail-back is so long that people are just abandoning their cars and walking.'

  'The A439? That's the road from here to Stratford, isn't it?' Olivia asked.

  'Yes,' Bill nodded. 'Well, I'm off home myself now you're back safely.'

  'But how are you going to get home?' Olivia exclaimed. 'Surely you're not going to risk driving after all you've said?'

  'No, I only live in the village. I always walk—and I could find my way blindfold. See you tomorrow, then, boss.'

  'Wait a minute, Bill.' Nick put out a hand to stop him. 'If Olivia can't get back to Stratford she'll need somewhere to stay. Could your wife put her up for the night?'

  The elder man shook his head regretfully. 'Sorry I can't help, but we've got our daughter and her kiddies staying with us. The little boy's even sleeping on the couch.'

  Nick nodded and stepped back. "Thanks, anyway. And thanks for being here to guide us in, Bill.'

  A tense silence fell after Bill left. To break it Olivia said, 'I'm longing for a hot drink. Would you like a coffee?'

  'Yes. Please.'

  She went into the kitchen to make it, and Nick went outside, to see for himself just how bad it was, presumably. When Olivia came from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee he was on the phone, getting an up-to-date weather report. When he'd finished his face looked grim. 'I'm afraid Bill was right; there's no way you're going to be able to drive home in this.'

  'Maybe it will clear in a couple of hours.'

  Nick shook his head. 'No, it's set in for the night.'

  'A famous British fog!' Olivia exclaimed brightly. 'What is it you call them—super somethings?'

  'What?' Nick's brows drew into a frown, then cleared as he gave a small grin. 'I think you mean pea-soupers. We don't have them so much nowadays; it's ju
st our luck that it's happened today.' He frowned again and said tersely, 'I can probably make it home, but I don't know what to do about—'

  'Don't worry about me,' Olivia broke in, her chin rising. 'I can push a couple of armchairs together in the rest- room and sleep on those. Just so long as there's something to eat. I'm starving.'

  They went into the kitchen to look, but could only find some cans of non-alcoholic beer in the fridge and a couple of chocolate bars in a cupboard. Nick swung the door of the cupboard shut in anger. 'There ought to be some emergency food here.'

  'Don't worry,' Olivia said shortly. 'I'll manage perfectly well.' She went into the rest-room and began to drag the chairs together.

  Nick stood in the doorway for a moment, his face grim. 'Leave that,' he ordered. And added with deep reluctance, 'You'd better come home with me.'

  'No, thanks. I'll be fine here.'

  'No, you won't; the heating goes off at night and you'll be cold and hungry.'

  'I wouldn't dream of putting you out,' Olivia answered with formal hostility, aligning the chairs.

  'You can't stay here.'

  'Yes, I darn well can!' She went over to draw the curtains across the windows, but Nick came over and caught her arm, swinging her round. Olivia faced him in hurt anger. 'You don't want me to go with you; you've made that clear enough.'

  'No, I don't!' Nick admitted fiercely. 'But you can't stay here.'

  She gave a scornful laugh. 'What are you afraid of— that I'll attack you or something?' His grip on her arm tightened so sharply that Olivia winced, but she immediately felt guilty when she saw the sudden bleakness in his eyes. 'I'm—I'm sorry,' she muttered, and bit her lip.

  'There are parts of my life I would have preferred to keep private,' he told her harshly. Letting her go, Nick stepped away and gave a mirthless laugh. 'But it seems there's no help for it.' Picking up his coffee, he drank it down, then, in control of himself again, said curtly, 'We'd better get going.'

  Using a strong torch to light their way, they set off through the fog, Nick taking the long way round by the road and up to the big stone entrance. He unlocked the gates with a key, but Olivia made no comment as he held one open for her to walk through. And she stayed silent as they walked down the long driveway, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the fog. They reached the house more quickly than she had done by the lower road when she'd had to negotiate all the fallen trees, but she could see little of it in the foggy darkness. A light burned in the entrance porch but there were none at the windows, and no one came forward to welcome them when Nick unlocked the door and ushered her in.

  He led her into a kind of hallway, said, 'Wait a minute,' and went to switch on more lights.

  The place smelt of age and dust and damp, so that Olivia didn't know what to expect. But she gaped in astonishment as the lights of a great hanging chandelier revealed a wide and beautiful carved oak staircase, portraits and tapestries on the walls, an age-old chest against the panelling.

  'This way.'

  Hastily she followed Nick as he went through a door on the left. He switched on more lights, and she found herself in a huge dining hall two storey’s high. A great carved marble fireplace was in the centre of the long wall to her right, and down the length of the middle of the hall ran an immense refectory table with a couple of dozen high-backed chairs set on either side. But it was to the far end of the room that her eyes were drawn, to an exquisitely carved oak screen that stretched the width of the room and so high that it formed a gallery for the second storey. Above it there was an ornate plaster-work ceiling, its colours hidden by masses of cobwebs that hung down so low she could almost reach them.

  Nick had walked on, but Olivia stood in the middle of the room and stared round until her eyes almost fell out.

  "This way,' Nick said again, but she couldn't move.

  'My God, Nick, do you really live in this place?'

  'Yes.' His reply was short. 'Are you coming?'

  Dragging her gaze away, Olivia hurried to join him, her eyes searching his face, but he said nothing more until they reached a smaller room, the one that she'd seen when she'd looked through the windows. Nick drew the curtains and knelt to light the fire, putting on screwed-up newspaper and thin sticks, then adding logs when it caught. He did it so skilfully that she knew it must be an everyday task, and guessed that this was his sitting-room, the place with the single armchair, where he spent his lonely evenings.

  He straightened up and saw she was still standing. 'Sit down and get warm; I'll go and light a fire in one of the bedrooms for you.'

  'Can I help?'

  Nick hesitated, then shrugged. 'All right, you can carry some logs.'

  He took her into a surprisingly small kitchen, where an Aga cooker gave out a welcome heat. Beside it was stacked a pile of neatly sawn logs. Each carrying an armful, he led the way up a small narrow staircase to an upper corridor, to a room that was shrouded in dust- covers. Nick pulled some of them off to reveal a four- poster bed with pretty, feminine hangings. 'If's a bit dusty in here, I'm afraid, but it isn't damp. And there's a bathroom through that door.' He indicated a door so well concealed in the wall that Olivia hadn't noticed it. He lit the fire while she explored the bathroom, falling in love with the antique bath on ornate metal feet, and the pretty, flower-bedecked wash-basin and toilet.

  There were so many questions she longed to ask, but was wise enough to wait. This house, she guessed, must have a great deal to do with why Nick had changed, and she remembered that she'd promised not to ask him about that again. When the fire was going well, Nick found some sheets and a duvet, and they made up the bed between them; then they went back to the kitchen and Nick looked in the freezer. 'There should be something here we can eat.'

  'Why don't you let me look?'

  This time he didn't hesitate. 'OK.'

  There was lots of food, but it was the sort of food a man on his own would have in stock: ready-meals and packets of frozen vegetables. Using them, and some fresh stuff she found in the fridge, Olivia managed to put together a halfway decent meal which they carried through to the sitting-room. Nick took a bottle of white wine from a small wine-rack in the corner.

  'Don't you have a cellar?' Olivia commented.

  'A huge one—but if's too far to go just for a bottle of wine.'

  They sat down to eat, and after a few minutes Nick raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'Are you sulking?'

  'I don't sulk—you should know that,' she shot back.

  'In that case you're behaving very unnaturally. You must be dying of curiosity about this house, and yet you haven't asked me one question about it.'

  'I promised not to.'

  He frowned for a moment. 'But that was about—' Nick broke off as he saw her eyes widen. 'What do you want to know?' he said quickly.

  'Do you live in this huge place alone?'

  'Yes.'

  A typically unhelpful masculine answer. 'Are you looking after the place for the owner? Are you some kind of caretaker?'

  'I suppose you could call me that,' Nick agreed, again on a sardonic note. 'A caretaker for posterity.'

  'Posterity? I don't understand.'

  Nick picked up their soup plates and collected the next course from a heated trolley. When he sat down again he said, 'The house is mine.'

  'Yours?' Olivia stared at him in stupefied amazement.

  Leaning forward, Nick pushed her dropped jaw back up and closed her mouth. 'Yes. I inherited it from my lather.'

  Recovering a little, Olivia said, 'But you never said anything about your father owning a place like this when we—when you were working for the airline.'

  'He didn't own it then. It belonged to my great-uncle, who had been more or less a recluse for twenty years. He just lived in a couple of rooms and let the rest deteriorate—as I'm doing,' he added with a grim smile.

  'And when your great-uncle died your father inherited it?'

  'Yes, and had to pay a large inheritance tax. And then, of course, my father w
as killed just a few months later so that I had to pay another inheritance tax on the place. I had just enough left to set up the helicopter business.'

  'So there was no money to spend on the house?'

  'No.' He gave an expressive wave of his hand. 'As you see.'

  'But it must be full of valuable things.'

  'Not as much as you think. My family were supposed to have come over with the conqueror, and flourished for a while, but then the main branch died out and those left were reduced to being not much more than farmers and lords of the manor until they got rich again by selling wool. So they built this house to establish their rediscovered status, but unfortunately the wool industry collapsed and they were unable to buy enough land to maintain the house. A place of this size needs plenty of land—forestry and farms—to provide the money to support it. So there was never enough money to repair it properly, to replace the furniture, or put in modern amenities.'

  'So nearly everything in the house is original to when it was built?'

  'Yes. Original—but threadbare. And I'd like to keep it that way if I can.' He paused, searching for words. 'I feel a kind of responsibility towards all my ancestors; I don't think they'd approve if I sold off the heart of the house to maintain the shell.'

  Olivia looked up at the portraits on the walls, wondering if the spirits of these people in their powdered wigs and satin dresses were here, watching and listening to them. But she felt no chill of coldness down her spine, only the warmth of the fire and the aged beauty of the room. 'Are you going to keep it, then?'

  'I'd like to—for a while.' His eyes shadowed. 'But I don't see much hope. I'll probably end up giving it to the National Trust, if they'll take it. They usually like a large endowment to go with a house when they take one over.'

  'I guess you don't even have much time to spend here?'