Smokescreen. Anne Mather

You are my—stepmother, aren’t you?’

      Olivia’s nervous tension was expanding not decreasing. This whole conversation was quite ludicrous, and yet it was all happening. ‘I—I don’t think that’s relevant,’ she said now, wishing she smoked so that she had something to do with her hands. They were fluttering about quite distractedly, and she knew he could not be unaware of her state of agitation. ‘You didn’t tell me where you were staying,’ she said now. ‘Do you have a base in London? What arrangements have you made?’

      ‘None.’ Now it was his turn to offer the negative. ‘I didn’t tell you where I was staying because I didn’t know.’

      Olivia’s lips parted. ‘You mean—you came right here from the airport?’

      ‘Via Cosgrove’s office, yes.’

      ‘You’ve seen Adam?’

      ‘Obviously.’

      Olivia shook her head. ‘But—how——’

      ‘I hired a car at the airport,’ he explained carelessly. ‘I knew there was no chance I could get here in time for the funeral—my flight didn’t land until four o’clock. So I made the diversion while I was in Chalcott. It’s only an hour’s drive, after all.’

      ‘Yes.’ Olivia was thinking hard. ‘So—do you have any immediate plans?’

      He studied the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘You tell me.’

      Olivia hesitated. ‘I suppose you need a bed for the night.’

      ‘Yes.’ He looked at her. ‘Are you going to turn me out?’

      Olivia caught her breath. ‘Turn you out?’ she echoed faintly, knowing as she did so that if she intended going through with her intentions, he should stay here. But after the things he had said, she was no longer certain of anything.

      ‘I seem to remember you saying something about us being civilised,’ he reminded her sarcastically.

      ‘Yes, that’s true. But——’

      ‘But what?’

      Olivia shook her head. She was getting out of her depth with this man. He was so totally different from what she had imagined, what she had expected. He disturbed her, he was an unpredictable quantity; and whatever she intended to do, she did not want him living in the same house.

      ‘You said yourself, you—you and your father despised one another,’ she began.

      ‘No, you said that.’

      Olivia pressed her palms together. ‘You didn’t disagree.’

      ‘All right.’ Alex tossed the remains of his cheroot into the fire behind him. ‘So I didn’t. But Henry’s dead now, as you say, and there’s just you and me, Liv. As Henry’s surviving relatives, don’t you think we should stick together?’

      She knew he was baiting her. He didn’t like her, and she was sure she didn’t like him. It was strange how one’s opinion could alter when faced with the realities of a situation. Earlier, she had half sympathised with Alex Gantry. She had been prepared to believe he was the innocent victim of his father’s despotism. Now she was not so sure. Alex Gantry did not strike her as the kind of man who would care twopence for his father’s feelings. He was hard, he was a predator; and no matter how he might excuse himself, she could not forgive his arrogant assumption that she had been cast in the same mould.

      ‘What—what are your plans?’ she ventured now, playing for time, needing a space to consider what she was going to do.

      ‘Plans?’ He was annoyingly obtuse. ‘Why, some food and a good night’s sleep. In that order,’ he responded lazily, and Olivia’s lips came together in a compressed white line.

      ‘I mean—how long do you plan to stay in England? she exclaimed. ‘You said you’d been working in Tsaba. How long do you intend to remain here? Surely your partner will expect you back.’

      ‘My partner’s dead,’ he declared grimly, his eyes suddenly hard and uncompromising. ‘And I have no immediate plans to return there. As it happens, I was planning to come to England quite soon, and it was a comparatively mild inconvenience to bring my trip forward.’

      ‘You mean—you were coming to see your father?’

      ‘We’ll never know that now, will we?’ he remarked flatly.

      Olivia lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t know what to suggest,’ she was beginning stiffly, when a light tattoo on the panels of the door interrupted her and a moment later Mrs Winters appeared in the open doorway.

      ‘I’ve had Cook make you a nice light omelette——’ she started comfortingly, only to break off abruptly at the sight of the man standing squarely between herself and her mistress. Alex had turned his head at her entrance, so that Mrs Winters’ first sight of him was in profile, and her mouth dropped open. Olivia, tense herself, was nevertheless aware of a certain tension about him as he confronted the housekeeper, and she realised with a pang, that he was apprehensive of her reaction. And why not? Olivia asked herself wryly. Mrs Winters had worked for his father for almost twenty years, and her loyalty might well not include a welcome for the son who had deserted Henry Gantry almost fifteen years ago.

      Watching the housekeeper Olivia knew a sudden sympathy for her. This could not be easy, and the veined hands holding the tray shook a little as comprehension dawned. ‘Alex?’ she mouthed, almost inaudibly. ‘Master Alex, is that you?’

      He moved then, taking the tray from her and setting it carelessly on one of the elegantly polished tables that flanked the armchair where he had been sitting. Then he smiled, and Olivia’s heart took an unaccountable jolt. ‘Don’t you recognise me, Mrs Winters?’ he demanded, his tone warm and teasing, and with a broken cry, the normally reserved Mrs Winters cast herself upon him.

      ‘Oh, Master Alex,’ she sobbed, clutching his shoulders, and gazing up into his face with unconcealed emotion. ‘Oh, if only you’d come a week sooner!’

      ‘I know, I know.’ Alex allowed the housekeeper to enfold him in a convulsive embrace, but over the housekeeper’s head, his eyes were mocking Olivia. Look, he seemed to be saying, you may have had it all your own way so far, but how do you feel about it now?

      ‘Master Alex—that is, I mean—Alex—has just arrived from Africa, Mrs Winters,’ she exclaimed, needing to exert her authority for no other reason than to reassure herself. ‘He—I—perhaps you could prepare a room for him. And—and something to eat.’

      ‘You’re staying?’ Without looking at Olivia, Mrs Winters addressed herself to Alex, and after exchanging another challenging look with Olivia, he nodded.

      ‘It appears so,’ he conceded, with infuriating coolness. ‘Liv—Olivia—insists that it would be foolish for me to stay anywhere else.’

      Olivia’s gasp of indignation went unheard beneath the housekeeper’s eager confirmation. ‘Where else would you stay?’ she exclaimed, drawing away from him with evident reluctance, and squeezing one of his hands between both of hers. ‘If Mr Gantry was still alive——’

      ‘But he’s not,’ Alex interrupted her firmly. ‘It’s better not to probe too deeply into old wounds, Mrs Winters. Who knows what would have happened if—if my father had still been alive?’

      The housekeeper shook her head. ‘He never forgave you, you know.’

      ‘I know that.’

      ‘I think he wanted to.’

      ‘Do you?’ Alex looked wry. ‘You’re very tactful, Mrs Winters.’

      She sighed, gazing up at him with hungry eyes, almost as if she was afraid he might suddenly disappear again without notice. ‘And you’re much too thin,’ she exclaimed, through trembling lips. ‘Where on earth have you