LIVVY DIDN’T SLEEP well. Her dreams were disturbed by vague images of a tall, dark-haired, hard-mouthed man who pursued her relentlessly, threatening her in some nerve-jarring, insubstantial manner that brought her abruptly out of her sleep, her mouth dry and her heart pounding heavily.
The moonlight streaming into her room alerted her to the fact that she had forgotten to close the curtains. She got up and padded quietly across to the window, halting tensely as she looked down into the yard and saw the solitary, motionless figure of Richard Field.
He was standing with his back to her, hands thrust deep in his pockets, something about his stance, its tension and remoteness making her pause instead of turning quickly away.
Alone in the moonlit yard, he seemed a different man from the one who had behaved so mercilessly to her earlier, less aggressive and antagonistic, the power and harshness she had sensed so strongly in him earlier muted.
As she watched, the cat she had fed earlier suddenly appeared, padding towards him, winding herself lovingly around his ankles. Livvy stiffened, half expecting him to push the cat away, but to her surprise instead he bent down and stroked her. He was talking to her, she recognised, and although she was too far away to hear what he was saying, she could still see the softly rueful smile which curved his mouth.
The sight of him exhibiting such a totally unexpected show of tenderness and humanity made her eyes sting suddenly with tears.
Fiercely blinking them away, she stepped back from the window.
‘Sentimental idiot,’ she derided herself as she hurried back to bed. Just because he had stroked the cat, that didn’t change anything. It didn’t change him, nor his attitude towards her. Just because for a second he had seemed human, and not just human but someone vulnerable and alone as well, that did not give her over-susceptible emotions an excuse to start reacting so treacherously.
He was still the same man who had uttered those dreadful insults, who had treated her so unforgivably…who was plotting with George to buy the farmhouse behind Gale’s back.
He had insulted her, humiliated her, made it all too plain what he thought of her, and yet, despite all that, some treacherous female part of her still remained very aware of him. Too aware.
She shivered as she got back into bed and pulled the bedclothes firmly over her head.
‘No dreams this time,’ she warned her subconscious. ‘It’s bad enough having to put up with him when I’m awake. I’d like my sleep to be relaxing and free of Richard Field, if you please…’
It must have worked, because when Livvy woke up in the morning and saw the clear blue sky outside, she rubbed her eyes in disbelief, grinning with pleasure as she remembered where she was. Six whole lovely, uninterrupted weeks in this peaceful, pastoral paradise. Bliss…And then abruptly she remembered that this particular paradise had its own very definite serpent in the large and unfriendly form of Richard Field.
Well, she wasn’t going to let him spoil her holiday, Livvy told herself firmly, and who knew, she decided optimistically, perhaps this morning he might have changed his mind, come to his senses and realised how unfair, how dishonest really his and George’s plans were, and decided to leave?
It was, after all, what any sane, responsible person would decide to do, wasn’t it?
Remembering what had happened the previous evening, Livvy was very careful to check the landing and to lock the bathroom door while she had showered and washed her hair.
Her optimistic mood continued when she went downstairs and found that she had the kitchen to herself.
Since she had not been able to shop properly yet, she would have to make do with cereal and coffee for her breakfast, but she could at least eat outside and enjoy the early morning warmth of the sunshine.
At present the yard wasn’t a particularly prepossessing place, but it didn’t take much imagination to transform it mentally with the addition of terracotta pots full of tumbling flowers, a wistaria perhaps framing the untidy collection of outbuildings, some weathered wooden seats padded with a collection of pretty cotton cushions in bright summer colours. Smiling to herself, Livvy let her imagination run riot.
A loud purring noise close at hand warned her that she was no longer alone. She laughed as she opened her eyes and bent down to greet her visitor.
Yes, Livvy decided as the cat jumped up on to her knee and settled happily there, purring, she had been silly yesterday to let Richard Field get to her; the best thing, the most sensible thing for her to do was simply to ignore him, to pretend he just did not exist. Today for instance, instead of thinking about him, worrying about when he might appear and what he might say or do, she was simply going to concentrate on enjoying herself and carrying out all the happy plans she had made before she left England.
What she was not going to do was to allow him to bully or blackmail her into leaving, nor was she going to let him spoil her holiday.
‘No way,’ she told the cat firmly as she determinedly picked up the guidebook she had brought outside with her and opened it.
Since she needed to shop, today would be a good opportunity to drive into Beaulieu and seek out the bathroom fittings shop Gale had detailed on her list.
Once she had completed that task, she would then indulge herself with something a little more to her liking. Not the trip to the caves, which she wanted to save until she had a full day to savour it—exploring the town of Beaulieu itself and then perhaps a drive through some of the surrounding countryside where she could park and explore.
If she set off early enough, she could probably complete her shopping chores this morning, which would leave her the whole afternoon free to explore. She closed her eyes blissfully, imagining herself in some secluded spot enjoying a lunch of fresh, crusty bread, home-made pâté and perhaps some of the local cheese, while from her vantage point she watched the river.
‘Dreaming about your lover?’
Angrily, Livvy opened her eyes as Richard Field’s harsh voice destroyed her pastoral fantasy.
The cat, sensing her tension, jumped down off her knee, dislodging the guidebook as she did so.
Livvy bent to retrieve it, but Richard Field beat her to it. He frowned as he handed it back to her.
‘“The natural beauty and historical sights of the Dordogne”,’ he read, scanning the cover, his mouth curling into an open sneer as he remarked contemptuously, ‘Hardly your style, I would have thought.’
Too angry to hide what she was feeling, Livvy snatched the book back off him, ignoring the sharp electric tingle that raced up her arm as her fingertips inadvertently touched the hard warmth of his hand.
‘That’s an arrogant and totally illogical statement,’ she told him cuttingly. ‘Despite what you seem to think, you don’t know me or my tastes and personality. I’d be very suspicious of anyone’s judgement if they claimed to know everything there was to know about another human being merely on the strength of twenty-four hours’ very casual acquaintance, but then of course I’m neglecting to take into account the insight into the female psyche which you seem to feel you have…an insight which, as far as I can ascertain, is based almost solely on prejudice…’
Livvy could see that she had surprised him.
‘Are you trying to tell me that you are genuinely more interested in exploring the history of the area than…?’
‘I’m not trying to tell you anything,’ Livvy assured him, adding pointedly, ‘I wouldn’t waste my breath.’
‘I should have thought a man-made cavern of expensive, exclusive shops where you could spend someone else’s money would be of more interest to you than somewhere like this,’ he told her, gesturing towards the open page of the guide and its description of caves.
‘If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’ Livvy told him sweetly.
As she walked past him and into the kitchen, she was surprised to discover that, along with a sweet sense of triumph, she also felt oddly sorry for him. He was obviously a wealthy man; had his cynical attitude towards her sex been the result of a relationship with the kind of woman he now accused her of being?
If so, she confessed to being a little surprised. She would have thought him too aware, too distrustful, too armoured by his own hardness to be vulnerable to that kind of woman; to any kind of woman, in fact, since he seemed so plainly to dislike and distrust her sex.
It pleased her, though, that she had managed to silence him; and to stand up to him.
Her sense of self-respect slightly restored, she went upstairs to collect her jacket and Gale’s list. Slightly restored, but truthfully it would take more than merely walking away from a verbal exchange with him, having the last word, to wipe out the memory of that kiss he had forced on her.
She paused uncomfortably at the top of the stairs, forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t so much the memory of his kiss which jarred, but her own unexpected reaction to it.
When she came back downstairs there was no sign of him, although she could see a fishing-rod and some fishing tackle on the ground next to the BMW.
As she climbed into her own car, she stifled a small pang of envy. As a child she had thoroughly enjoyed the hours she had spent watching her grandfather fish, and later, while she was still young enough not to be aware that fishing wasn’t something that girls did, to listen eagerly and learn from him while he explained its skills.
Beaulieu was everything the guidebooks had promised it would be and more, but Livvy firmly refused to give in to the temptation to start exploring its ancient streets straight away, reminding herself that work must come first, pleasure afterwards.
Even so, she could not resist the temptation of wandering through the market, pausing to enjoy the wonderful aromas from the stalls, admiring the contrast between the sharp, rich colours of the vegetables and fruit on one stall, and the softer, pale colours of the massed bunches of flowers on another.
On impulse, she stopped and bought herself a bunch. They would brighten up the dullness of the farmhouse kitchen, and she thought she had seen a large earthenware jug she could put them in.
Tempting though it was to linger, she forced herself to move on, pausing briefly to check the address of the plumbers’ merchant from the list Gale had given her.
Unexpectedly, when she eventually found it, it was tucked away down a pretty, narrow side-street of ancient houses that looked almost as though they had been untouched since they had first been built, the frothing brilliance of bright scarlet geraniums planted in window boxes outside the upper windows breaking up the weathered softness of the stone.
The contrast between the age of the building and the modern display of goods inside it took her slightly aback at first.
The man who came to assist her displayed all the charm and flirtatiousness for which the French male was so famous, or so notorious, depending upon which side of the sexual fence one looked at it from.
His eyes lit up appreciatively as he studied Livvy with discreet male competence. It said a lot for his savoir-faire that he didn’t drop his slightly flirtatious and flattering manner towards her once she outlined the business which had brought her to him, Livvy reflected to herself with amused appreciation.
‘Yes, I believe I recall madame your cousin,’ he agreed with commendable tact. ‘You say she has supplied you with a list of her requirements…’
‘Yes, but before I give you the order, she wishes me to secure a definite delivery date,’ Livvy told him firmly.
It took them almost an hour to reach an agreement. Provided his suppliers had the goods in stock, he could definitely promise to start work at the beginning of September, he assured her.
Gravely, Livvy told him that she would convey that information to her cousin.
As she stepped outside into the street, he followed her, removing from her the burden of her flowers while she put the brochures and price lists he had given her safely away with Gale’s list.
As she turned to thank him and take her flowers, he surprised her by lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her fingertips with a theatrical flourish. Trying hard not to giggle, Livvy retrieved her hand and started to turn away from him.
As she did so, she suddenly froze with shock at the unexpected sight of Richard Field, watching her with cold-eyed contempt less than a couple of yards away.
To her annoyance, Livvy knew she had started to flush. The owner of the plumbers’ merchants had disappeared and she was alone in the narrow street with Richard Field.
‘So much for this morning’s protests,’ he told her as he drew level with her. ‘It seems my initial judgement of you was accurate after all.’
Livvy gritted her teeth. Of course, after having seen her at the auberge that first night, he would jump to that conclusion. He really had the most fervid and judgemental nature she had ever come across if he could genuinely misinterpret the totally innocent exchange he had just witnessed as some kind of passionate sexual liaison.
‘If you must know, I hardly know the man,’ Livvy told him crossly. ‘He…’
She wasn’t given any opportunity to continue or explain.
‘Since when did knowing your partner matter to a woman like you? It’s the conquest that excites your type, the thrill and danger of the risks you take.’
As she listened to him and compared her cautious and conventional personality to the picture he was drawing, Livvy was almost tempted to laugh, but the anger she could see in his face stopped her.
She could almost feel the tension emanating from him, reaching out to engulf her in its dangerous grip. Instinctively she stepped back from him, tiny thrills of nervous alarm feathering along her sensitive skin.
For some reason her action seemed to increase his anger.
‘It’s a bit too late for the coy virgin act,’ he told her contemptuously. ‘It’s obvious that it’s a role for which you’d be seriously and laughably miscast.’
‘That’s the only way you can see women, isn’t it?’ Livvy retorted suddenly, as angry with him as he was with her. ‘We’re either sexual adventuresses or virgins, bad or good…’ Her eyes flashed, her mouth curling with disdain as she gave full rein to her emotions.
‘I feel really sorry for you. It must be hard work clinging on to such antediluvian views. You’re the kind of man who if he marries will insist on his wife’s being timid and totally inexperienced because you can’t stand the thought of her comparing you to anyone else. You’ll be terrified of her growing up and maturing into a real woman because if she does she’ll discover that she hasn’t married a real man. Why am I saying I feel sorry for you? She’s the one I really feel sorry for.’
Livvy’s eyes flashed again as her indignation and anger grew.
‘You know nothing about me or my marriage…’
It wasn’t just the raw fury in his voice that silenced her, Livvy acknowledged, as a peculiar leaden feeling developed in the pit of her stomach and her mouth suddenly went very dry.
‘You’re married…’
Her voice sounded squeaky and slightly shocked.
‘I was,’ he told her harshly, ‘I’m not now.’
It must be the heat and the fact that she wasn’t used to giving way so freely to her emotions that was making her feel so light-headed, Livvy reflected. Giving way to them…She wasn’t even used to experiencing them…
She felt very shaky and sick all of a sudden. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her and she felt as though she wanted to crawl away somewhere quiet and safe.
‘I…I must go. I’ve got some shopping to do…’ Why did her voice sound so weak and hesitant, so emotional almost?
When he made no attempt to stop her, Livvy hurried past him, aware that he was walking in the opposite direction and into the building next to the plumbers’ merchants which advertised office, secretarial and fax services.
Her heart thumping heavily, Livvy paused and turned round, frowning, as she stared at the building. Why had he gone in there? To contact George, perhaps, and alert him to what was happening?
If he knew where George was, he would be acting more in his interests if he persuaded him to get in touch with Gale so that they could sort out their differences, rather than adding further fuel to the dispute between them.
But then a man with his attitude towards women, towards marriage, was hardly likely to advocate reconciliation.
Her altercation with Richard Field, combined with the length of time she had spent in the plumbers’ merchants, had taken up more time than Livvy had anticipated.
By the time she had completed her shopping, it was midday and too hot to countenance driving around in her car.
She could of course return to the farmhouse, but she didn’t want to do that—not yet; and alternatively she could have a cup of coffee in one of the tempting cafés she had seen in the town and then spend a couple of hours exploring its shady medieval streets.
But if she did so, would she run the risk of bumping into Richard Field again?
Why should she let the thought of seeing him dictate to her what she could and could not do? If he wanted to think the worst of her, to condemn her and the whole female sex just because his own marriage hadn’t worked out, then that was his problem, not hers.
It was not surprising that his marriage hadn’t worked out, she decided, after storing her purchases in her car and retracing her steps to one of the cafés she had seen earlier.
What had she been like, Richard Field’s wife? Livvy wondered as she sipped her coffee. Had she been the naïve, unawakened bride she had accused him of wanting earlier, or had it been a very different kind of woman who had brought him to view her sex with contempt and bitterness?
She put down her coffee-cup, frowning slightly. What did it matter what kind of woman she had been? It was of no interest to her.
Except that…Except that the man who had kissed her so angrily and punishingly yesterday, and who throughout their short acquaintance had treated her with aggression and contempt, had also unexpectedly, inexplicably and totally unwantedly physically aroused her so that, just for a heartbeat of time, while he held her, it had been as though he had been as shocked and confused by the passion which had exploded between them as she had been herself.
All nonsense, of course. She doubted that Richard Field would ever allow himself to admit that anything could shock or confuse him, and most especially not a woman.
She ordered another cup of coffee and drank it slowly, savouring its rich flavour, content simply to sit and enjoy her surroundings. A tiny smile twitched the corners of her mouth as she remembered the theatrical gallantry she had been treated to earlier. The French tradesman’s equivalent of a British building site worker’s wolf-whistle? Richard Field obviously hadn’t seen it in that light.
Richard Field—there she went again, thinking about him.
Drat the man, she had come to Beaulieu to get away from him, not to waste time thinking about him.
It was mid-afternoon when Livvy eventually arrived back at the farmhouse. The BMW was parked in the yard but there was no sign of its owner anywhere, she discovered with relief.
She found the jug she had recalled seeing standing next to the dresser.
She had noticed a pretty French Provençal-style dinner service in one of the shop windows in Beaulieu, the central motif of the design a variety of farmyard animals, the border a soft mingling of pink and yellow checks. It would look good on the dresser’s empty shelves.
She smiled ruefully to herself, half deriding her feminine home-making instincts.
One day she hoped she would marry and have a family, but for now she was perfectly content as she was, enjoying her independence and her career.
As she stored her purchases away in the fridge, she frowned, noticing that Richard Field had bought exactly the same local cheese as she had chosen for herself. Wryly she acknowledged that he would be even less pleased to discover that they shared a taste in common than she was herself.
It wasn’t as hot as it had been, and the view of the river from her bedroom window tempted her to explore. She set off through the farmyard, following a footpath which seemed to go in the general direction of the river, obscured from view now by the trees.
The path led quite steeply downwards through the trees and when Livvy first broke through their cover and saw the river she couldn’t help giving a small gasp of pleasure.
It was wider and deeper than she had expected and beautifully clear, so clear that she could see the speckled skins of the trout beneath the surface. Watching them, she was instantly reminded of sitting on a very similar riverbank with her grandfather, solemnly watching him cast his line, listening as he explained to her the skills required to lure his prey.
Smiling to herself, she walked upriver, pausing every now and again to study and admire her surroundings.
It was so peaceful here. Too peaceful for two almost teenage children? She frowned to herself, and then shook the thought off. Gale knew her children and their tastes far better than she did—and yet somehow or other she could not shake off the awareness that city-bred, sophisticated youngsters might not find the same pleasure in wading thigh-deep in crystal-clear water, tickling trout as she had once done.
As she had once done?
A wide grin curved her mouth as she looked at the river. Impulsively, before she could change her mind, she quickly stripped off her trainers and jeans, firmly knotting the ends of the cotton shirt she was wearing above her midriff. The water was probably deeper than it looked.
As she stepped down into it, she suppressed the gasp of shock that rose in her throat. She had forgotten how cold river water could be, but as she gritted her teeth and carefully waded deeper into the river the icy cold became a warm glow.
There was nothing, nothing quite like the pleasure and attraction of running water, she decided, nor the feel of water-smoothed stones beneath one’s feet. It took her back almost instinctively to her childhood, to all the happy hours spent gathering very similar stones and using them to construct a series of complicated dams.
She and her cousins had whiled away many happy hours in such pursuits, vying with one another as to who could build the strongest dam.
Still smiling to herself, Livvy waded into the middle of the river and then stopped, surveying the water.
Ah, there was a likely spot. A nice, still, natural basin with a couple of good-sized rocks overhanging it. With any luck…
Carefully she waded back to the bank. She had been right about the depth of the water. It had been well over halfway up her thighs. Luckily, her briefs were still dry.
Leaving her clothes where she had removed them, she walked silently upstream until she reached the overhanging rocks she had seen from the middle of the river.
Once there, she lay down carefully on them, making sure she was safely balanced before leaning over and peering down into the water.
Yes, she had been right…She could see the trout quite clearly, basking lazily in a sunlit patch of water half under the protection of the rocks.
Holding her breath, she leaned over very, very carefully. The trick was to get her hand into the water without disturbing the fish.
Slowly now…
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Startled, Livvy tried to turn round and then realised that she was too precariously balanced and that she was going to fall into the river, but before she did her body was grabbed from behind, two strong male hands gripping her waist as Richard Field hauled her back and lifted her on to her feet.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Let go of me,’ she demanded crossly as he swung her round to face him.
‘What do I think I’m doing?’
He suddenly seemed to become aware of her semi-naked state, his eyes narrowing as his gaze skimmed her body, his hands tightening momentarily on her waist so that a sharp frisson of sensation raced over her skin. She could feel the rough maleness of the pads of his fingers. It was an almost caressive abrasiveness, an awareness of the contrast between the softness of her female flesh and the hardness of his maleness. Disturbed by her awareness of him, Livvy pulled against his imprisonment of her, her face flushing with self-consciousness.
No wonder he was looking at her like that. She must look a sight, clad in a pair of white briefs, with her shirt knotted up round her middle.
‘Haven’t you any more sense than to come creeping up on someone like that?’ she demanded. ‘I could have fallen in…’
‘By the look of you, you already have,’ he retorted crisply, and before Livvy could stop him he lifted one hand from her waist and ran it experimentally down her still damp side. The touch of his fingers, of his palm against the curve of her buttock and then the sensitive skin of her thigh, no matter how non-sexual it was intended to be, brought an outraged protest to her lips, and a rash of equally shocked goose-flesh to her skin; the shiver that ran up her spine lifted the tiny blonde hairs upwards in stiff, outraged reaction.
For a moment she was acutely aware of the contrast between them: of him, his body male and hard, clad in a dark cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled back to reveal brown, sinewy forearms, his jeans equally dark, an alien male figure bathed in black and gold against the sun, while in contrast she stood half-naked before him, her skin soft and pale, vulnerable to his view, and to his touch.
He seemed to sense something of what she was feeling because immediately he released her, frowning as he asked her, ‘What were you doing…?’
‘Tickling trout,’ she told him, her chin lifting as she saw first the surprise and then the amusement lightening his expression.
‘What? I don’t suppose it occurred to you that it might be easier to use a rod and line?’ He was openly mocking her now.
‘If I had one, I suppose I might, although I was taught that it requires far more skill to land the fish with one’s bare hands than to bait a hook and simply wait for it to impale itself…’
She saw his eyebrows rise.
‘I think there’s a large lobby of fishermen who would take umbrage with you at such a denigration of their skills,’ he told her drily.
He was still watching her, but there was curiosity in his gaze now, curiosity and interest.
‘You like fishing?’ he asked her, almost as though he was expecting her to deny it.
‘Yes,’ she told him, and then admitted honestly, ‘but only if I can put the fish back alive. My grandfather used to get very cross with me for refusing to eat what we caught. And even now I’m still not overfond of trout.’
‘Your grandfather?’
‘Mmm…He taught me…all of us…he and my grandmother.’ She paused, frowning. Why was she telling him this? He couldn’t really be interested. She turned away from him, but her still damp foot slipped on a piece of moss. As she felt herself start to fall backwards, she cried out. Instantly, Richard reached for her, dragging her back from the edge of the overhang, swinging her away from it and into his arms.
Immediately, she froze.
It was the worst, the most betraying thing she could have done, she acknowledged a heartbeat of time later, as she looked up into his face and saw the expression in his eyes.
Impossible for him not to be aware of the reason for that brief shudder which had ripped through her body, for him not to have recognised the sexual orientation, for him not to be able to see as clearly as she could feel that beneath her thin shirt her nipples were hard with arousal and that the reason her heart was beating so fast had nothing at all to do with the shock of almost falling into the river and everything to do with the fact that she was standing so close to him.
She watched motionless, her eyes blind with shocked self-knowledge as he slowly lowered his head. Her tongue-tip touched her lips. She gave a small, aching sigh.
‘Olivia…’
She heard him say her name, felt the warmth of his breath whispering against her lips, her body quivered, and then somewhere behind them in the trees a bird made a noisy shriek of protest.
Immediately the realisation of what she was doing, of what she was inviting jolted through her, and Livvy pulled back from him, her face on fire with shock and guilt.
It came as no surprise that he let her go immediately. What on earth had come over her? she asked herself as she hurried away from him to where she had left her jeans and trainers. Thank goodness that bird had disturbed them when it had…Otherwise…
Otherwise…She gave a small shudder, fiercely clamping down on the images her mind was taunting her with.