thigh only inches away from her own. He had always been reasonably tall—around six feet, she guessed—which had made her five feet eight inches so much less of a problem. Until she had started going out with Matthew, she had usually been as tall as, or taller than, the boys she had dated. Matthew was a little heavier, she decided, but that was to be expected. He was older. Thirty-two now, to her twenty-eight. How well she knew that equation.
His face had aged more than his body, she noticed. There were lines beside his nose and mouth, and his grey eyes were set more deeply. But his hair was just as dark, and as usual needed cutting, catching his collar at the back, and tempting her to put it straight.
But it was then, as she dipped her head to avoid his cool appraisal, that she noticed the ring on his left hand. Her stomach hollowed at the realisation that it was a wedding-ring, and, although she knew she had no right to feel the way she did at that moment, a feeling of absolute nausea swept over her.
She thought she was going to be sick. For one awful moment, she really thought she might throw up, there, in Matthew’s car, the feeling was so intense. But, somehow, she fought it back, though her forehead beaded with perspiration in the process. Dear God, she thought, surreptitiously wiping the back of her hand across her temples, it shouldn’t matter to her what Matthew had done in the years since their separation. It was perfectly reasonable that he should have found someone else, that he should get married, and probably start a family. That was what most men did, after all, and a man as attractive to the opposite sex as Matthew had always been was unlikely to have stayed single for too long.
Nevertheless, as the feeling of sickness subsided, Olivia knew that she was still not entirely objective where Matthew was concerned. Briefly, she had known again all the pain of that earlier betrayal, and, while it was easy to dismiss their relationship from a distance, a one-to-one confrontation was something else entirely.
In spite of her efforts to avoid his attention, the unevenness of her breathing could not be disguised, and Matthew had always been fairly perceptive where she was concerned.
‘Are you ill?’ he demanded, his attention torn between concern—and curiosity—about her welfare, and the heavy pressure of traffic around the airport. ‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well before you got into the car?’
‘I—just felt—sick, for a moment,’ Olivia protested, wondering what he would say if she told him the truth. But then, he would probably enjoy the vindication of believing she had regretted severing their relationship. Whatever, the truth was not hers to tell, and that was all there was to it.
‘Hmm.’ Matthew sounded impatient, and she wondered if he believed her. Still, he opened the electrically controlled windows, and the cool draught of air was marvellously refreshing. ‘We’ll find a service area, and pull off and have some coffee,’ he said, giving her another glancing look. ‘Didn’t you have breakfast on the plane?’
‘I wasn’t hungry,’ admitted Olivia, smoothing her damp palms over her knees. ‘Airline food is so tasteless.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I probably haven’t travelled as much as you,’ responded Matthew, keeping his eyes on the road. Then, braking to avoid a reckless queue-jumping motorcyclist, he added flatly, ‘You don’t look as though you eat enough these days.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Olivia’s response was tight and defensive. ‘I really appreciate hearing that you think I look under-nourished!’
‘I didn’t say that.
Matthew’s response was clipped, but Olivia was in no mood to consider the incongruity of this conversation. ‘Didn’t you?’ she retorted. ‘Well, it may interest you to know that where I come from you can’t be too thin!’
‘Or too rich, so I hear,’ responded Matthew caustically. ‘I suppose you can’t have one without the other, can you?’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’
Matthew shrugged. Then, ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head, as if thinking better of arguing with her. ‘I was just making polite conversation, that’s all.’ He deftly moved the Mercedes into the lane that would take them on to the M3 motorway, and merged with the traffic coming from the east. ‘There’s—er—there’s a service area around here somewhere. Yes, there’s the sign. It’s just a couple of miles further on.’
‘You don’t have to stop for me,’ said Olivia shortly, aware of a feeling of tension out of all proportion to what he had been saying, but Matthew just gave her a speaking look.
‘We’re stopping,’ he said, putting his words into action as the slip-road for the service area came in sight. ‘I could do with some coffee myself. It was barely half-past-six when I left home this morning.’
Olivia’s lips tightened. ‘Why did you come, anyway?’ she asked ungraciously. ‘I could have managed.’
‘Could you?’ Matthew swung the big car into a parking bay, and switched off the engine. ‘Well, your mother asked me if I would, and how could I refuse? She and your father, and the rest of the family, are pretty cut up about the old lady’s death, you know. It’s been fairly rough for them, ever since she had that first stroke, just before Christmas.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘She had a stroke before Christmas?’ she exclaimed. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No. Well, I guess they didn’t think you’d be interested,’ said Matthew evenly, thrusting open the door. He paused. ‘Are you coming? Or are you determined to make this even more difficult than it already is?’
Olivia caught her breath, as she scrambled out. ‘More difficult?’ she echoed, aware that he could misinterpret the indignation in her tone. But it wasn’t fair that he should make judgements about her. She hadn’t known about her grandmother’s illness, and he had no idea how painful this all was.
‘Yes, more difficult,’ Matthew said now, slamming the car door and locking it. ‘Don’t remind me what a selfish little bitch you are!’
Olivia stared at him through tear-glazed eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you to come,’ she exclaimed, taking refuge in the childish retort, and Matthew sighed.
‘No,’ he conceded, after a moment. ‘You didn’t ask me to come. And you’re making it bloody plain you wish I hadn’t.’ He glanced round, as if assuring himself that their conversation was not being overheard, and then added wearily, ‘But, please—don’t make a scene here! For your grandmother’s sake, I’m prepared to forget the past, and so should you. Ten years is too long for me to bear a grudge—or for you to feel a sense of guilt!’
THE sun came out as they sat at a table by the window, in the self-service restaurant. It streamed through the faintly dusty panes, bathing Olivia in its light, and soothing her raw emotions. She had made no response to Matthew’s final accusation in the car park, and now she sat staring at the coffee in her cup, wondering again why she had been so foolish as to respond to her mother’s telegram. After all, no one had asked her to come and, whatever Matthew said, ten years was not long enough to heal some wounds.
Not that he seemed to be suffering too badly, she thought uncharitably, her eyes straying to the brown, long-fingered hands gripping
