Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair Page 12

  'If I have a few hours to spare I hack away at the garden or do some work in the house. And I have a woman from the village who comes in four mornings a week to clean the rooms I use and do what she can.'

  'Have you thought of opening it to the public?'

  'I do on some summer weekends, but to do it regularly you'd need lavatories and a car park and guides—so many things that it would take years to recoup your investment.'

  'Can't you get grants and things to help?'

  'Yes, if you're willing to sell your soul to local government bureaucracy.'

  'Will you show me round?'

  Nick smiled. 'I wondered when you'd get round to that. Yes, all right. Are you going to start eating that?' he added, pointing. 'I thought you said you were starving.'

  Olivia looked down at her untouched plate and laughed. 'I was so amazed at you really owning this place that I completely forgot about the food.'

  'That must be a first, then,' Nick commented.

  Her eyes softened. 'No, I think there have been other times that I've been distracted since we met.'

  But that was getting on to dangerous ground and Nick quickly changed the subject.

  After their meal he took Olivia on a slow tour round the house. Most of the rooms had their furniture swathed in dust-sheets that didn't look to have been moved for years, so that clouds of throat-catching dust floated in the air whenever Nick lifted one off to show her a beautifully carved day-bed or an oak chair black with age. There was a whole set of priceless porcelain in a display cupboard but holes in the oak floorboards, a beautiful portrait by a renowned painter but a large crack in the ornate ceiling, the ticking of a beautiful long-case clock but the scuttle of mice along the library shelves.

  They came to a stop in a long, shadowed picture gallery on the first floor, its walls smelling of mustiness, and Olivia looked around her. 'This place,' she announced firmly, 'needs some tender, loving care.'

  Nick gave her a wary look. 'I don't think I like the tone you said that in.'

  'You can't just leave it to rot like this; something has got to be done—and done fast.' She turned a bright, excited gaze on him. 'I could write about it; it's the sort of story the Americana public would love, especially the women. Every housewife in the country would see it as a challenge, transforming a place like this, making it bright and clean again. We could offer working holidays,' she said enthusiastically. 'People could stay here for free in return for fixing the plumbing or mending the tapestries.'

  Nick raised an eyebrow. 'We?'

  The one word brought her devastatingly back to earth, but Olivia recovered valiantly and said, 'Sure. I'd do the organising from the American end.'

  He gave a small, disbelieving smile but said, 'Have you seen enough?'

  'What more is there to see?'

  'Attics, cellars, a dozen or so more bedrooms, the servants' quarters, the original kitchen, the—'

  'OK,' Olivia cut in. 'I get the picture. We'll save it for daylight. Do you have a phone? I ought to ring my hotel and tell them I won't be back tonight.'

  'It's in my sitting-room. Think you can find your way? I'll get some more logs for the fire.'

  He strode off, and Olivia followed more slowly, turning out the lights, stopping to look at things she hadn't noticed before. Reaching the foot of the stairs, she confidently turned in what she thought was the direction of the sitting-room—and of course got hopelessly lost. Ever a romantic, Olivia thought she ought to be carrying a branched candlestick that flickered in the draught and finally blew out and left her alone in the dark in the strange, haunted house. Instead she flicked on electric lights and felt no fear as she looked in empty rooms and yelled, 'Nick! Hey, I'm lost.'

  After about ten minutes he came to find her and took her back to the sitting-room. Olivia called the hotel and afterwards Nick suggested they watch the television for a while so that they could find out about the extent of the bud weather on the news. 'If it keeps up like this we'll lose ill our work tomorrow,' he said grimly.'

  'Does it often happen? she asked, looking across at him. He had brought in another armchair and set it at the other side of the fire.

  'Too often, in the winter. You can't take learners up if the weather is at all bad. And it costs money to have the choppers and pilots just sitting around waiting for the weather to improve.'

  To divert him, Olivia said, 'I think I'd like to learn.'

  Nick gave a lazy grin. 'Got hooked, have you? I suppose you think it looks easy.'

  'I think you make it look easy, but I'm sure it's not.'

  'Well, that makes a change; most pupils think if they can drive a car they can fly a chopper.'

  Olivia almost asked, 'Will you teach me?' but remembered that she had very little time left. Her face shadowed and she looked down into the fire at the spurting flames that came from the sweet-smelling applewood logs.

  A silence fell between them, but after a couple of minutes Nick said, 'The next programme looks quite interesting; let's watch it, shall we?' and he turned up the sound.

  It wasn't interesting; it was a deadly boring programme about gravity waves. But Olivia's eyes remained fixed on the screen although she let her mind wander almost at once. Finding out that Nick owned this magnificent house had been a shock, and for a while she'd thought that inheriting it was the reason for the change in him. OK, he'd also inherited a great many financial worries with it, but surely that hadn't been enough to change his whole attitude, especially his attitude to her. Was he afraid that she would want him just for his house? But that was a stupid idea; she'd been crazy about him long before that, as Nick very well knew. Back at hl» office Nick had said that he didn't want to bring her here, that there were things he wanted to keep private. Presumably he meant the house. And if he didn't want her to write about it then she wouldn't, of course. But she couldn't help thinking there was more to it than that. She had got closer to Nick tonight, but he was still holding back; she hadn't got close enough.

  After the programme Olivia insisted on taking the plates back to the kitchen and washing than up. She also wiped down all the work surfaces—not that they really needed it because Nick's cleaning woman kept the room neat, but she didn't want to just sit and pretend to watch television any more.

  Going back to the sitting-room, she stood in the doorway and said, 'It's been a long day. I guess I'll go to my room. Is there hot water for a bath?'

  'That's one thing I do have.' Nick switched off the television set and got to his feet. 'I'd better show you the way in case you get lost again.'

  They climbed the creaking back stairs and walked along the corridor to her door. Olivia hesitated. 'Where's your room—just in case there's a fire or something?'

  Nick visibly hesitated, then pointed two doors back along the corridor towards the staircase. 'In there. If you scream loud enough I'll probably hear you.'

  'Well, that's comforting. Goodnight.'

  The room was warm now, the flames giving a welcoming glow to the room. Olivia switched on a couple of lamps, one of which immediately popped and went out again, but she preferred the firelight anyway. As Nick had promised, the water was beautifully hot, and he'd put out soap, a new toothbrush and toothpaste for her. And when she went back into the bedroom after drying herself she found a pair of his pyjamas on the bed. Which was a double surprise because she'd never known him to wear pyjamas; in New York he'd always worn boxer shorts if he'd worn anything at all. She put them on and laughed at her reflection in the mirror; she looked like a child dressed up in adult clothes. As she watched, the trousers, that fastened with a button at the waist, gradually slid off her slim hips and fell to her feet. Olivia stepped out of them, deciding to make do with just the jacket.

  Thrilled at the thought of sleeping in a four-poster, Olivia climbed into the high bed, and was touched to find that Nick had put a hot-water bottle into it for her. But even so the sheets felt cool for a while, keeping her awake even if she'd wanted to sleep. But she was too te
nse, too aware of Nick being only a couple of rooms away. She turned restlessly, not used to the soft, down-filled mattress, but knew it was more than that. Her libido—or, in other words, good old-fashioned sexual desire—was giving her hell. Olivia thought of the times when they'd made love back in the States, of Nick's eagerness, of his overwhelming need for her. Surely he couldn't have changed so completely that he had no interest in sex any more? But no, of course he hadn't; Olivia thought of the one kiss he'd given her since she'd been here and knew that fundamentally he was the same.

  It was no good; she just couldn't sleep. Olivia sat up in the big bed. Is Nick feeling like this? she wondered. Will he come to me? Time passed and the fire died down, but not the fire that grew deep inside her. A strange kind of anger at Nick's rejection filled her heart. He'd said that any woman would do for him; well, she was a woman, wasn't she?

  Throwing back the covers, Olivia got out of bed and went quickly to the door, carried there by the force of anger. The corridor was in darkness but she could see well enough to find her way to Nick's door. There was no lock on it, just as there was none of hers. Taking a deep breath, Olivia turned the handle and slipped inside.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The lamp beside Nick's bed was still alight and there was an open book in his slack hand; he must have fallen asleep while he was reading. By its light Olivia crept over to his bed. Carefully she took the book from him and put it on the bedside table. She stood for a long moment looking down at him, her heart full of love, her body urgent with longing. He was going to be awfully mad at her, she supposed, but she hoped that her being here, offering herself to him, would awaken his desire and kill his linger.

  As she watched he moved restlessly and began to mutter in his sleep. A bad dream, or was he, too, torn by de-sire, even though he was asleep? Olivia reached up to undo the buttons of her pyjama jacket, but paused when Nick flung his arms out of bed and pushed down the duvet as if he was terribly hot. His chest was bare and in the dim light she thought she could see strange splodges of colour running across his chest and arms. Puzzled, she leaned closer, then gave a gasp of horror. They were scars. The red, contused marks of terrible burns. Swaying with shock, unable to think, Olivia turned to leave but Mumbled against the table and sent the book and a glass crashing to the floor.

  Immediately Nick woke and saw her. He sat up, pulling the duvet over him, but then saw by Olivia's stunned, horrified face that he was too late. 'What the hell are you doing here?' he demanded savagely.

  'Nick, oh, God, Nick, your poor chest.' Olivia put her hands up to her face, trembling violently.

  Jumping out of bed, Nick strode over to her. Getting hold of her arms, he yanked them violently down. 'You just couldn't take no for an answer, could you? Could you, you little bitch?' He shook her forcefully. 'All right, well now you know why I've changed so much, why I didn't want you near me.' He gave a sobbing kind of groan. 'And you've reacted in exactly the way I expected you to. You're sickened by what you've seen.'

  'No! No, that isn't true.' Olivia tried to speak but he was still shaking her, his face tormented.

  'Why couldn't you keep away? Why couldn't you just go away and leave me alone?' Furiously he pushed her away from him.

  Olivia almost fell, but regained her balance and ran to him. 'Why didn't you tell me? Was it the plane crash? Oh, Nick, my poor darling.'

  'Yes, that's right—poor Nick. That's what I'll always be to you now, won't I? A thing of horror. A burnt—'

  'Don't!' Olivia tried to put her hand over his mouth but he wrenched it away. 'Oh, Nick, don't, please.'

  'I ought to really shock you,' he said fiercely, his lips drawn back in a snarl. 'I ought to tell you about the rest of what happened to me. That would really turn you off, really make you sick.' He gave a sudden savage laugh that was worse than any anger. 'Did you come in here for sex? Is that what you wanted? Well, you've come to the wrong place, to the wrong man! And now you've seen yourself, you can damn well get out!'

  Grabbing her, Nick half carried, half dragged her to the door and flung it open. Olivia tried to resist, tears running down her cheeks, trying to speak through her sobs. 'No, Nick, let me stay. Talk to me. I don't care about it. It doesn't make any difference.'

  But Nick pushed her violently out into the corridor. 'Well, it damn well does to me!' he yelled, and slammed the door.

  Olivia ended up against the far wall, but immediately went back and beat on the door. 'Nick, please let me in. You've got it all wrong.' But she heard him dragging something across in front of the door.

  'Go away, Olivia. Just go away and leave me alone.'

  She called his name a couple more times but knew that it was no good. Slowly she went back to her own room, feeling numb with shock. Her heart was filled with anguish at the terrible pain he must have gone through. If only she had been with him, had been able to help him bear the pain of his injuries. They, and the grief over his father's death, must have been an almost impossible burden to bear. But Nick was strong and he had recovered, except for this terrible masochistic pride that had made him so angry with her.

  Reaction set in, and she began to shiver as if she was very cold, her whole body trembling. Quickly Olivia climbed back into bed, but sat up, pulling the covers up to her chin as she leaned back against the carved headboard. She tried to think, but her mind kept going off at tangents. He'll never forgive me for this, was the uppermost thought. She'd made such a mess of things, walking in on him like that, but how could she possibly have known? I should have waited, Olivia told herself with fierce self-reproach. I should have waited until he told me himself. But the fool of a man had such pride that he might never have told her, would have let her go back to America without her ever knowing why he was keeping her at a distance, beating her as if he no longer loved her.

  Forcing her brain to work, she tried to think it through, realising it must have been the plane crash in which he'd sustained such terrible injuries. There had been that long gap when he hadn't answered her letters; Nick must have been in hospital then. And when he'd found out the extent of his injuries he had written that terrible letter breaking up their relationship. But just for a few scars? Did he really think she'd give up loving him because of that? If so, he couldn't think much of her character or place much faith in her love for him. But then Olivia remembered what Nick had shouted at her in his fury: that other, worse things had happened to him. She shivered again, realising she probably still didn't know the half of it. Oh, Nick. She tried to send her love to comfort him, willing him to sense it and to come to her.

  Olivia stayed awake the whole night, lonely and miserable as she knew Nick must be. But he didn't come to her room, and she hadn't really expected him to. It had been such a long day, and she felt terribly, oppressively tired, but didn't attempt to sleep, knew that she couldn't even if she tried. Her mind kept going round in circles, trying to think what was best to do, how to handle it. One thing was for sure; she wasn't going tamely back to the States. Nick had been so careful not to let her know anything about what had happened to him that her seeing his scars must have been a great emotional shock. Olivia could understand that. And she guessed that his reaction would be to behave even more coldly and cruelly towards her in an attempt to make her hate him and go home. Well, she wasn't going to fall for that one either, she thought with steely determination. Now she knew why he was acting like this she could easily find the strength and courage to take it.

  She closed her eyes tiredly, her head aching. Now she knew why Nick had seemed so mixed up, hating her one moment, then showing that he cared the next. The crazy idiot; he must have longed to be close to her and yet afraid that she would be repulsed by his scars. And rather than face that, or have her stay with him out of pity, he had tried to convince her that he no longer loved her. But thankfully she had been stubborn enough to stay, encouraged by the few glimpses of his real emotions underneath the cold indifference. Olivia sighed; she certainly hadn't helped any when she'd let N
ick see her horror tonight—but it had been horror at the pain he must have gone through, not at his poor scarred body.

  Turning restlessly, she decided that poor was entirely the wrong word. Certainly not one that could be applied to Nick, whatever his injuries. But if it was pity he was afraid of, then OK, fine—he sure as hell wouldn't get any from her! Olivia grew still, the idea filling her mind. He not only wouldn't get any pity, he'd get exactly the opposite. She thought about it feverishly, a glimmer of hope filling her heart. It would mean belittling his injuries and being scornful of his over-sensitivity, but it was the only way she could see out of the problem. It would be hard, she thought grimly, especially now that he'd seen how horrified she'd been. But she'd do it somehow; she just had to. There seemed to be no other way, none that would overcome Nick's angry pride and give them a chance of happiness. And there was nothing to lose; nothing could be worse than the way things were between them now.

  Daylight began to permeate the threadbare velvet curtains, reveal the shabby grandeur of the room. Nick also had the problem of this house on his shoulders—another immense burden that he was trying to bear alone. The proud idiot, Olivia thought, pity now banished entirely from her mind. What we need here is some energy and initiative! Getting swiftly out of bed, she had a shower, dressed, and took a notebook and pen from her bag. Impatient of the dim light, she opened the curtains—and stood entranced at the view. During the night the skies had cleared, a breeze blowing the fog out of existence. Now the sun shone on what had once been a formal garden graced with stone statues and a fountain. No water jettied from it now of course, and the garden paths were overgrown, but the basic beauty of symmetry was there, and beyond the garden parkland that fell away to the lake in the valley. She gazed for several minutes, the scene delighting her eyes, but then Olivia remembered and tore herself away to go and sit at the table and write.

  When Nick came downstairs at seven-thirty he found Olivia in the kitchen, an apron tied round her waist, busily preparing breakfast. He walked into the room, his face drawn and wary, the shadows round his eyes proving that he, too, had spent a sleepless night.