They left the M3 at Winchester, and after circling the old Roman town took the road to Abbot’s Norton. They didn’t stop again, even though Olivia would have welcomed another drink, and by half-past eleven they were cresting the hill that ran down into Lower Mychett.
It was all achingly familiar now, and Olivia had to press the palms of her hands together to prevent herself from revealing how nervous she was. She had to force herself to sit still, too. The need to pluck the legs of her trousers away from her damp body was almost overwhelming.
Lower Mychett lay in some of the most beautiful countryside in England, and as Matthew drove down the winding road to the village Olivia had plenty of time to absorb the view. The grey spire of the church was still the most obvious landmark, with the River Mychett embracing the churchyard, before flowing under Fox Bridge. The river divided Lower Mychett from its neighbour, Upper Mychett, and the Rycroft estate owned most of both.
Fortunately, as it was almost lunchtime, there were not a lot of people about, although there were children playing outside the post office cum general stores, and several old people were seated on the bench beside the green. Of course, they all recognised Matthew’s car, thought Olivia bitterly, as he raised his hand again, in acknowledgement of someone’s greeting. Everyone knew and respected the Ryans. And not just because they controlled the village’s livelihood.
‘Isn’t that Jenny Mason?’ exclaimed Olivia, suddenly, stung out of her reticence by the sight of a girl she had once gone to school with, wheeling a twin pushchair containing two toddlers across the street. A third child, of perhaps four or five, trailed along behind, and Olivia stared at her disbelievingly, hardly recognising her friend.
‘That’s right,’ said Matthew flatly, apparently realising that they were nearing their destination, and that he would have to appear to be sociable for her parents’ sake. ‘Except that she’s Jenny Innes now. She married your brother’s friend, Tony.’
Olivia shook her head. ‘Jenny married Tony Innes,’ she echoed blankly. ‘But she was the cleverest girl in the class. I thought she was going to university. She always wanted to be a teacher.’
‘Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?’ observed Matthew, his hands flexing on the steering-wheel. ‘She obviously thought more about Innes than getting a degree.’ He shrugged. ‘Some people do the craziest things when they’re in love.’
Olivia sighed. ‘Nevertheless,’ she said patiently, ‘you know what Tony Innes was like. And, looking at Jenny, it doesn’t appear that he’s changed.’
‘So what?’ Matthew’s mouth compressed. ‘Why should it matter to you?’
‘Because Jenny was my friend,’ retorted Olivia shortly. And now she looks tired, and disillusioned, she added silently, watching the way the other woman turned and, catching the hand of the little boy, who was walking behind her, yanked him up to the pushchair. Jenny looked worn, and tight-lipped, and if she hadn’t known better Olivia would have taken her for a woman of nearly forty.
‘You didn’t keep in touch with her while you’ve been away, I gather,’ Matthew commented drily, and Olivia hunched her shoulders.
‘No.’
‘Not such a good friend, then,’ he remarked, as she turned to look back over her shoulder. ‘I doubt if Jenny wants your sympathy. She’s probably forgotten you ever existed.’
Olivia pressed her lips together for a moment. Then, ‘That’s a rotten thing to say,’ she said at last, as Matthew turned on to the road that led to the Stoners’ farm. ‘We weren’t that close. Not really. I mean, by the time I was seventeen——’
She broke off then, realising what she had been about to say, but Matthew chose to finish the sentence for her.
‘By the time you were seventeen, we didn’t have time for anyone else,’ he said grimly. ‘Did we? I came home every weekend, so that we could be together.’
‘I know.’
Olivia’s response was barely audible, and Matthew uttered a harsh expletive. ‘I could have killed you, you know,’ he muttered, in a bitter voice. ‘I wanted to. I think that’s why I didn’t go after you. I didn’t trust myself. And your family had suffered enough.’
Olivia shivered, but then, seeing the look in his eyes, she frowned. ‘My family?’
‘Well—your mother,’ he said, obviously expecting her to understand. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair to cause her any more——’
‘My mother?’ broke in Olivia blankly. ‘What are you talking about? Why should you single out my mother? Oh—you mean because of her angina——’
‘No. Not her angina,’ said Matthew shortly. He glanced her way, and then gave her a more studied look. ‘But—you must know.’
Olivia was getting anxious. ‘Must know what?’
‘That—that your mother had a heart attack, the day after you left home? Do you mean to say you don’t know she’s been confined to a wheelchair ever since?’
OLIVIA couldn’t sleep. For over an hour she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, and then, unable to stand the torment of her thoughts any longer, she threw back the sheet.
The silk wrap, which matched the oyster satin nightgown she was wearing, was lying at the foot of the bed, and she put it on. Perhaps if she went downstairs and made herself a warm drink it would help her to relax, she thought. Whatever, she had to escape from the bedroom, and the steady sound of Sara snoring in the other bed.
Evidently her sister harboured no uneasy memories, Olivia reflected wryly, as moonlight illuminated Sara’s sleeping form. But then, her sister was heavily pregnant with her first child, and probably needed her sleep more than most. Like Olivia, she had arrived today, but only from Portsmouth. Married to a naval rating, Sara lived in married quarters there, and she had come home for her grandmother’s funeral.
Opening the door as quietly as she could, Olivia slipped out on to the landing of the old farmhouse. Although the landing was carpeted, the boards squeaked beneath her feet, and she stifled a sigh. She had never been able to sneak downstairs without announcing her coming. It had been quite a feat, when she and Sara were younger, to raid the larder without their parents knowing. But it was years since she had trod these stairs, and she had forgotten which of them to avoid.
Still, she made it to the kitchen without any apparent disturbance and, switching on the light, she went to fill the kettle. An old cat, which might or might not have been the tabby they had had when she went away, miaowed appealingly as she took the milk from the fridge, and, although she was sure it must have had its ration for the day, she filled its dish with some of the creamy liquid. She had forgotten what real milk tasted like, she reflected, licking a drop from her finger. She had become so used to the skimmed variety.
She was pouring a mug of tea when the kitchen door opened, and her hand shook a little as her father came into the room. In his dressing-gown and slippers, he seemed slightly less remote than he had appeared earlier in the day, though his features were unforgiving as they viewed his older daughter.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Olivia stumbled into words, feeling distinctly like an interloper. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself a drink. Would—would you like some?’
‘Not for me.’ Robert Stoner approached the table, and she thought how much older he looked now than when she had left. His hair was almost completely grey, and his lean frame was prematurely stooped. ‘Your mother heard you come downstairs,’ he added, looking down at the teapot with unseeing eyes. ‘She sent me to investigate.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Olivia moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘Um—well, do you