Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair Page 6

  Olivia's only anxiety the next morning was about the weather, but it was another lovely clear day. She reloaded all three of her cameras and took a different route to Harnbury, arriving there just on time, not wanting Nick to think her too eager. A chopper was waiting and a man in a leather jacket standing by it. Olivia walked over with a smile, said, 'Hi,' but the smile faded as the man turned round and she saw it wasn't Nick.

  'Good morning. You must be Miss Grant.'

  'That's right. Where's Nick?'

  'He sends his apologies; he's had to go to a business meeting this morning. I'm to take you up today.'

  She should have expected this, Olivia realised bitterly. But she had been so busy congratulating herself on how successful she'd been so far that it hadn't occurred to her that Nick would do the dirty on her and duck out. 'When will Nick be back?'

  'No idea. Certainly not till after lunch.' He reached forward. 'Let me take your bag for you.'

  But she stepped away. 'No, thanks. I guess I'll wait for Nick.'

  The pilot, as tall as Nick but about ten years older, gave her a look of male condescension. 'I assure you, you'll be quite safe with me.'

  'I prefer to wait for Nick.'

  'He said that you'd got over your initial nervousness.'

  'It's suddenly come back again,' Olivia retorted, and strode towards the office building.

  Jane was talking on the phone; she lifted a hand in greeting when she saw Olivia and mouthed, 'Won't be a minute.'

  Olivia nodded, set her flight-bag on a chair and walked down the corridor to Nick's office. She had quite expected to find him there, that he'd lied about going out, but the room was empty. Going over to his desk, she flipped open the engagement diary placed neatly by the telephone. Under that day's date there was an entry: 'Accountant 9.30.' 'Miss Grant 10a.m.', in what must be Jane's writing, had been scored through. Maybe it was a genuine excuse but Olivia didn't think much of it. Nick could easily have arranged to see his accountant some other time.

  'Now do you believe me?' The pilot had followed her, and spoke from the doorway.

  'Yes, I believe you.' Olivia closed the book and he stood aside to let her pass. 'But I guess I'll wait for Nick anyway.'

  'But that's ridiculous. He could be hours. And you've booked a chopper for the whole day so you'll just be wasting your own time and money,' he protested.

  Ignoring him, Olivia went up to Jane. 'Would you please ring Nick at his accountant and remind him that he agreed to fly me himself? Tell him that I won't be fobbed off with anyone else and that I'm waiting for him to get back here and carry out his part of our agreement.' She turned to the other pilot with an apologetic smile. 'Sorry.'

  He shrugged. 'Suit yourself.' And went through the door on the left of the reception area.

  Jane gave Olivia a worried frown. 'I can't disturb Nick when he's with his accountant; he wouldn't like it. And he certainly wouldn't like your message.'

  'Too bad,' Olivia replied shortly. 'Here, I'll do it if you're too scared.'

  She reached for the phone, but Jane said hastily, 'No. No, that would be even worse. All right, I'll phone him, but don't blame me if he's angry.'

  Olivia smiled. 'Thanks. I guess I'll take a walk while I'm waiting. I'll go that way.' She pointed off past the hangars towards the open valley.

  'But that's private.'

  'Really? Well, if Nick doesn't want me to be arrested for trespassing he'd better get back here fast. Tell him so.'

  Turning away, Olivia left Jane to get on with the call, and walked out into the open. At first she was inclined to be angry with Nick and think him a coward. Did he really think she couldn't see through his ploy? If she'd accepted the services of the other pilot this time then Nick would make sure to find other excuses not to fly her himself, and she'd end up with the other pilot every day. But then it occurred to Olivia that she must have had quite an effect on Nick to make him try to duck out this way. The thought pleased her, but then she sighed; she should have known that things were going too well to be true. Now she had another fight on her hands.

  The ground fell away quite steeply from the edge of the plateau on which the hangars were built. They were well screened by trees and bushes, but from here she could see down into the valley where the sun coruscated off the rippling waters of what looked like the beginning of a lake off to the left, the rest of it hidden by a thick belt of coniferous trees. Olivia started to walk down the hill, enjoying the sun and the slight breeze that lifted her hair. The sound of birds filled the stillness as they busily gathered materials to make their nests. It must be nice to be a bird, Olivia decided, to fly and soar in that incredibly blue sky, to have no difficulty in grabbing a mate, and insisting on a new house every year.

  The thought made her smile. She ran down the last few feet of the hill to a dry stone wall surrounding a meadow full of cowslips, their golden heads hanging like delicate bells that swung in the breeze. Olivia climbed on the wall and balanced on its top for a moment. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the roof and chimneys of what must be a large house down in the valley, among the trees, but she was much too entranced by the cowslips to take much notice.

  Carefully jumping down to a clear space, she began to pick some of those flowers that were fully in bloom, wandering aimlessly down the sloping meadow as she did so. When her hand was full and she couldn't hold any more, Olivia sat down on the grass and looked dreamily around her. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful. She could hardly believe that less than a week ago she'd been part of the New York rat race. A picture of hooting traffic in clogged streets, the smell of gasoline fumes, and jostling, hurrying people filled her mind. She had enjoyed being part of New York, had found the frenetic life a constant challenge, and still did—but, looking out over that perfect landscape, she wondered if she would ever enjoy it quite so much again.

  It was almost half an hour later before Nick came. Olivia was lying on the grass, her eyes closed, but she knew he was there even before his shadow blotted out the sun. Without opening her eyes, she said, 'I went to the theatre last night. It was As You Like It. I guess Shakespeare called it the Forest of Arden because that was the name of the forest north of Stratford. It doesn't seem to be much of a forest now. Did it used to be much bigger?'

  'I wouldn't know. When you've seen one forest you've seen them all,' Nick returned harshly.

  Ignoring his anger, Olivia said dreamily, 'Talking of Shakespeare plays, lying on this bank makes me feel like Titania. Do you think Shakespeare ever came here?'

  'I doubt it.'

  Olivia raised languorous eyelids, looked at him towering over her, and sighed. 'I bet Oberon was a swine to have around, too.'

  Despite himself, Nick's lips twitched in amusement, although he quickly hid it behind a frown. He hesitated for a moment and then dropped to sit down beside her. 'I don't go much on being called away from a meeting by a jumped-up women's page contributor who thinks she's God's gift to journalism,' he said curtly.

  'Oh, that's not bad,' Olivia said admiringly. 'But somehow I don't feel crushed by it. Have another try.'

  His face tightened. 'I have a business to run. I have other commitments besides pandering to your whims, you know.'

  'I'm a customer; I'm allowed to have as many whims as I can pay for.' She sat up, pieces of grass clinging to her tumbled hair, and looked into his eyes. 'And right now my wish is to have my old friend Nick Vaux to act as my pilot and guide. Is that too much to ask? For old times' sake?'

  For a long moment their gaze met and held, then Nick dragged his eyes away and looked down at the ground. He had obviously expected her to be angry, and had been spoiling for a fight himself—a real humdinger that would have ended their friendship once and for all, and it had thrown him when she refused to rise to the bait. He pulled some long grasses from the turf, squeezed them almost viciously between his fingers. 'Let someone else fly you, Olivia.'

  His voice was terse, almost pleading, but Olivia ignored it. 'There looked
to be quite a big house over in the valley; is it open to the public?'

  'No, it's private.' Nick dropped the pieces of grass and tried to rub the green stain from his hands.

  Slowly, feeling her way, Olivia said, 'What we had was very special, Nick. Please don't spoil it.'

  'You can't go back,' he said fiercely. 'Everyone knows that. You shouldn't have come here if you didn't want your—your precious memories spoiled.'

  His tone hurt, but Olivia said calmly, 'I don't want to go back.'

  He turned to her then, his face set and bleak. 'Well, there's no going forward, not with me.'

  Somehow she managed to control her feelings and return his look unblinkingly. 'I thought we'd already sorted all that out,' she said as lightly as she could. 'Look, Nick, you're the only person I know in England; why shouldn't I look you up? Have you got a steady relationship going or something? Doesn't your girlfriend approve of your flying me around?'

  She waited for his reply, trying desperately to conceal her inner tension. It would have given him an excuse to drop her, but Olivia knew that he would never he to her, no matter what. And she sighed with inner relief when he shook his head. 'No, it's not that.'

  'So what are you afraid of?'

  'Afraid?'

  He gave a short laugh, so full of bitterness that Olivia's heart was wrung with pity. But he would never want that. She caught her breath and grew still; maybe it was her pity that he was afraid of. Olivia tried to put herself in his position; would she want his pity if she'd been hint in some way? Definitely not. But she would want and need his strength, his encouragement to get well in mind and body. The thought filled her with a kind of gratitude; at least she had some idea now how to handle things. Without waiting for him to speak, she gathered up her posy of cowslips and rose gracefully to her feet.

  'Let's get going, shall we? The morning's almost gone.'

  Nick heaved himself up with a lot less grace. 'You're not supposed to pick cowslips,' he told her. 'So many people have done so in the past that they're now a protected species.'

  Olivia gazed at him in alarm. 'You're kidding! No, you're not. Well, I can't put them back. What do I do? Do you think the owner of the field is around?' she asked, looking guiltily over her shoulder.

  'You can always plead ignorance,' Nick commented, his eyes amused. 'And I expect the owner will spare you those few flowers for the sake of Anglo-American relations.'

  'Well, that's a relief.' She glanced at him, thinking that their own Anglo-American relationship could do with some improvement right now. At the same moment Nick looked at her and she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. Olivia laughed aloud, and after a pause Nick, too, grinned reluctantly. 'So you haven't lost your sense of humour after all,' she remarked. 'I was beginning to wonder.'

  But it was the wrong thing to say. Nick immediately tensed up. 'I suppose I seem a lot different to you.'

  'Different?' Olivia shrugged. 'Not particularly. Why should you?'

  'I should have thought that was obvious,' he said tersely.

  They had come to the wall, and she let him help her over it, then turned to face him. 'Your attitude to me is different, of course. But then it would be, I suppose.' She gave him a pert look. 'And I must admit that you seem to be a lot less sexy than I remember.' She laughed at the indignant look he shot her and began to run back up the hill. 'Come on, what are you waiting for? I've got places I want to see.'

  After that day Nick didn't again try to get out of flying her—probably because he knew it wouldn't work. The following week they flew over the Cotswolds in the mornings and off to some stately home or other in the afternoon. Over the weekend and on the in-between days Olivia either worked or got out the car and drove to places that were near by—like Warwick Castle, where she spent the whole day lost in medieval times. And with every place she saw she became more enchanted. It was as if her sense of history, dormant since she'd left college, had come vibrantly back to life. She fell in love with each golden-stoned village under its moss-encrusted roofs, with every ancient, musty church that smelt of damp and dust, with the stones in the graveyards whose lettering grew fainter as they receded into time. Enchantment filled her at every daffodil-edged stream, at the first lambs frisking happily in their new world, at the fat, sticky chestnut buds opening into leaf.

  Her pleasure in this beauty was given with unstinting joy, perhaps especially so because when Olivia was with Nick she had to be practical and businesslike. Usually when she met him in the mornings she could sense the tension in him, but as the day progressed he gradually relaxed, would become more like the Nick she had known in New York, but never entirely. There was always some part of him that was held in iron reserve, a barrier she couldn't break through, and she began to despair that she ever would.

  And she had so little time; it seemed to be racing by. Only very rarely was there even a glimpse into his heart. There had been that first day in his office when she had seen him with his head in his hands, and a couple of times she had turned quickly and caught him watching her, his eyes so bleak and lost that he seemed to be in pain. It took great will-power then to show no sympathy, no love, but somehow Olivia managed it, knowing it was the only way.

  Once she even teased him about his limp; they had left the helicopter in a field about three-quarters of a mile from the mansion Olivia had arranged to visit, the nearest place they were allowed to land. The day had become overcast, and they were early so Nick suggested walking to the local pub for a drink and a sandwich. But they had only gone about halfway when the sky darkened completely and there was an unseasonably heavy shower. The swinging sign of the inn—the Goose and Firkin—was in sight, so Olivia ran ahead of Nick and stood waiting for him in the porch. He followed her, walking fast, but when he arrived his hair was plastered to his head and he had to flick it away from his eyes. She gave him a cheeky grin. 'Well, at least the girls won't have any trouble running away from you now.'

  A startled, almost bewildered look came into Nick's dark eyes, and for a long second Olivia thought that she'd made a mistake, but then he grinned, and it was a cheerful grin. 'Rubbish—they never run away from me.'

  'You hold them by the force of your personality, I suppose?'

  'Of course.' He held open the door of the pub for her to go in. 'Come on; maybe they do lunch.'

  They did. A variety of pies in earthenware dishes, the pastry top so light that it rose a couple of inches above the dish and flaked like snow when it was cut into. Olivia chose oyster and mushroom filling, and Nick hunter's pie with venison and rabbit and hare. With it Olivia had wine and Nick a pint of real ale, made at a local brewery, the landlord said, thick and dark—and warm, of course. Nick had always said that American beer shouldn't be served so cold.

  She smiled at the thought, and Nick said lightly, 'Penny for them.'

  The question pleased her, because it proved that he was much more relaxed with her, but she didn't know if the answer would please him; she was always careful not to remind him of their time together. 'I was just thinking that you never really liked cold beer when you were in the States.'

  But he didn't seem to mind. 'It was OK in your fryingly hot summers. It would be out of place here.' The meal eaten, he sat back in his seat, at ease, the lines around his mouth not so deep. It was still raining heavily, beating against the window-panes, so no new customers came in. Some left, running to their cars, the few that stayed were all in the other bar. They had been alone together in the helicopter of course, but there was always the noise of the engine and the inhibiting head-sets between them there. Here Olivia felt really alone with him, and it was comfortable sitting in the low bar with its beamed ceiling and wide ingle-nook fireplace, the firelight reflecting off polished copper pans and horse brasses that had been there for a hundred years.

  Nick glanced out of the window. 'You'll wait until it stops?'

  'Yes.' He had put a hand on his knee and was unthinkingly rubbing it. 'Does your leg ache when it's dump? When
I broke my leg skiing one time it ached for yours afterwards when it was cold or damp,' Olivia added quickly in case he thought she was asking out of sympathy.

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded. 'It's much bettor than it was.'

  'Did you break it?'

  'Yes.' He got up and went over to the bar, bought another round of drinks and brought them back to the table. At first he didn't speak, just sat looking down at the thick white froth on his beer, then he said, 'I fractured it In a couple of places, but it's healed well. There's virtually nothing I can't do with it that I did before,' he told her on a defiant note, almost as if she'd challenged him, "but it's left me with one leg slightly shorter than the other. I suppose I could have it put right, but I've had enough of hospitals.'

  There was a depth of pain behind that last sentence i hat left Olivia in no doubt that there was far more to tell. She said nothing, trying not to imagine the suffering he had gone through and which had left him so crippled physically, and perhaps mentally too.

  Nick took a long swig of beer, then said, 'You're being very tactful.'

  'Am I?'

  'Don't you want to know how I did it?'

  'Do you want to tell me?' she countered.

  She saw his hand tighten on the glass, but then he shrugged as if he didn't care. 'It was nothing much. I was In an accident.'

  'A car smash?' Olivia asked levelly.

  His mouth twisting into a mirthless grin, Nick said, 'No, a plane crash.'

  At Olivia's gasp of horror he turned to look at her, his eyes wary, ready to be antagonistic. 'Your plane crashed? Oh, my God! When did it happen? I don't remember reading about it in the paper. Were many people killed?' She stared at him, her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide and appalled.