Smokescreen. Anne Mather
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‘Hello, Drusilla,’ Olivia responded now, without expression. ‘So good of you to come. I knew you would.’
Drusilla’s lips twisted. ‘It was the least I could do, don’t you think? For Henry’s memory? Of all the hangers-on here, including yourself, I have the most right to expect an acknowledgement.’
Olivia did not take offence. She knew Drusilla had never forgiven Henry for marrying someone else, particularly someone so much younger than herself.
‘I don’t suppose you’ll be disappointed, Drusilla,’ she remarked now, offering her a canapé from the tray held by a passing waitress. And when the older woman refused: ‘Surely we can overlook our differences now. We have so much in common.
‘I have nothing in common with a money-grubbing little gold-digger like you!’ Drusilla hissed venomously. ‘And if Henry hadn’t been so all-fired keen to deprive that selfish son of his from getting his hands on his money, he’d never have been taken in by an over-sexed little——’
‘That’s enough, don’t you think?’ Francis Kennedy’s smooth interruption successfully circumvented Drusilla’s attack. ‘Dear Drusilla! You never could distinguish between good taste and bad, could you? And don’t you think H.R. knew that? Or else you’d be standing where Olivia’s standing now.’
Drusilla’s carefully painted face contorted. ‘Keep out of this, Kennedy! Don’t think I can’t see your game! With Henry dead, you’ve got to revise your strategy, haven’t you? And paying court to his rich widow must have its attractions.’
Kennedy’s expression hardly changed, but his eyes narrowed angrily and Olivia sighed as she put a hand on his arm. ‘Please, Francis,’ she said, ‘it’s kind of you to defend me, but honestly, I can look after myself.’
‘Yes, she can look after herself, Francis!’ Drusilla mocked maliciously. ‘You’d better believe it. She’s Mrs Gantry, and you and I aren’t even poor relations!’
‘Shut up, Drusilla——’
‘Oh, please! Can’t we leave it?’ Olivia’s fingers tightened round the stem on her glass. ‘This is my husband’s funeral, Francis. I’d appreciate it if you’d remember that. Perhaps you’d make sure everyone has what they need. You know them all so much better than I do.
‘Certainly, Mrs Gantry.’
Francis resumed his role smoothly, and ignoring Drusilla’s malevolent gaze, he quickly circulated among the guests. Olivia, for her part, was relieved when several other members of the gathering joined them, and Drusilla eventually drifted away, no doubt to brood over past injustices.
Olivia managed to handle the conversation adroitly. Even in so short a time she had learned to dissemble, and it was easier to accept these people at their face value than try to evaluate their individual intentions. She knew they were wary of her. She knew they were suspicious of her plans now that Henry was dead. It could not be easy, having a stranger thrust so unexpectedly into their midst, a stranger moreover who had been given the power to direct the future course of their lives.
‘Well, Olivia——’ It was Adam Cosgrove at her side, his lined face grave and thoughtful. ‘I suggest we get the formalities over with, don’t you? I realise you may not be feeling up to it right now, but these matters have to be attended to, I’m afraid. If you’d like to join me in the library, I think we can suitably dispose of H.R.’s last wishes.’
Olivia’s features stiffened. ‘You’ve read the will?’
‘As I helped to draw it up, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Olivia felt foolish. ‘When—when was this?’
‘A few days after your marriage.’ Adam was prosaic. ‘But you knew. Surely H.R. told you what he planned to do?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Olivia’s tongue appeared to moisten her lips. ‘Yes, he told me. I only wondered——’
‘——whether he’d kept his word?’ suggested Adam sagely. ‘Well, that rather depends on what limitations you expected, I suppose. You’re a very rich young woman, but I’m sure you know that. As for the rest——’
‘The rest? You mean Henry’s estate?’
‘I mean his estate, of course. His shares in the corporation; his interests in banking and mining; his involvement in the development of North Sea oil; his houses, here, and in New York and the South of France; his collection; his racehorses——’
‘Oh, don’t go on.’ Olivia pressed the palm of one hand to her cheek, the delicate shade of her nail varnish so much warmer then the pallor of her skin. She felt chilled, inside and out, and even swallowing the last of her brandy could not remove the sense of apprehension that was gripping her now the moment had come.
‘Very well.’ Adam bowed his head in silent acceptance of her plea. ‘I suggest we continue this conversation in more private circumstances. Will you lead the way? I want to speak to Kennedy.’
The library was empty, but Mrs Winters had had a fire laid in the wide hearth and its flames were welcoming. The library was the only room in the house that possessed a chimney, and Olivia had spent many hours here, examining the books that lined two walls. The curtains had been drawn against the darkness that was now complete, and their plummy velvet folds provided a fitting backcloth to the heavy desk that stood squarely in front of them.
Olivia paced about the room anxiously as she waited, her fingers playing with the double rope of pearls that circled her slender throat. They were real pearls, just as the diamonds in her ears were real diamonds, and the simple jersey dress she wore had cost a fortune in a Paris fashion house. Henry Gantry was nothing if not thorough, and he had made Olivia his wife in every possible way. She had to look like his wife, as well as act like it, and money was no object to a man of his means.
It seemed hours before Adam joined her, but a glance at the exquisitely designed watch on her wrist confirmed that it was scarcely five minutes. The watch was accurate to two seconds in five years, or some such ridiculous claim, but in this instance it was enough to know that it was her tenseness that had made time drag.
She had expected he would have brought Francis with him, and perhaps Drusilla, too, but he had not. Adam was alone as he closed the door behind him, and its heavy soundproofed panels ensured their conversation the utmost privacy.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ Adam placed his briefcase on the desk, and surveyed her slim figure with mild impatience. ‘My dear, there’s absolutely no need to look so apprehensive.’ His lips curled a little wryly. ‘You are H.R.’s heir, in spite of my pleas on Alex’s behalf. Relax. There’s not a court in England that could overthrow it.’
Olivia sank down into a dark green leather armchair. It was strange, hearing Alex Gantry’s name spoken for the first time in this house. Henry had never used it. If he had ever mentioned his offspring, it was always as ‘that ungrateful whelp’ or ‘Elise’s brat’, and just occasionally as ‘that bastard son of mind’. Olivia had never troubled to work out what it was that Alex had done to deserve his father’s undying hatred. But if Henry had disowned him, it must have been something pretty bad. It was no concern of hers, she thought, moving her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. She had not been responsible for Henry’s decision to cut his son out of his will. She had been merely the unwilling instrument of that decision, and she should not feel remorse now when her revenge was within her grasp. Henry Gantry had been an unscrupulous man, it was right and fitting that he, in his turn, should have been taken in by an unscrupulous woman; though whether she was as strong in her convictions as he had been, remained to be seen.
‘You seem—distracted, Olivia.’ Adam was speaking again, and she looked up at him almost blankly, aware that for several minutes she had been absorbed with her thoughts. ‘Is something wrong?’ he persisted. ‘You’re not—afraid of the responsibilities that are now yours? You needn’t be, you know. You have some of the best business brains