Betrayed. Anne Mather

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      ‘Because Jenny was my friend,’ retorted Olivia shortly. And now she looks tired, and disillusioned, she added silently, watching the way the other woman turned and, catching the hand of the little boy, who was walking behind her, yanked him up to the pushchair. Jenny looked worn, and tight-lipped, and if she hadn’t known better Olivia would have taken her for a woman of nearly forty.

      ‘You didn’t keep in touch with her while you’ve been away, I gather,’ Matthew commented drily, and Olivia hunched her shoulders.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Not such a good friend, then,’ he remarked, as she turned to look back over her shoulder. ‘I doubt if Jenny wants your sympathy. She’s probably forgotten you ever existed.’

      Olivia pressed her lips together for a moment. Then, ‘That’s a rotten thing to say,’ she said at last, as Matthew turned on to the road that led to the Stoners’ farm. ‘We weren’t that close. Not really. I mean, by the time I was seventeen——’

      She broke off then, realising what she had been about to say, but Matthew chose to finish the sentence for her.

      ‘By the time you were seventeen, we didn’t have time for anyone else,’ he said grimly. ‘Did we? I came home every weekend, so that we could be together.’

      ‘I know.’

      Olivia’s response was barely audible, and Matthew uttered a harsh expletive. ‘I could have killed you, you know,’ he muttered, in a bitter voice. ‘I wanted to. I think that’s why I didn’t go after you. I didn’t trust myself. And your family had suffered enough.’

      Olivia shivered, but then, seeing the look in his eyes, she frowned. ‘My family?’

      ‘Well—your mother,’ he said, obviously expecting her to understand. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair to cause her any more——’

      ‘My mother?’ broke in Olivia blankly. ‘What are you talking about? Why should you single out my mother? Oh—you mean because of her angina——’

      ‘No. Not her angina,’ said Matthew shortly. He glanced her way, and then gave her a more studied look. ‘But—you must know.’

      Olivia was getting anxious. ‘Must know what?’

      ‘That—that your mother had a heart attack, the day after you left home? Do you mean to say you don’t know she’s been confined to a wheelchair ever since?’

       CHAPTER THREE

      OLIVIA couldn’t sleep. For over an hour she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, and then, unable to stand the torment of her thoughts any longer, she threw back the sheet.

      The silk wrap, which matched the oyster satin nightgown she was wearing, was lying at the foot of the bed, and she put it on. Perhaps if she went downstairs and made herself a warm drink it would help her to relax, she thought. Whatever, she had to escape from the bedroom, and the steady sound of Sara snoring in the other bed.

      Evidently her sister harboured no uneasy memories, Olivia reflected wryly, as moonlight illuminated Sara’s sleeping form. But then, her sister was heavily pregnant with her first child, and probably needed her sleep more than most. Like Olivia, she had arrived today, but only from Portsmouth. Married to a naval rating, Sara lived in married quarters there, and she had come home for her grandmother’s funeral.

      Opening the door as quietly as she could, Olivia slipped out on to the landing of the old farmhouse. Although the landing was carpeted, the boards squeaked beneath her feet, and she stifled a sigh. She had never been able to sneak downstairs without announcing her coming. It had been quite a feat, when she and Sara were younger, to raid the larder without their parents knowing. But it was years since she had trod these stairs, and she had forgotten which of them to avoid.

      Still, she made it to the kitchen without any apparent disturbance and, switching on the light, she went to fill the kettle. An old cat, which might or might not have been the tabby they had had when she went away, miaowed appealingly as she took the milk from the fridge, and, although she was sure it must have had its ration for the day, she filled its dish with some of the creamy liquid. She had forgotten what real milk tasted like, she reflected, licking a drop from her finger. She had become so used to the skimmed variety.

      She was pouring a mug of tea when the kitchen door opened, and her hand shook a little as her father came into the room. In his dressing-gown and slippers, he seemed slightly less remote than he had appeared earlier in the day, though his features were unforgiving as they viewed his older daughter.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Olivia stumbled into words, feeling distinctly like an interloper. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself a drink. Would—would you like some?’

      ‘Not for me.’ Robert Stoner approached the table, and she thought how much older he looked now than when she had left. His hair was almost completely grey, and his lean frame was prematurely stooped. ‘Your mother heard you come downstairs,’ he added, looking down at the teapot with unseeing eyes. ‘She sent me to investigate.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Olivia moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘Um—well, do you think she would like——?’

      ‘Your mother doesn’t drink tea at night,’ declared her father heavily. ‘It makes her restless.’

      ‘Oh.’ Olivia bit down on the inside of her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry—sorry if I disturbed you, that is. I—I never thought.’

      ‘No.’

      There was a wealth of meaning in that one word, and Olivia sank down on to one of the wooden kitchen chairs. So much for hoping her father might have forgiven her, she thought wearily. If she had known yesterday what she knew now, would she still have made the trip from New York?

      ‘I’ll leave you to drink your tea, then.’

      Robert Stoner moved back towards the door, and, risking another rebuff, Olivia got to her feet. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Won’t you at least stay while I drink my tea? We—we haven’t exchanged more than a dozen words since I got here. Don’t you think we could try to make amends? For—for Mum’s sake, at least.’

      Her father turned. ‘For your mother’s sake!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Since when have you ever cared about your mother?’

      ‘I’ve always cared about my mother—and you,’ replied Olivia huskily. ‘For heaven’s sake, Dad, what did I do that was so terrible? Nothing more than what thousands of other girls do every day!’

      ‘You can stand there and say that, when you know what it did to your mother?’ said her father harshly, and Olivia sighed.

      ‘I didn’t know what—what happened to Mum,’ she protested.

      ‘But you never bothered to come home to find out, did you?’

      ‘Oh, Dad, I wanted you to come to New York. When—when you didn’t——’

      ‘You forgot about us, right?’

      ‘Wrong.’ СКАЧАТЬ