Smokescreen. Anne Mather

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      Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘THE Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away … ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’

      The words of the funeral service drifted over Olivia’s head. She was hardly aware of them. She was hardly aware of the sunny February day, an inappropriate contrast to the sombreness of the occasion, or of the covertly interested glances she attracted, as the young, bereaved widow. She appeared unconcerned that her sallow skin and ebony black hair were a startling contrast in this essentially English setting, or that the sable coat she wore with such indifference accentuated her almost alien appearance. She seemed remote from what was happening around her, careless that her manner might be misconstrued; the whispered speculations of her fellow mourners reaching her ears with no more consequence than the sound of the leaves shifting about her feet.

      There were a great number of mourners gathered about the graveside, associates and business colleagues of Henry Gantry, his fellow directors in the huge chemical corporation he had founded, employees; anyone who thought that by being there they might prove themselves in some way. Henry Gantry had been a powerful man, in death he still commanded great respect, and although not one of them would admit to being afraid of him, they all had been, at one time or another.

      Olivia was the exception. She had not been afraid of him. She had hated him before she even knew him, and latterly she had come to despise him, and herself. But fear, that was for people whose lives Henry Gantry had been able to control, and there had been many, she had to admit. Yet, strangely enough, living in his house, she had come close to respecting him, even if she could never forgive him for what he had done. She had even discovered in herself a mild contempt for people whose weaknesses Henry had exploited. It was a feeling she had fought to overcome, and now it was all over. Or perhaps it was only beginning …

      The funeral service had ended. The heavy, lead-lined coffin had been lowered into the ground, and Francis Kennedy, who had been Henry Gantry’s personal assistant, touched her sleeve.

      ‘Let me drive you back to the house, Mrs Gantry,’ he offered, with the bland personable charm that seemed to have ensured his success with her sex. ‘You must be cold and tired. What you need is a stiff brandy—to take the strain.’

      Olivia turned her long green eyes in his direction, their cool transparency startling in those dark features. ‘Thank you,’ she said, civilly enough, although experience had taught her to distrust too much subservience. ‘I think I can stand it, Francis. I shall ride back with Forsyth, as usual. As you can see, he’s waiting for me. But it was a nice gesture.’

      Francis Kennedy inclined his head. ‘It was my pleasure, Mrs Gantry. I’ll see you later, at the house.’

      Olivia acknowledged his submission and then, with a faint smile for the priest who had conducted the ceremony, she turned in the direction of the cars. Poor Father Donovan, she thought cynically, as the heels of her long boots sank into the soggy turf that flanked the graves. Like everyone else, he had succumbed to the corrosive power of wealth and possession, and although Henry Gantry had never stepped inside a church in his life, his funeral Mass had been just as magnificent as that conveyed to the most ardent believer. But perhaps that was only right, she reflected, forcing her callousness aside. What was it she had read: that God rejoiced more over the repentance of one non-believer СКАЧАТЬ