Starting Over. PENNY JORDAN
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in her life. Oh, they might pretend they loved her; that she mattered to them, but the truth was … the truth was …
She closed her eyes shivering despite the warmth of their hotel room. The pressure inside her skull increased as she fought not to remember the expression in her uncle Jon’s eyes when he had talked about his twin brother … her father … How could he possibly still love him like that after what her father had done?
Some days ago Jon had telephoned her urging her to return home so that she could attend the party being thrown at Fitzburgh Place to celebrate her father’s marriage to Lord Astlegh’s cousin Honor, but Olivia had refused.
Olivia couldn’t explain to herself or even begin to unravel the complex twisting and contorting of emotions which were causing the increasingly hard to control surges of panic she was experiencing. The knife-sharp fear. The horrifying sense of dislocation, of distance from the rest of the human race.
Caspar was getting out of the bed now, his face tight with anger. Had she really once believed she loved him? It seemed extraordinary to her that she could have done. Blank numbness filled her now whenever she tried to recall the feelings she had once had.
‘Danny has invited us to join his family at the cabin in Colorado. We can ski and—’
‘No,’ Olivia refused without allowing Caspar to finish.
As she watched her husband Olivia was filled with a sense of despair and hopelessness. The love which had once tied them together and created their two daughters had gone. They were strangers to one another now. So much strangers that Caspar couldn’t even seem to appreciate the kind of back-log of work she was going to have to face once they returned, as it was.
The tension in her head reached a screaming crescendo. All her life she had had to fight against the opposition of her grandfather to her desire to follow in the family tradition and qualify as a solicitor. How he would enjoy crowing over her now if she failed.
‘I have to go home. My work …’
‘Your work. What about our marriage?’
Their marriage. Distantly Olivia looked at him.
‘We don’t have a marriage any more, Caspar,’ she told him. The sense of relief that filled her as she spoke was so intoxicating that it was almost as heady as drinking champagne. She could feel her spirits lightening, the tension leaving her body.
‘What … what the hell are you saying?’ she could hear Caspar demanding but she was already turning away from him, her decision made.
‘I think we should separate,’ she heard herself telling him.
‘Separate …?’
She discovered she was holding her breath as she detected the shock in his voice as though she were waiting … but waiting for what?
‘Yes,’ she continued calmly. ‘We will have to do everything properly, of course … legally …’
‘Of course that would be the first thing you would think about—as a Crighton,’ Caspar told her bitterly.
Olivia looked away from him.
‘You’ve always resented that, haven’t you?’ she demanded quietly.
‘What I’ve resented, Livvy, is the fact that this marriage of ours has never contained just the two of us.’
‘You wanted children as much as I did,’ Olivia retorted, stung by the unfairness of his accusation.
‘It isn’t the girls I’m talking about,’ Caspar snapped. ‘It’s your damned family. You’re like a little girl, Livvy, living in the past, clinging to it.’
‘That’s not true.’ Her face had gone paper-white. ‘Who’s the one who’s supported us … who’s—’
‘I’m tired of having to carry the can for other people’s imagined sins against you, Livvy. I’m tired of being held responsible for them just because I’m a man like your father and your grandfather and Max. I’m tired of having to carry all that emotional baggage you insist on dragging around … that “I’m a victim” attitude of yours.’
‘How dare you say that?’
‘I dare because it’s true,’ Caspar told her coldly. ‘But as of now I’m through with playing surrogate grandfather, father and cousin to you, Livvy … and I’m sure as hell tired of playing surrogate punch ball. It’s time I got a little something out of life, wrote that book I’ve been promising myself, got that Harley and rode around this country … chilled out and lived …’
Olivia stared at him as though he were a stranger. This wasn’t the Caspar she thought she had known so well, this selfish insensitive stranger with his adolescent fantasies and his total lack of regard for the needs of either his children or her.
‘I can’t imagine why I ever thought I loved you, Caspar,’ she told him, her throat raw. ‘Or why I married you,’ she added as she wondered if he could hear the sound of her dreams, her ideals, her love, splintering around them into a million tiny painful shards.
‘No? Then you’ve got one hell of a short memory. You married me because you wanted to escape from your childhood,’ Caspar told her.
Her childhood. As he strode out of the room Olivia closed her eyes, her body tight with tension.
There was a bitter taste in her mouth. She had never really had a childhood. Sometimes she felt she had almost been born knowing that she wasn’t the child—the son—her father, and more importantly her grandfather, had wanted.
Because of them Olivia had grown up determined to prove herself, to prove her worth … her value. Because of them she had pushed herself these last months to meet self-imposed work targets that increasingly made her feel as though she were walking a tightrope stretched across a sickeningly deep chasm. All it would take to send her crashing down would be one wrong step … one missed breath … but she had had to do it. Not just for her own sake but even more importantly for her daughters. There was no way she was going to have them growing up under the burden, the taint of being her father’s grandchildren. Ever since David had disappeared and the truth about him had come to light, Olivia had been haunted by what he had done, haunted by it … shamed by it … tormented by it.
And now he was back and instead of being shunned as he rightly deserved he was being feted, lauded, whilst she …
The pain inside her head intensified and with it her panic and despair.
She would be better once she was back home she promised herself, once she was back at work. Back in control….
HASLEWICH.
Sara Lanyon still didn’t know what she was doing here. She had certainly not intended to turn off the motorway en route home to Brighton from her visit to her old university friend, so some unknown power must surely be responsible for her being here.
Haslewich … Crighton land …
Crighton land. Her mouth with its deliciously full upper lip curled into a line of angry contempt.
She had heard all about the Crightons from her stepgrandmamma, poor Tania.
She had been so very damaged and fragile when her grandfather had rescued her, gently building up her confidence and her life for her.
‘There are always two sides to a situation like this, Sara,’ her father had cautioned her when once she had exploded with anger against the Crightons for what they had done to Tania.
‘But, Dad, she’s so vulnerable, so helpless … there can’t be any excuse for the way they abandoned her. It was heartless … cruel….’
Her