Melting Fire. Anne Mather
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for the good of your health, do you?’ His lips thinned. ‘The girls who attend academies like St Helena’s do so to learn the art of entertaining, of being a good hostess. They learn about food and wine, and how to handle people—languages, too, if they have an aptitude.’
‘Richard——’ Olivia was conscious of Alex’s eyes upon them, as well as Bella’s, and his embarrassment was almost as great as hers.
But Richard was undeterred. ‘Listen to me, Olivia,’ he said, ‘because I only intend to say this once; you owe it to me to stay here. For the past fifteen years I’ve been grooming you to this position. I didn’t spend all that money on expensive boarding schools and an even more expensive finishing school to have you go and waste it all in some pitiful little bid for independence! You belong to Copley, Olivia, and don’t you forget it. And to me!’
OLIVIA spent the rest of the afternoon in her room. In spite of the fact that it was a glorious day, and everyone else was sitting outside, either in the sun or out of it, Olivia remained in her room, hot and frustrated, and bitterly resentful.
After Richard’s cold statement at the table, she had left the room without even finishing her lunch. She wasn’t hungry, indeed she felt she never wanted to eat another morsel that Richard had paid to put on her plate. He had let her go, even though she knew he could easily have shamed her into staying, and she had climbed the stairs with her head held high, hiding the wounds he had inflicted.
But in her room the floodgates had opened, and tears of pain and humiliation had soaked the sprigged quilt on her bed. It was all so unreal, so unexpected, and she would never have believed Richard could speak to her that way. She had suspected he might not approve of her wanting to take a job, but not for those reasons, never for those reasons, and the idea that he had been educating her for his own ends left her feeling raw and abused. Lying on her back, impervious to the pain of the burned flesh of her shoulders, she had gone over everything he had said in minute detail. Yet still she found it difficult to accept that the loving stepbrother she had adored had in fact had only his own aims in view. She remembered with painful intensity the sports days he had attended when she was at boarding school in Sussex, the admiration he had inspired among her school friends, and her simple delight in knowing that she was the reason he was there. She had not realised he was only checking on his investment, she thought bitterly, rolling on to her stomach. Realising that his apparent affection for her stemmed from the satisfaction he felt that she was fulfilling all his hopes for her filled her with disgust, and she wished she could strip every shed of clothing from her back and walk out of his house this very minute.
Of course, she thought unhappily, she should have guessed what manner of man he was. Anyone who could buy out a company and then write off their securities without a flicker of compunction had to have a different set of values from her own. She had known he was ruthless in business. She had seen him cut some arrogant competitor down to size, or deliver some succinct response to a newsman’s criticism that made the man a laughing stock among his colleagues, but she had never dreamed he might turn that savage blade on her. She was immune, she was his stepsister, the only person in the world he really loved.
How foolish she had been! Richard didn’t have it in him to love anyone, and she was crazy if she imagined this was all some badly-tasting joke that would go away if she forgot about it. But what could she do?
She was not a prisoner at Copley, and she doubted even Richard would stop her if she determined to walk out, but where could she go? If she denounced Richard and his possessions, she was penniless. Her father hadn’t even left her mother enough to live on, that was one of the reasons why she had married Matthew Jenner so soon after her husband’s death, and her bank balance, such as it was, had all been contributed by Richard. It was useless saying she had earned her keep. She hadn’t. Her life had been incredibly easy, and the only reason she knew how to boil an egg and make a bed was because she had enjoyed helping Bella on occasion. But that was an amusement, nothing more. She had done nothing on a regular basis, and while Richard was right when he said that St Helena’s had taught her how to entertain, it had not encompassed the more menial arts of actually preparing a meal herself.
No, whichever way she looked at it, Richard had a point, a heartless point it was true, but a point nevertheless. She did owe him something, but how much was his pound of flesh?
Leaving her bed, she padded restlessly to the windows staring out moodily on to the smooth grass of the soft court. She had hoped to challenge Richard to a game of tennis this afternoon, and afterwards they could have swum again, and had afternoon tea beside the pool. It was hardly possible to believe that it was only a matter of four or five hours since his arrival. It was even difficult to recall her excitement at seeing him again, and the easy camaraderie they had shared. All she could remember were those flint-like green eyes, gazing into hers and chilling her with their coldness. He had seemed like a stranger, a terrifying stranger, and she had run from him like the frightened child she was.
A knock at her door made her stiffen automatically, and her hand went to the sill for added support as she called: ‘Who is it?’
‘Me!’
Bella’s voice was suddenly amazingly reassuring, and with a little gulp, she shouted: ‘Come in.’
Bella came into the room cautiously, closing the door behind her, her eyes going at once to Olivia’s puffy eyes. Her own gentle features softened in compassion, and it was all Olivia could do to prevent herself from darting into Bella’s arms, as she had done so many times in the past when things had got too much for her. But now she steeled herself to remain where she was, guessing that Bella had to have a hand in this, and realising she had to be self-sufficient from now on.
‘Oh, my dear …’ Bella was clearly distressed, as she advanced across the room, but something about Olivia’s stiffly held figure warned her not to try to comfort her. ‘Won’t you come downstairs and have some tea?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ replied Olivia, moving away from the windows, putting the width of the bed between them. ‘Where’s Richard?’
Bella sighed, halting and folding her hands in front of her. ‘He’s downstairs,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘He and Alex are working in the summerhouse.’ She paused. ‘Won’t you come and have a cup of tea, at least?’
‘I don’t want anything.’ Olivia was abrupt. ‘Why have you come up here? Did he send you?’
‘Richard?’ Bella shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘Olivia, I wish you wouldn’t take this all so seriously——’
‘Seriously!’ Olivia stared at her. ‘Seriously? How else am I supposed to take it?’
‘You know Richard,’ exclaimed Bella persuasively. ‘You know how angry he gets sometimes. When he’s angry he often says things he doesn’t mean.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Olivia was unconvinced, an uncontrollable bubble of hysteria swelling inside her. ‘What didn’t he mean then? That he didn’t really spend his money on me to turn me into something he wanted? Or that I don’t really owe him anything?’
‘Olivia, listen …’
‘No, you listen: I loved Richard, I really loved him. And I thought he loved me——’
‘He does!’
‘No!’ Olivia shook her head. ‘He doesn’t love anybody but himself. And that—that grotesque corporation of his! That’s all he really cares about. Not love, or compassion, or loyalty—or people!’
‘You’re wrong.’ Bella tried to reason with her, but when she made a move to come round the bed towards her, Olivia stepped back towards the bathroom. ‘My dear, stop being so emotional. You know it need never have come to this. You love Copley, you know you do, and what more natural but that you should become Richard’s—hostess? You like meeting