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.
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