Robert turned his attention from the road to look at her.
‘I don’t know. I was just thinking about Denham and how Blanche bought it to get one up on Barrant.’ She gave a small shiver. ‘I don’t think I’d want to have such an intense relationship.’
Robert’s smile was amused and indulgent. Olivia’s comment confirmed his judgement of her.
As they turned off the main road and onto the drive that led to Denham, Olivia could see the lights blazing in the large gatehouse, which was currently occupied by the Leggits in their roles as housekeeper and general handyman-cum-gardener.
Whoever had planted the beech trees lining the drive had known what they were doing, because not one of them had fallen during the appalling storms of October 1987, which had done so much damage throughout the country. But the drive and the house itself would benefit from some well-designed and targeted outdoor lighting, Robert decided as he brought the car to a halt halfway down the drive, at the exact spot where it could not be seen either from the gatehouse or Denham itself. He should mention it to his grandfather, but not right now. Right now he had something else he needed – and wanted – to do.
Robert had stopped the car. Why? Olivia shifted in her seat so that she could turn to look at him.
‘Remember when I said earlier that I had my reasons for coming to pick you up?’
‘Yes…’ Olivia’s heart was thudding so fast and hard that she wanted to put her hand over it to quieten it.
‘Well, this is one of those reasons.’ He leaned towards her purposefully, as though he was going to kiss her.
No, not as though he was going to kiss her – he was kissing her.
Olivia closed her eyes. Robert’s lips brushed her own tantalisingly lightly, once, twice and then a third time, before settling on them gently, their caress deliberately careful, that deliberation extraordinarily sensual. He wasn’t touching her in any other way, and yet his kiss felt far more intimate than if he had been doing.
It was such a pleasure to be kissed in such a way: an old-fashioned kind of kissing, with an intimate pleasure all of its own way, instead of as a prelude to being groped. The mere touch of lips on lips was so heart-warmingly wonderful that she didn’t want it to end.
When it did she opened her eyes, slowly luxuriating in the pleasure that still clung to her senses, to find Robert watching her, his breath warm against her skin.
‘I’ve been wanting you to kiss me since I was sixteen,’ she told him.
‘I hope it was worth the wait? I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently,’ he continued, without waiting for Olivia to answer him. ‘Thinking about you and looking forward to seeing you, and to telling you showing you – how much I’ve looked forward to us being together.’
Was this really happening? Should she pinch herself just to see? Was Robert really saying what she thought he was saying? Had he really kissed her, or was she just dreaming that he had? The unexpected shift in their relationship had happened so quickly, and so unexpectedly that it was having the same heady effect on her as though she had drunk several glasses of champagne, Olivia thought dizzily, suddenly realising that Robert was still waiting for her to say something, but all she could manage was a mundane, ‘That’s nice.’
Robert laughed. ‘And this is even nicer.’ He kissed her again. She really was perfect. So grateful and delighted, just as he had expected. He reached for Olivia’s hand, sliding his fingers between hers and then lifting her clasped hand to his lips.
‘I know this must seem sudden, but I’ve been waiting a long, long time for you to grow up enough for me to tell you how much you mean to me. That time is now, Olivia, and if I’m speaking out of turn or saying something you don’t want to hear—’ Robert was telling her that he loved her? Robert, whom she’d adored and thought the most perfect man there was, for as long as she could remember?
‘No. I mean, yes, I do want to hear it. Oh, Robert, you should have told me before. I’ve been old enough for years.’
‘Dearest darling Olivia, you have just made me the happiest I have ever been.’
In the time it took her to catch her breath, Robert had released her hand, kissed her forehead gently and restarted the car. If Olivia was disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her again – perhaps even taken things a little further than mere kisses – then she was also touched that he was being so respectful of her. It proved that he was every bit as wonderful as she had always believed.
The house was just the same, the hall smelled as it always did at Christmas – of pine from the tree and wood smoke from the fire – those smells mingling with the scent of cinnamon and women’s perfume.
She could see her grandfather standing talking to her father. Her father’s skin brown from Hamptons summers, his thick hair greying now. Her parents had such a good, strong marriage, the kind of marriage she wanted for herself.
‘Darling.’ Her mother hugged her. ‘I’ve brought your clothes and your presents. Did you get your article in on time?’
‘Yes, thank goodness.’ As she returned her mother’s warm hug and listened to her questions, Olivia was trying desperately hard not to look across to where Robert was talking to his grandmother. Her face felt as though it was burning, and her heart was racing. She felt as though everything was a little unreal, as though she and Robert were enclosed in their own private bubble of happiness that distanced them from everyone and everything else.
Robert was looking at her, smiling. It was almost impossible for her to focus on Amber’s face when Robert was standing next to his grandmother, and her gaze just wanted to fill itself with him.
Olivia turned back to her mother. ‘I need to run upstairs and get cleaned up.’
‘Don’t be too long, Olivia,’ Katie begged her. ‘I’m dying to start decorating the tree, but Granny made us wait until you and Robert got here. You seemed to be ages.’
‘Oh, look at these baubles. I remember Granny buying them at Flora’s in Macclesfield,’ Katie, sitting on the floor, going through one of the large cardboard boxes of decorations, enthused, holding up the glittering ornament.
Flora’s was a garden centre famous for its Christmas decorations.
‘Oh, and these!’ she exclaimed, holding up a fabric bauble made from velvet and glittering beaded silk. ‘Aunt Janey made them, didn’t she, from pieces of our own silk?’
‘I thought we were supposed to be decorating the tree, not reminiscing,’ Harry teased her, but Katie didn’t pay any attention. She loved this part of Christmas.
On the other side of the tree Emma was working far more industriously through the contents of her box, insisting, ‘You can’t put that there; it doesn’t go. We agreed we’d stick to a colour theme this year, remember?’
‘But these are so pretty,’ Katie protested.
‘Here’s the fairy,’ Harry told her. ‘I’ll hold the ladder for you whilst
