Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair Page 8

  'Where's it kept?' Quickly she held up her hand. 'No, don't answer that. Forget I said it. You never talked about your family when we were back in the States.'

  Nick shrugged. 'We were always busy, doing other things; I suppose the subject just never came up.'

  Olivia tried hard not to think of the other things they'd done, but it wasn't easy. Not the way she felt right now. She felt so hungry for love. But only for Nick, only ever for him. And two years was a long time when you were young.

  'I take it your divorce went through eventually,' Nick said into the silence.

  She gave him a quick look, trying to hide her eagerness. 'Yes, but it was pretty rough. Scott went abroad and I couldn't trace him for months.' Trying to sound casual, she added, 'I thought I wrote and told you that. Oh, no, that's right—you said you moved away and never got my letters.'

  After a moment of tense hesitation, Nick said, 'No, that wasn't true. I think I received most of them, if not all.'

  Olivia pushed her plate away, giving up the pretence of eating. 'But you wish you hadn't. You wish I'd never written them.'

  His voice suddenly harsh, Nick explained, 'I didn't think we'd ever see each other again. I saw little point in continuing to keep in touch. I wrote and told you that. I wanted you to give up any—' his eyes darkened almost as if in pain '—any ideas you might have about our getting together again. It was better to end it completely so that you could—could look for a life with someone else. I wanted you to forget about me. As I had forgotten you,' he added brutally.

  Olivia flinched and her cheeks paled. She gave a small, tight smile. 'You were sure determined to get rid of me.'

  'Yes.' The one word flicked out like a metal-tipped whip.

  Picking up her glass, she held it out. 'Is there any more wine?'

  He gave her some, but only half filled the glass. "That's enough; you have to drive home.'

  'Back to the hotel,' Olivia corrected. She ran her fingertip round the rim for a moment or two, then said, 'Those months we were going together may not have meant much to you, Nick. Maybe you have forgotten them—but I haven't. And I'm sorry, but I don't want to. I'd never known what love was until I met you. The memories of the times we were together are very precious to me and—and always will be.' Her voice broke and she looked away. 'Please don't try to spoil them for me.'

  She heard him catch his breath, wondered what he would say, but was stunned when he said, his tone sarcastic, 'What you're really saying is that you were ripe for an affair and I came along at the right time. If it hadn't been me it would have been someone else,' he added cruelly. 'Young love, first love, hadn't come up to your expectations and you were starved for sex. I satisfied you and you romanticised it into a big love-affair, when all it really was was a mutually satisfying sexual interlude. Not meant to last or be taken seriously.'

  Olivia was staring at him, her face white with shock. Putting her hands under the table, she balled them into tight, nail-hurting fists as she strove to control the hurt, the anger.

  'I—I see. So that's all it was for you, was it? A—a sexual interlude?'

  "That's what I said.' Nick was watching her steadily, his face a set, grim mask.

  'You were tired of me?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you used the fact that I hadn't got a divorce as an excuse for us to split up?'

  'Yes.'

  'But why, if you wanted a clean break, didn't you say so at the time? Why leave it—hanging?'

  Nick shrugged. 'We'd been good together. I didn't want to hurt you.'

  Her eyes came up to meet his. 'Not then.'

  His brows flickered and he couldn't meet her gaze. 'I thought that writing to end it would be kinder. I didn't expect you to come to England. I didn't think I'd ever see you again. But it's been two years; you can surely take the truth now?'

  Olivia's hands were still under the table, but Nick was holding his glass, gripping it, unaware that his knuckles were showing white. His shoulders, too, were tense and his mouth drawn into a grim line. In her line of work you got to study people, watching for their reactions, trying to judge whether they were telling the truth or not. It seemed to Olivia that Nick was displaying an awful lot of tension just to explain his reasons for ditching an old flame two years ago. Getting up, she collected the remains of the food together and carried it into the kitchen.

  'Do you have a garbage disposal?'

  'Yes, we call them dustmen; they come once a week to collect the rubbish.' Nick had followed her and stood in the doorway.

  '"A rose by any other name",' Olivia quoted. 'Do you at least have some coffee?'

  'Plenty of that. Why don't you sit down and let me make it?'

  'OK.' She went back into the rest-room and sat in one of the armchairs. She was still smarting, but had the feeling that Nick had over-stressed everything; if he really didn't care, surely he wouldn't have been so harsh, so hurtful? This evening certainly wasn't turning out how she had expected it to, she thought with a deep, rueful sigh. But then, a great many things in her life had a habit of not turning out as she'd hoped.

  'Are you all right?' The question was asked reluctantly as Nick came in and stood over her, the mugs of coffee in his hands.

  'Sure.' She came back fighting and gave him a bright smile.

  There was a flicker of admiration in Nick's eyes before he turned and sat down in another chair, a low coffee-table between than. 'What are you doing tomorrow?' he asked, dragging them back to reality.

  'Working, I think; that is, writing up notes. But I'll probably walk round the town again, too. I love Stratford. Even if Shakespeare hadn't been born and died there, it would still be a place I could go back to again and again. There's so much going on, in the town and on the river. At night everyone strolls around and I can walk alone without any fear. It's so—' she hunted for a word '—so English. Do you know what I mean?'

  'I think so. You mean it's possible to see what it was like back through time because the basic structure of an English country market town is still there.'

  'Yes. That's exactly it.' She gave a small laugh. 'You always were able to put my thoughts into words better than I could myself.'

  Ignoring that, Nick said, 'And what area do you want to cover on our next trip—or have you seen everything you came to see?'

  He was giving her a let-out, Olivia realised, in case he had hurt her so much that she didn't want to see him again. But she hadn't given up yet, although she felt bruised and battered. There had been times, like this morning, when she had felt much closer to him, but he seemed to realise this and always kicked her back again. Relaxing her head against the chair, she said, 'I must go to see the prehistoric stone circles at Avebury and Stonehenge in the afternoon, but in the morning I'd like to see the Slad valley—but only if the sun is shining.'

  'The weather report is good for the next few days. The Slad valley?' He frowned and then his face cleared. 'Of course; Laurie Lee. You've been reading Cider with Rosie.'

  'We were made to read it in High School. Only for me it wasn't work; I read the book through a dozen times. I think that's when I first fell in love with the Cotswolds. It was certainly the reason I chose this area to visit and write about now.'

  'You and hundreds of thousands of others, I expect. I wonder if the present inhabitants of the valley bless him or curse him?' Nick said musingly.

  'Maybe we'll find out.' Olivia looked thoughtful. 'Say, I could work up a piece on that.'

  Nick laughed. 'Stealing my ideas now.'

  Olivia turned her head and met his eyes. 'It seems that's all you have to give.'

  It was Nick who looked away first. He picked up his coffee-cup and drained it. Olivia immediately stood up, knowing what he was going to say, getting in first. 'I must ingoing.'

  'And I must get back to work.' Nick, too, stood up. 'Thanks for the meal.'

  Olivia shrugged. She picked up her jacket and went to put it on, but Nick took it from her. 'Let me.'

  He helped
her on with it, and for a few seconds his hands rested on her shoulders. Tilting her head to look at him, Olivia asked huskily, 'Do you usually eat alone, too?'

  His hands tightened momentarily, but then he let her go, saying, 'Don't most single people?'

  'Has there been anyone else—for you?' she ventured.

  But that was going too far; Nick turned and led the way back into the reception area. 'Sure you're all right to drive?' he asked, holding the door open for her.

  'Of course. See you in a couple of days.'

  He nodded. 'Goodnight.' And closed the door after her.

  Olivia walked slowly to her car. The skies had cleared and the moon and stars were out. The air was full of the scent of rain-clean grass, of wet earth and pine trees. She didn't feel at all tired, and certainly didn't feel like going back to the hotel and tamely going to bed. There were always pubs in the town where she could go and have a drink, she supposed, but being a lone woman in a strange pub wasn't her idea of an enjoyable evening, and it left her open to anyone who thought she might be an easy pick-up. Sexual equality hadn't progressed as far as bars yet, she decided with a sigh. There was the hotel lounge, of course, but that wasn't much better. What she would really like to do was to take a walk, here in this moonlit countryside. But that was out, of course; Nick would be listening for the sound of her car leaving, and might come after her to find out why she hadn't gone. That was almost a tempting idea, but she didn't think she could face an open row with him tonight; their meal together had been emotional enough.

  Getting into the car, Olivia reluctantly drove away. She felt a restless kind of anger which she knew from experience was mostly frustration. But tonight it was worse, much worse. To be this close to Nick again was driving her crazy. To love him so much, to want him so badly, and yet to have to pretend otherwise, and to act as if his rejection of her didn't matter. Olivia didn't know how long she could go on, whether in fact it was worth going on pretending; she must have given herself away to him a hundred times already. Certainly Nick was deliberately making it hard for her—throwing out insults, making cruel remarks. Telling her that he had grown tired of her back in New York when all the time she had gone on thinking that there might be some chance for them—that had been particularly cruel. If she believed it; if he was to be believed.

  Coming to the main road, Olivia stopped to see if the road was clear. Looking to the left, she remembered that was the way Nick had come on that very first morning when she'd been watching for him. She'd never driven that way, had always turned into the heliport. On impulse she turned left instead of back towards Stratford. Recalling that Nick had said he lived only about a mile away, Olivia set the journey meter and drove slowly along, looking for a likely house. The high wall that edged the grounds surrounding the heliport ran continuously along on her left, on the right there was a hedge dotted with occasional trees that seemed to look out over open fields. After about three-quarters of a mile the wall on the left was broken by wide wrought-iron gates set under an elaborate stone arch. There was a worn sign, which she could just make out, that said, 'Harnbury Hall'. Beyond it, on the other side of the road, there was another driveway and a much smarter sign saying, 'Harnbury Farm, Bed & Breakfast'. Neither of these seemed particularly likely. The mile was up but Olivia drove on for a further mile, but all she passed were more open fields and trees.

  Puzzled, she came to a stop; surely Nick couldn't be lodging at the farm? But it was certainly convenient for the heliport, and presumably they would provide him with an evening meal as well as breakfast, if he wanted it. Pushing her other feelings out of her mind, Olivia let curiosity take over. Hiring the car, she drove back past the heliport, then turned again and parked on the grass verge. Switching off her lights she settled down to wait; she hadn't passed any cars on her search so presumably Nick must still be working—unless of course he'd decided to go the other way tonight, into Stratford. In which case she was in for a long, long wait. That would be silly; deciding to give him an hour, Olivia switched on the radio, found some music, and sat back in her seat.

  Her thoughts immediately flew back to earlier that evening, and she couldn't drag them away. Nick was behaving so strangely; she just couldn't fathom him. At one moment he seemed to hate her, but then he would give himself away and she'd be sure that he wasn't as immune to her as he made out. Was she beating her head against a stone wall, Olivia wondered, the stone wall that Nick seemed to have built so thickly round himself? For the thousandth time she asked herself why, why had he changed so much? With anyone else she would have guessed at an unhappy love-affair to make him so bitter, to act as if he hated all women. But Nick hadn't answered her when she'd asked him if there had been anyone else in his life since her. Was that a good sign or a bad? On the whole, good, she decided. If there had been someone else, surely he would have said so, in the hope that it would make her finally decide to give up on him and go.

  But thinking about that did nothing but give her a headache. It didn't seem likely, but possibly it had something to do with his plane crash. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to do a little investigating in that direction. Olivia remembered the photos and mementos on Nick's wall; perhaps if she looked at them more closely they would give her a clue.

  She had begun to list in her mind what other lines she could follow when she saw Nick's car appear at the entrance. He got out of the car, closed the gates behind him and locked them before getting in the car again. Olivia waited breathlessly, watching to see which way he would go. He turned left. When he reached the first bend, she put on her lights and followed him. Nick drove quite quickly, sure of his way, his headlights cutting a swath of light between the wall and the hedge, and she had to go faster to keep him in sight. But then she had to brake when he slowed right down as the two driveways approached. Olivia expected him to swing right into the farm, and her mouth dropped open in surprise when he turned the other way and stopped in front of the big iron gates. Hastily she slowed down to a crawl and watched as lie waited for a moment, the gates swung open, and Nick drove through.

  By the time Olivia reached the entrance the gates were starting to close. She parked the car and walked carefully back, keeping near the wall. The gates shut smoothly, with only a small clicking sound. They must be operated electronically from a gadget in Nick's car, she realised. Going up to them, Olivia looked through the swirling iron-work and saw the tail-lights of Nick's car winking as they passed the trunks of large trees before I hey disappeared altogether. She put her hands on the Kates and tried to push them open, searched for a latch, but they were locked fast. It would be possible to climb I hem, she supposed, peering upwards, but they looked awfully high.

  She stepped back and looked at the sign, faded by sunlight and age. 'Harnbury Hall'. This, then, was the place where Nick must live, but it was still as much of a mystery as ever. With a small sigh of defeat, Olivia got back into the car and drove away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Slad valley lay on the western edge of the Cots-wolds, in Gloucestershire. There were thick woods here, more than in any other part of the area that Olivia had seen, but it was the meadows that drew her, in every shade of green, and the farmhouses set in hollows and the long lines of stone walls that edged the narrow country lanes. It almost looked like a painting of a perfect landscape until she saw a tractor working in a field, and a herd of sheep being driven along a lane and swirling like a snowdrift round a car that had stopped for them to pass.

  Olivia sighed with pleasure. 'If's just as I imagined it. What a wonderful place for a child to grow up in, even now. It must be even more beautiful in the summer.'

  'You shouldn't be seeing it from up here,' Nick told her. 'You should go there, and then leave the car and walk. You New Yorkers never walk anywhere if you can ride.'

  'I used to jog in Central park every morning,' Olivia returned indignantly, used by now to talking to him via the head-set.

  'I never saw you jog.'

  She paused but then said, 'I
guess that was because I never got up very early when you were around.'

  He gave her a fleeting glance, and she could visibly see the tension rise in him. 'No, I suppose not. Do you want to land?'

  'Will you walk with me?'

  He shook his head. 'I've brought some work with me I can do while I wait.'

  'I'll leave it, then. Maybe I'll drive here tomorrow.' They flew on a little further and Olivia pointed to a spread of buildings on the horizon. 'What town is that?'

  'It's Stroud.'

  'Is it worth seeing?'

  'Painswick is better. It has a beautiful church and it's net on a hillside so you have steep lanes and narrow alleys. And it hasn't changed so much; there aren't any shops with plate-glass windows. The buildings are all of stone, a sort of grey colour; the same stone they used to build Gloucester Cathedral.'

  'Can we fly over it?'

  'Sure.'

  Olivia got her camera set but she knew she wouldn't be able to get good pictures; she was constantly frustrated I hat Nick couldn't fly low over towns and other built-up areas. The setting of the town was beautiful, the surrounding meadows coming right up to the houses. Olivia took several shots and determined to visit the town again the next day. 'It's beautiful. A perfect place,' she said sincerely.

  'Maybe I shouldn't have shown it to you,' Nick remarked.

  'Why on earth not?'

  'Because there's just one thing wrong with Painswick, and I've an idea your travel articles are probably going to add to it. There are too many tourists visiting the town already. In the summer it's choked with cars, almost as busy as Broadway. The age-old problem.'

  'The twentieth-century problem,' Olivia corrected. 'I shouldn't have thought there were many tourists around before everyone had cars.'

  'Another article for you,' Nick said lightly. 'On nineteenth-century tourists.'

  'You seem to enjoy finding work for me,' she said in teasing complaint. She turned to glance at him speculatively before saying, 'At this rate I'll never go home.'