eyes twinkled as Olivia attacked her melon with more aggression than enthusiasm. ‘I wasn’t tired,’ she retorted, feeling herself assailed on all sides. ‘I just didn’t feel like answering the catechism today.’
‘Olivia!’ Bella was shocked. ‘That—that’s blasphemy!’
Olivia hunched her shoulders. ‘No, it’s not. You know what I mean. She asks too many questions.’
‘She’s interested in you, that’s all,’ protested Bella, glancing to Richard for support, but it was Alex who chose to speak next.
‘I think Olivia has a point, Miss Ponsonby,’ he declared, earning himself a grateful look. ‘The vicar’s wife is inclined to gossip——’
‘What do you know about it?’ Bella was not in the mood to mince her words. ‘I’ve known Amy Morrison for eight years, and I’ve never had cause to complain about her—natural interest in the affairs of the village.’
Richard poured himself more wine. ‘I gather you invited Olivia to join you, Bella,’ he observed, studying the contents of his glass with a critical eye, and she hastened to explain that she had ridden into the village to visit Mr Raynor.
‘Naturally, I called at the vicarage with some flowers for the church,’ she added, casting another injured look in the girl’s direction. ‘Olivia didn’t want to accompany me, and I understood she was tired after her journey. I didn’t know she was too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she is!’
Olivia gasped, and even Alex looked taken aback at this statement. But it was Richard who asked her to explain herself, the mildness of his tone not fooling Olivia for a minute. He was furiously angry, and she could have slapped Bella for deliberately landing her in this situation.
However, now Bella chose to be obtuse, perhaps regretting the impulse to repay Olivia for her impertinence, and when Richard asked what she meant by ingratitude, she tried to evade the question.
‘After all I’ve done for her!’ she declared, urging Alex to try some of the potato salad, but Richard wasn’t satisfied with that.
‘You said—Olivia might be too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she was,’ he reminded her tautly. ‘I want to know exactly what she’s done to warrant such a remark.’
‘Oh, Rich …’ It was Olivia who spoke now, still hoping to avoid the inevitable with an alternative explanation. ‘You know what Bella’s like. She always exaggerates. I may have said something to hurt her, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s not important, so eat your lunch.’
She had never noticed how cold green eyes could become, with the glacier quality of packed ice. They stared into hers unblinkingly, and unwillingly she felt the betraying colour flooding her cheeks. Thank goodness for sunburn, she thought weakly, but it was a brief respite. Her interpretation of Bella’s remark was not accepted, and his voice was as icy as his eyes, as he said:
‘You might as well tell me, Olivia, because I mean to know. In what way have you convinced Bella that you’re ungrateful?’
‘Because I want to get a job!’ she declared with a rush, and then sat back, aghast, at the realisation that she had actually told him.
There was a pregnant silence, like the one that had followed his anger with her that morning, and then, with immense control, he asked: ‘What kind of a job?’
Olivia expelled her breath on a shaky sigh. ‘I—I’m not sure. It depends what’s available. I—I’m good at languages. I thought I might be able to use them in some capacity.’
Richard nodded slowly, thoughtfully, almost as if he was considering her suggestion on its merits. Then he looked at her again, and although his eyes were still emotionless, the glittering coldness had gone.
‘Good,’ he said, and she almost sank through her chair in amazement, but her relief was also shortlived. ‘You can work for me. I need a social secretary, someone who can play hostess when I have guests, and speak their own language. It was a suggestion I was going to make, not immediately perhaps, but eventually, and now you’ve taken the decision out of my hands——’
‘No!’ Olivia stared at him across the table, her eyes wide and indignant. ‘No, Richard! I—I don’t want to work for you. I want to be independent. I want a job that I’ve managed to get on my own merits, not a position created by you to keep me occupied.’
Richard’s fingers smoothed the stem of his wine glass. Their caress was almost sensuous, and Olivia’s eyes were drawn to their sensitivity and their strength. They could snap the stem with only the lightest of pressures, and intuitively she knew he could have snapped her neck as easily.
‘This is not a contrived solution, Olivia,’ he stated at last, and she knew that he was deliberately slowing his words to keep her in suspense. ‘It was my intention all along that you should become my hostess, and mistress of Copley. Bella knows as well as I do that I intend you should learn the management of the estate from every angle, so that when she retires in a couple of years you’ll be able to take over.’
‘No——’
‘Yes.’ He was adamant. ‘You don’t imagine I sent you to St Helena’s for the good of your health, do you?’ His lips thinned. ‘The girls who attend academies like St Helena’s do so to learn the art of entertaining, of being a good hostess. They learn about food and wine, and how to handle people—languages, too, if they have an aptitude.’
‘Richard——’ Olivia was conscious of Alex’s eyes upon them, as well as Bella’s, and his embarrassment was almost as great as hers.
But Richard was undeterred. ‘Listen to me, Olivia,’ he said, ‘because I only intend to say this once; you owe it to me to stay here. For the past fifteen years I’ve been grooming you to this position. I didn’t spend all that money on expensive boarding schools and an even more expensive finishing school to have you go and waste it all in some pitiful little bid for independence! You belong to Copley, Olivia, and don’t you forget it. And to me!’
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