of stone steps and fronted by railings.
‘Did you say number sixteen?’ the cabbie called back to her.
‘Yes,’ she said, dry-mouthed, as they drew to a halt. Leaning forward, she saw smart dark blue paintwork, and a window box still bright with flowers in the September sunlight.
She stood on the pavement, and watched the departing cab as if it was her last link with reality. Then she turned, and looked back at the house. The curtains were half closed, but a ground-floor window was open at the top, and she could hear the faint sound of music.
So Jeremy was at home, she thought, relief flooding over her.
Slowly, she carried her case up the steps. There were two brass bells beside the front door, with one marked ‘B’. She pressed the unmarked one, and waited.
For an eternity, nothing happened, and she was just about to ring again when she heard the sound of locks being unfastened inside the house.
She took a deep breath, feeling her mouth shape itself into a nervous rictus of a smile.
The door opened, and Olivia found herself confronted by a complete stranger. Or was he? Although she knew they’d never met, his face seemed oddly familiar just the same.
He was tall, with untidy dark hair falling across his forehead, a beak of a nose, and a shadow of stubble on a determined chin. His eyes were a strange shade between blue and grey that seemed almost silvery, and fringed with long lashes. The deep lines beside his firm-lipped mouth had clearly been scored there by cynical amusement.
Although he wasn’t showing much evidence of a sense of humour at the moment. On the contrary, he looked profoundly and wearily irritated.
He was wearing a navy silk dressing gown, which hung open to the waist, revealing a strong, hair-shadowed chest. This garment, which only reached to mid-thigh on his lean, muscular legs, was obviously his only covering, and secured haphazardly by a sash at his waist, Olivia realised with sudden discomfort.
His bored gaze assessed her dismissively, taking in the brief denim skirt, the white shirt and black blazer. Olivia returned his disparaging glance with energy and interest, and saw his mouth tighten.
‘Yes?’
Did all Londoners deal in discouraging monosyllables? Olivia wondered.
She lifted her chin. ‘I’d like to see Jeremy Attwood, please. He—he’s expecting me,’ she added, into the ensuing silence.
Leaning against the doorjamb, he gave her another, longer look, which this time took in the suitcase at her feet. The straight dark brows snapped together in a frown.
Then, ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and made to shut the door.
‘Oh, wait.’ Dismayed, Olivia lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the door. ‘If you’ll just tell Jeremy I’m here …’
He shook his head. ‘Can’t be done. And please let go of my door,’ he added coldly. ‘You can lose a handful of fingers pulling a stunt like that.’
Olivia disregarded that. ‘But he does live here?’ And, receiving a brief, affirmative nod, ‘Then why won’t you fetch him for me?’
‘Because he’s not here now,’ she was told. ‘He’s away for the weekend, so it’s unlikely he was expecting any visitors, least of all you. Now, take your hand away from the door and clear off quietly, like a good girl.’
‘Not here?’ Olivia repeated, stunned. ‘Oh, I don’t believe it.’
The silvery eyes became chips of ice. ‘Well, I don’t propose to allow you to search the house, Miss—er?’
‘I’m Olivia Butler. Has Jeremy not mentioned me?’
Slowly and silently he shook his head, his eyes narrowing.
It was a setback, but not irretrievable, she told herself.
She took another deep breath, forcing a smile. ‘Well, it doesn’t really matter. I—I’m sorry that I’ve arrived at a bad time, and clearly I should have checked with Jeremy first, but no real harm done.’
‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that I’ll be the judge of that. What exactly do you want, Miss Butler?’
‘Firstly, I’d like to come in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on a hot, stuffy train and I’d like to freshen up.’
‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘But what makes you think this is an appropriate place to do it? Was there no restroom at the station—Euston—Waterloo or whatever?’
‘Paddington,’ she said. ‘Of course there was. But that’s not the point.’
‘Then what is the point?’ He was still blocking the doorway. ‘I would really like to know.’
No more beating round the bush, Olivia decided.
She said, ‘I’ve come here to live—to be with Jeremy.’
He didn’t appear to move, and there was no visible change in his expression, yet Olivia sensed a new and dangerous tension in the atmosphere. She felt as if he’d taken one menacing stride towards her, and she had to overcome the impulse to take a step backwards.
‘That’s very enterprising of you,’ he drawled, after a long pause. ‘Did you know that Jeremy is married?’
‘I certainly know that he’s separated,’ she corrected coolly. ‘And, anyway, I think that’s our business, not yours.’
‘On the contrary, I concern myself with all kinds of things.’ He paused again. ‘I suggest you give me the address where you’ll be staying, and I’ll pass it on to Jeremy when he returns. Then, if he wishes to make contact, he can.’
‘Address?’ Olivia repeated in bewilderment. ‘But I’m staying here—to wait for him.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not.’
‘I don’t understand …’
‘It’s perfectly simple. You want to move in. I’m telling you it’s not going to happen.’
Her lips parted helplessly. ‘You mean you’re turning me away?’
‘Now you’re getting there,’ he approved sardonically. ‘Foolish it may be, but I don’t give house room to indigent girls who turn up out of the blue claiming acquaintance with a member of the household.’
‘I’m far from indigent, and it’s rather more than acquaintance,’ she said hotly.
‘So you say.’ He shrugged, and the dressing gown slipped a fraction. ‘Sorry, darling. Better luck elsewhere.’
‘But I’ve nowhere else to go.’ Olivia heard and despised the faint squeak of panic in her voice. ‘I—I don’t know anyone in London.’
‘Then here’s some excellent advice.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘Go back
