Innocent Sins. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ and gained the sanctuary of her room with some relief. Leaning back against the panels, she wondered why she always let Oliver upset her. Whatever he said, whatever he did, he couldn’t help getting under her skin.

      Straightening, she crossed the floor to the square four-poster she’d occupied when she’d lived here. Although her belongings had been removed and Stella had had the room redecorated, it was still reassuringly familiar to her. But this might be the last time she’d use it, she thought, tears filling her eyes again. Once her father’s funeral was over, she’d have no excuse for coming here.

      Her reflection in the dressing-table mirror gave her a momentary shudder. For a second, the face that had stared back at her had been her mother’s. But she knew that was just because they looked alike. Pale face, pale grey eyes, wild red hair that rioted in an untidy mass about her shoulders. No wonder Stella had looked at her so contemptuously. Compared to her stepmother, she lacked any sophistication.

      As for Oliver: well, she preferred not to think about him. She wasn’t at all deceived by his attempt at conciliation. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but she had no intention of making a fool of herself again.

      She sighed now, loosening the belt of her dressing gown and flopping back on to the bed. It was impossible to come here without being assaulted by her memories. And, no matter how she might regret it now, Oliver had been an integral part of her growing-up.

      She caught back a tear. She might have hated her stepmother for taking her mother’s place, but she had never hated Oliver. At ten years of age to his thirteen, she’d been pathetically eager to be his friend. She’d never had a brother or a sister before and she’d hero-worshipped him. She’d followed him around like a blind disciple, willing to do anything he asked of her, hanging on his every word.

      She hadn’t been alone. He was a popular boy, and at the comprehensive in Rhosmawr that they’d both attended he’d never been short of companions. For almost six years, she’d deluded herself that the girls who came and went in his life meant nothing to him. Her infatuation had been such that she’d convinced herself he was only killing time until she grew up.

      Stella had guessed how she felt, of course. Her stepmother had always had far more experience of life than Laura’s father, and to begin with it had amused her that her stepdaughter should have fallen so completely for her son. Stella hadn’t done anything about it. Perhaps she’d thought she could leave that to Oliver himself. But she’d got a rude awakening when she’d discovered them together, and despite the fact that Oliver had defended her she’d despised the girl from then on.

      Laura groaned now and rolled over on to her stomach, trying to still the raw emotions that were churning inside her. That was all in the past, she told herself. She’d got over Oliver when she’d married Conor. And she’d grown up long before she took her vows. All right, so the marriage hadn’t worked out; but these things happened. Conor had been too young to make the commitment; too willing to leave all responsibility to her.

      It was coming back here, she thought abruptly. She hadn’t spent any length of time at Penmadoc since she’d left to go to university over ten years ago. Like Oliver himself, she’d left home as soon as her schooldays were over—though he’d deferred continuing his education for a year to go backpacking across Europe instead.

      Her lips twisted. It sometimes seemed as if fortune had always smiled on her stepbrother, and it was hard not to feel resentful when her own life had followed such a different course. Although being caught up in the conflict that had ensued after a country’s escape from a non-democratic government might not have seemed fortunate at the time, the pictures Oliver had taken and sent back to a London newspaper had ensured him a job in journalism after he’d got his degree. Since then, he’d become famous for his skill in capturing photographic images. Recently, a book of stylised black and white pictures of Alaskan wildlife he’d taken had made the best-seller lists. He worked free-lance these days, accepting commissions as and when it suited him. He also gave lectures: Laura knew because she’d attended one anonymously in New York.

      Which was so very different from her own experience, she acknowledged ruefully. After—after what had happened between her and Oliver, she’d found it very hard to trust a man again. Besides which, although she’d got her degree in English, she was no genius. The fact that she’d got a job in publishing was due more to Conor’s father’s introduction to his brother, who owned the company, than any skill on her part, she was sure.

      Conor’s parents had been good to her. They were Americans, like their son, and had sent him to England primarily to improve his social skills. He’d told Laura after their marriage that it was her independence and self-sufficiency that had drawn him to her. She’d never told him why she’d had to learn to depend only on herself.

      Expelling a weary breath, she cast off the old dressing gown and crawled between the sheets. They were cold now, and she realised she should have filled a hot-water bottle, after all. So what’s new? she thought. Her whole life seemed to have been a study in retrospection. With Oliver Kemp the fulcrum at its core.

       CHAPTER THREE

      OLIVER awakened with a thumping headache.

      For a while he lay quite still, trying to work out where he was and how he came to be there. He couldn’t understand why his room felt so cold. It didn’t get this cold in Malaysia. And if he wasn’t there why couldn’t he hear the steady hum of the Knightsbridge traffic? Despite double-glazing, he was always aware of the heart of the city, beating away just yards from Mostyn Square.

      Then he remembered. Remembered, too, why his head was pounding as if there were a pile driver in his skull. He was in Wales; at Penmadoc, not in London. And it was the fact that he’d consumed the best part of a bottle of Scotch before falling into bed in the early hours that accounted for his hangover.

      He groaned. He should have had more sense. But after seeing Laura again and learning why his mother had been so desperate to get in touch with him he’d needed something to fortify his strength.

      The will…

      Levering himself up on his elbows, he endeavoured to survey the room without feeling sick. But the bed swayed alarmingly, and although he swung his feet on to the floor he had to hold on to the mattress to keep his balance. Dammit, he was too old to be suffering this kind of nonsense. In future, he’d sustain himself with mineral water and nothing else.

      Cursing whatever fate had decreed he should return to England at this particular moment in time, he got to his feet. Then, steadying himself on the chest of drawers beside his wardrobe, he shuffled across the room like an old man.

      Despite a lengthy exploration, there were no painkillers in the bathroom cabinet. The light in there was blinding. He hadn’t thought to pull down the blind the night before and the brilliance of sun on snow was the equivalent of a knife being driven into his temple. It was the kind of light he usually only saw through a filter, but right now the idea of estimating aperture, shutter speeds and distance was quite beyond his capabilities.

      ‘For God’s sake,’ he muttered, jerking on the cord, only to have the blind rattle up again at lightning speed. He swore again, grabbing the cord and repeating the procedure. ‘This is just what I need.’

      At least the water was hot and he stepped into the shower cubicle and ran the spray at a crippling pressure. He hadn’t looked at his watch yet, but he guessed it must be after nine o’clock. He could have done with a cup of Thomas’s strong black coffee. Instead, he would СКАЧАТЬ