Melting Fire. Anne Mather

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      ‘I know. You didn’t give a thought to me, here on my own,’ retorted Bella reprovingly, but there was no censure in the words. ‘Come along, then. I’ve got tea waiting, and while we have it you can tell me all your news.’

      ‘Yes,’ Olivia murmured, as Alex extracted her cases from the boot and carried them up the steps and into the house, but now that she was actually here, she felt a certain reluctance to expose her feelings for Jules to the cold light of day. Richard would be scathing, she expected that, but she didn’t think she could bear it if Bella was not enthusiastic. She felt too unsure of herself, too vulnerable, to withstand anyone’s criticism, and she had a ridiculous desire to keep her secret just a little longer.

      The hall of Copley was cool after the dusty heat outside. The drone of a distant tractor was muted within its maple panelling, dark and polished, reflecting the colours of a vase of asters and lupins that occupied the antique table in the curve of the stairs. A warm gold and blue carpet was soft to the feet, and Jess, Richard’s Irish wolfhound, came yawning across it to greet her. Fondling the bitch’s grey head, Olivia chided her for the lazy animal she was, pushing the probing tongue away and informing her that she didn’t earn her keep.

      Alex had apparently carried her cases upstairs, and Olivia followed Bella into the sitting room, flopping down lazily on to the squashy cushions of the velvet sofa. Looking about her, she was struck anew by the beauty of this room that was so lived-in, and yet retained its air of casual elegance. Its pale walls were hung with some of Richard’s collection of miniatures, and in the window embrasure a baby grand piano supported a bowl of cream roses. Occasionally Richard could be persuaded to play to them in the evenings, but mostly he spent his time closeted in his study across the hall, and woe betide anyone who dared to interrupt him when he was working.

      The room was kept cool by the french doors open on to the terrace beyond, and the long cream curtains moved languidly in the faint breeze that stirred the wind chimes Richard had brought back from Japan. A tea trolley resided on the hearth before the marble fireplace, which was still used on winter evenings, and Bella had seated herself beside it and was presently pouring tea. The exquisite bone china service had been a gift to Richard’s father and his new wife on the occasion of their wedding, and Olivia accepted her cup eagerly, looking forward to the ritual. She liked coffee, and indeed at breakfast time she would drink nothing else, but there was something intensely satisfying about afternoon tea.

      ‘So …’ Bella offered her a wafer-thin sandwich, and after Olivia had bitten into its smoked salmon filling, she added: ‘Tell me about Paris. Is it still as exciting as you thought? Or are you glad to be home again?’

      Olivia chose her words with caution. ‘Paris is always exciting,’ she remarked offhandedly, helping herself to another sandwich. ‘Mmm, these are delicious, Bella. And are those strawberries under that cover? Ooh, gorgeous! I love strawberries and cream on a hot afternoon.’

      Bella contained her curiosity, and spooned some of the juicy berries into a dish. ‘Thomas picked them this morning, especially for you,’ she observed dryly. ‘He told me there were none yesterday when Mrs Morrison came to tea, and then this afternoon, he produced all these.’

      Olivia chuckled, touched that the old gardener should have wanted to please her, when she had neglected Copley for so long. ‘I’ll go and thank him afterwards. He knows they’re my favourite fruit.’

      ‘Yes.’ Bella eyed her candidly. ‘Well, you look all right, I must say. A bit skinny perhaps, but I expect that’s all that fancy French cooking.’

      ‘I beg your pardon!’ Olivia pretended offence, sitting up and pushing her breasts forward. ‘I’ll have you know, my figure was the envy of a lot of girls.’ She looked down in mock appraisal. ‘I must say, I thought it wasn’t bad myself.’

      ‘Excuse me …’

      Alex was standing in the doorway, watching the proceedings, and Olivia subsided with an embarrassed giggle. Bella looked at the young man ruefully, and smiling said: ‘Come along in, Alex. You’re not interrupting anything. Do you want some tea?’

      ‘Oh, no, thank you.’ Alex’s thin face was still a little flushed. ‘I—er—I’ve put Olivia’s cases in her room and now I thought I’d go to the bank. Is there anything you want in Chelmsbury?’

      Bella hesitated. ‘I don’t think so, Alex, thank you. How about you, Olivia? Can Alex get anything for you?’

      Olivia forced herself to sit up, shaking her head. ‘I’ve got everything I need,’ she assured him, smilingly. ‘But if you’re going in tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have a lift with you. I can always trot around the shops while you attend to your own affairs.’

      Alex’s responding smile was stiff. ‘I’ll take you into Chelmsbury, any time you want to go,’ he assured her politely, and then left them as abruptly as he had appeared.

      A few moments later, the sound of the Mercedes’ engine started up and the crunch of the tyres on the gravelled drive signified his departure, and Bella heaved a sigh of relief.

      ‘Honestly, that man is so intense,’ she declared. ‘And you mustn’t tease him. I’d hate for there to be complications.’

      ‘Complications?’ Olivia frowned. ‘What kind of complications?’

      ‘Oh …’ Bella shifted uncomfortably, pouring herself a second cup of tea. ‘You know! If he should get the wrong ideas about you. I know Richard would never countenance such a thing, and Alex would get terribly hurt in the process.’

      Olivia gasped. ‘You’re not serious!’

      ‘Why ever not? You’re a very attractive young woman, as well you know, and Alex is a man, just like any other. Don’t let his controlled manner fool you. He’s just as susceptible to flattery as anyone else.’

      Olivia moved her slim shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘I never thought … I mean, heavens, he’s at least twelve years older than I am.’

      ‘What’s that to the purpose? Richard’s father was almost twenty years older than your mother,’ retorted Bella severely, and then left the matter to ask about the friends Olivia had made in France, and the Charpentiers, whom she had stayed with at Easter.

      It was easy enough for Olivia to talk about Michelle and her family. They lived at Tours, in the Loire valley, and Olivia had been enchanted by their home and the surrounding countryside. There were orchards and vineyards, and the chateaux which were world-famous, and Michelle and her two brothers had enjoyed showing her their historic heritage. They had driven to Angers and Orleans, visited Amboise, where Leonardo da Vinci had lived and died, and eaten some of the most superb food Olivia had ever tasted. They had even attended a wine fair, she confessed, but noticing how put out Bella was looking, she quickly assured her that she was glad to be home, and that Copley was her first love.

      ‘These young men,’ said Bella, as Olivia attacked her dish of strawberries and cream, ‘Michelle’s brothers: they were attracted to you?’

      Olivia felt the colour invading her cheeks, and delved more deeply into her bowl. ‘I suppose so,’ she mumbled, remembering the older one, Paul, who had taught her there was more to kissing than the pressure of two pairs of lips, and saw Bella’s mouth turn down at the corners. ‘They were boys, that’s all,’ she protested, half laughing now. ‘Seventeen and eighteen, I think. They didn’t seduce me, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

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