Anne Mather - Betrayed

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!’

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.