‘What did you expect?’ Robert Stoner’s face was bitter. ‘It hasn’t been easy for us, Livvy. We could have done with another pair of hands around the house, particularly since your grandmother was taken ill. But you didn’t care, did you? You were too busy making a lot of money; getting yourself involved with God knows how many other men! Shaming your mother and me by pretending young Matt wasn’t good enough for you.’
Olivia’s cheeks flamed with colour. ‘It wasn’t like that——’
‘Wasn’t it?’ Her father came back to rest his hands on the table. ‘Let me tell you, that’s exactly what it was like. Do you have any idea what could have happened to us when you turned Matt down?’
Olivia swallowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, we’re tenants here, Livvy. This house, the land it stands on, the land that gives us our livelihood, is Ryan property. How would it have been if old Matthew Ryan had decided to throw us out——’
‘He wouldn’t!’
‘He could have.’ Her father’s knuckles were white against the weathered skin of his hands. ‘He had that right, Livvy. And when you threw young Matt over, there was some in the village who thought it was nought but what we deserved.’
Olivia shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have done it,’ she said again, but there was less conviction in her voice now. What had Matthew said? That he had wanted to kill her? If his father had felt even half the anger his son had felt at what she had done revenge might have sounded very sweet.
‘Anyway, he didn’t,’ she tendered, in a small voice, and her father’s lips curled.
‘No. Because your mother was rushed to hospital, the day after you went away, and the Ryans had compassion for our situation. Young Matt even came and helped Andy, while I spent time at the hospital. My God, I hope you found what you were looking for, because I doubt you’ll ever meet a finer man than Matt Ryan!’
‘Bob! Your voice carries all over the house!’
The door behind him had opened, and now Felicity Stoner wheeled herself into the room. Since her mother’s heart attack, one of the downstairs rooms had been converted into the bedroom, which her parents occupied. Now, Mrs Stoner looked questioningly from her husband to her daughter and back again, and then shook her head reprovingly as she comprehended what was going on.
‘Cissie, what are you doing out of bed?’
Robert Stoner’s voice altered amazingly when he spoke to his wife, but for once she did not respond to its warm solicitude. ‘Never mind what I’m doing, what are you doing?’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Bob, the girl’s barely been in the house five minutes, and already you’re encouraging her to leave again.’
‘I am not!’
Her husband was indignant, but Olivia’s mother was equally adamant. ‘Yes, you are,’ she said. ‘I heard at least a part of what you were saying, and I want you to know I don’t agree with you. What was the point of Olivia’s marrying Matt if she wasn’t in love with him? Would you have had them live a miserable life together, just because you were afraid of offending the Ryans?’
It was fair, and it was reasonable, and Olivia just wished she had thought of that explanation. But then, she hadn’t left because she wasn’t in love with Matt; rather because she was.
But, not for the first time, she looked at her mother with wondering eyes. Felicity Stoner seemed so frail and defenceless, and yet, at times, she could assert a remarkable strength of purpose. For instance, never once, in any of the letters she had exchanged with her daughter, had she so much as hinted at the deterioration of her condition. And here she was now, finding a perfectly reasonable explanation for Olivia’s leaving home.
But Olivia didn’t think it was pride, or a misplaced sense of compassion, that caused her mother to defend her. Even though she had never mentioned it to her daughter, she must have known why Olivia had chosen to leave. In spite of her grandmother’s admonition to Olivia to keep what she had learned to herself, there had always been one other person who knew the truth. And that was her mother. Olivia wondered how far she would have let her relationship with Matthew go, before she had had to tell her daughter the truth.
Now, however, it was her father who was forced to defend himself. ‘Things had to be said,’ he muttered, giving his thinning hair a smoothing touch. ‘Livvy can’t come back here and think we’re going to treat her like the prodigal daughter——’
‘I don’t think she expects that,’ said Mrs Stoner drily. She gave her daughter a thoughtful look, and then her pale face broke into a smile. ‘But I am glad to see her, whatever you say. And I’m hoping she won’t run away again, as soon as your mother’s funeral’s over.’
Olivia’s throat was suddenly tight with emotion, and, leaving the table, she approached her mother’s chair. Kneeling down beside her, she felt the years just slip away, and when Felicity put a hand to her cheek she covered it with her own.
‘I’d—I’d like to stay—for a little while,’ she said, as her mother’s thumb wiped an errant tear from her chin. Perry wasn’t going to be too pleased, but Agnes could manage without her. ‘I’m sorry about—about Grandmother, but I’m glad it gave me a reason to come.’
‘You didn’t need one,’ declared her father roughly, but she saw his face had lost much of its cold severity. ‘Now, I suggest we all try and get some sleep. The cows won’t thank me if I’m late for early morning milking.’
The sun was streaming through the kitchen windows when Olivia came downstairs next morning. She had overslept—it was already after ten o’clock—but she felt so much more optimistic today.
The previous day now seemed like a bad dream. Her encounter with Matthew, her tense arrival at the house, and her subsequent confrontation with her father, had all combined to make her wish she hadn’t come. But her mother had changed all that. With a few words she had cleared the air between them, and, although Olivia didn’t delude herself that Robert Stoner was completely won over, at least they might be civil with one another.
The day before, the house had been full of friends and neighbours, all of whom had come to offer their condolences. In one way, it had made it easier for Olivia; she had felt like just another visitor, and certainly her father had made her feel like an outsider. But in another it had made it harder; she had known that sooner or later she would be called to account, and even her sister, Sara, had treated her like a stranger.
Well, she supposed, they were strangers, after all. Sara had only been fourteen when Olivia went away. Now, she was twenty-four, a young married woman, on the verge of having her own family to care for. What did they know about one another really? Only what their mother had conveyed to them, through the medium of her letters.
However, it was her brother, Andrew, who was sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a pot of coffee with Enid Davis, the daily woman, when Olivia entered the room. Apparently Mrs Davis had been employed on a temporary basis, just after her grandmother had been taken ill. But, when it had become apparent that Harriet Stoner was not going to be able to do very much for herself, she had stayed on. Olivia had been introduced to her the day before, and although Mrs Davis was no one’s idea of a rosy-cheeked retainer, she seemed competent enough.
Now, both she and Andrew rose as
