Irresistible Temptation

Or she could go back to Bristol, she reminded herself. No one apart from Beth knew why she’d come to London, and her flatmate was too kind and loyal to have spread the word. She could probably even get her old job back.

My God, she thought in swift horror, as she crossed the road to Lancey Terrace. That was real defeatist talk. Return to square one and occupy her familiar rut. When in fact it had been more than time for a change. For her to take hold of her life by the scruff of its neck and shake it.

She had a career—valuable job skills to offer. She could earn her living—pay her way. She’d come to London to share Jeremy’s life, not to become some pathetic dependent.

And whatever happened, she intended to survive.

Lifting her chin, she strode the last hundred yards.

Her shopping unpacked and put away, Olivia sat down to eat her lunch and take a long look round her. The flat was starting to look occupied, and she had her small portable radio to fill the silence. She’d noticed, too, there was a TV aerial in the room. And from the information that Sasha had thrown at her earlier about Notting Hill Gate she reckoned she’d be able to rent a set quite easily.

That will be my project for the afternoon, she thought. Keep busy—keep interested—and, above all, don’t brood.

She’d found a vase in one of the cupboards. She’d get some flowers to go in it. And some wine. If it turned out there was nothing to celebrate, then she’d drown her sorrows instead, she decided, squaring her shoulders.

She got out her A to Z of London, working out the shortest route to the Gate.

Sasha had told her she could find anything there, and that seemed to be true, she thought as she battled with the other Saturday afternoon shoppers. Like Portobello, it seemed to be fizzing with life. She gave herself time to look properly, lingering in front of boutiques and reading the menus of the various bistros, walking, inevitably, much further than she’d planned.

But if Notting Hill was to be her home, at least for the time being, she needed to get to know it. She wanted to look as confident and purposeful as the people who streamed past her, and feel it too.

She thought suddenly, I want to belong.

At a wine shop she bought some red Italian wine to go with the pasta, a decent Chardonnay for the chicken, and an optimistic Bollinger for her reunion with Jeremy, investing in a strong canvas bag in which to lug her purchases home, as most of her shopping was likely to be done on the hoof from now on.

She discovered a TV store without difficulty, and ended up buying a reconditioned portable with a reasonable warranty for far less than the cost of an annual rental, treating herself to a cab to get it back to Lancey Terrace. After all, she reminded herself, she couldn’t waste good job-hunting time waiting at the flat for a delivery to be made.

In spite of her personal reservations, there was a curious satisfaction in making her basement look like home.

But, when it came to it, the idea of spending her first evening in London concocting a pasta sauce for one held little appeal.

Up to now there’d always been people around her—family first, then friends, and flatmates. Always someone to laugh with, or moan to, or simply exchange the news of the day.

This was her first experience of being single in the city, and she needed to tackle it positively.

So she wouldn’t skulk in the flat, feeling hard done to. She would go out. Go to the cinema in the Gate, and have a meal afterwards. Make her first night in London an occasion.

She changed, putting on black leggings, a cream shirt, and a long black linen jacket, and set off. She had a choice of films, including a well-reviewed romantic comedy, but it seemed safer in her present state of mind to opt for a thriller, with a plot convoluted enough to keep her mind engaged, and, consequently, off her personal problems.

She emerged feeling more relaxed then she’d done all day. Now all that remained was to find somewhere to eat. Probably not easy, she realised, surveying the still crowded pavements. Maybe she’d have to settle for a take-away.

She’d intended to head for one of the bistros she’d checked out earlier, but instead found herself wandering up Kensington Park Road.

The lit window of a restaurant drew her across the street, but one look was enough to convince her that it was not only full to bursting point with beautiful people, but, more significantly, out of her price range.

She was just moving on when she saw a diner seated at a table for two in the window itself turn, hand raised, to summon a waiter.

She recognised him with stomach-churning immediacy. Declan Malone, she thought, stiffening, her hackles on full alert. But not with the morning’s exotic redhead, she noticed at once. His evening’s companion was a willowy blonde decorously clad in a dark trouser suit. For the moment anyway. Presumably the peach towel outfit came later.

‘Poor girl,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Does she realise she’s simply feeding the ego of a serial womaniser?’

Clearly she didn’t, because she was devouring Declan Malone with her eyes, to the complete detriment of the food on her plate. And he was looking at her and smiling in a way that had been totally lacking in his dealings with Olivia.

In fact, Olivia acknowledged without pleasure, she would hardly have recognised him.

A taxi drew up, and three girls got out, all stick-thin, and talking and giggling at the tops of their voices.

As the new arrivals pranced past her into the restaurant, shrieking their hellos and air-kissing everyone within reach, Olivia started, as if she’d been woken abruptly from some spell.

What the hell am I doing? she demanded silently. Hanging round here with my nose pressed against the glass like the Little Match Girl? Do I want him to look up and see me?

Hastily, she turned away, retracing her steps towards the Gate.

She realised with sudden bleakness that her appetite had totally deserted her. And, more disturbingly, that she had never felt quite so cold, or so lonely in her life before.

Claudia Lang was not a particularly conceited girl, but she was sufficiently keyed in to know when her dinner partner’s attention was wandering, and human enough to be piqued by it.

She reached across the table and put a scarlet-tipped hand on Declan’s sleeve.

‘Is something wrong?’

Startled, Declan wrenched his frowning gaze back from the window.

‘No—I’m sorry. I—thought I saw someone outside. Someone I knew.’

Claudia directed a sceptical glance over her shoulder at the darkness beyond the window. ‘Then you must have X-ray vision,’ she commented lightly. ‘Do you want to go and check?’

‘Of course not.’ The frown faded, and the smile he sent her was charming and repentant. ‘I’m probably wrong, and anyway, it’s really—not important.’ He paused, then added with cold emphasis, ‘Not important at all.’

And wondered why he’d needed to say that.

CHAPTER THREE

A GOOD night’s sleep was all she needed to cheer her up and put her right. That was what Olivia had told herself. But sleep was proving elusive.

The sofa-bed was comfortable enough, but quite apart from the non-stop traffic noise—did no one else ever go to bed?—there was no air in her room. Although she’d opened the window at the top, the atmosphere still felt heavier than the quilt she’d kicked off. The curtains hung unmoving.

The dial on her alarm clock told her it was nearly three in the morning, and so far she hadn’t closed her eyes.

I’m just on edge about seeing Jeremy again, she thought. And it’s a strange bed, strange room, strange city. What else can I expect but insomnia?

She got up and padded down the narrow passage into the kitchen. She poured milk into a saucepan, and set it on the hob, then opened the tin of drinking chocolate she’d included in her groceries.

Of course, if everything had gone according to plan she wouldn’t have been doing much sleeping anyway, she acknowledged, her face warming slightly.

She supposed Jeremy would have taken her to a hotel. Because they certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to be together at Lancey Gardens, as Declan Malone had made more than clear.

King of the double standard, she thought stormily, slamming the inoffensive tin of chocolate back in the cupboard. No prizes for guessing how he was spending the night.

Glumly, she poured the hot milk into a beaker, and stirred in the chocolate powder.

One of the things she’d been trying to figure as she stared into the darkness was possible damage limitation, but so far she hadn’t come up with a thing.

From Sasha’s remarks, it was clear that Declan Malone sincerely cared about Maria, and had little idea that her marriage was in such serious trouble.

Not until I showed up anyway, she thought, pulling a face. Although, if they are so close, it seems odd that she hasn’t confided in him.

She sat at the small, round living room table, her hands cupped round the beaker, her mind going wearily over the same ground, and finding naught for her comfort.

She could only hope that Jeremy would see she’d acted in their best interests, and not mind that she’d jumped the gun.

And if Declan threw him out it would give him an incentive to find a place where they could be together, she encouraged herself. Maybe her intervention would be the catalyst that changed things at last.

If only he could be persuaded to look at it that way.

She’d half expected to be awake all night, but almost immediately after she got back into bed she found her thoughts swirling drowsily into emptiness.

Only to discover that she was standing in front of a giant pane of glass, and she could see Jeremy on the other side. She tapped on the glass, and called to him, but he didn’t seem to see or hear her, and she knew she had to get to him—to make him listen. She started banging on the glass with both fists until it suddenly disintegrated, parting in front of her, then flowing round her like thick mist.

She began searching through the mist for Jeremy, hands outstretched, crying out his name, and at last felt her wrists taken. Gripped tightly.

But when she looked up, peering through the stifling grey miasma, she saw that the man who held her was not Jeremy, but Declan Malone, his eyes glittering like ice.

‘Oh, God.’ Olivia sat bolt-upright, her heart hammering. For a moment she was totally disorientated, then she saw the sun pouring through a gap in the green curtains and realised she’d been dreaming.

A glance at her alarm clock confirmed that she’d slept late too.

Her head felt heavy and her eyes were full of sand, so that it would have been very easy to lie back and sleep again. Fatally easy.

‘Just asking for more nightmares,’ she muttered, pushing back the quilt and swinging her feet to the floor. ‘And who needs them?’

She set coffee to brew, and poured orange juice into a glass, then went to shower and dress.

By the time she’d drunk her coffee, and eaten two slices of toast and marmalade, she was beginning to feel marginally human again.

She washed her few dishes, then tidied the bed into a sofa again, tucking the bedding away inside as Sasha had shown her.

And now, she thought, I have the rest of the day in front of me. What shall I do with it?

Not that she could do very much, she reminded herself. She needed to stay round the flat so that Jeremy could contact her there. But she could at least walk to the Gate and get the Sunday papers. Fill the time that way, because, a small, sober voice in her head suggested, she could be in for a long wait.

If she’d thought the streets would be quieter on Sunday, she soon discovered her mistake. But there was a different, more relaxed atmosphere.

Olivia found a seat at a pavement table outside a café, and ordered herself a cappuccino while she settled down for a leisurely bout of people-watching.

It was something she normally enjoyed, but somehow, today, it only seemed to deepen her sense of isolation. There were too many couples, strolling hand in hand in the sunshine, smiling into each other’s eyes.

Eventually, she left her coffee unfinished, and walked quietly back to her basement.

I won’t always feel like this, she promised herself. I won’t always feel an outsider. One day—soon—I’ll be walking with Jeremy, and someone will be watching me—envying me. One day …

She tried to visualise it. Fix the image in her mind like a lodestar. But instead, incomprehensibly, she found herself remembering the restaurant last night, and Declan Malone smiling at his companion. And herself outside. Looking in.

For a moment she felt totally frozen, all the muscles in her throat tightening suddenly, as if she was going to cry.

Then her hands clenched fiercely into fists at her side.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought in self-derision. Pull yourself together.

She made herself an omelette for lunch, and afterwards, when she’d cleared away, she put some music on, and stretched out on the sofa with the crossword.

She’d barely started when there was a knock at the door, and Sasha called, ‘Olivia, may I come in, darling?’

Today, the caftan was emerald-green, and she was carrying Humph tucked under her arm.

‘It all looks very nice.’ She cast an appraising glance around her. ‘Does it feel like home? Not yet, I dare say.’

She seated herself in a swirl on one of the dining chairs. Humph wriggled to get down, then trotted over to the sofa and jumped up beside Olivia, circling twice on his chosen cushion, then settling down with a sigh.

‘Ah,’ Sasha said with satisfaction. ‘You’ve been given official approval. Isn’t that nice?’

Olivia was bound to agree as she stroked the silky golden-brown fur, and found herself observed by a bright dark eye.

‘But what I really came for, darling, is this.’ Sasha laid a large iron key on the table. ‘Now that you’re a resident, you have the right to use the garden. This unlocks the main gate.’

‘Really?’ Olivia’s sore heart lifted slightly as she remembered the magical green wilderness she’d spied from Declan’s window. ‘That’s—wonderful.’

‘And these are the communal rules.’ Sasha put a typewritten sheet beside the key. ‘Just look them through when you have a moment. Now I must dash. I have to take Humph for his constitutional before my bridge party, and I’m running late as usual.’

‘Couldn’t I take him for you later?’ Olivia suggested. ‘After all, it seems a pity to disturb him when he’s so comfortable.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ Sasha objected. ‘It’s such an imposition …’

‘No,’ Olivia said firmly. ‘I’d enjoy it.’ She hesitated. ‘I haven’t a great deal else to do.’

Sasha gave her a swift, shrewd glance, then nodded briskly. ‘Very well, darling. Here’s his lead—and also a key to my flat. Just pop him into the kitchen when you bring him back, and then drop the key through the letterbox.’

‘Are you sure about this?’ Olivia accepted the key, brows raised. ‘After all, you hardly know me.’

‘Call it instinct. Humph trusts you.’ Sasha smiled suddenly, almost mistily. ‘And my beloved would have liked you too. Have fun.’ And in a whirl of emerald she was gone.

As Olivia returned to her crossword she found herself wondering who Sasha’s beloved had been.

She’d finished her puzzle by the time Humph decided he was ready for his walk. He pranced ahead of her up the steps and along the road to a pair of wrought-iron gates, which Olivia used her key to open, then locked behind her.

As soon as she stepped inside, the peace of the place seemed to wrap itself around her. Even the incessant traffic noise faded to a distance.

She began to walk along the gravelled path, glancing shyly around her, half expecting to be challenged.

The fine weather had brought the residents out in force, she noticed. They spilled out of their houses and flats on to their rear steps, or the nearby grass, chatting together, playing with their children, drinking wine, picnicking, or attending to the plants in the vast ornamental urns which stood at the back of almost every property. All of them were too occupied to pay her anything but passing attention, although some of them seemed to recognise Humph and gave her a half-smile.

Presently, Humph turned off the main path, choosing a track through the towering shrubs which Olivia guessed was his preferred route.

It was rather like trying to unravel a maze, she thought as he trotted ahead of her, following some scent or other.

‘I only hope you know the way back,’ she told him.

Eventually she found herself in a massive lawned area with a large central pond. Humph, however, pulled her across it to where a gap in the surrounding shrubbery was marked by an ornamental arch, decorated with climbing roses.

A narrow path led to a small clearing—a patch of grass with a sundial at its centre, and one elderly wooden seat. Very sheltered, and very peaceful, Olivia thought approvingly.

She walked across to the sundial, and read the inscription. ‘Love makes Time pass. Time makes Love pass.’ Now there’s a cynical viewpoint, she thought, wandering back to the seat and subsiding on to its aged timbers.

Humph was getting restive, so she bent down and slipped off his leash.

‘Don’t wander off,’ she adjured him. And saw, as she straightened, a movement in the bushes. A cat.

She grabbed at Humph’s collar. But in a crescendo of yapping he was off, his legs a blur, pursuing the fleeing cat through the shrubs with Olivia flying after the pair of them.

She hurled herself through the bushes, guided by another flurry of hysterical barking and an angry feline yowl, and arrived panting on the gravelled walk, just in time to see Humph’s hindquarters disappearing up a flight of stone steps and in through some open French windows.

‘Oh, no,’ she groaned, and started after him.

She was halfway up when Declan Malone appeared at the window. He was carrying Humph, who was licking his face frantically.

He looked at Olivia, his mouth tightening inimically.

‘Miss Butler,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘Now why am I not surprised? If you’re here looking for Jeremy, he’s not back yet.’

‘I’m not,’ Olivia said stiffly, silently cursing the day she was born.

He was wearing chinos, she noticed, and a white shirt, with the sleeves turned back to reveal tanned forearms, and his feet were bare. His hair was damp, as if he’d just got out of the shower, and she found herself wondering if last night’s lady was still around somewhere.

Not, she reminded herself hastily, that it had anything to do with her.

She mounted the last few steps and took the little dog from him. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. Humph was chasing a cat. I—just followed him through the bushes.’

‘You seem to have brought a fair bit of them with you.’ Declan reached out and removed a twig and some leaves from her hair. It was the last thing she’d expected him to do, and an odd shiver ran through her at his touch.

He said abruptly, ‘The rules of the garden state that dogs must be kept on leads at all times. Did Sasha not tell you?’

Olivia bit her lip, recalling the typewritten sheet she hadn’t bothered to read. ‘Yes—I mean, I think so.’

He said silkily, ‘But then rules don’t mean much to you, do they, Miss Butler?’

‘And you seem to invent yours as you go along, Mr Malone,’ she returned icily. ‘But I’ll make sure I remember in the future.’

‘You do that,’ he said with a certain grimness.

‘Before I go,’ she said, ‘there’s something I’d like to say. You implied I was a home-wrecker. But it’s not true. Jeremy’s marriage was finished long before I met him again.’

‘You’ve known him for a while?’

‘It seems like all my life. Perhaps like you—and Maria.’

‘I doubt that.’

She said, ‘Sasha told me she was your cousin—that you were close. So you must have known that things were—going wrong.’

‘I’ve never had many illusions about the state of her marriage.’ His tone was short. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’d choose to connive at its breakdown.’

‘Nor I.’ Olivia lifted her chin. ‘But—these things happen.’

‘Indeed they do,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve read the statistics.’ He gave her a level look. ‘Have you anything else to say in mitigation?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Actually, I didn’t have to explain to you at all. But I felt I owed it to myself.’ She paused. ‘Do you have no other comment?’

‘Nothing you’d particularly want to hear. Just a repetition of advice already given. Which is: go back to—’ his brows lifted enquiringly ‘—where was it?’

‘Bristol,’ she said stonily. ‘And I’m staying here.’ She clipped Humph’s lead to his collar. ‘I’d better take him home.’ She hesitated. ‘And I apologise for letting him chase the cat. Is it all right?’

‘Fighting fit. It was the Fosters’ Maximilian.’ He put out a hand and scratched the top of the little dog’s head. ‘If he ever turned on Humph he’d have him on toast. So take care, Miss Butler.’

‘Of Humph?’ Her voice was saccharine-sweet. ‘Of course I will.’

‘Of everything,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure you won’t.’

She turned and descended the steps, aware of his eyes boring into her spine. As she reached the path she looked back at him.

‘When Jeremy does come back, will you ask him to call me, please, on my mobile? He has my number.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I’ll refrain from the cheap retort. And, yes, I’ll tell him to make contact—if that’s really what you want.’

‘Yes,’ she said lifting her chin. ‘It is.’

He gave her one last cool look, then walked back into the house and closed the French windows behind him.

This, Olivia told an unresponsive pane of glass, is getting to be a habit. But at least this time she’d had the last word. Or had she? With Declan Malone it was difficult to be certain.

But she could ensure it was the last word in another sense, she thought as she walked away, Humph prancing beside her.

She could take immense care never to set eyes on Declan Malone again.

In a city the size of London, it shouldn’t be too hard.

And she’d begin by never straying to his side of the garden again, she vowed silently.

Declan was not in a good mood when he returned to his computer screen. Introducing the Butler girl to Sasha had been a bad mistake, he told himself savagely. What the hell had possessed him to do such a thing, instead of sending her away with a flea in her ear? Now she was ensconced just across the garden, and far too close for comfort.

He shook his head in exasperation, glaring at his notes on William Pitt the Younger, which now seemed stilted and totally without interest. Maybe in trying to breathe new life into these long-dead politicians he’d simply bitten off more than he could chew.

Or maybe that damned girl was sitting in his skull, distorting his thinking.

Oh, come on, he derided himself. She’s just a passing irritation, not a major problem. When Jeremy returned, he’d give him a sharp piece of his mind, and tell him to get rid of her or get out. And that would settle the matter.

Declan pressed ‘Save’ and deliberately switched his thoughts with far more satisfaction to last night’s dinner with Claudia.

She was lively, intelligent and extremely attractive, he reflected. And she’d let him know, albeit with charming subtlety, that she was also attracted to him.

Without conceit, he knew that he could probably have ended the evening in her bed. But he’d decided instead to slow the pace. Establish a relationship before taking the quantum leap into intimacy.

They’d talked about music and theatre over their meal. He’d give it a couple of days, then ask her if she’d like to go to the Ibsen revival that had been so well reviewed.

Claudia had admitted to liking cooking, so it was on the cards she’d offer to make dinner for him. And then they’d see …