Betrayed

But it was then, as she dipped her head to avoid his cool appraisal, that she noticed the ring on his left hand. Her stomach hollowed at the realisation that it was a wedding-ring, and, although she knew she had no right to feel the way she did at that moment, a feeling of absolute nausea swept over her.

She thought she was going to be sick. For one awful moment, she really thought she might throw up, there, in Matthew’s car, the feeling was so intense. But, somehow, she fought it back, though her forehead beaded with perspiration in the process. Dear God, she thought, surreptitiously wiping the back of her hand across her temples, it shouldn’t matter to her what Matthew had done in the years since their separation. It was perfectly reasonable that he should have found someone else, that he should get married, and probably start a family. That was what most men did, after all, and a man as attractive to the opposite sex as Matthew had always been was unlikely to have stayed single for too long.

Nevertheless, as the feeling of sickness subsided, Olivia knew that she was still not entirely objective where Matthew was concerned. Briefly, she had known again all the pain of that earlier betrayal, and, while it was easy to dismiss their relationship from a distance, a one-to-one confrontation was something else entirely.

In spite of her efforts to avoid his attention, the unevenness of her breathing could not be disguised, and Matthew had always been fairly perceptive where she was concerned.

‘Are you ill?’ he demanded, his attention torn between concern—and curiosity—about her welfare, and the heavy pressure of traffic around the airport. ‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well before you got into the car?’

‘I—just felt—sick, for a moment,’ Olivia protested, wondering what he would say if she told him the truth. But then, he would probably enjoy the vindication of believing she had regretted severing their relationship. Whatever, the truth was not hers to tell, and that was all there was to it.

‘Hmm.’ Matthew sounded impatient, and she wondered if he believed her. Still, he opened the electrically controlled windows, and the cool draught of air was marvellously refreshing. ‘We’ll find a service area, and pull off and have some coffee,’ he said, giving her another glancing look. ‘Didn’t you have breakfast on the plane?’

‘I wasn’t hungry,’ admitted Olivia, smoothing her damp palms over her knees. ‘Airline food is so tasteless.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘I probably haven’t travelled as much as you,’ responded Matthew, keeping his eyes on the road. Then, braking to avoid a reckless queue-jumping motorcyclist, he added flatly, ‘You don’t look as though you eat enough these days.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ Olivia’s response was tight and defensive. ‘I really appreciate hearing that you think I look under-nourished!’

‘I didn’t say that.

Matthew’s response was clipped, but Olivia was in no mood to consider the incongruity of this conversation. ‘Didn’t you?’ she retorted. ‘Well, it may interest you to know that where I come from you can’t be too thin!’

‘Or too rich, so I hear,’ responded Matthew caustically. ‘I suppose you can’t have one without the other, can you?’

Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

Matthew shrugged. Then, ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head, as if thinking better of arguing with her. ‘I was just making polite conversation, that’s all.’ He deftly moved the Mercedes into the lane that would take them on to the M3 motorway, and merged with the traffic coming from the east. ‘There’s—er—there’s a service area around here somewhere. Yes, there’s the sign. It’s just a couple of miles further on.’

‘You don’t have to stop for me,’ said Olivia shortly, aware of a feeling of tension out of all proportion to what he had been saying, but Matthew just gave her a speaking look.

‘We’re stopping,’ he said, putting his words into action as the slip-road for the service area came in sight. ‘I could do with some coffee myself. It was barely half-past-six when I left home this morning.’

Olivia’s lips tightened. ‘Why did you come, anyway?’ she asked ungraciously. ‘I could have managed.’

‘Could you?’ Matthew swung the big car into a parking bay, and switched off the engine. ‘Well, your mother asked me if I would, and how could I refuse? She and your father, and the rest of the family, are pretty cut up about the old lady’s death, you know. It’s been fairly rough for them, ever since she had that first stroke, just before Christmas.’

Olivia stared at him. ‘She had a stroke before Christmas?’ she exclaimed. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘No. Well, I guess they didn’t think you’d be interested,’ said Matthew evenly, thrusting open the door. He paused. ‘Are you coming? Or are you determined to make this even more difficult than it already is?’

Olivia caught her breath, as she scrambled out. ‘More difficult?’ she echoed, aware that he could misinterpret the indignation in her tone. But it wasn’t fair that he should make judgements about her. She hadn’t known about her grandmother’s illness, and he had no idea how painful this all was.

‘Yes, more difficult,’ Matthew said now, slamming the car door and locking it. ‘Don’t remind me what a selfish little bitch you are!’

Olivia stared at him through tear-glazed eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you to come,’ she exclaimed, taking refuge in the childish retort, and Matthew sighed.

‘No,’ he conceded, after a moment. ‘You didn’t ask me to come. And you’re making it bloody plain you wish I hadn’t.’ He glanced round, as if assuring himself that their conversation was not being overheard, and then added wearily, ‘But, please—don’t make a scene here! For your grandmother’s sake, I’m prepared to forget the past, and so should you. Ten years is too long for me to bear a grudge—or for you to feel a sense of guilt!’

CHAPTER TWO (#u604fcc91-46c1-5499-ab8a-9f03372b77d2)

THE sun came out as they sat at a table by the window, in the self-service restaurant. It streamed through the faintly dusty panes, bathing Olivia in its light, and soothing her raw emotions. She had made no response to Matthew’s final accusation in the car park, and now she sat staring at the coffee in her cup, wondering again why she had been so foolish as to respond to her mother’s telegram. After all, no one had asked her to come and, whatever Matthew said, ten years was not long enough to heal some wounds.

Not that he seemed to be suffering too badly, she thought uncharitably, her eyes straying to the brown, long-fingered hands gripping the knife and fork across the table from her. Matthew was tucking into bacon, eggs and fried tomatoes with apparent relish, and Olivia envied him his ability to ignore her evidently unwelcome presence.

He had nice hands, she reflected unwillingly, a tremor of awareness causing an unwanted shiver to slide down her spine. Once, those hands had been as familiar to her as her own, and when they were together they had seldom been far from hers. If they weren’t holding hands, he had had his arm about her shoulders, and she had revelled in the possessive pressure he had displayed. She had wanted him to touch her; she had wanted to touch him just as urgently, and when they were alone——

She caught herself up short, swallowing a hasty mouthful of her coffee and almost scalding her mouth in the process. But allowing her thoughts to drift in that direction was not only wrong, but futile, and she made a determined effort to rekindle the sense of resentment his cool, disparaging comments had aroused in her. Only so long as she could maintain some feeling of anger towards him could she hope to sustain her detachment. She had not realised how fatally easy it would be to delude herself about their relationship, or that, even knowing who he was, she might still want him. Time had changed a lot of things, it was true, and the idealistic young girl she had been when she’d boarded the plane for the United States was gone forever. But because she was older, and more experienced in the ways of the world, she was also more tolerant of human frailty. Not least her own. She was realising that those years had also blunted the edge of her conviction.

Dangerously so, she acknowledged now, giving Matthew another covert glance. She would never have believed she could still be attracted to him. But he had been her first love, after all, and didn’t they say that you never forgot your first love?

He lifted his eyes from his plate then, and caught her looking at him. And she had to steel herself to meet the cool challenge in his gaze. She wondered if he suspected what she was thinking. Once, he had been able to interpret her every expression, but that was before she had learned the art of dissimulation. Nevertheless, his gaze was disturbingly intent, and it took all her powers of resistance to withstand the desire to look away.

‘Don’t,’ he said after a moment, putting down his knife and fork and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, picking up the cup beside his plate, he emptied its contents and set it down. ‘Drink your coffee, Olivia. It’s time to go.’

‘Is it?’ Perversely, Olivia was disposed to linger. It was crazy, she knew, but there was one sure way of retaining the animosity between them, and that was by provoking his anger, too. ‘I was just thinking I might have some breakfast, after all.’ She gave the buffet shelves a provocative appraisal. ‘A hot Danish, perhaps. That’s what I usually have at home.’

Matthew’s mouth tightened. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait for you in the car. Don’t hurry. I’ll buy a paper, and catch up on the morning news.’

Olivia stared at him. ‘You’d do that, wouldn’t you?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘After I’ve sat and watched you wolf down the most revolting mess of fried food I’ve ever seen!’

Matthew’s lips twitched. ‘You’re talking about the great British breakfast,’ he told her sardonically. ‘We’re not all health freaks.’

Olivia wanted to tell him that the amount of cholesterol he had swallowed that morning would go a fair way to clogging his arteries, but she refused to let him gain the upper hand. And besides, it had to be said, he didn’t look as if he suffered any ill effects. On the contrary, he looked disgustingly healthy, and observing his tanned skin she wondered exactly what kind of occupation he had chosen.

‘Well, anyway,’ she said, back-tracking, ‘we’re not in any great hurry, are we?’

‘You may not be,’ remarked Matthew, but he remained in his seat, and Olivia moistened her dry lips.

‘Does that mean you are?’

‘I do have responsibilities,’ conceded Matthew evenly. ‘Oh, go on. Get yourself a Danish, if that’s what you want. I must admit, if you were feeling sick earlier, food is probably what you need.’

Olivia looked across at him. ‘Will you get it for me? I—er—I don’t have any change.’

Matthew gave her an old-fashioned look, but he got to his feet and walked back to the buffet, flexing his shoulders as he did so. He was wearing jeans with his jerkin, and a pair of worn leather boots, like the ones he used to wear when they were together. She watched him as he exchanged a smiling comment with the girl on the pay-till, and she felt a stabbing sense of envy. He should be smiling at her, not at some stranger, she thought painfully. He had such a nice smile, and when he was relaxed the years just fell away.

‘There you are,’ he said, setting the plate containing the apricot Danish pastry down in front of her. ‘Hot, as you ordered, but probably nowhere near as delicious as you’re used to.’

Olivia looked up at him, as he made no move to drop into the seat opposite. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said, unconsciously using all her charm to persuade him to stay. ‘You’re not really going, are you?’

Matthew’s eyes darkened perceptibly. ‘Liv——’

‘That’s the first time you’ve called me that!’ she exclaimed, digging her fork into the Danish, and lifting a sugary morsel to her lips. Her tongue came out to accept the delicate mouthful, and in Matthew’s eyes she saw a reflection of the torment she was feeling.

‘I’m married, Olivia,’ he said in a strangled voice, and although the news was no real surprise to her it still had the power to constrict her throat.

‘So—what?’ she managed, swallowing the fragment of pastry with a valiant effort. ‘I only want to talk to you.’