Pacific Heat. Anne Mather

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      The lift transported her down to the foyer without incident, and she discovered that far from being the only person who was up and about the ground floor of the hotel was fairly buzzing with activity. She remembered now that when she’d stayed in New York she’d noticed this same phenomenon. Americans very often held business meetings at breakfast, and as if to prove this there were lots of immaculately suited men and women with briefcases passing in and out of the terrace restaurant.

      They reminded her of Joe Castellano, and she wondered if he ever ate breakfast at this hotel. It was an unlikely scenario, she had to admit. Did she actually think he might come looking for her?

      Brushing such a ridiculous thought aside, she saw the glint of a swimming pool through the long windows that flanked a palm-shaded courtyard. The hotel appeared to be built around this inner courtyard, and she moved towards the automatic doors that gave access to the pool area. Striped umbrellas, cushioned loungers and a wealth of thick towels piled on an old-fashioned handcart invited investigation. The whole place had a ‘twenties’ feel about it, but the facilities were as luxurious as they come.

      Still, it was good to know that she could take a swim whenever she felt like it She could imagine how delightful that would be in the heat of the day. She smiled. She was in danger of enjoying this temporary exile. She had to remember exactly why she was here.

      She’d had no problem remembering last night. Then, the strangeness of her surroundings, the fact that she hadn’t met Diane, after all, and the news that she was to stay here and not at her subject’s mansion, had left her feeling decidedly down. The only bright spot in her day had been her meeting with Joe Castellano at the airport, but she was intelligent enough to know that she was unlikely ever to run into him again.

      But he had been kind, and because of him she hadn’t done anything stupid. Like trying to ring Richard, or crying herself to sleep. And this morning she could safely say she was looking forward to starting work. That was the only reason she was here, she assured herself. She didn’t care if she saw Richard or not.

      She sighed. As she sauntered round the huge pool, she was forced to acknowledge that her last assertion wasn’t precisely true. She did want to see Richard again—but only to reassure herself that he was all right, she told herself firmly. They had known one another for a long time, after all. It was natural that she should care what happened to him.

      The fact that he hadn’t particularly cared what happened to her when he walked out on her followed on from this assumption. But she wasn’t like Richard, she reminded herself. She did care about people’s feelings. She couldn’t help it. But what she had to remember was that Richard had hurt her. She mustn’t give him the chance to hurt her all over again.

      The message light was flashing on the phone when she got back to her suite. Checking in with the receptionist, she learned that a car was coming to pick her up at ten o’clock. She was asked to be waiting in the foyer at that time, and she guessed that Bonnie Lovelace would be coming along to identify her to the driver.

      Which left her just a short time to worry about her appearance. Having seen so much informal attire downstairs, she wondered if she ought to wear shorts. But no. Meeting Diane again, she wanted to look half decent. And a vest and shorts would put their association on far too familiar a level.

      She was downstairs at five to ten, still wearing the lime-green cotton, with a tote bag containing her notebook and tape recorder slung over her shoulder. She’d managed to tame her hair into a French braid so it looked considerably tidier, and she’d added a pair of gold earloops for good measure.

      ‘Liv?’

      She’d been watching the antics of a toddler, who’d got away from his mother and was presently causing a lot of grief to one of the waiters who was trying to serve coffee from the foyer bar, when a hand touched her shoulder. She hadn’t been aware of anyone’s approach, and the unexpected British accent took her by surprise. She swung round, all thoughts of hiding her feelings going out of her head, and stared at the man behind her with her heart in her eyes.

      ‘Richard!’

      ‘Hello, Liv.’

      His response was every bit as emotional as hers had been and before she knew what he was doing he’d bent his head and bestowed a lingering kiss on her mouth. His lips were warm and wet, as if he’d been licking them in anticipation, and although Olivia had expected to be gratified by the warmth of his greeting she found she didn’t care for his assumption that she’d welcome it.

      ‘I’ve missed you so much, Liv,’ he added, and she was dismayed to see that his eyes had filled with tears. Eyes that were slightly red-rimmed, she noticed, with a telling puffiness beneath each one.

      Indeed, as she came to look at him properly, she saw that his eyes weren’t the only evidence of change about him. He’d put on weight, for one thing. His limbs had thickened, and his stomach swelled over the leather of his belt. He’d bleached his hair, too, and although it accentuated his tan it looked artificial. In a polo shirt and shorts, he looked little like the man she remembered.

      ‘You look—terrific,’ he went on, surveying her slim figure and bare legs with greedy eyes. ‘Come on.’ He gestured towards the exit. ‘I’ve got the car waiting.’ His lips twisted. ‘Is Diane going to get a shock when she sees you!’

      ‘I doubt it.’

      Olivia let him escort her towards the glass doors with some reluctance. Although it was true that she had lost weight since the divorce, otherwise she looked much the same. Her hair was longer, of course. When she’d been married to Richard and working in the city, it had been easier to handle when it was shorter. But compared to Diane Haran—or should she say Diane Haig?—she was very ordinary indeed.

      And no one knew that better than Richard himself.

      Outside, the limousine in which she and Bonnie had travelled from the airport the previous afternoon was waiting, with Manuel at the wheel. Actually, Olivia was quite relieved to see the chauffeur. For a moment, she’d wondered if Richard had come alone. But, whether the unhappy rumours about his marriage were true or not, Diane had evidently decided they needed a chaperon. Or perhaps it was the fact that, even at this early hour of the morning, Olivia could smell the sour scent of alcohol on Richard’s breath.

      Once they were in the car, she took care to put a good twelve inches of white leather between them, and Richard turned to give her a wounded look. ‘Don’t you trust me, Liv?’ he protested, making an abortive attempt to take her hand. ‘God, you didn’t used to look at me like that. What an unholy mess I’ve made of both our lives.’

      Olivia caught her breath at this assertion. Although he was staring straight ahead, she prayed Manuel wasn’t listening to Richard’s maudlin complaints. Not only was he full of self-pity, but he was acting as if she shared his regrets.

      And she didn’t.

      Well, not really, she amended, trying to be brutally honest with herself. She couldn’t deny that she’d hoped it hadn’t been all plain sailing for him. She was human, after all, and when Kay had said his marriage to Diane was in trouble she had felt a quiver of anticipation. But she’d never expected that Richard might really want to see her. Or that he might covet what he’d lost.

      ‘So—how are you?’ Richard asked now, evidently deciding he’d said enough about his feelings for the present.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she answered, with determined brightness. ‘The jet lag’s a bit of СКАЧАТЬ