Betrayed. Anne Mather

in Hampshire, where she had been born, would prove to her once and for all that the past was dead. Like her grandmother, she reflected bitterly. She just wished she could feel a sense of pity.

      But it was difficult to feel anything for the woman who had so dispassionately devastated her young life. At eighteen she had been on the brink of what she had believed would be a wonderful future, and to have it all taken away had been the cruellest kind of torture. It had all sounded so melodramatic, after all. One of those awful family affairs you read about in the newspapers, but never expected to experience. At first she hadn’t believed it. She knew her grandmother had always resented her, and Olivia had half convinced herself that the old lady was just making it up to hurt her. But she wasn’t. The letters had proved that. And when Olivia had realised that she and Matthew were——

      She supposed she ought to have blamed her mother, not her grandmother, but she hadn’t. How could she have blamed her mother for anything? Ever since Olivia’s younger sister, Sara, was born, Felicity Stoner had suffered from a heart condition and, in consequence, she was indulged by every member of the family, including her besotted husband. The idea of Olivia accusing her mother of ruining her life didn’t bear thinking about. Besides, it would have meant telling her father, too, and her grandmother had impressed upon her the fact that Robert Stoner knew nothing.

      Olivia sighed, tipping her head back against her hands and stretching the slender column of her throat. The action unknowingly caused her breasts to press against the silky fabric of her shirt, and the man sitting next to her observed the movement with undisguised approval.

      ‘Nervous?’ he enquired hopefully, and Olivia, who had spent the early part of the journey fending off his unwanted attentions, shook her head.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Ah.’ The man, who was possibly in his late thirties, and evidently convinced of his own attractions, patently didn’t believe her. ‘Well, don’t worry. I cross the Atlantic at least half a dozen times every month, and landing one of these things is a piece of cake.’

      ‘You’re a pilot?’ enquired Olivia politely, deciding that as they were preparing to land she had nothing to lose, and the man’s pale, plump features took on a faint trace of colour.

      ‘I didn’t say that,’ he replied, a little tersely, and Olivia’s lips twisted as she turned to the window to watch their descent. ‘I just meant my business takes me to the States fairly frequently, and I feel quite at home in a 747.’

      ‘Really?’

      Olivia tried to keep the impatience out of her voice, without really succeeding. But honestly, some men, seeing a woman travelling alone, couldn’t help but regard her as a challenge. She had hoped that travelling first class—Perry’s idea—would have alleviated that phenomenon, but it hadn’t worked that way. Still, she supposed it wasn’t his fault that her nerves were on edge, and that indulging in small talk only made her feel worse, not better.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ her companion went on now, proving that his skin was just as thick as she had anticipated. ‘I guess you could say I’m a seasoned traveller. A paid-up member of the mile-high club.’ His blue eyes narrowed assessingly. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

      Olivia’s patience ran out. ‘That you like playing doctor in the lavatory?’ she suggested coolly, watching the heat surge into his cheeks, and his mouth take on an aggressive curve.

      ‘Clever bitch!’ he muttered, shifting irritably inside his seatbelt, and Olivia turned her attention back to the window, wishing the journey were over.

      The wheels touched the runway only seconds later, and the high-powered whine of the reverse thrust briefly silenced the anxious clamour in her head. But the sudden conviction that she shouldn’t have come was borne in on her as the jet’s engines pushed her back against the cushions of her seat, and she closed her eyes.

      What was she trying to prove, after all? That she hadn’t lost touch with her family? Of course she had! In spite of her many invitations, her parents had never made the trip to New York to see her. And although she had told herself it was because they were country people, and that the idea of travelling across the Atlantic was too adventurous for them, she knew in her heart of hearts that that wasn’t the real reason. The fact was, her father, at least, had never forgiven her for leaving home, and without the right to tell him the truth she had damned herself forever in his eyes.

      Maybe she wanted to prove to herself that leaving Lower Mychett had been the best thing she had ever done. Surely that was true? Staying would only have made the whole situation even more painful than it already was, and Olivia knew she hadn’t had that kind of strength. Besides, her grandmother had encouraged her to make a clean break, and there hadn’t seemed any other way of doing it.

      Perhaps her real reason for making this journey was to assure herself that Harriet Stoner was really dead, she considered bitterly. But even she was not that vindictive. After all, her grandmother had had her best interests at heart, even if it hadn’t seemed so at the time.

      She opened her eyes, as the plane taxied towards its unloading bay, and the steward began handing out coats and jackets to the waiting passengers. And for the first time she allowed herself to wonder whether she didn’t secretly hope that she might see Matthew again. It wasn’t that the memory of what she had once felt for him was anything more than a rather foolish aberration. Given the way she felt now, she guessed she would have got over her infatuation for him in her own time, if her grandmother had not chosen to interfere. But Harriet Stoner had not been prepared to take the risk, and who could blame her? Her daughter-in-law had turned a blind eye to what was going on, but she couldn’t. She was a God-fearing woman, a stalwart of the church, and her strict moral values would not allow her to keep silent.

      Olivia’s lips trembled for a moment, as she remembered how horrified she had felt then. At eighteen, everything had seemed so much more clearly defined; things were either black or white, with no room for shades of grey. Now, she knew different. Her experiences in New York had taught her that life was an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colours, and what had shocked her ten years ago would now barely warrant a lifting of her eyebrows. In New York, at least, she amended, loosening her safety-belt. No doubt in Lower Mychett the stigma would still remain.

      The enclosed gangway had been secured to the aircraft’s side now, and the heavy door was swung open. Her fellow passengers crowded round the crew, wanting to be the first to reach Immigration, and to her relief the man beside her left without a backward glance. Sliding her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, Olivia gathered her handbag and the Louis Vuitton travel bag Perry had bought her, and got reluctantly to her feet.

      ‘Are you feeling all right, Miss Stoner?’

      One of the stewardesses was at her elbow, and Olivia gave her a fleeting smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thank you.’

      ‘I just thought——’ The stewardess hesitated. ‘You seemed rather reluctant to leave.’

      ‘Perhaps I am,’ remarked Olivia ruefully. And then, seeing the doubt in the other woman’s eyes, she shook her head. ‘No. I was just dawdling, that’s all. Thank you.’

      The walk to Immigration was invigorating. At this hour of the morning the airport corridors were cool and uncrowded, and Olivia enjoyed stretching her long legs. Seven hours in a plane was too long, she acknowledged, shifting her travel bag to her other hand. But she had resisted Perry’s efforts to send her on Concorde. Perhaps even then she had been subconsciously delaying the moment when she would have to meet her family again.

      By the time she had cleared Passport Control and collected her suitcase, it was nearly nine o’clock. She had sent an answering cable to her mother, saying she would be arriving today, but she didn’t expect anyone to meet her. For one thing, it was harvest time, and as both her father and her brother worked on the Rycroft estate they would have little time to spare for a trip to London, especially to meet the apparent black sheep of the family.

      There were few porters about, and, loading her suitcase and travel bag on to a trolley, Olivia looped her bag over her shoulder, and set off to