Anne Mather - Pacific Heat

Olivia sighed. ‘Nothing’s happened,’ she said, not very convincingly, she had to admit. ‘I’m—tired, that’s all. It’s been a stressful few weeks, finishing the book and—’

‘Why are you stressed?’ Her father broke in before she could warm to her theme. ‘You’re not being harassed by some man, are you? You read about these things in the papers—young women who live alone being terrorised in their homes. I’ve never been entirely happy with the security at the flat. Anyone can get in downstairs.’

‘No, they can’t.’ Olivia was impatient. ‘You know visitors have to use the intercom to get in.’

‘But when that door opens to admit a legitimate visitor anyone can push in with them,’ retorted her father. ‘I know. When I used to install heating systems, you’d be surprised at how many robberies there were.’

Olivia had to smile. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean that the way it sounded.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Her father snorted. ‘And you’re not going to avoid an answer by being smug.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Olivia gave in. ‘I’ll come for supper.’ She suppressed her misgivings. ‘Just give me time to take a shower and change. Is eight o’clock all right?’

The Pyatts lived in Chiswick, just a stone’s throw from the station. It gave Olivia quite a pang getting off the train at Grove Park station. For the four years that she and Richard had been married, she’d got off there every evening on her way home from work. But at least her father’s house lay in the opposite direction to the one she used to take. The Pyatts’ house was detached, with double gates and a block paved drive leading to the front door.

Her stepmother opened the door to her.

‘Liv, my dear.’ Alice Pyatt reached up to bestow a warm kiss on her stepdaughter’s cheek. ‘Your father’s just gone down to the cellar to get some wine. He’ll be annoyed he wasn’t here to greet you himself. He’s been watching for you for the past half-hour.’

‘Am I late?’ Olivia let her stepmother help her off with her coat before stepping into the living room. There was a fire glowing in the hearth, and she moved towards it gratefully. ‘Mmm, this is cosy. I miss an open fire at the flat.’

Alice draped Olivia’s overcoat over the banister and followed her stepdaughter into the room. ‘You’re not late,’ she assured her. ‘It’s your father who’s anxious. Now, what can I get you to drink? Sherry, perhaps, or a G and T?’

‘Will I need one?’ Olivia sank down into the armchair nearest the fire. ‘You’re looking well. Is that a new shade of lipstick you’re wearing?’

‘I am, and it is, but you’re not going to get out of your father’s questions that way,’ responded Alice, with a smile.

‘And I have to say you do look rather peaky. Something is wrong, isn’t it? Your father’s seldom mistaken.’

Olivia sighed. ‘Nothing’s wrong exactly,’ she said, shaking her head at her stepmother’s offer of the sherry she was pouring herself. ‘I’ll wait for the wine,’ she added as Alice came to sit opposite her. And then, ‘I don’t look peaky, do I? I’m just feeling a bit—nervy, that’s all.’

Alice shrugged and took a sip of her sherry, and, looking at the other woman, Olivia had to admit that she didn’t look her age. As long as she could remember, Alice’s hair had always been that particular shade of ash blonde, and although she knew it must be artificial now it still looked as soft and feminine as it had ever done.

‘I’d say your father had some justification for his concern,’ she declared now, crossing one silk-clad leg over the other.

Alice had good legs, too, and she’d never been afraid to display them to advantage. At fifty-five, she was ten years younger than her husband and looked at least twenty, and Olivia had always envied her plump, curvaceous figure.

‘I’ve—I’ve been offered a new commission,’ she said, deciding it might be easier to discuss it with her stepmother first. ‘I’m just not sure whether I want to take it. It will mean living in the United States for a couple of months.’

‘The United States!’

Alice sounded impressed, but before she could say anything more Matthew Pyatt strode into the room. ‘The United States,’ he echoed, bending to kiss his daughter. ‘What about the United States? You’re not going to live in New York, are you?’

‘Of course not.’ Olivia tried to breathe evenly, waiting until her father had lodged himself on the arm of his wife’s chair before going on. ‘It’s just a—a commission I’ve been offered. In Los Angeles. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to take it yet.’

‘And that’s what’s on your mind, is it?’ Matthew Pyatt stretched out his long legs towards the fire. His eyes narrowed. ‘I must say, I’m not enthusiastic about you living out there either. A young woman, alone, in a volatile place like that.’

‘I’m not a child, Dad.’ Olivia wished she’d accepted a glass of sherry now. It would have given her something to do with her hands. As it was she clasped them between her legging-clad knees and pressed her legs together. ‘It’s not living in Los Angeles that’s the problem.’

‘Ah.’ Her father nodded. ‘You’re concerned about us, is that it? Well—’ he put an arm about his wife’s shoulders ‘—that’s what we wanted to talk to you about, actually. You know Alice has a sister living in New Zealand? As it happens, she’s invited us to go out there for a couple of months, too. We were worried about leaving you alone, but if you’re going to be away...’

Olivia swallowed. ‘I see.’

‘You don’t mind, do you, Liv?’ Alice leaned towards her anxiously, and Olivia knew she had to reassure them that that wasn’t the case. But the truth was, she was a little apprehensive. It was as if all the circumstances were conspiring against her.

‘I—Of course not,’ she protested now, seeing the relief in her stepmother’s face as she leaned back in her chair.

‘That’s good.’ Alice smiled. ‘It’s nearly ten years since I saw Barbara.’ She glanced up at her husband. ‘That’s one advantage of being retired. Matt won’t be worrying about the business while we’re gone.’

‘So whose biography are you going to write now?’ asked her father as his wife left the room to check on the supper, and Olivia knew she couldn’t prevaricate any longer.

‘Diane Haran’s.’ Her voice was flat. ‘But I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to do it,’ she added hastily as her father’s face grew red. ‘Don’t look like that, Dad. It’s a wonderful opportunity. And—and she and Richard are splitting up.’

‘You’re not serious!’

Matthew was on his feet now, and Olivia knew she had been right to be apprehensive of seeking his advice. As far as her father was concerned, Richard Haig deserved a beating for the way he’d treated his daughter, and it was only because Olivia had pleaded with him not to get involved that they hadn’t come to blows.

‘Why not?’ she asked, playing devil’s advocate. ‘According to Kay, I’ll never be offered such a lucrative deal again.’

‘You know why not,’ grated her father. ‘And that’s why you’re looking so worried, isn’t it? I wondered why we hadn’t seen you. I never suspected it was because of anything like this.’

‘And it wasn’t.’ Olivia was indignant. ‘Honestly, Dad, I just found out today. I’ve been doing the revisions on the other book. The one about Suzanne Howard. That’s why I haven’t seen you. Nothing else.’

Matthew Pyatt drew a steadying breath. ‘But even so...’

‘As I say, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet,’ said Olivia evenly, looping a strand of toffee-coloured hair behind her ear. Her hair was long, and she invariably wore it in a chignon when she was working, but this evening she’d created a rather precarious knot on top of her head.