Perfect Strangers. Laura Martin
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pretty cottage in the country. The ability to choose.’
There was a strange, almost dangerous silence. ‘And what if choice is restrained by other limitations, other boundaries? What if you can’t bring yourself to just walk away? What then?’
Olivia frowned. This conversation was getting deep. She wasn’t sure she could handle it. . .she wasn’t sure she wanted to. ‘I. . .don’t understand,’ she murmured, playing dumb. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, I think you do,’ he murmured softly. ‘But it’s easier. . .you prefer to see things clearly—black and white; that’s right, isn’t it? No grey areas allowed?’
‘I try to.’ Olivia paused to consider and realised that this man, who was a virtual stranger, was far too perceptive for comfort. ‘It makes decisions a lot easier.’
Dark brows drew together. ‘Life isn’t always that simple, though, is it?’
Olivia hesitated and thought of Paul. ‘You can make it simple,’ she declared forcibly. ‘You can choose to make it simple.’ She saw the dark head shake in disbelief. ‘Obviously we see things differently,’ she declared. ‘I’m not trying to convert you. You were the one who pursued this line of conversation!’
He glanced across at her. ‘You’re nervous—why?’
Olivia lifted her head and stared defiantly at the assured, handsome face. ‘I’m. . .’ She had been about to deny it—pointlessly, of course, because they both knew she was as nervous as hell. But of what? That was the point. And why? ‘I. . .don’t know you.’ She shrugged awkwardly. ‘And yet I find myself drawn into deep conversations that. . .that disturb me. . .and. . .’ She closed her mouth abruptly and looked out of the car window. Honesty was falling out of her mouth at an alarming rate. What on earth had possessed her to be so frank. . .and to a perfect stranger?
‘And?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She lifted her head and glanced towards her new home. She took a deep breath and savoured the smell of the chill, damp air. This was it, the moment she had been dreaming about for weeks. ‘Honeysuckle Cottage—it’s a pretty name, isn’t it?’
The harsh mouth curved suddenly. ‘If you say so. Although there hasn’t been a strand of the stuff growing there in all the years I can remember.’
Olivia removed her gaze from the arresting profile and watched the windscreen wipers moving back and forth. ‘I’ll grow some,’ she announced.
‘You feel like giving it a try?’
The mocking tone wasn’t lost on her. Olivia looked sharply at the derisive mouth. ‘Is there something wrong with that?’ she demanded.
‘It deserves to be lived in for fifty-two weeks of the year, not just now and then when the flat in London needs decorating, or the weather’s fine.’ he remarked sharply.
Olivia turned briefly, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘I haven’t got a flat in London, not any more,’ she replied, registering the sharp disapproval of her companion’s face, ‘and even if I had, what business is it of yours how I live my life?’
She wrenched open the door as soon as the vehicle came to a halt and jumped down onto the crunchy gravel, conscious that she was in danger of allowing this disturbing man to mar the arrival she had so longed for. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she continued stonily, rummaging in her roomy leather bag for the key. ‘If you’ll just open the back for me I’ll get my luggage and you can go.’
‘Here, take this.’ He reached into the back seat of the vehicle and tossed a large grey raincoat through the open doorway. ‘That wonderful but totally impractical dress is going to be ruined.’ He got out and walked around to the boot. ‘Go and open up and I’ll start bringing your luggage inside.’
‘There’s absolutely no need—!’
He halted her protestations with a look. ‘Go on! Do as I say! I was late before; I’m even later now. A couple more minutes of my time won’t make a lot of difference.’
She complied. For one thing it was too wet to stand outside arguing the toss over whether he should or should not carry her bags, and for another they were heavy and there were a lot of them and she would definitely ruin her outfit in the process.
Olivia ran for the front door. The wooden gate creaked a little as she opened it. Her soft black leather boots brushed against clumps of newly sprouted foliage, which she promised herself she would one day recognise, as she negotiated the narrow overgrown path.
The cottage had been empty for a little while now. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted drifts of blue forget-me-nots and pale yellow primroses and her heart lifted and soared because there were so many days ahead and so much to do.
There was a porch overhead, but it was in need of repair and too old and rickety to afford much shelter from the torrential rain. Dragging her gaze away from the front garden, Olivia thrust her treasured key into the lock and stepped across the threshold into her new home.
It was dark inside. The rain clouds had hastened the spring afternoon towards evening. Olivia searched blindly for a light switch and, unable to find one near the door, groped her way across the room, banging into unidentifiable objects on the way. There had been a few pieces of furniture here when she had last visited; old stuff that would have to be thrown out. Olivia added another job to the list she carried around inside her head as she tried to make her way towards the kitchen; order a skip to cart away all this rubbish, so that the decorators could get started as soon as possible.
Her foot scuffed into something soft, an unseen object on the floor that nearly sent her flying into the wall. Olivia grabbed hold of the back of a nearby chair and turned around to take another look. What was it? An old carpet? Olivia let out a sigh of disgust. For goodness’ sake! There had definitely been no carpet or rug here when she had visited before, she was sure of it. What a cheek!
‘People dumping their rubbish here!’ she muttered crossly, giving the object an irritated push with her foot.
It felt strange. Not a carpet or a rug. A prickle of alarm ran across Olivia’s skin. She took a deep breath and bent down to try to get a better look. Oh, goodness! What was it? Slowly, very slowly she reached out a hand, forcing herself to be brave. It would be a lot better if she could see more; this was like that awful game she had played at a party once, where you had to stick your hand into a bag and feel and try to gess whatever was inside.
Her fingers reached out gingerly and came into hesitant contact with something that felt disgusting; a mixture of fur and a wet, sticky slime.
Olivia gave a shriek, jumped up and half stumbled, half ran for the front door.
She cannoned into Jake Savage, overloaded with cases at the entrance, and clutched onto the lapels of his jacket.
‘Hey! What on earth’s the matter?’
Olivia closed her eyes and allowed herself the brief pleasure of pressing her face against the soft suede jacket. ‘There’s something. . .something horrible in there,’ she declared unsteadily, aware of her heart racing fit to burst, unsure whether it was entirely due to her sudden fright or the fact that she was in such close proximity to Jake Savage.
‘What sort of thing?’
‘I. . . I don’t know. It’s so dark and I can’t find the damn light switch, but—’
‘It’s frightened the hell out of you,’ he finished for her. His voice was calm. ‘Funny how appearances can be so deceptive, isn’t it?’ he murmured softly. She could feel the masculine hardness of his body, the warmth of his breath on her face. ‘Now what on earth made me imagine that the sophisticated Miss Hamilton could handle any situation, no matter how daunting? You’re shaking like a leaf!’
‘I. . . I don’t like the dark very much,’ Olivia admitted unsteadily. ‘But it’s not just that; there really is something horrible.