Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Pacific Heat

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘DIANE HARAN!’

Olivia was stunned. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever expected to be offered such an assignment. To be invited to write Diane Haran’s extraordinary rags-to-riches story was amazing. Diane Haran: screen goddess; model; superstar—and the woman who five years ago had walked off with Olivia’s husband.

‘Yes, Diane Haran,’ repeated Kay Goldsmith, rather impatiently. ‘You have heard of her, I suppose? Well, of course you have. Everybody has. She’s world-famous. What is amazing about this is that Diane Haran should have heard of you.’

Olivia took a deep breath and stared at her agent. ‘What do you mean? Diane Haran’s heard about me?’

‘Well, it was her idea that you should be the first to be offered the opportunity to be her biographer. She’d read your book about Eileen Cusack, I believe, and she’d obviously been impressed with your approach.’

‘Really?’

Olivia knew she sounded cynical, but she couldn’t help it. The theory that Diane Haran might have come up with the idea of asking her to be her biographer based on Olivia’s interpretation of the Irish poet’s tragic existence was laughable. Eileen Cusack had been a heroine in the truest sense of the word, balancing the needs of her family against a crippling bone-wasting disease, and writing some of the most beautiful lyrical verse besides. She’d died just a few weeks after her biography was published, but Olivia knew she would never forget her bravery or her sweetness.

Diane Haran was neither brave nor sweet. She was selfish and manipulative and greedy. She’d been introduced to Richard Haig at a party his agency had given for the then rising star they’d hoped to represent And, even though she’d known he was married—Olivia had been at the party, too, for heaven’s sake—she hadn’t hesitated about seducing him away from his wife.

‘Liv?’

Kay’s curious enquiry brought Olivia’s attention back to the present and she realised she had been staring into space for quite some time. But the idea that Diane Haran should have suggested that she might want to play any part in her biography was ludicrous, and it was time she explained that to Kay.

‘I can’t do it,’ she said, and when Kay’s dark eyes widened in disbelief she pushed back her chair and got up from the desk, crossing the room to stare out of the window. Below Kay’s office window, high in a tower block near the embankment, the city traffic created a constant hum of sound. But it was reassuring to know that life was going on regardless. For a moment, she’d felt an awful sense of time suspended.

‘What do you mean, you can’t do it?’ Kay was on her feet now, coming round the desk to join her at the window, her plump, diminutive form accentuating Olivia’s height and the extreme slenderness of her figure. ‘Have you any idea what’s on offer here? A fantastic fee, a share in the royalties, and the chance to spend a few months in the sun.’

Olivia looked down at her companion. ‘A few months in the sun?’ she echoed, compelled into an involuntary reply.

‘That’s right.’ Kay explained. ‘She wants you to go out to California and spend some time with her. She’s almost through making her current movie and her agent says she’ll have some free time before the next one is due to start shooting in September.’

Olivia’s mouth was dry. ‘Her agent?’ she said faintly.

‘Yes. Phoebe Isaacs, of the Isaacs and Stone agency. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of them, but they’re pretty big in the film business. Phoebe Isaacs is quite a tough cookie, as they say on the other side of the water.’

Olivia blinked. ‘You’re saying that this Phoebe Isaacs was the person who contacted you?’

‘That’s right.’ Kay sensed the younger woman was weakening and attempted to press her case. ‘But make no mistake, it was Diane Haran herself who chose this agency, because she knew you were one of my clients.’

Olivia blew out a breath. ‘I still can’t do it,’ she said, even though her mind was buzzing with what Kay had just said. As far as she’d known, Richard was Diane’s agent. That was the carrot she’d dangled in front of him all those years ago. As if her own undisputed beauty hadn’t been enough.

‘Why not?’

Kay was irritated, and Olivia couldn’t really blame her. After all, the deal she was being offered was considerably more generous than anything she’d been offered thus far in her career. But then, her association with Kay was only three years old. Kay didn’t know why she and her ex-husband had separated. It wasn’t something she talked about these days, and when Richard had left her she’d still been working for the women’s magazine she’d joined when she first left college.

‘I just can’t,’ she insisted now, and, feeling slightly intimidated by Kay’s frustration, she went back to the desk. ‘You don’t understand,’ she added, pressing her hot palms down onto the cool wood. ‘I—I’ve met Diane Haran. Years ago. And I didn’t like her.’

Kay groaned. ‘You don’t have to like her!’ she exclaimed, returning to her own side of the desk. ‘And it’s obvious she doesn’t remember you. Or if she does—and if she knew how you felt—she doesn’t hold any grudges. She wants you to write the story of how she became successful against all the odds. She’s not looking for a lifelong commitment. Just a few short weeks of your time.’

Olivia licked her lips. The idea of flying out to California, of spending several weeks, or even months, with Diane Haran, was anathema to her. It wasn’t just that she disliked the woman. She hated her, she despised her. She blamed her totally for the break-up of her marriage. She and Richard had been happy together. Everyone had said they were the ideal couple. They’d known one another since their college days, and when Richard asked her to marry him she’d been in seventh heaven.

She hadn’t been able to believe her luck, she remembered now, recalling how envious all her friends had been. Richard Haig had been the most attractive boy she’d ever seen, and one of the few people in her year who was actually taller than she was. At five feet ten, she’d always regarded her height as a drawback, but Richard had assured her he loved willowy women. The fact that she wasn’t beautiful or outstandingly clever hadn’t seemed to bother him either. For some reason, he had fallen in love with her, and she’d had no doubt that they’d live happily ever after...

‘I can’t do it,’ she said again, aware that Kay was watching her closely. ‘Kay, I’m flattered, but I’m sorry. This assignment just isn’t for me.’

‘You still haven’t given me a decent reason why not,’ retorted Kay, bumping down in her chair. ‘Dammit, Liv, this is a chance of a lifetime. I can’t let you throw it away.’

Olivia hesitated, and then sank down in her chair again. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I suppose I do owe you an explanation. I can’t work for Diane Haran because I—know—the man she’s married to—’

‘Richard Haig?’ Her ex-husband’s name tripped carelessly off Kay’s tongue, and Olivia made a concerted attempt not to show her surprise. ‘Hey, you don’t have to worry about that. From what I hear their marriage is on the rocks.’

Olivia swallowed. ‘On the rocks?’

‘So I hear.’ Kay nodded. ‘I gather they’ve been having problems for some time. He drinks, you know. Or at least that’s the story. My guess is that some other man must have caught her eye.’

Olivia stared at her. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Why not?’ Kay was dismissive. ‘You have to admit that this marriage has lasted longer than the other two she’s had. Who was the first? Oh, yes, Gordon Rogers. She only lived with him for a couple of months.’

‘I—I thought she’d only been married once—once before,’ murmured Olivia faintly, but the woman opposite shook her head.

‘No. Don’t you remember that actor Christian de Hanna? When she found out he was a needle-pusher, she threw him out.’

Olivia felt dazed. ‘So—who is she seeing now?’ she asked, trying to sound as if she was only casually interested, and Kay lay back in her chair with a rueful sigh.

‘Search me,’ she said. ‘That’s the million-dollar question. But you can be sure that he’s got something your friend doesn’t have.’

‘My friend?’

For a moment, Olivia was confused, and Kay gave her a searching look.

‘Richard Haig,’ she said irritably. ‘Our benefactor’s current husband If you want him, you can have him. Take my word for it.’

Olivia’s lips parted. Was she so transparent? she wondered in dismay. With the little information she’d given Kay, had she exposed her feelings so clearly? ‘I don’t want him,’ she declared hastily, but the words didn’t sound convincing to her. The truth was, she did want him. She always had.

‘Well, that’s up to you,’ said Kay briskly, evidently deciding she’d said enough. ‘But I would seriously advise you not to turn this offer down. I don’t think you realise the impact it could have, not just on the public but on your career. And goodness knows, you’d be in a position to pick up any number of other commissions at the same time.’

Olivia looked down at her hands, clasped together in her lap. She couldn’t do this, she told herself fiercely, however attractive Kay was making it sound. She couldn’t work with Diane Haran, not knowing what she’d done to Richard. And if Richard needed her he knew where to find her. It wasn’t up to her to go looking for him.

But what if he was humiliated by what had happened? a small voice chided in her ear. What if he regretted the break-up of their marriage now, but was too ashamed of his own actions to approach her again? Richard had his pride, and their divorce had been rather acrimonious. He’d done his best to make her a scapegoat, and Olivia had been left feeling battered and bruised.

Which was another reason why she should refuse this commission, the same small voice reminded her sharply. Did she really want to lay herself open to that kind of emotional abuse again? And she wouldn’t be working for Richard; she’d be working for Diane Haran. There was no guarantee that she’d even see him, if what Kay was saying was true. No matter how tempting it might be to imagine a reconciliation between them, she was thinking with her heart, not her head.

Realising Kay was waiting for her to say something, she asked the question that had first sprung into her mind. ‘Why California?’ she enquired. ‘Doesn’t she live in England any more?’

‘I understand she has homes in both England and the United States,’ said Kay immediately. ‘Oh, and a villa in the South of France, as well. But as most of her films are made in America I suppose she finds it most convenient to live there.’

Olivia’s mind boggled. She found it hard to conceive what it must be like to be so rich. Diane had probably found it hard, too, she acknowledged. At least, to begin with. A council flat in the East End of London was where she’d lived for the first fifteen years of her life.

‘You’d have to do some research here,’ Kay commented, almost as if Olivia had agreed to her request. ‘Her family have all moved away from Bermondsey, of course, thanks to Diane’s generosity. But I expect there’ll still be people there who remember her as a child. Schoolfriends, neigh-bours, and so on.’

Olivia regarded the other woman wryly. ‘I do know how to go about researching a subject’s background,’ she remarked, wishing Kay would just let it go. But what she wished most of all was that Diane had never asked for her; had never ignited the spark of unwilling excitement that the thought of seeing Richard again could bring.

Kay had straightened in her chair now, and was watching her closely, and Olivia felt the heat from her thoughts invading the pale hollows of her throat. ‘Does this mean you’re thinking of accepting the commission?’ Kay asked, leaning across her desk, and Olivia drew back from that avid stare.

‘I—I have no desire to work with Diane Haran,’ she insisted tensely, but they both knew that she hadn’t actually said no.

Olivia got back to her flat in the late afternoon. Situated on the top floor of an old Victorian town house, the flat was her home and her refuge, the place where she’d sought sanctuary when Richard had got his divorce. Until the divorce, they’d been living in a pretty semi-detached house in Chiswick, but even without its unhappy memories Olivia couldn’t afford to keep it on. Instead, she’d moved into this rather gloomy apartment in Kensington and over the years she’d transformed its narrow rooms and draughty hallways into a place of light and beauty.

Henry came to meet her as she opened the door. Rubbing himself against her legs, he showed her how much he had missed her, but Olivia wasn’t deceived. He was hungry, and he was reminding her it was his dinner time, and for the first time since she’d left Kay’s office Olivia’s generous lips curved in a smile.

‘It’s all right. I haven’t forgotten you,’ she said, juggling the two bags she’d brought from the supermarket and shouldering the door closed behind her. ‘How does salmon and shrimp appeal to you?’ Henry purred his approval as Olivia started down the hall. ‘I should have known,’ she added ruefully. ‘It’s only cupboard love.’

The kitchen smelled reassuringly of the plants and herbs she cultivated so assiduously. Trailing fronds of greenery brushed her face as she deposited the bags on the counter. There were daffodils on the window-ledge, providing a vivid splash of colour, and although the skies were overcast outside the kitchen was bright and cosily immune from the cold March wind.

Once Henry had been dealt with, Olivia filled the kettle and set it to boil. She would eat later, but for now she thought she deserved a hot, sweet cup of tea. As she put the food she’d bought away, she tried not to think of Diane Haran and her commission. This was her home; she didn’t want to sully it with thoughts of her ex-husband’s lover. She’d felt safe here, secure, far from the misery that loving Richard had brought

With the tea made, she had no excuse for lingering in the kitchen, and, taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the office she’d created for herself. With the walls lined with books—both for pleasure and for reference—and a modern computer and printer, it was comfortingly familiar, her desk still as cluttered with papers as it had been when she went out.

Taking a sip of her tea, she perched on the old leather diplomat chair she’d bought at a warehouse sale three years ago, and regarded the clutter resignedly. She’d been planning on spending some time catching up with her correspondence, but there were still notes and discarded pages of manuscript from her last book lying around. That was why she’d been to see Kay that afternoon: to hear her judgement on her latest profile of a woman sailor. Suzanne Howard had sailed single-handedly around the world at the age of seventy-three.

The fact that Kay had been delighted by the manuscript had been eclipsed by the conversation they’d had about Diane Haran. But Olivia was relieved to know that what she was producing was still on track. When her first book—a biography of Catherine Parr, the only one of his six wives to have survived Henry the Eighth—had been successful, she’d been afraid it was only a one-off, that her next book would bomb as many second books did. But the life of Eileen Cusack had proved a best-seller, and that had encouraged her to approach the Howard family last year.

She wondered if Richard knew what she was doing. When he’d walked out, she’d been working for Milady magazine, with no prospect of improving her career. Perhaps if he hadn’t walked out she wouldn’t have found the nerve to tackle a book, she thought consideringly. It was true that he’d always made fun of the gossipy pieces she’d been paid to produce for the magazine.

Which brought her back to the subject she’d been trying to avoid ever since she’d left Kay’s office. Was she actually going to write Diane Haran’s story—or at least as much of it as the public would be permitted to know?

The shrilling of the telephone was a welcome escape from her thoughts, and, pushing back a strand of dark, tof-fee-coloured hair, she reached for the receiver. It crossed her mind, as she brought it to her ear, that it could be Kay, but it was too late now. Besides, she was fairly sure that Kay was satisfied that she’d promised to think about the commission. She was unlikely to try and push her any further. Not today, anyway.

‘Yes?’

‘Liv. At last!’ It was her father. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.’ He paused, and when she didn’t instantly jump in with an explanation he continued, ‘Are you all right? Not having a problem with the new book, are you?’

‘No.’ Olivia blew out a breath. ‘No, Kay’s very happy with it, as it happens.’ She forced herself to sound positive.

Her father and stepmother had supported her all through her divorce from Richard, and they’d be most disturbed to hear what she was thinking of doing. ‘I—er—I was just at the supermarket. I’ve just got in.’

‘Ah.’ Matthew Pyatt sounded relieved. ‘Well, your mother and I were wondering if you’d like to come for supper.’ He always referred to her stepmother as her mother. After all, she had acted as such since Olivia was barely five years old. ‘We’ve got something we want to discuss with you, and as we haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks we thought it would kill two birds with one stone. What do you think?’

‘Oh, Dad—’ Olivia wasn’t enthusiastic. After the afternoon she’d had, she’d been looking forward to doing nothing more energetic than putting a frozen pizza in the microwave and curling up with a bottle of wine. Besides, she needed time to think before Kay came back to her. And she wasn’t sure she could hide her anxieties from them. ‘Could I take a rain check?’

‘There is something wrong.’ Her father had always been incredibly perceptive, which was one of the reasons why she’d hoped to put him off. ‘What is it? What’s happened? You might as well tell me.’

Olivia sighed. ‘Nothing’s happened,’ she said, not very convincingly, she had to admit. ‘I’m—tired, that’s all. It’s been a stressful few weeks, finishing the book and—’

‘Why are you stressed?’ Her father broke in before she could warm to her theme. ‘You’re not being harassed by some man, are you? You read about these things in the papers—young women who live alone being terrorised in their homes. I’ve never been entirely happy with the security at the flat. Anyone can get in downstairs.’

‘No, they can’t.’ Olivia was impatient. ‘You know visitors have to use the intercom to get in.’

‘But when that door opens to admit a legitimate visitor anyone can push in with them,’ retorted her father. ‘I know. When I used to install heating systems, you’d be surprised at how many robberies there were.’

Olivia had to smile. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean that the way it sounded.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Her father snorted. ‘And you’re not going to avoid an answer by being smug.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Olivia gave in. ‘I’ll come for supper.’ She suppressed her misgivings. ‘Just give me time to take a shower and change. Is eight o’clock all right?’

The Pyatts lived in Chiswick, just a stone’s throw from the station. It gave Olivia quite a pang getting off the train at Grove Park station. For the four years that she and Richard had been married, she’d got off there every evening on her way home from work. But at least her father’s house lay in the opposite direction to the one she used to take. The Pyatts’ house was detached, with double gates and a block paved drive leading to the front door.

Her stepmother opened the door to her.

‘Liv, my dear.’ Alice Pyatt reached up to bestow a warm kiss on her stepdaughter’s cheek. ‘Your father’s just gone down to the cellar to get some wine. He’ll be annoyed he wasn’t here to greet you himself. He’s been watching for you for the past half-hour.’

‘Am I late?’ Olivia let her stepmother help her off with her coat before stepping into the living room. There was a fire glowing in the hearth, and she moved towards it gratefully. ‘Mmm, this is cosy. I miss an open fire at the flat.’

Alice draped Olivia’s overcoat over the banister and followed her stepdaughter into the room. ‘You’re not late,’ she assured her. ‘It’s your father who’s anxious. Now, what can I get you to drink? Sherry, perhaps, or a G and T?’

‘Will I need one?’ Olivia sank down into the armchair nearest the fire. ‘You’re looking well. Is that a new shade of lipstick you’re wearing?’

‘I am, and it is, but you’re not going to get out of your father’s questions that way,’ responded Alice, with a smile.

‘And I have to say you do look rather peaky. Something is wrong, isn’t it? Your father’s seldom mistaken.’

Olivia sighed. ‘Nothing’s wrong exactly,’ she said, shaking her head at her stepmother’s offer of the sherry she was pouring herself. ‘I’ll wait for the wine,’ she added as Alice came to sit opposite her. And then, ‘I don’t look peaky, do I? I’m just feeling a bit—nervy, that’s all.’

Alice shrugged and took a sip of her sherry, and, looking at the other woman, Olivia had to admit that she didn’t look her age. As long as she could remember, Alice’s hair had always been that particular shade of ash blonde, and although she knew it must be artificial now it still looked as soft and feminine as it had ever done.

‘I’d say your father had some justification for his concern,’ she declared now, crossing one silk-clad leg over the other.

Alice had good legs, too, and she’d never been afraid to display them to advantage. At fifty-five, she was ten years younger than her husband and looked at least twenty, and Olivia had always envied her plump, curvaceous figure.

‘I’ve—I’ve been offered a new commission,’ she said, deciding it might be easier to discuss it with her stepmother first. ‘I’m just not sure whether I want to take it. It will mean living in the United States for a couple of months.’

‘The United States!’

Alice sounded impressed, but before she could say anything more Matthew Pyatt strode into the room. ‘The United States,’ he echoed, bending to kiss his daughter. ‘What about the United States? You’re not going to live in New York, are you?’

‘Of course not.’ Olivia tried to breathe evenly, waiting until her father had lodged himself on the arm of his wife’s chair before going on. ‘It’s just a—a commission I’ve been offered. In Los Angeles. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to take it yet.’

‘And that’s what’s on your mind, is it?’ Matthew Pyatt stretched out his long legs towards the fire. His eyes narrowed. ‘I must say, I’m not enthusiastic about you living out there either. A young woman, alone, in a volatile place like that.’

‘I’m not a child, Dad.’ Olivia wished she’d accepted a glass of sherry now. It would have given her something to do with her hands. As it was she clasped them between her legging-clad knees and pressed her legs together. ‘It’s not living in Los Angeles that’s the problem.’

‘Ah.’ Her father nodded. ‘You’re concerned about us, is that it? Well—’ he put an arm about his wife’s shoulders ‘—that’s what we wanted to talk to you about, actually. You know Alice has a sister living in New Zealand? As it happens, she’s invited us to go out there for a couple of months, too. We were worried about leaving you alone, but if you’re going to be away...’

Olivia swallowed. ‘I see.’

‘You don’t mind, do you, Liv?’ Alice leaned towards her anxiously, and Olivia knew she had to reassure them that that wasn’t the case. But the truth was, she was a little apprehensive. It was as if all the circumstances were conspiring against her.

‘I—Of course not,’ she protested now, seeing the relief in her stepmother’s face as she leaned back in her chair.

‘That’s good.’ Alice smiled. ‘It’s nearly ten years since I saw Barbara.’ She glanced up at her husband. ‘That’s one advantage of being retired. Matt won’t be worrying about the business while we’re gone.’

‘So whose biography are you going to write now?’ asked her father as his wife left the room to check on the supper, and Olivia knew she couldn’t prevaricate any longer.

‘Diane Haran’s.’ Her voice was flat. ‘But I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to do it,’ she added hastily as her father’s face grew red. ‘Don’t look like that, Dad. It’s a wonderful opportunity. And—and she and Richard are splitting up.’

‘You’re not serious!’

Matthew was on his feet now, and Olivia knew she had been right to be apprehensive of seeking his advice. As far as her father was concerned, Richard Haig deserved a beating for the way he’d treated his daughter, and it was only because Olivia had pleaded with him not to get involved that they hadn’t come to blows.

‘Why not?’ she asked, playing devil’s advocate. ‘According to Kay, I’ll never be offered such a lucrative deal again.’

‘You know why not,’ grated her father. ‘And that’s why you’re looking so worried, isn’t it? I wondered why we hadn’t seen you. I never suspected it was because of anything like this.’

‘And it wasn’t.’ Olivia was indignant. ‘Honestly, Dad, I just found out today. I’ve been doing the revisions on the other book. The one about Suzanne Howard. That’s why I haven’t seen you. Nothing else.’

Matthew Pyatt drew a steadying breath. ‘But even so...’

‘As I say, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet,’ said Olivia evenly, looping a strand of toffee-coloured hair behind her ear. Her hair was long, and she invariably wore it in a chignon when she was working, but this evening she’d created a rather precarious knot on top of her head.

Her father returned to the chair her stepmother had been occupying. ‘But you are thinking of accepting it,’ he pointed out. ‘That’s why you’ve mentioned it to me.’

‘I’ve told you. I’m thinking about it.’ Olivia half resented his interference. ‘I’ll let you know what I decide. It’ll be before you leave for New Zealand, I expect.’

Her father scowled. ‘I’m not sure I want to go to New Zealand now, knowing you’re going to be seeing that swine again.’ He sighed. ‘Liv, there must be something else you can do. Can’t you see, this woman’s just using you to provide a convenient shoulder when she throws him out?’

That thought had occurred to Olivia, too, but she had no intention of admitting that to him. ‘Let’s leave it for now,’ she begged. ‘I’ll let you know what I’m going to do.’

‘And what about Henry?’ Alice asked mischievously, after her husband had related Olivia’s news to her, and Olivia thought how typical it was of her stepmother to try and lighten her husband’s mood.

‘Oh, my next-door neighbour will look after him,’ said Olivia cheerfully. ‘If I go, of course,’ she added, with a nervous smile. ‘But you’re right, I can’t forget the second most important man in my life.’

‘And who’s the first?’ demanded her father grumpily.

‘Why—you are, Daddy,’ she assured him, meeting her stepmother’s conspiratorial gaze.

CHAPTER TWO

DESPITE her decision, Olivia went through all the arguments why she shouldn’t have accepted the commission on the flight from London to Los Angeles. At the very least, she knew her actions were open to all kinds of interpretation, and she preferred not to examine her motives too closely for fear of what she might find.

Her father wasn’t pleased with her. And if he hadn’t been going away himself she knew he’d have done everything in his power to persuade her not to do it. But, happily, Alice had been there to mediate for her, and they’d departed for Auckland on schedule just two weeks before her own flight was arranged.

And, on a purely objective level, she was quite excited at the prospect of spending several weeks in California. Although she’d been to New York before, she’d never travelled to the West Coast, and it was still sufficiently chilly in England to make the idea of a more temperate climate infinitely appealing.

The knowledge that she was probably going to see Richard again gave her mixed feelings. She couldn’t deny that she was apprehensive, but she was also curious. She wanted to know what was happening in his life; whether the rumours about him and Diane were true. But most of all she wanted to know if she still cared about him. Whether her reasons for accepting this commission were as practical as she’d insisted.

She’d spent the month since she’d told Kay she would accept the commission researching Diane’ s background in the East End of London, and she’d been surprised to learn how well thought of Diane still was amongst the people she’d grown up with. Contrary to the image Olivia had gained of a spoilt and selfish woman, the picture neighbours and classmates painted was of a generous, warm hearted individual, who was not averse to helping out her friends in any way she could. Olivia was given dozens of anecdotes of the ways Diane had come through, from lending money when it was needed to offering her support when it was not.

According to the people Olivia had talked to, success had definitely not gone to Diane’s head. She’d always been a little headstrong, they admitted, but she’d never forgotten her friends or her roots.

And her story was fascinating, Olivia had to admit. Fascinating, amazing, harrowing, at times, but always interesting. The eldest of a family of seven children—many of them with different fathers—her childhood had been blighted by poverty and abuse. Her mother, who had been described as both hard-working and ignorant, had had little time for any of her children, and Diane, as the eldest, had been expected to help care for her younger siblings.

From the beginning, Diane’s outstanding physical beauty had caused problems and she’d become sexually aware at a very young age. But, ironically enough, it was because of an older man’s attraction to the fifteen-year-old Diane that she’d become famous. A wealthy man, he’d taken her to dine at a swish London restaurant and she’d caught the eye of a fashion photographer who was looking for a face for the ‘eighties’.

The rest was history, as they say, but Olivia guessed there was more to it than that. The years between could not have been easy, and although she was loath to admit it Olivia couldn’t help seeing her subject in a different light.

Which was just as well for the job she had to do, she acknowledged. This biography had to be objective, and she was glad that the research she’d already done had enabled her to amend her opinion. Why Diane should have wanted her to write her story was something she had yet to find out. Perhaps she really had enjoyed Eileen Cusack’s biography, Olivia reflected ruefully. After the things she’d learned, anything was possible.

But not probable, the small voice inside her argued as the big jet banked to make its approach to LAX. The sprawling mass that was Los Angeles was spread out below her, and there was no turning back. She was here; she was committed; and she had to stop worrying about Richard and concentrate on the job.

The oval-shaped airport buildings gleamed in the afternoon sunlight as the plane taxied along the runway. It was incredible to think that they’d left London at lunchtime and yet it was still only a quarter to four here. The miracle of international time zones, she thought as the aircraft approached its landing bay. She’d worry about the jet lag later.

The passengers were transferred from the plane to an air-conditioned walkway that conducted them to Passport Control. Because the expenses she was being allowed had enabled her to sit in the Club World section of the British Airways jet, Olivia found herself among the first to reach the Arrivals Hall, and like everyone else she spent the time waiting for her luggage by people-spotting.

She recognised a couple of famous faces who had apparently been travelling in the first-class compartment of the plane, and was surprised at the lack of interest shown towards them. It wasn’t until she noticed the bodyguards, tucked discreetly behind a pillar, that she understood her mistake. But still, it was something to tell her parents when she got home.

She had been checking that her luggage tags were still safely attached to her boarding pass when she looked up to find a man watching her. The fact that his clothes looked expensive and he was wearing a Rolex watch should have reassured her, but it didn’t. It just reminded her of how vulnerable she was as a stranger here.

Diane’s secretary had faxed her that she would meet her at the airport, and she hoped she kept her word. Still, she could always take a taxi, she assured herself impatiently. She knew Diane’s address and she wasn’t a child.

Indeed, she thought ruefully, her height would be a deterrent for most men. And although she was slim she knew she was fairly strong. She wasn’t a fitness freak, but she did enjoy swimming and cycling, and she knew from her experiences in New York that in the normal way she had nothing to be afraid of.

Unless her imaginary attacker looked like the man who had been watching her, she conceded, relieved to see that he had apparently lost interest. He was staring towards the carousel that would eventually spill out their luggage, and she found herself observing him with rather more interest than sense.

He was certainly big, she mused, and dark, with a lean, sinewy grace that was nothing like the muscle-bound heroes Hollywood seemed to spawn with such regularity. And although he was good to look at his appeal lay in the roughness of his features rather than their uniformity. Deep-set eyes beneath dark brows, and narrow cheekbones and a thin-lipped mouth; if there were lines on his face, they were lines of experience, and she realised he was probably ten years older than the twenty-five she’d originally judged him to be.

She wondered who he was. Not a film star, she decided, though there was another man hovering close by who could be a minder. If he needed one, she speculated doubtfully, realising she was being far too nosy. Whoever he was, he wasn’t interested in her, and she was unlikely to see him again.

The carousel had begun to turn and suitcases appeared like magic from the chute above it. A black holdall appeared, and the man standing beside the man she had been watching went to rescue it. She noticed he also had a suit carrier looped across his shoulder, and after he’d plucked the holdall from the conveyor he and his companion turned towards the exit.

First class, Olivia informed herself silently, realising the two men must have travelled on the same flight from London. She grimaced. So what? It was nothing to do with her. It was time she started paying attention to her own luggage. She thought she could see one of her suitcases just starting along the metal belt.

‘Would you happen to be Ms Pyatt?’

The unfamiliar voice was amazingly sexy. It conjured up images of hot sultry nights and bare brown limbs tangled in satin sheets. Olivia decided she was in danger of acting out her own fantasies, and, blaming the man who had fired her imagination, she turned to find that he hadn’t left after all but was standing right behind her.

‘I—’ Swallowing to ease the dryness of her throat, she started over. ‘Yes,’ she said, a little reluctantly. ‘I’m Olivia Pyatt.’ She’d reverted to her own surname when she and Richard were divorced. Then, because it was the only thing she could think of, she asked, ‘Did Miss Haran ask you to meet me?’

The man’s lean mouth twitched. ‘Not exactly,’ he said, humour tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘But Diane told me you were travelling on this flight.’

So he did know Diane. Olivia breathed a little more easily, although common sense told her it was the only explanation. ‘Did you travel from London, too?’ she asked, as if she didn’t already know that he had. He was probably a Californian, which would explain his accent and his tan.

‘Yeah.’ He glanced towards his companion, who was waiting patiently for him to finish. ‘B.J. and I make the trip fairly regularly.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s not to be recommended.’

‘Because of the jet lag?’ guessed Olivia, aware that her suitcase was about to start going round again. ‘Excuse me, I must get my luggage. I don’t want to have to carry it any further than I have to.’

‘I’ll get it.’

Leaning past her, the man lifted the heavy bag off the carousel and set it down beside her. In jeans and a light cotton jacket, he moved much easier than she did in her corduroy suit. The suit had seemed reasonably lightweight, too, when she’d left London, but she was already sweating. But that could be because of the present situation, she conceded. She wasn’t used to being accosted by strange men.

‘Is this all?’ he asked, and for a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘Your luggage,’ he prompted, and, glancing up at him, she noticed he had tawny eyes. Like a cat, she thought, realising she was behaving stupidly. For God’s sake, he was being polite. Nothing else.

‘Um—no, there’s one more,’ she said hurriedly, scanning the conveyor. ‘It’s always the way, isn’t it? One comes, and then you’ve got to wait for ever for the other.’ She glanced towards his companion, who was still standing with the holdall in his hand and the suit carrier draped over his shoulder. ‘Please—don’t let me keep you. I’m sure your friend must be getting impatient.’

‘B.J.?’ He, too, glanced the other man’s way, and then turned back to give Olivia a lazy smile. ‘No sweat,’ he said as Olivia’s toes curled inside her Doc Martens. ‘It’s cooler in here than outside.’

‘Oh, but—’ Olivia wanted to ask why he was waiting with her, but she couldn’t. Loosening the tight cuffs of her jacket, she peeled them back over her wrists. ‘Um—do you think Miss Haran’s secretary will be waiting outside? She said she’d come to meet me herself.’

‘Bonnie?’

He had the name right, and Olivia nodded. ‘A Miss Lovelace,’ she agreed, not used to using the woman’s given name.

‘I guess she’ll be waiting in the Arrivals Hall,’ he responded carelessly. ‘I’ll point her out to you when we go through.’

Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—gather you’re a friend of Miss Haran’s,’ she said awkwardly, and he made a husky sound of disbelief.

‘Hell, yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Joe Castellano. I—guess you could say I have an investment in Diane’s career.’

He held out his hand, and Olivia had no choice but to shake it, hoping he wouldn’t be too put off by her sweaty palm. ‘How do you do, Mr Castellano?’ she said, wondering if he was a frequent visitor to Diane’s Beverly Hills mansion. It would be rather nice, she thought, if he was.

She barely had time to extract her hand before she saw her other suitcase approaching. There were quite a lot of people gathered round the carousel now, and she saw several of the women weighing up the man at her side. And why not? she thought ruefully. He was attractive. Was he married? she wondered, rather foolishly. He was wearing a signet ring on his right hand but that was all.

When her suitcase was within reach, she lunged for it, staggering as the unexpected weight of the bag pulled at her arm. ‘Let me,’ he said shortly, and she felt his impatience. He set the suitcase down and summoned a porter with a trolley. ‘I guess we can get moving now?’

‘Right.’

She had little choice but to follow the porter, and to her relief they passed through the Customs channel without incident. It crossed her mind as they were walking past the officials that he could be a drug smuggler using her as cover. But she decided she was allowing her imagination to get the better of her again. Just because he had an Italian surname, that did not mean he was connected to the ‘mob’.

Beyond the baggage collection area, a barrier separated arriving passengers from those waiting to meet them, and Olivia immediately saw her name on a board being held up by a woman at the end of a line of similar boards.

‘That must be Miss Lovelace,’ she said to her companion, nodding towards the rather harassed-looking woman with tinted blonde hair and immaculate make-up who was scanning the new arrivals. Olivia guessed the woman was in her forties but her skirt was shorter than anything she’d have worn herself.

He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s Bonnie. But don’t call her Miss Lovelace. She prefers the anonymous Ms.’ He grinned at Olivia, and once again she was struck by his magnetism. ‘You’re going to be dealing with some tender egos here. Keep that in mind.’

The woman had seen them now but from her expression Olivia guessed she hadn’t made any connection between them. Or perhaps she had and it was the wrong one, she reflected doubtfully. It was flattering to think Miss Lovelace—Ms Lovelace, she corrected herself firmly—had assumed she was travelling with him. But this was the moment when she had to come down to earth.

‘Hey, Joe.’ Bonnie Lovelace greeted him like a long-lost friend. Then her eyes moved suspiciously to Olivia. ‘Diane said you’d be on this flight. She’s missed you. Did you have a good trip?’

‘The usual,’ drawled Joe as the porter halted uncertainly beside them. He slipped a note into the man’s hand and indicated Olivia. ‘These ladies will show you where their transport is parked.’

Bonnie Lovelace’s jaw dropped as she turned back to Olivia. ‘You’re Ms Pyatt?’ she exclaimed, and Joe touched her shoulder with a mocking hand.

‘Who else?’ he asked. ‘I just thought I’d do my good deed for the day and deliver her into your hands, Bonnie.’ He arched a brow at Olivia. ‘Take care. I’m sure I’ll see you around.’

Olivia didn’t know who was the most deflated as he strolled off with the man he’d called BJ. but she suspected it had to be her, judging by the way she felt. She swallowed her chagrin. So—he was a friend of Diane’s. She’d been told as much so why did she feel so disappointed now?

‘Ms Pyatt.’ Bonnie seemed to come to her senses, too, and, holding out her hand, she took Olivia’s in a limp grip. ‘You must forgive me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise it was you with Joe—er—with Mr Castellano.’ She gestured to the porter to follow them and as they moved along she added, ‘Did you travel out together? How did he know who you were?’

‘He—helped me with my luggage so I suppose he read the labels,’ said Olivia after a moment, curiously loath to discuss the details of how they’d met. It was nothing to do with this woman after all. She was just curious. Probably wondering why he’d even bothered to speak to her, she thought glumly, changing her tote bag from one shoulder to the other.

‘Mmm.’ Bonnie gave her another assessing look, and then excused herself to head first through the glass doors that gave onto the concourse outside. ‘I left Manuel in the car,’ she added, glancing about her as the porter halted beside them. ‘Oh, there he is.’ She waved her arm at a man seated behind the wheel of a huge Mercedes. ‘It’s so difficult to find a parking space. Do you have this problem back home?’

‘Sometimes,’ answered Olivia absently, her attention caught by the sleek black saloon that was just moving past them. Joe Castellano was at the wheel, and he raised one hand in a casual salute. ‘Um—’ She gathered her wits. ‘I don’t own a car, actually. It’s not worth it in London, and if I want to go further I have an old Harley-Davidson in the garage.’

Bonnie stopped in the act of lifting the boot lid of the Mercedes to stare at her. ‘You ride a motorcycle?’ she exclaimed in horror. And then said, ‘Well, I guess you are tall enough at that.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Olivia weathered the back-handed compliment with her usual forbearance, and as Manuel slid out from behind the wheel to open the rear door for her she slipped inside.

Soft leather, air-conditioning and the fragrance of expensive perfume were some consolation. Unbelievable, she thought, stretching her long legs luxuriously. Wait until she could tell her stepmother about this! Unlike her father, Alice had been able to see the advantages of what she was being offered, and there was no doubt that it was going to be an experience she wouldn’t forget.

Which reminded her that she hadn’t thought of her ex-husband for the past half hour. From the moment Joe Castellano had spoken to her, she’d completely forgotten that she’d soon be seeing Richard again. Oh, God, she thought as the realisation that she was actually here in California penetrated the haze of anticipation she was feeling. She dreaded to think what his reaction was going to be.

Bonnie got in beside her at that moment, which prevented her from continuing along that stony track. And besides, she chided herself, she shouldn’t care what Richard might think. It was Diane who had invited her. If he had any complaints he should take them up with her.

She expelled a deep breath and turned to look out of the window. She realised that for the first time since she’d been offered this commission she was actually feeling optimistic about the result. It was foolish, probably—definitely—but somehow meeting Joe Castellano had given a boost to her confidence. Richard wasn’t the only man in the world. She’d been nursing her broken heart for far too long.

‘There we are.’ Bonnie seated herself beside her and cast the younger woman a relieved look. ‘This place gets more and more like a bull ring. I swear to God I’ll have a heart attack if I have to fight my way out of here one more time!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Olivia felt responsible. She watched Manuel get back behind the wheel and start the engine. ‘Anyway, thank you for coming to meet me. I could have got a taxi, I suppose—’

‘Diane wouldn’t hear of it.’ Bonnie interrupted her to make her point. ‘So—you had a good flight, yeah? What was the movie? These days, the only time I get to see a decent movie is on a plane.’

‘Oh, well, I’m afraid I didn’t—’ began Olivia, only to find her companion wasn’t listening.

‘Yeah, movies,’ Bonnie went on reminiscently. ‘You’d think living in a town like this I’d be up on all the latest blockbusters. But, you know what? I spend all my time watching television instead.’

‘Really?’ said Olivia. ‘I like television, too.’ Or she had since the break-up of her marriage. Somehow, she couldn’t see herself as part of the singles scene again.

“Cause working for Diane takes up most of my day, so when I get home I’m exhausted,’ Bonnie continued, almost as if Olivia hadn’t spoken. She flapped an expansive hand. ‘I guess you’ll get used to it. I swear to God, I sometimes think Diane’s too generous for her own good.’

Olivia nodded now, but she didn’t make the mistake of trying to join in again, and she saw Manuel watching her with an amused expression on his olive-skinned face. He winked at her in the rear-view mirror, and she hid a smile. Obviously he was used to Ms Lovelace. Perhaps Olivia should call her Miss. That might get her attention.

But she decided against it. It was too nice a day to spoil it, and the last thing she wanted to do was make an enemy here. She had yet to discover what Diane’s attitude towards her was going to be, and until she did it was safer to play it cool.

Beyond the car’s tinted windows, the streets of the City of the Angels shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Olivia was looking forward to the prospect of taking a shower and changing into something cooler. She hoped she’d have time to freshen up before she met her hostess. She wondered where she was going to stay. Kay had merely said that Diane’s secretary had made the arrangements. Perhaps she’d be expected to stay at the house. Again, according to Kay, Diane’s mansion was quite a showplace.

Their route from the airport was not immediately inspiring, however. They passed what seemed like dozens of car dealerships and abandoned warehouses, with strip malls illuminated with garish neon signs. She saw houses with flaking porches, and incongruously customised vehicles in hot metallic shades. It made it easier for her to grasp the fact that she was actually here. She’d read somewhere that Los Angeles had taken over from Ellis Island as the most heavily burdened immigration point in the United States.

They drove north through sprawling suburbs, passing signs for well-known districts like Marina del Rey and Santa Monica. Olivia seemed to remember there was a pier at Santa Monica, and she guessed there was surfing, too. She couldn’t quite see herself standing up on a surfboard, she mused, deliberately avoiding thoughts of her destination and what it would mean.

Santa Monica Boulevard drove through the heart of the wealthiest district of Los Angeles. Olivia recognised the names of some of the hotels they passed, and Bonnie pointed out the ‘HOLLYWOOD’ sign that towered over what had once been the movie capital of the world. Nowadays, the glitz had become rather tarnished, she told Olivia laconically. But there was still a thriving film community, supplemented by the successful soap stars from TV.

Beverly Hills lay to the west of Hollywood, but to Olivia’s surprise they turned off before the road wound up into the quiet streets far away from the commercial district. A couple of turns and they were in Hunter Plaza, with the Moorish arches of the Beverly Plaza Hotel fronting its famous façade.

Olivia was still admiring the square-cut towers that rose behind its entrance when Manuel drove into the courtyard and stopped before the double glass doors. A major domo stepped forward instantly and opened the door of the limousine, and Bonnie said, ‘Welcome to America,’ before stepping out and gesturing to Olivia to do the same. ‘I’m sure you’re going to be very comfortable here.’

‘Here’ turned out to be a penthouse suite situated on the top floor of the twelve-storey hotel. While Manuel handed her bags over to one of the hotel’s bellboys, Bonnie checked her in, and Olivia realised that it was only a formality by the speed with which Bonnie was given her key. Well, not a key, exactly, she learned, when Bonnie demonstrated how to use the laminated card. Apparently, the code was changed every time a new resident took possession of the room, the card being pressed into the slot to open the door of the suite. The card was obviously easier and lighter to carry around, too.

The suite itself was the most luxurious apartment Olivia could have imagined. Airy, high-ceilinged, furnished in delicate shades of green and blue, with expansive views of Beverly Hills and the hazy downtown areas, it was apparently where she was going to stay. ‘You’re sort of in back of the Beverly Wiltshire,’ explained Bonnie, mentioning the name of one of the landmark hotels. ‘That’s Rodeo Drive down there.’

Olivia guessed she was supposed to be impressed, but in fact she was feeling a bit let down. However reluctant she might have been to meet Diane—and possibly Richard—she’d been ready for it. Now she felt deflated, aware that at some future time she was going to have to face it again.

‘You like it, don’t you?’ Bonnie was looking a little worried now and Olivia guessed that however indifferent the woman might be to her feelings she was anxious that Diane should have nothing to complain about. ‘See.’ She opened another door. ‘This is the bedroom. And that’s the bath—you’ve got a spa bath and a Jacuzzi—through there.’

‘Very nice.’

Olivia tried to sound enthusiastic, but it wasn’t easy. However luxurious it might be, it wasn’t home. She half wished she’d insisted on making her own arrangements for accommodation. A small hotel would have suited her better than this.

‘The hotel can supply you with a PC,’ added Bonnie briskly. ‘Diane didn’t know what you’d need so she’s left that up to me. I’ll be checking in with you all the time, so that’s not a problem, and Diane was sure that you’d work more easily here.’

And keep out of her hair.

The words were unspoken, but as the bellboy came in with her luggage and Bonnie went to tip him Olivia gazed around the suite with a cynical eye. Was this what Richard had really abandoned her for? she wondered. This wealthy lifestyle? What price now his accusations that she couldn’t give him the children he wanted? As far as she knew, he and Diane hadn’t had any children either. Though, of course, that could be her decision, not his.

‘D’you need any help with your unpacking?’

The bellboy had departed now and Bonnie was regarding her with a vaguely irritated air. Olivia guessed her reaction hadn’t been the one she’d expected. She wondered if the secretary knew that Richard had once been married to her. Somehow, she doubted it.

‘No,’ she answered now, slipping off her corduroy jacket. It was quite a relief to feel the air-conditioned air cooling her bare arms. ‘Um—thank you,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. ‘I can manage, really. You’ve been very kind.’

‘Well, good.’ Bonnie was mollified by her reply and with a tight smile she gave the apartment another thorough look. ‘I suggest you rest up for a while, and then order yourself some dinner from Room Service. You’ll have plenty of time to explore the hotel when your body’s caught up with your mind.’

Olivia nodded. It was true: she was feeling a little dazed, and it wasn’t just the shock of her arrival at the hotel. Perhaps Diane was right; perhaps she would be glad to have a place of her own to return to. Once she got used to it, that was. Right now, she was too exhausted to care.

CHAPTER THREE

IN FACT, Olivia left most of her unpacking until the next morning. After Bonnie left, she felt too exhausted to do much more than take out her nightshirt and the bag containing her toothbrush and soap. A shower, in a fluted glass cubicle, refreshed her sufficiently to order a light supper, but she fell asleep without finishing the shrimps and salad they’d brought her.

She was awake before it was light. Her watch said it was lunchtime, but the clock on the bedside cabinet told a different story. Four o’clock! she thought, in dismay. At least three hours until she could order an early breakfast. Goodness, how long would it take her body to adjust to an eight-hour time change? She’d be falling asleep when by Pacific time it would only be four p.m.

She was hungry now, so she rescued one of the bread rolls they’d supplied her with the night before and spread it with butter. The coffee was cold, but the water from the tap was a palatable alternative, and after enjoying her small feast she fell asleep again.

The next time she opened her eyes, a pale dawn was turning the sky to palest yellow, with fluffy white clouds shredding before the rising sun. Slipping off the huge bed, she went somewhat disbelievingly to the window. She was actually here, in California, she thought, running a hand through the tumbled weight of her hair. Incredible! Twenty-four hours ago she had just been leaving London.

She discovered, when she rang down for breakfast, that it was in fact a twenty-four-hour room service, which meant she could have ordered herself a snack at four a.m. Still, it was much more pleasant to eat cereal with fresh strawberries and scrambled eggs seated at the table in the window with the sunshine streaming over her. She felt much brighter this morning, and far more optimistic than she’d done the night before.

She’d unpacked her suitcases while she’d been waiting for her breakfast, and in consequence she was dressed and ready by eight o’clock. She’d taken another shower and decided on a simple short-skirted dress of lime-green cotton, and because her hair was too silky from the shampoo to behave neatly she’d used a scarf to hold it back instead.

The effect was quite dramatic for her, and she studied her reflection for some time before turning away. Was her skirt too short? Was her neckline too low? Should she have chosen something more businesslike? She realised she was starting to spook herself, and dismissed her misgivings. She’d need all the ammunition she possessed to face the interview ahead.

Assuming that no one was likely to contact her before nine o’clock, Olivia decided to go and take a look at the rest of the hotel. She knew that if she stayed in the suite she’d start worrying, and it would be much better if she kept her mind occupied with something other than the reason why she was here. Besides, she told herself fiercely, she was curious about her surroundings, and if she was staying here for any length of time she should know where everything was.

The lift transported her down to the foyer without incident, and she discovered that far from being the only person who was up and about the ground floor of the hotel was fairly buzzing with activity. She remembered now that when she’d stayed in New York she’d noticed this same phenomenon. Americans very often held business meetings at breakfast, and as if to prove this there were lots of immaculately suited men and women with briefcases passing in and out of the terrace restaurant.

They reminded her of Joe Castellano, and she wondered if he ever ate breakfast at this hotel. It was an unlikely scenario, she had to admit. Did she actually think he might come looking for her?

Brushing such a ridiculous thought aside, she saw the glint of a swimming pool through the long windows that flanked a palm-shaded courtyard. The hotel appeared to be built around this inner courtyard, and she moved towards the automatic doors that gave access to the pool area. Striped umbrellas, cushioned loungers and a wealth of thick towels piled on an old-fashioned handcart invited investigation. The whole place had a ‘twenties’ feel about it, but the facilities were as luxurious as they come.

Still, it was good to know that she could take a swim whenever she felt like it She could imagine how delightful that would be in the heat of the day. She smiled. She was in danger of enjoying this temporary exile. She had to remember exactly why she was here.

She’d had no problem remembering last night. Then, the strangeness of her surroundings, the fact that she hadn’t met Diane, after all, and the news that she was to stay here and not at her subject’s mansion, had left her feeling decidedly down. The only bright spot in her day had been her meeting with Joe Castellano at the airport, but she was intelligent enough to know that she was unlikely ever to run into him again.

But he had been kind, and because of him she hadn’t done anything stupid. Like trying to ring Richard, or crying herself to sleep. And this morning she could safely say she was looking forward to starting work. That was the only reason she was here, she assured herself. She didn’t care if she saw Richard or not.

She sighed. As she sauntered round the huge pool, she was forced to acknowledge that her last assertion wasn’t precisely true. She did want to see Richard again—but only to reassure herself that he was all right, she told herself firmly. They had known one another for a long time, after all. It was natural that she should care what happened to him.

The fact that he hadn’t particularly cared what happened to her when he walked out on her followed on from this assumption. But she wasn’t like Richard, she reminded herself. She did care about people’s feelings. She couldn’t help it. But what she had to remember was that Richard had hurt her. She mustn’t give him the chance to hurt her all over again.

The message light was flashing on the phone when she got back to her suite. Checking in with the receptionist, she learned that a car was coming to pick her up at ten o’clock. She was asked to be waiting in the foyer at that time, and she guessed that Bonnie Lovelace would be coming along to identify her to the driver.

Which left her just a short time to worry about her appearance. Having seen so much informal attire downstairs, she wondered if she ought to wear shorts. But no. Meeting Diane again, she wanted to look half decent. And a vest and shorts would put their association on far too familiar a level.

She was downstairs at five to ten, still wearing the lime-green cotton, with a tote bag containing her notebook and tape recorder slung over her shoulder. She’d managed to tame her hair into a French braid so it looked considerably tidier, and she’d added a pair of gold earloops for good measure.

‘Liv?’

She’d been watching the antics of a toddler, who’d got away from his mother and was presently causing a lot of grief to one of the waiters who was trying to serve coffee from the foyer bar, when a hand touched her shoulder. She hadn’t been aware of anyone’s approach, and the unexpected British accent took her by surprise. She swung round, all thoughts of hiding her feelings going out of her head, and stared at the man behind her with her heart in her eyes.

‘Richard!’

‘Hello, Liv.’

His response was every bit as emotional as hers had been and before she knew what he was doing he’d bent his head and bestowed a lingering kiss on her mouth. His lips were warm and wet, as if he’d been licking them in anticipation, and although Olivia had expected to be gratified by the warmth of his greeting she found she didn’t care for his assumption that she’d welcome it.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Liv,’ he added, and she was dismayed to see that his eyes had filled with tears. Eyes that were slightly red-rimmed, she noticed, with a telling puffiness beneath each one.

Indeed, as she came to look at him properly, she saw that his eyes weren’t the only evidence of change about him. He’d put on weight, for one thing. His limbs had thickened, and his stomach swelled over the leather of his belt. He’d bleached his hair, too, and although it accentuated his tan it looked artificial. In a polo shirt and shorts, he looked little like the man she remembered.

‘You look—terrific,’ he went on, surveying her slim figure and bare legs with greedy eyes. ‘Come on.’ He gestured towards the exit. ‘I’ve got the car waiting.’ His lips twisted. ‘Is Diane going to get a shock when she sees you!’

‘I doubt it.’

Olivia let him escort her towards the glass doors with some reluctance. Although it was true that she had lost weight since the divorce, otherwise she looked much the same. Her hair was longer, of course. When she’d been married to Richard and working in the city, it had been easier to handle when it was shorter. But compared to Diane Haran—or should she say Diane Haig?—she was very ordinary indeed.

And no one knew that better than Richard himself.

Outside, the limousine in which she and Bonnie had travelled from the airport the previous afternoon was waiting, with Manuel at the wheel. Actually, Olivia was quite relieved to see the chauffeur. For a moment, she’d wondered if Richard had come alone. But, whether the unhappy rumours about his marriage were true or not, Diane had evidently decided they needed a chaperon. Or perhaps it was the fact that, even at this early hour of the morning, Olivia could smell the sour scent of alcohol on Richard’s breath.

Once they were in the car, she took care to put a good twelve inches of white leather between them, and Richard turned to give her a wounded look. ‘Don’t you trust me, Liv?’ he protested, making an abortive attempt to take her hand. ‘God, you didn’t used to look at me like that. What an unholy mess I’ve made of both our lives.’

Olivia caught her breath at this assertion. Although he was staring straight ahead, she prayed Manuel wasn’t listening to Richard’s maudlin complaints. Not only was he full of self-pity, but he was acting as if she shared his regrets.

And she didn’t.

Well, not really, she amended, trying to be brutally honest with herself. She couldn’t deny that she’d hoped it hadn’t been all plain sailing for him. She was human, after all, and when Kay had said his marriage to Diane was in trouble she had felt a quiver of anticipation. But she’d never expected that Richard might really want to see her. Or that he might covet what he’d lost.

‘So—how are you?’ Richard asked now, evidently deciding he’d said enough about his feelings for the present.

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, with determined brightness. ‘The jet lag’s a bit of a problem. I was awake at four o‘clock; can you believe that?’ She grimaced. ‘Thank goodness I managed to go back to sleep.’

Richard relaxed against the soft upholstery, one arm spread expansively along the back of the seat. ‘It affects different people in different ways,’ he said carelessly. ‘Myself, it’s no problem. But then, I’m used to travelling a lot.’

Olivia wound the strap of her bag round her fingers. ‘With Diane?’ she asked, and he gave her a jaded look.

‘I used to,’ he said. ‘I used to think she wanted me with her. But these days I usually stay at home.’

Olivia pressed her lips together. ‘Well, you certainly have a beautiful place to live in,’ she murmured, gazing out of the car window. She didn’t know what to say, what to think, and it was easier to talk about impersonal things. ‘Is this Beverly Hills?’ she asked as the limousine wound its way up quiet streets flanked by high hedges and stone walls. There was little to see of the estates that sprawled behind the wrought-iron security gates.

‘You’ve been in Beverly Hills since you left the hotel,’ replied Richard indifferently. ‘This whole area is known as the City of Beverly Hills. What a laugh! It’s really just the west side of Los Angeles. But people like my wife think it’s paradise on earth.’

‘Oh, I’m sure—’

‘She does. I’m telling you. Diane’s really into this West Coast lifestyle. My God, I don’t think a scrap of meat has passed her lips in the last four years! It’s all fruit and cereal and therapy and body massage. God, you don’t know how sick of it all I am, Liv. That’s why I’m so glad to have you here.’

‘Richard—’

‘It’s not real, Liv. The people who live here don’t live in the real world any more.’ He cast a disparaging glance out of the window at the walled estates. ‘Fortress America! Can you honestly say you know what all the excitement is about?’

Olivia’s lower lip curled between her teeth and she bit on it, hard. It seemed obvious that whatever comment she made Richard was going to put it down. When had he got so cynical? she wondered unhappily. She didn’t know what to say so she decided to hold her tongue.

‘I suppose I should congratulate you on your success,’ he remarked, after a moment, and once again she heard the bitterness in his voice. ‘My Liv, an author! Who’d have thought it? I told you you were wasted at that rag you used to work for.’

He hadn’t, actually. Quite the reverse, but she didn’t contradict him. She had no desire to arrive at Diane’s estate while he was in this mood. If she wasn’t careful he’d be crying on her shoulder. God knew what Diane would say if she found out

She wished he’d pull himself together and stop treating her like an accomplice. As if the only reason she’d come here was to be with him. She drew an uneven breath. She was beginning to wonder what she’d ever seen in him. Had he always blamed other people when things went wrong?

The memory of what he’d said when they’d been trying to have a family returned to haunt her. Although they’d both had tests and there’d seemed no reason why they shouldn’t have a baby, she knew he’d blamed her. And perhaps it was her fault, she reflected. They’d probably never know. And at that time she’d been far more willing to blame herself.

‘I meant what I said, you know, Liv,’ he muttered, attracting her attention. ‘I have missed you more than you’ll ever know. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I wanted to tell you that right from the start.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have!’ exclaimed Olivia hotly, convinced that Manuel could hear what he was saying. He had no right to involve her in his marital problems, whatever excuse he thought he had. She chewed her lip. She suspected his confession was a deliberate attempt to gain her sympathy, and also make her a party to his resentment whether she liked it or not.

‘I can’t help myself.’ he told her now, and once again she had to suffer his efforts to touch her. His arm along the back of the seat descended onto her shoulders and she felt his fingers stroking her neck. ‘I know I hurt you, Liv, but I’m hoping you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. The love we shared—I can’t believe we let it go.’

‘You let it go, Richard,’ said Olivia flatly, removing his arm from her shoulder and shifting onto the opposite seat. She glanced about her. ‘Is it much further?’

Richard heaved a heavy sigh. ‘No,’ he said, and although his tone was sulky Olivia was relieved. Sulky was acceptable; tearful wasn’t. She gave a slight shake of her head. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

The limousine began to slow a few minutes later, and as Olivia glanced round to see where they were Manuel turned between wrought-iron gates that had opened at their approach. A long curving drive confronted them, hedged with laurel and acacia, and she felt her nerves tighten as they drove up to the house.

A pillared façade of cream sandstone confronted them. Within its shadows, a shaded loggia stretched along the front of the house. Built on two floors, its many windows protected by terracotta-painted shutters, it was large and impressive, with a wealth of flowering shrubs and trees surrounding its manicured lawns.

‘Well, this is it,’ said Richard sardonically as Manuel got out of his seat to open the rear doors. The Villa Mariposa. Are you ready to meet your employer?’

‘She’s not my employer,’ said Olivia, rather too vehemently, and was annoyed when Richard’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

‘No, she’s not,’ he applauded, ‘and don’t you let her forget it.’ He clutched her arm, and she was forced to follow him out of the car. ‘Go for it, Liv,’ he added softly. ‘I knew you weren’t as indifferent to me as you pretended.’

Olivia dragged her arm away as soon as she was able, aware that once again Manuel was watching their exchange with curious eyes. And who could blame him? she thought, regarding Richard with some frustration. This was hard enough without Richard making it worse.

The doors at the top of the shallow flight of steps had opened, and Olivia glanced somewhat apprehensively in that direction. But she saw to her relief that it was just a maid who stood there, dressed in a navy uniform and a white apron.

She gestured for Olivia to come up the steps and offered a polite smile as they entered a cool marble-floored reception hall with an arched ceiling stretching up two floors. At its peak, a circular stained-glass window cast a rainbow shaft of sunlight down into the hall, while the gentle hum of air-conditioning prevented any surge of heat.

‘Mees Haran is waiting by the pool, Mees Pyatt,’ she said, inviting Olivia to follow her. And her announcement solved Olivia’s other problem of what to call Richard’s wife.

‘Thank you.’

Olivia shouldered her tote bag, and, not caring whether Richard was following them or not, she accompanied the maid across the hall. An arched doorway exposed several steps down into a sunlit garden room, where a pair of glass doors stood wide to a flagged terrace. Rattan tables and chairs stood in the shade of the upstairs balcony, and a pair of inquisitive sparrows picked crumbs from between the stones.

There were flowers everywhere, Olivia noticed. In pots and planters in the garden room, in tubs and hanging baskets on the terrace, and climbing over the columns that supported the balcony above. The scent was glorious, but perhaps a little overpowering, and she was glad when they descended more steps and she glimpsed the aquamarine waters of the pool glinting below them.

She saw Diane at once.

The woman she had never expected to meet again was propped on a cushioned lounge chair, with a huge yellow umbrella protecting her from the direct rays of the sun. Although she must have known that Olivia had arrived, she didn’t look in her direction. Her attention was focussed on a child who was splashing about at the edge of the pool beside her.

Her child?

Olivia caught her breath. If it was, it had been a well-kept secret. She couldn’t believe she wouldn’t have heard about Diane’s having a child if it had appeared in the press. Richard’s child, too? she wondered, aware of a not unnatural sense of envy. Not for the fact that it was Richard’s child, she assured herself, but because she would have so much liked a child of her own.

Diane had evidently heard the sound of her feet on the tiled apron, and with another quick word to her companion she got smoothly to her feet. In a one-piece bathing suit with exotic orchids adorning its navy background, she looked magnificent. No sign of excess flesh here, thought Olivia ruefully. Diane was every bit as beautiful as she recalled.

‘Hi,’ Diane said, by way of a greeting, coming to meet her. Her bare feet left damp patches on the tiles, revealing that she had been in the water, too. It made her seem more human, somehow, Olivia thought, aware of how tense she was feeling. No statue, this, but a living, breathing woman.

‘Hello.’

The word stuck in Olivia’s throat, making any further speech impossible at that moment, and she glanced behind her, half hoping that Richard was there. But if she’d expected his support she was disappointed. She and Diane were alone together, apart from the child.

‘I’m so glad you agreed to come.’ Diane pushed a hand through the sun-streaked cap of blonde hair that curved confidingly in at her chin. The action was unstudied, but so elegant that Olivia could only admire her composure. ‘Ms Pyatt—or may I call you Olivia?—you probably won’t believe this, but I’m hoping we can be friends.’

Olivia felt the hot colour invading her cheeks and despised herself for it. It was Diane who should be feeling uncomfortable here, not her. But Diane was probably used to handling difficult interviews, and she wasn’t. Indeed, the other woman’s casual approach took her breath away.

‘I don’t think that’s possible, Ms Haran,’ she declared now, swinging her tote bag off her shoulder and allowing it to hang from its straps in front of her knees like a shield.

‘Well—we’ll see,’ said Diane, with an enigmatic little smile. She indicated the chair beside hers. ‘Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it? Oh, and call me Diane. Ms Haran is far too formal.’

Olivia drew a breath. In fact, what she really wanted to do was turn around and go back to the hotel. Her anticipation of this meeting had not prepared her for Diane’s familiarity, and she wondered now what she had expected from Richard’s wife.

But the sun was hot, and she knew she shouldn’t take unnecessary risks by standing in its glare. Besides, however surreal this seemed, she had come here to do a job. Unless she was prepared to be sued for breach of contract, she had to do as Diane said and accept the status quo.

Nevertheless, she seated herself on the next but one chair to Diane’s, grateful for the shade offered by its striped canopy and the distance it put between them. With her face in shadow, her colour subsided, and she opened her tote bag and extracted her notebook and tape recorder.

Meanwhile, Diane had approached the child again, who was still hanging onto the tiles at the side of the pool. He was a little boy, Olivia saw as Diane lifted him out. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, with a mischievous smile that exposed several missing teeth.

‘Go and find your mother,’ Diane advised him, after wrapping a fluffy towel about his shoulders. ‘My maid,’ she added, by way of an explanation as the boy ran off. ‘She and Manuel have three grown-up sons. Antonio is their baby.’

‘Ah.’

Olivia nodded, making a play of checking that there were batteries in the recorder. But Diane’s careless clarification had answered her question. Not Richard’s son, but Manuel’s.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Diane had seated herself again and was regarding her with enquiring eyes and Olivia wondered what she was really thinking. Was this any easier for her than it was for Olivia? Was she really as indifferent to her feelings as she’d like to appear?

‘Oh, I don’t think—’

‘Oh, yes, let’s have some coffee.’ Without waiting for her guest to finish, Diane got up again and pressed a button that Olivia now saw was set into the wall beside a row of changing cabanas. She came back and sat down again. ‘I think we should get to know one another before we start work.’

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