Pacific Heat. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ into her mind. ‘Why California?’ she enquired. ‘Doesn’t she live in England any more?’

      ‘I understand she has homes in both England and the United States,’ said Kay immediately. ‘Oh, and a villa in the South of France, as well. But as most of her films are made in America I suppose she finds it most convenient to live there.’

      Olivia’s mind boggled. She found it hard to conceive what it must be like to be so rich. Diane had probably found it hard, too, she acknowledged. At least, to begin with. A council flat in the East End of London was where she’d lived for the first fifteen years of her life.

      ‘You’d have to do some research here,’ Kay commented, almost as if Olivia had agreed to her request. ‘Her family have all moved away from Bermondsey, of course, thanks to Diane’s generosity. But I expect there’ll still be people there who remember her as a child. Schoolfriends, neigh-bours, and so on.’

      Olivia regarded the other woman wryly. ‘I do know how to go about researching a subject’s background,’ she remarked, wishing Kay would just let it go. But what she wished most of all was that Diane had never asked for her; had never ignited the spark of unwilling excitement that the thought of seeing Richard again could bring.

      Kay had straightened in her chair now, and was watching her closely, and Olivia felt the heat from her thoughts invading the pale hollows of her throat. ‘Does this mean you’re thinking of accepting the commission?’ Kay asked, leaning across her desk, and Olivia drew back from that avid stare.

      ‘I—I have no desire to work with Diane Haran,’ she insisted tensely, but they both knew that she hadn’t actually said no.

      Olivia got back to her flat in the late afternoon. Situated on the top floor of an old Victorian town house, the flat was her home and her refuge, the place where she’d sought sanctuary when Richard had got his divorce. Until the divorce, they’d been living in a pretty semi-detached house in Chiswick, but even without its unhappy memories Olivia couldn’t afford to keep it on. Instead, she’d moved into this rather gloomy apartment in Kensington and over the years she’d transformed its narrow rooms and draughty hallways into a place of light and beauty.

      Henry came to meet her as she opened the door. Rubbing himself against her legs, he showed her how much he had missed her, but Olivia wasn’t deceived. He was hungry, and he was reminding her it was his dinner time, and for the first time since she’d left Kay’s office Olivia’s generous lips curved in a smile.

      ‘It’s all right. I haven’t forgotten you,’ she said, juggling the two bags she’d brought from the supermarket and shouldering the door closed behind her. ‘How does salmon and shrimp appeal to you?’ Henry purred his approval as Olivia started down the hall. ‘I should have known,’ she added ruefully. ‘It’s only cupboard love.’

      The kitchen smelled reassuringly of the plants and herbs she cultivated so assiduously. Trailing fronds of greenery brushed her face as she deposited the bags on the counter. There were daffodils on the window-ledge, providing a vivid splash of colour, and although the skies were overcast outside the kitchen was bright and cosily immune from the cold March wind.

      Once Henry had been dealt with, Olivia filled the kettle and set it to boil. She would eat later, but for now she thought she deserved a hot, sweet cup of tea. As she put the food she’d bought away, she tried not to think of Diane Haran and her commission. This was her home; she didn’t want to sully it with thoughts of her ex-husband’s lover. She’d felt safe here, secure, far from the misery that loving Richard had brought

      With the tea made, she had no excuse for lingering in the kitchen, and, taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the office she’d created for herself. With the walls lined with books—both for pleasure and for reference—and a modern computer and printer, it was comfortingly familiar, her desk still as cluttered with papers as it had been when she went out.

      Taking a sip of her tea, she perched on the old leather diplomat chair she’d bought at a warehouse sale three years ago, and regarded the clutter resignedly. She’d been planning on spending some time catching up with her correspondence, but there were still notes and discarded pages of manuscript from her last book lying around. That was why she’d been to see Kay that afternoon: to hear her judgement on her latest profile of a woman sailor. Suzanne Howard had sailed single-handedly around the world at the age of seventy-three.

      The fact that Kay had been delighted by the manuscript had been eclipsed by the conversation they’d had about Diane Haran. But Olivia was relieved to know that what she was producing was still on track. When her first book—a biography of Catherine Parr, the only one of his six wives to have survived Henry the Eighth—had been successful, she’d been afraid it was only a one-off, that her next book would bomb as many second books did. But the life of Eileen Cusack had proved a best-seller, and that had encouraged her to approach the Howard family last year.

      She wondered if Richard knew what she was doing. When he’d walked out, she’d been working for Milady magazine, with no prospect of improving her career. Perhaps if he hadn’t walked out she wouldn’t have found the nerve to tackle a book, she thought consideringly. It was true that he’d always made fun of the gossipy pieces she’d been paid to produce for the magazine.

      Which brought her back to the subject she’d been trying to avoid ever since she’d left Kay’s office. Was she actually going to write Diane Haran’s story—or at least as much of it as the public would be permitted to know?

      The shrilling of the telephone was a welcome escape from her thoughts, and, pushing back a strand of dark, tof-fee-coloured hair, she reached for the receiver. It crossed her mind, as she brought it to her ear, that it could be Kay, but it was too late now. Besides, she was fairly sure that Kay was satisfied that she’d promised to think about the commission. She was unlikely to try and push her any further. Not today, anyway.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Liv. At last!’ It was her father. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.’ He paused, and when she didn’t instantly jump in with an explanation he continued, ‘Are you all right? Not having a problem with the new book, are you?’

      ‘No.’ Olivia blew out a breath. ‘No, Kay’s very happy with it, as it happens.’ She forced herself to sound positive.

      Her father and stepmother had supported her all through her divorce from Richard, and they’d be most disturbed to hear what she was thinking of doing. ‘I—er—I was just at the supermarket. I’ve just got in.’

      ‘Ah.’ Matthew Pyatt sounded relieved. ‘Well, your mother and I were wondering if you’d like to come for supper.’ He always referred to her stepmother as her mother. After all, she had acted as such since Olivia was barely five years old. ‘We’ve got something we want to discuss with you, and as we haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks we thought it would kill two birds with one stone. What do you think?’

      ‘Oh, Dad—’ Olivia wasn’t enthusiastic. After the afternoon she’d had, she’d been looking forward to doing nothing more energetic than putting a frozen pizza in the microwave and curling up with a bottle of wine. Besides, she needed time to think before Kay came back to her. And she wasn’t sure she could hide her anxieties from them. ‘Could I take a rain check?’

      ‘There is something wrong.’ Her father had always been incredibly perceptive, which was one of the reasons why she’d hoped to put him off. ‘What is it? What’s happened? You might as well tell me.’

      Olivia sighed. ‘Nothing’s happened,’ she said, not very convincingly, СКАЧАТЬ