Irresistible Temptation (21 page)

'It doesn't matter. It would be better all round, believe me.'

He was still holding her arm, and she pulled herself free.

'You have no right to say that. I was invited—and I'm staying.'

'Please do as I ask.' There was something like anguish in his eyes. 'I can't explain now…'

'Well, well, if it isn't the country mouse.' There was something familiar about the sultry female drawl that interrupted them. Olivia, blinking at the waft of heavy perfume assailing her, glanced round, and saw a spectacular head of red hair framing a sulky face, and a voluptuous body shown off in a minimal dress of charcoal ribbed silk. A bracelet set with lapis lazuli decorated one tanned arm.

Melinda, she thought, pain stabbing at hen The girl who'd been at Declan's house that first morning.

'So you came.' Her words were slightly slurred, but her blue eyes were hard as they swept Olivia. 'Little Miss Loser.'

Declan said harshly, 'That's enough, Melinda.'

Olivia faced her down, her chin lifted dangerously. 'You're dressed,' she said. 'Is there a shortage of bath towels?'

'Why, you…' Melinda lunged with the glass she was holding, sending the champagne flying over Olivia.

'That does it,' Declan almost snarled 'Olivia—you're out of here.'

'No way,' she flung back at him. 'What's a little wine between friends? But I wouldn't let your girlfriend refill bier glass. I'd say she's had all she can manage.'

She walked into the bedroom, slinging her jacket on to the bed with all the others and making for the bathroom so she could sponge her dress.

As she walked in she nearly tripped over the outstretched legs of a girl who was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall and her head buried in her hands.

'Oh—I'm sorry.' Olivia checked. 'I didn't realise there was anyone in here.'

The girl looked up, shaking back her dark cloud of hair. She was attractive, rather than pretty, with a strong face marked by good bone structure now blurred and diminished by the tears which streaked her skin and reddened her smoky-blue eyes.

'There isn't.' Her voice was husky and shaking as she got to her feet. 'I'm going.'

'No, please.' Olivia felt desperately awkward. 'Do use the basin—bathe your face. I came in for some tissues because I've had a drink chucked over me.'

'We're neither of us having a very good party.' The girl combed her hair with her fingers. 'But yours may get better.'

Olivia shook her head, remembering the way Melinda's painted nails had closed on Declan's sleeve. The triumphant malice glittering in her eyes. 'I don't think so.' She paused. Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to tell me what's upset you?'

'Why not?' The other laughed bitterly. 'Everyone but you seems to know already. I came to see my husband— we're supposed to be making a serious attempt to save our marriage, or so I thought. And I now find he's been having an affair all the time.' Her voice broke.

Olivia felt icy cold. Oh, God, she thought This must be Maria—Jeremy's wife. She looked at the pale, drawn face and shadowed eyes, and felt a knife twist inside her.

She said, 'How—how do you know?'

'My cousin told me.' The girl ran water into the basin and began to splash it on to her face. 'He's known about it for a while, but he didn't say anything because he hoped things would sort themselves out somehow.'

'And maybe they will,' Olivia said quickly. 'Perhaps it isn't nearly as serious as you think.'

Maria shook her head. 'It's become quite blatant Jeremy's even invited her here tonight,' she went on, swallowing. 'Although admittedly he didn't know I'd be coming as well. Now everyone knows—and I just want to die.'

'Oh, please don't feel like this.' Wretchedly, Olivia handed her a towel. 'I'm sine you can work something out together.'

Maria shook her head. 'Not again.' she said. 'He was seeing other women before he came to London. But he swore it had all stopped—that we'd make a fresh start. A few weeks ago he even took me to Paris for the weekend.' She stopped suddenly, biting her lip. 'Look, I shouldn't be saying all this. I don't know what you must be thinking. I'm not normally such a watering pot' Her lips stretched into a quivering smile. It must be my hormones. But I'll stop embarrassing myself—and everyone else—and go back to Bristol.' She paused. 'You've been very kind. What's your name?'

Olivia prayed that the floor would open and swallow her.

She said, 'Olivia Butler, Mrs Attwood.' She looked down at the tiles at her feet, willing them apart.

There was a silence, then Maria said, 'Ah,' very quietly. She left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Olivia slumped against the wall, feeling sick to her stomach. Everything she'd ever said to Jeremy, every kiss, every caress was coming back to haunt her.

He lied, she thought exhaustedly. Whatever their problems were, Maria wanted to find a solution. That doesn't make her the hard-nosed bitch he claimed.

She made no attempt to sponge her dress.

I deserve to have champagne thrown over me—and worse, she thought miserably. I never thought of her as another human being—as someone who could cry and suffer. As someone who cared. I only wish she could know how deeply I'm suffering too.

It was as if a veil had been torn aside to reveal a gaping wound. Only who was the wounded one—Maria or herself?

Oh, Declan, she thought achingly. How could you tell her? How could you be so cruel?

She walked back into the bedroom, and came face to face with Jeremy.

He said hurriedly, 'I heard you'd arrived. I've been looking for you. Listen, Livvy, about these things Declan's been saying…'

'They don't matter,' she said quietly. 'Nothing matters except that I never want to see either of you again. Goodbye.'

She went out into the living room. It was still packed, but she could see Declan's tall figure by the window, with Melinda's red hair close by, as if she was pinned to him.

Across the noise of music, chatter and laughter she thought she heard him call her name, but she didn't stop.

And when she was out in the street, she began to run.

Olivia was breathless and panting by the time she reached Lancey Terrace, stumbling in her high heels.

Hand pressed to her side, she stood for a moment, leaning against the wrought-iron gates leading into the garden, trying to calm herself. To get back in control.

In her head, she could still hear Declan's voice calling her name, and she'd run because she was frightened he'd come after her. And she couldn't face him now, she thought. Her sense of betrayal was too deep.

Their so-called truce was over for good. And smashed alongside it was every foolish hope, every impossible dream.

All she needed now was a corner to hide in. She straightened, opening her small black bag and fumbling in it for her keys. But the key that emerged first was the one to the garden, which she must have inadvertently picked up with the others.

She turned it in her hand, staring down at it in the lamplight, then turned, with sudden resolution, and fitted it into the lock.

After all, she reasoned, if someone was indeed looking for her, the flat would be the place to target. So she wouldn't go home at once. She'd walk, and try to get her breath back, and her head together.

It was a warm night, the air heavy and humid, but Olivia shivered as a stray breeze touched her bare shoulders and arms. In her headlong flight she'd forgotten all about her jacket, she realised with vexation. She wrapped her arms across her body, hugging herself as she walked.

It was dark now, and the lights were on in the houses.

Olivia glanced sideways into uncurtained windows as she passed, thinking how safe and cosy it all looked. And yet in every house the game of life went on, with sadness, betrayal, reconciliation and compromise. No one was immune.

She shivered again, but from a sense of isolation rather than chill.

Common sense dictated that at this time of night she should stick to the gravelled walk round the perimeter, but she turned off just the same, making her way across the centre of the garden, her steps unerring in spite of the darkness because she'd walked the same route so many times. Bound for her own private sanctuary.

She sat down, huddling herself into a corner of the bench as if she wished to make herself invisible, waiting for the peace of the place to touch her.

But the usual alchemy didn't seem to be working. Her head seemed to be filled with images—Maria Attwood's pain-filled eyes, Melinda's predatory, possessive fingers hooked into Declan's arm, Jeremy's evasive expression.

But it was Declan she saw most, the silvery eyes stormy and full of anger. But not filled with guilt—the acknowledgement of betrayal that she'd have expected. Or even any regret for the hurt he'd caused.

How could he? she thought, her throat tightening convulsively. Oh, how could he? And the first scalding tear trickled down her cold face.

She wept silently, her head bowed, her body rigid. Around her, she could hear all the noises of the night—the rustle of the wind in the leaves, the yowl of a marauding cat, a swift burst of music as someone opened then closed a window, and in the distance a faint rumble of thunder. The fluttering breeze brought the scent of rain.

She thought, It's time I was getting back. She lifted her hands, scrubbing her eyes as a child might do, then stood up.

The bushes parted and stirred, and a narrow beam of light caught her, held her. As she shaded her eyes from the dazzle Declan said grimly, 'I guessed I'd find you here.'

'Go away from me.' Her voice shook. 'Leave me alone.'

'Don't be a little fool. We have to talk.'

'There's nothing to talk about. You've already said everything—and to Maria. You told her I was having an affair with Jeremy—even though you knew—you must have known…' Her voice broke. 'Oh, what's the use?'

'Listen to me, and listen well.' His voice was soft but resonant 'I told Maria nothing of the kind. She's still in total ignorance about your ill-conceived passion for her worthless husband, and that's the way it's going to stay.'

'But she knew who I was,' she protested. 'She knew my name.'

'Then she heard it in another context.' There was a further growl of thunder, closer this time, and the first swirl of heavy raindrops. 'But we can't stand here discussing the matter. We'll be drenched. Come on in the house.' The flashlight played over her. 'Mother of God, where's your jacket?'

'I left it behind,' she said furiously. 'And I'm going nowhere with you.'

'Well, you're not staying here to catch pneumonia.' The light clicked off, and two swift strides brought him to her side. Before she could register what was happening, he'd lifted her bodily, hoisting her over his shoulder.

For a moment she was stunned—rendered dumb with outrage. Then she began to pound his back with her fists. 'Put me down. Put me down at once.'

'It'll be a pleasure,' he said 'Once we're indoors out of this rain: And stop wriggling, damn you.' And he administered an admonitory tap to her rear.

She would have yelled, but being carried at speed through heavy rain with her head dangling towards the ground wasn't conducive to anything but a few grunts of discomfort, she discovered.