Snowfire

Deciding that if she put her coat on she would at least look as if she was waiting to leave, Olivia slid her arms into the sleeves. Then, as there was no one about, she checked her wavy image in the smoked glass of a lantern. Oh, well, she thought wearily, she might as well get it over with.

But, when she entered the bar, she couldn’t immediately see Conor. It was already fairly busy, probably due to the fact that most people were coming out early to avoid the icy roads later. But, although there were several people standing at the bar, he wasn’t one of them, and it wasn’t until he spoke her name that she turned her head and saw them.

Yes, them, she saw incredulously, as her eyes took in the fact that Conor was not alone. But it wasn’t Tom Drake, who was sipping a glass of white wine, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, beside Conor. It was Sharon Holmes, wide-eyed and sultry-lipped, wearing a short-jacketed scarlet suit that exposed most of her shapely legs.

Olivia could not have been more taken aback. In spite of what she had seen the day before, and their obvious familiarity with one another, she had never considered that Conor might bring his girlfriend tonight. It had been foolish, she saw with hindsight, to imagine his invitation had meant anything more than a token homage to duty. She had been his mother’s friend, she had been around for most of his early life, and he felt sorry for her. She had embarrassed all of them by appearing out of the blue like that, so he had offered her dinner as a means of absolving his responsibility. He didn’t really want to spend the evening in her company. In fact, he was just as reluctant as she was. How could she have thought otherwise?

Now he left his companion to come and greet her, but although she attempted to proffer a nervous hand he ignored it, and brushed his lips against her cheek. The odour of the shaving foam he had used invaded her nostrils, along with the distinctly masculine scent of his body, and she caught her breath. But she bore the salutation valiantly, and even managed a smile when he drew back.

’How’s the leg this evening?’ he asked softly, his words for her ears only, and she said, ‘Better, thank you,’ in a stiff tone that couldn’t help but reveal her feelings. But what else could he expect? she thought tensely. She was still recovering from shock.

He looked even more attractive this evening, though his clothes were not as formal as she had expected. Probably because she was too accustomed to dining with older men, she reflected ruefully. After all, even Stephen had been almost ten years older than she was. None the less, Conor’s button-down collar—worn without a tie, she noticed—and black corded trousers were decidedly casual. The fine wool jacket he was wearing with them was a sort of dusty green, and matched neither his shirt nor his trousers. Yet, for all that, the clothes suited him, accentuating still more the differences between them.

Now, as if afraid she was missing something, Sharon joined them, and Olivia felt as dowdy as a sparrow with two gorgeous birds of paradise. No, not a sparrow, a starling, she corrected drily. Sparrows were small and compact, not long-legged and ungainly.

’Hello, Mrs Perry,’ she said, once again relegating Olivia to an older generation. ‘Isn’t it cold? I bet you wish you’d chosen the Caribbean for your holiday.’

Olivia’s smile felt glued to her mouth. ‘Oh—yes,’ she murmured, wondering exactly what Conor had told Sharon about her. He had evidently mentioned that she was married. She just hoped he hadn’t said too much about the crash.

’Let me get you a drink,’ suggested Conor swiftly. ‘You two can find somewhere to sit down.’

’I’m quite capable of standing,’ said Olivia, well aware that they hadn’t been occupying one of the wooden tables when she came in. She gave Conor a resentful look, and then looked away again. ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic, thank you. No ice.’

Conor inclined his head, and although he didn’t say anything she sensed his indignation. Well, she thought defensively, she wasn’t an old lady. Not as old as he was implying, anyway. He might mean well, but she didn’t like it. Not when she already felt like the ripest gooseberry in the basket.

’Shall we sit down?’ asked Sharon, after Conor had departed to get her drink, and Olivia sighed. Oh, what the hell? she thought; perhaps she was being foolish in refusing the opportunity to take her weight off her leg. She’d already had one experience of what could happen when she acted recklessly. Her present predicament was a direct result.

So, ‘If you like,’ she agreed offhandedly, and followed the girl to a table in the corner.

Sharon set her drink on the table in front of her, and then looked thoughtfully at her companion. ‘Conor says you’re a lawyer,’ she remarked. ‘That’s not how you got to know Mrs Brennan, is it?’

Mrs Brennan! For a moment, Olivia didn’t understand who she was talking about. Her thoughts had been so wrapped up with Conor and this awful situation that it took several seconds for comprehension to dawn.

’Oh—you mean Sally,’ she said hurriedly, and Sharon gave a nod. ‘No—I—as I believe I told you, my grandmother used to live next door. At number seventeen Gull Rise, I mean. I lived with her after my own parents died. That’s how I met—all the Brennans.’

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