Innocent Sins. Anne Mather

often take the time to appreciate the elegant beauty of the narrow, four-storey Georgian house that was his home, but he was always relieved to find that nothing had changed in his absence.

      ‘I expected you back yesterday, Mr Oliver.’

      Thomas’s tone was almost reproving and Oliver wondered if he considered he was to blame for the delay. ‘The plane was late leaving Singapore, and there’s been a snowstorm over western Europe for the past twenty-four hours, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ he responded drily. ‘But, hey, don’t let that worry you. And it’s good to see you, too.’

      Thomas, who had been about to wrest his employer’s rucksack and garment bag from his hands, straightened abruptly. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Oliver,’ he said, with evident sincerity. ‘Of course it’s good to have you back. But—’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid there’s been something of an emergency while you’ve been away.’

      ‘What now?’

      Oliver was wearily aware that he wasn’t in the best mood to suffer another of his mother’s crises, if that was what Thomas meant. Resignation replaced his earlier optimism. Where Stella was concerned, there were always emergencies, most recently occasioned by his mother’s inability to live within the allowance Griff gave her.

      ‘Your mother’s been trying to reach you for the past forty-eight hours,’ Thomas continued, and just for a moment Oliver wondered if Laura could be involved. His stepsister used to be a constant thorn in his mother’s side, but she’d gone to live in the United States almost seven years ago now. ‘I regret to have to tell you that your stepfather died two days ago,’ Thomas added gently. ‘Mrs Williams has been desperate to get in touch with you ever since.’

      Oliver’s resignation vanished. ‘So that’s why you refused to answer the phone?’

      ‘Well, yes.’ Thomas was defensive. ‘Mrs Williams was getting rather—well, abusive. She accused me of not giving you her messages. She wouldn’t believe that I didn’t know where you were.’

      Oliver pulled a wry face. He knew his mother must have said something upsetting for Thomas to ignore her calls at a time like this. ‘If she’d rung the airline, she’d have found out why I was late,’ he said wearily. He’d been travelling for the past forty-eight hours and he was tired. He’d been looking forward to nothing more exhausting than taking a hot shower and collapsing into bed. Now he was going to have to deal with his mother, and he could imagine how harrowing that was going to be.

      ‘I’d better give her a ring,’ he said, abandoning any hope of getting some rest. He picked up the bag containing his camera equipment and started up the stairs ahead of Thomas. ‘Perhaps you’d repack the rucksack with some clean underwear. If I have to go down to Penmadoc, I might as well be prepared.’

      ‘You’re not proposing to drive down to Penmadoc tonight!’ Thomas was horrified.

      ‘I’ll probably have no choice in the matter,’ replied his employer, entering the lamplit room on his left at the top of the stairs. The first floor of the house was given over to this room, which was Oliver’s study, the dining room, and a comfortable sitting room, with his bedroom suite and two guest suites on the second floor. He went straight to the wet bar to help himself to a small shot of whisky. ‘I know, I know,’ he groaned, when Thomas stood shaking his head in the doorway. ‘But I need some fortification. I’ll have a sandwich and some coffee before I leave, I promise.’

      Thomas’s disapproval was apparent, but in the eight years since he’d come to work for Oliver he’d learned when to back off. Leaving his employer to make his call, he continued on his way to the second floor and Oliver heard him opening and closing drawers and sliding hangers about in his dressing room.

      The phone seemed to ring for a long time before anyone answered it. Oliver was beginning to wonder if his mother had guessed it was him and was paying him back for not being there when she needed him. It was the sort of thing Stella might do, only not at a time like this, surely.

      He could imagine the sound echoing round the draughty old hall, with its beamed ceiling and uneven polished floor. He couldn’t ever remember feeling warm at Penmadoc in the winter. Laura used to say the house was haunted and, when he was younger, he’d half believed her.

      Laura…

      ‘Penmadoc Hall.’

      A voice with a strong Welsh accent interrupted his maundering. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said, putting the past behind him. ‘This is Oliver Kemp. Is my mother there?’

      ‘Oliver.’ The tone was familiar to him now, and Eleanor Tenby was surprisingly amiable for once. ‘Your mother will be pleased to hear from you. I’ll get her for you.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      Oliver didn’t attempt to detain her, even though it was unusual for Laura’s aunt Nell to show any consideration towards either him or his mother. Had it not been for the fact that she was Maggie Williams’ sister, and Penmadoc had always been her home, Stella would have got rid of her long ago. But, although Griff had indulged her in most things, where Eleanor was concerned, he wouldn’t be moved.

      And, ultimately, it had suited his mother to have a readymade housekeeper, thought Oliver wryly. Because Laura’s mother had been ill for several years before her death, Eleanor had taken over the running of the household from her. When Maggie died and Griff married again, Eleanor had retained her position. Stella might have grumbled at first, but she’d never been the kind of woman to enjoy domestic duties.

      ‘Oliver?’

      His mother’s voice came shrilly over the wires, and although he was used to her dramatics by now Oliver sensed she was more than usually distrait. There was a note of hysteria there that he hadn’t expected, and he prepared himself to comfort her as best he could.

      ‘Hi, Ma,’ he greeted her, with his usual irreverence. Then he said, gently, ‘I was so sorry to hear the news about Griff. You must be shattered.’

      ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ Stella’s response was taut and uneven. ‘Where the hell have you been, Oliver? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.’

      ‘I know. Thomas told me.’

      ‘Thomas!’ His mother fairly spat the old man’s name. ‘That little weasel had the nerve to tell me that he didn’t know how to reach you. As if you’d have gone away without leaving a forwarding address.’

      Oliver heaved a deep breath. ‘He wasn’t lying, Ma. I left Singapore yesterday morning. But the plane was delayed with engine trouble in Bahrain, and then, what with the weather—’

      ‘You could have phoned home.’

      ‘Why?’ Oliver could feel his sympathy dissolving into irritation. ‘Thomas has eyes. He could see the problem the weather was creating for himself.’

      ‘Is that a dig at me?’

      Stella’s voice wobbled a little now and Oliver realised that Griff’s death had hit her even harder than he’d thought. He was more used to her complaining about the disadvantages of being married to a man considerably older than herself, who apparently didn’t understand why she was perpetually short of funds.

      ‘It’s not a dig,’ he said gently. ‘Naturally, if I’d known about Griff—’

      ‘Yes.’ To his relief, his mother seemed to have herself in control again. ‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s a fair point. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him when you went away, did there? How was any of us to know that in three weeks he’d be dead?’ Her voice rose again, but she managed to steady it. ‘You’re coming down, of course?’

      ‘Of course.’ Oliver conceded to himself that there was no way he could avoid it. ‘I’ll get something to eat and then I’ll be on my way.’

      ‘Thank God!’ Stella was obviously relieved and Oliver acknowledged the fact that so far as his mother was concerned his feelings counted