Part 1 (2/2)

The sound of her name sc.r.a.ped over nerves bared by her confusion, and Olivia swung round to face the speaker in utter disbelief. 'M-Matthew!'

'Hi.' He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgement.

'How are you?'

'Um”fine. I'm fine.' Olivia swallowed, and glanced uneasily about her. 'Did”um---' She frowned. 'Did you come to meet me?'

'Well, I'm not plane-spotting,' responded Matthew drily, his lean, dark features a bland impa.s.sive mask. 'Did you have a good trip?'

Olivia expelled her breath in a rush. This couldn't be happening, she decided unsteadily. Somehow she had conjured up Matthew's image, and this conversation” this unnaturally polite conversation”was just a figment of her imagination. Dear G.o.d, when she remembered how he had reacted when she had told him of her plans to go to the United States. He had been furious”no, incensed. She had half thought he was going to hit her, and the words he had used to describe her were forever imprinted on her memory. That was why this little scenario had to be a hallucination. The Matthew she remembered would never have forgiven her. Of course, she hadn't been able to tell him the truth either, she thought bitterly. And in the same position she guessed she would have felt the same, if Matthew had walked out on her. After all, they had been in love. In love! Oh, G.o.d...

'Is this all your luggage?' Matthew was asking now, and Olivia dragged her thoughts back to the present.

'What?' She stared at him blankly. And then, realising what he had said, she nodded jerkily. 'Oh”yes. Yes. This is all.'

She looked about her as she spoke, half expecting to find herself the object of a dozen curious eyes, but no one was staring at her”not as if she was mad, anyway, she amended”so, if she was talking to herself, no one had noticed.

'Are you all right?'

It was the second time someone had asked her that in the s.p.a.ce of an hour, and Olivia forced herself to look at him again.

'Yes,' she said. 'I'm very well, thank you. And you?'

'Oh”great. Just great,' responded Matthew flatly, taking the trolley from her unresisting fingers. 'My car's parked outside. It's in a restricted zone, so do you mind if we move it?'

Olivia swallowed again, and, unable to prevent herself, she put out a nervous hand and touched his sleeve. Beneath the fine leather of his jerkin his arm felt rea.s.suringly hard and muscular, and she felt his instinctive rejection of her touch in the same instant that she pulled her hand away.

'Sorry,' she murmured, making an issue of putting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, and Matthew gave her a brief hard look.

'Is something wrong?' he enquired, and just for a second she heard the edge of some stronger emotion in his tone.

'No. No, nothing,' she answered, quickening her pace deliberately. But she wondered what he would say if she told him she had had to a.s.sure herself that he was real.

Years ago, Matthew had driven an old beaten-up Mini that he and Sam Pollack, from Pollack's garage, had worked on together until the engine sang as sweet as a bird. It had been fast, too.

Too fast, Olivia's father had maintained, although in those days he had been more concerned that Matthew's intentions were honourable. After all, he was Lady Lavinia Ryan's son; and even if his father was not Sir Matthew Ryan he did own Rycroft, which in Lower Mychett was as good as owning a t.i.tle.

The car that was parked outside was a far cry from that old Mini however. It wasn't particularly clean, and it was an estate, not a sports car. But it was a Mercedes; Olivia recognised that at once. And, judging by the size of its engine, it would be able to hold its own in any contest.

Matthew swung open the pa.s.senger door, and nodded at Olivia. 'You get in,' he said. 'I'll handle the luggage.'

Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Oh” thanks,'

she said, twisting the strap of her bag round her hand, as she eased herself into the wide, comfortable seat. But, now it seemed virtually certain that this was not some strange fantasy, other thoughts were a.s.serting themselves. Not least, what was Matthew doing here? And who had asked him to come?

The car rocked as he slammed the tail-gate and, pus.h.i.+ng the trolley aside, he came round the car and got in beside her.

Folding his long legs beneath the wheel, he reached for his seatbelt, and Olivia permitted herself a fleeting look at his unyielding profile.

He hadn't changed much at all, she thought reluctantly, aware of his muscled 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 G.o.d, she thought, surrept.i.tiously 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 s.e.x 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 relations.h.i.+p 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 G.o.d'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 relations.h.i.+p. 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 refres.h.i.+ng. '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.'

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