Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair Read online

  Scott had sulked for a while, expecting her to come running back, but when she hadn't there had been a nasty few months when he had tried to persuade her to go back to him, playing on her sympathy, making promises that she knew he wouldn't keep. But he was too late; by that time Olivia had had a taste of freedom and found it a heady wine. She had given herself up to her career, made new friends, a new life. Taken off her wedding-ring, and even stopped using Scott's name and reverted to her own name of Grant. In time she went out with other men, but neither had nor wanted any more emotional ties. Once was enough. And when Scott cut up rough about a divorce Olivia just let it go hang, not caring either way. For almost two years she had been perfectly content—until she went alone one night to a concert and the man in the next seat fell asleep on her shoulder…

  Olivia was up early the next morning, trying to disguise with make-up the dark circles round her eyes that a couple of sleepless nights had left, angry with herself for looking haggard on the one day when she wanted to look her best. But the brightness of her eyes, the excited expectation in than, made up for any lines of tiredness. She was one of the first down to breakfast, and was soon in the car, following the route that the receptionist had marked out for her on a local map. It was another sunny day, more like early summer than March, the sun low and bright in the sky so that she had to drive with the visor down, the trees that lined the road casting shuttering flashes of light and shade through the side-window so that at times it was difficult to see.

  There was little traffic about and it took less than half an hour to drive the eight miles or so of twisting road to Harnbury-on-the-Wold. It was a small village of old honey-stone houses with lichen-covered tiles on the roofs. There was a church with its door standing open and a woman on her knees outside scrubbing the stone step. There was a little grocery store with bow-fronted windows and a discreet 'Post Office' sign; that, too, was open, and a man came out with a newspaper under his arm, unhitched a dog from a convenient railing and set off at a brisk walk. Olivia smiled; the shop looked like something out of a child's story-book, and she longed to go inside, but right now she had other things on her mind.

  Her eyes searching eagerly, she slowed right down, looking for a signboard, but she had driven right through the village and was beginning to think that she had missed it when, half a mile further on, she came to a gateway between high brick pillars with stone balls on top. And on the left hand pillar what she was looking for—a sign which read, 'Evesham Helicopter Services'. And below it a smaller sign: 'Harnbury Hall next left', and an arrow pointing further on down the road.

  Pulling into the kerb in the shade of an overhanging tree, Olivia switched off the engine, her heart thumping. She tried to still it, told herself that she was behaving like a love-sick teenager all over again. But she was no teenager now, and knew that this love for Nick was definitely the real thing, the 'now and forever' kind that transformed your whole life. It had certainly transformed hers. She had begun to think of herself as a career girl, devoted to her work, and on the whole content to be so. Admittedly there were times when biology reared its head, making her feel frustrated and lonely, but hard work, that great panacea of all ills, usually cured it. And if that failed there was always a holiday, or self- indulgent trips to the theatre, ballet or a concert.

  And it was on one of her concert nights that she had met Nick. Normally she would have gone with a friend, a fellow music-lover, but the friend was unwell and couldn't come. They were playing Grieg, Olivia remembered. She had taken her place, the empty seat beside her, and two empty seats on the other side. They had stayed empty as she read her programme and the concert hall filled. Then, just as the lights went down, a man had come into the row from the other end and sat down beside her. She had given him a quick glance but her eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark and she didn't look at him again. But he was a broad man; she could feel his shoulder against her own. The orchestra began to play and she had forgotten him, lost in the beauty of the music; automatically moving away a little as he had slid down in his seat. And then she had been startled to feel his head against her shoulder and hear his even breathing as he had fallen asleep.

  Her first feeling had been of anger, and she had tried to draw away, but his head had moved with her. But then she had become amused and thought, What the heck? The poor man must be awfully tired. So she let him be and gave her attention back to the music. Then the piece came to an end and everyone clapped. Olivia used her elbow to dig her neighbour firmly in the ribs. He gave a little start and woke up. Turning her head, she found herself looking into a pair of surprised eyes in a leanly handsome face. He straightened up, gave an apologetic smile, and sat back in his seat.

  Olivia half expected him to fall asleep again but he managed to stay awake and, when the lights went up for the interval, turned to give her another grin.

  'Sorry about that. Afraid the time difference caught up with me.' His accent was English, polished, his voice deep and attractive. 'Hope I didn't spoil the music for you?'

  She shook her head, her lips curled in amusement. 'No, you snore very quietly.'

  'Good lord! Did I? I'm terribly—' But then he saw the laughter in her hazel eyes and broke off to grin again. 'Then you must let me buy you a drink as an apology.'

  Olivia hesitated; she wasn't in the habit of responding to a casual pick-up. But that grin was attractive, and the circumstances were certainly unusual. But instead of answering she glanced past him to the seat on his other side, which was still empty.

  Following her eyes, he gave a sigh of mock tragedy. 'She stood me up,' he admitted.

  'Because of your well-known habit of falling asleep during the concert?' Olivia couldn't resist saying teasingly.

  ‘The man laughed aloud, making several people look in their direction. 'Something like that. Will you be more merciful?'

  She looked at him, taking in his thick dark hair, straight brows over long-lashed brown eyes, high cheekbones and firm, square-jawed chin. His lips quirked a little as she scrutinised him. 'Will I pass?'

  Almost to her own surprise, Olivia smiled and nodded and let him escort her out to the bar. He found an empty table for two and dealt quickly and efficiently with getting the drinks. 'I should have arrived in New York this morning,' he told her. 'But my plane was delayed for hours because of bad weather in England. I was supposed to collect my date at her flat but there wasn't time. I rang her but there was no answer so I hoped that she'd done the sensible thing and come here.'

  'But she hadn't, obviously.'

  'No. Must have given me up as a bad job.' But he didn't sound at all unhappy about it.

  'It's a long way to come for a date,' Olivia remarked.

  He laughed again, looking her over and liking what he saw. 'My name's Nicholas Vaux. Spelt V-A-U-X,' he told her, his dark eyes smiling into hers.

  'I'm Olivia Grant.'

  'A beautiful name.' Olivia expected him to make some trite remark about it being a beautiful name for a beautiful person, but instead he sat back and said, 'There was a vacant seat next to you as well.'

  'Yes, my friend is sick and couldn't make it.'

  'Boyfriend?'

  'Girlfriend.'

  He looked pleased. 'I suppose you live in New York?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you love music?'

  'Yes.'

  He looked pained. 'Have I to guess everything about you? All right, then: I think you're about twenty-two, a college graduate—' his eyes flicked to her left hand '—unmarried, therefore a career girl. How am I doing?'

  'Pretty good.'

  He looked at her contemplatively. 'Not in the fashion or modelling business—your nails are too short. So perhaps you work some sort of keyboard inst—' He broke off to give an exclamation of triumph. 'Of course! You're a pianist taking a busman's holiday. Listening to the opposition. Am I right?'

  Olivia laughed delightedly. 'You were getting warm but went off on the wrong tangent. I do work with a keyboard, but if's
on a computer. I'm a journalist. I work for a national magazine company.'

  'That's even more interesting. Tell me what you do. Is it for a women's magazine?'

  'No, I do features for various journals in the group. It covers a pretty wide range.'

  'Do you do investigative journalism—or is that confined to newspapers?'

  'Sometimes, when I'm lucky. But all journalists love to do that kind of work, of course.' Almost without realising it, Olivia found herself telling him all about her career ambitions, her fine-boned face becoming beautiful as it lit up with animated enthusiasm.

  All too soon the bell was ringing and the audience began to move back into the auditorium. They finished their drinks and Olivia got reluctantly to her feet and led i he way back to their seats.

  'If I fall asleep again give me another poke in the ribs,' Nick instructed her.

  'You must have been terribly tired; couldn't you sleep on the plane?'

  His mouth curved. 'Bit difficult when you're flying it,' lie remarked, leaving her momentarily stunned with surprise and then having to stifle her laughter as the music began.

  During the second half of the performance Olivia was tillable to concentrate so much on the music. She was very aware of Nick beside her. It wasn't often that she felt an immediate rapport with anyone, especially a man. Maybe because she had become wary of men since her disastrous marriage. But Nick's attractiveness came over strongly; he was good-looking, charming, and, most unusual of all, he was able to make her laugh. A small stirring of excitement deep inside her took her by surprise. It was a long time since she had felt desire.

  What would happen when the concert was over? she wondered. Would he want to see her again and ask for her telephone number? Maybe he might even want to take her home. Olivia didn't like the latter idea, and knew she would refuse; she didn't know him well enough to trust herself to him so casually. She thought of the empty seat beside him and wondered about his date. The girl could be his steady girlfriend or even his fianc6e. Whatever, she must have been crazy to stand him up, Olivia decided. Nick didn't try to take her hand or anything, just sat quietly now, listening to the music. But once, almost as if he was aware that she was thinking about him, he turned his head and smiled, his eyes holding hers.

  Something inside Olivia's chest gave a jolt and her eyes widened as she gave a small gasp, then quickly turned away and sat back in her seat, her emotions chaotic. For a while she was too stunned to sort her feelings, then felt a great rush of gratitude, followed almost immediately by one of indignation. She had been so careful to keep her emotions under control and not get involved with anyone, and now here they were pitching her willy-nilly headlong into a new relationship. That she and Nick would become involved, would have a relationship, Olivia was somehow absolutely sure. And with that certainty came a sudden feeling of intense excitement and anticipation.

  The concert came to an end, the music finishing on a great crescendo of sound that was only slightly louder than the thumping of Olivia's heart. She joined in the applause, glad to have something to do with her hands, but had to stop when the conductor took his last bow and the players started to leave the stage. She picked up her bag and moved with the rest of the audience out of the hall, Nick following her. When they got outside she turned to him. 'Thanks for the drink.'

  'Where would you like to have supper?'

  'What about your date?'

  Nick smiled at her. 'I'm beginning to think she did me a great favour.'

  'Well, I don't know…' Olivia prevaricated.

  'I promise not to fall asleep again,' he urged.

  She laughed. 'OK—but only on that condition.'

  Lifting his arm, Nick hailed a cab. 'Do you like Italian food?' And when she nodded he directed the cabbie to a good Italian restaurant that she'd heard about but hadn't yet tried.

  'You obviously know your way around New York,' she remarked.

  'Mm, I've been on this route for almost five years.'

  'You're a commercial pilot?'

  'For my sins.'

  'Are you based in England or New York?'

  'England. London. I fly out of Heathrow.'

  'Which city do you prefer?'

  He gave her a lazy grin and stretched his arm along the back of the seat. 'Ah, I think this is where I have to be careful. Are you dreadfully partisan?'

  'Dreadfully—I have to be; I've never been to London.'

  'In that case I shall say that I love New York when I'm here and I love London when I'm there.'

  'Coward,' she mocked. 'But London is home?'

  He nodded. 'Yes, I suppose so.'

  They reached the restaurant and were shown immediately to a table. It was just crowded and just noisy enough to give the place a good atmosphere. There were red cloths on the tables, Olivia remembered, and candles stuck in Chianti bottles that were encrusted with the wax of a hundred earlier candles. For ten minutes or so, while they looked at the menu, they discussed food and wine, their likes and dislikes. When the waiter came Nick gave their order in Italian.

  'Do you speak many languages?' Olivia asked.

  'You tend to pick up a smattering of wherever you fly to. Enough to get by when it comes to food and drink, anyway.'

  'Ah, so you get your priorities right.'

  Nick laughed and reached out to lightly touch her hand. 'I'm glad I met you.'

  Nick was in New York for three days and they saw each other every day, spending the whole of Sunday together. They talked a lot, learning about each other, but somehow Olivia couldn't bring herself to tell him about her marriage. She had the feeling that this new, as yet fragile relationship was too precious to spoil by talking about a past she wanted to forget. And they didn't go to bed together, not that time or on his next couple of lay-overs. But on the day he was due into New York about a month later he phoned her at her apartment just as she was about to leave for work.

  The line was faint, with some static. 'Where are you?' she asked, raising her voice.

  'Halfway across the Atlantic. Listen, I've persuaded the powers that be to let me have a week's leave in the States. How about persuading your boss to let you have the time off, too? Maybe we could take a holiday somewhere.'

  Olivia's breath caught in her throat and it was a few seconds before she could say, 'No strings?'

  Nick laughed softly. 'Lots of strings.'

  'I'll have to think about that.'

  'I'm due in at eleven-thirty your time. Why don't you meet me at the airport at noon? That will give you time to pack a bag.'

  'Hey! I said I'd have to think about it.'

  'Just think about where you'd like to go.'

  He rang off and Olivia sat looking at the phone, her mouth gradually breaking into a big smile, her face soft.

  They went to Vermont, staying in a log cabin in the Green mountains, used by skiers in the winter but surrounded now with heavy-foliaged trees and wild flowers that carpeted the ground. Olivia had expected to be nervous, but Nick made everything easy and wonderful, so that going to bed with him felt right and natural. He made all her sensual feelings come alive again, made her feel as if her emotions had been hibernating, lying dormant and afraid to emerge, but now blossoming out with spring and summer all rolled into one. Engulfing her, lifting her to dizzying heights of excitement that she had never known.

  When the week was over neither of them wanted to leave. On their last night they lay in front of a log fire and Nick held her close, occasionally kissing her lightly as they listened to music from the portable CD player—Vivaldi this time. Pushing himself up on his elbow, Nick looked down at her, his eyes tender, smiling. 'I shall remember this week, and treasure the memory always,' he told her huskily.

  'I'm glad it's been good for you. For me it's been—' she gave a small laugh to hide the depth of her feelings '—an amazing experience.'

  Nick's eyebrows rose. 'Amazingly good or amazingly awful?'

  'Amazingly wow!’ Sitting up, she put her hands on either side o
f his face. 'But I didn't have to tell you that. You know how you made me feel.' Olivia chuckled. "The whole mountain moved.'

  'I'm glad.' Nick kissed her lightly. 'We must do it more often.'

  'You can say that again,' she answered, in such heartfelt tones that he laughed.

  His left eyebrow rose. 'How about now?'

  'I thought you'd never ask.' And, for Olivia, Vivaldi had never before finished on such a climax.

  From then on, whenever Nick had a lay-over in New York he came to stay in her apartment, giving that term a whole new meaning. Olivia gave him a key, letting him enter her home as he had entered her life.

  For two months her happiness was perfect. Too perfect. Something had to go wrong, and it happened when she got home from work one evening and found Nick waiting in the apartment for her. She knew he would be there, was expecting him, and rushed eagerly to greet him, throwing her arms around his neck and laughing, smiling, talking all at the same time, her face ablaze with happiness at seeing him again. But then the laughter died as he stood still, making no attempt to respond.

  'What is it? What's happened?' she demanded in sudden fright.

  Tersely, he said, 'There was a phone call while you were out. I thought it was you so I answered.' Nick's mouth and eyes grew bleak. 'It was a man. His name was Scott Landers—he said he was your husband.'

  He watched her keenly, waiting for her reaction. A bitter taste came into Olivia's mouth, and anger that her happiness had been intruded upon from the past. 'My marriage was over two years ago.'