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  'What do you mean?'

  'Oh, don't pretend you don't understand, Aunt Maggie. You understand very well. Only you never expected I would hear the truth, did you? You knew I was so upset over what I'd seen—

  what I thought I'd seen—that I'd believe anything. Anything/'

  Her aunt swallowed. 'I don't know what this is all about, I really don't. Coming here, shouting about me lying to you. I haven't lied to you. Why should I?'

  'Because you gambled that I'd believe you,' said Rachel tremulously. 'You guessed that if Barbara came to me with that story, I'd have been suspicious. That I might have asked Matt about it. But you—you knew I'd never expect you to liel'

  'And I didn't.' Her aunt stared at her with resentful eyes.

  'How dare you even suggest such a thing? Just because Matt's a widower now, and you think you might have some chance of rekindling the past. You're getting older. You're beginning to regret what you lost -------------------------------- '

  'Oh, I regret it, all right,' choked Rachel bitterly. 'And Matt does, too. He told me.'

  'Matt told you ?' For a moment, Maggie was nonplussed.

  However she had thought Rachel might have learned of the deception, she had evidently not expected it to have been from him.

  'Yes, Matt,' said Rachel contemptuously, pursuing her objective. 'He told me the truth. The whole truth. How he had nothing to do with Barbara in a sexual way until I left the district. That Barbara couldn't possibly have been pregnant, and that Rosemary isn't ten years old, she's nineV

  Maggie blinked, and Rachel could almost find it in her heart to feel sorry for her. It must have been hard to justify the lies she had told to herself, even if they had been to help Barbara. And, although she had never liked Rachel, surely she had not hated her enough to do what she had done without coercion?

  But even as these thoughts superimposed themselves upon her consciousness, her aunt spoke again. 'You're a fool, Rachel,'

  she said scornfully, and Rachel could sense the returning confidence in her voice. 'Matt's told you the truth, has he? He's told you that Barbara wasn't expecting his child when you went away, and you believed him because Rosie is only nine years old!' She gave a harsh laugh. 'He didn't tell you about the miscarriage she had, I suppose? He didn't tell you that Barbara lost their first baby only weeks before it was due!'

  'That's not true!'

  Rachel's response was instinctive, born of the desire to silence her aunt's accusing voice, but Maggie was not finished.

  'It is true,' she retorted. 'And if you don't believe me, ask your uncle. He wouldn't lie to you, would he? Not Uncle Geoff!

  Not the man who gave you a home at the expense of his own family!'

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  'YOU'VE got a visitor, Rachel.' Alan Maxwell stopped beside her desk and quirked a mocking eyebrow in her direction. 'Does Justin know you've been investigating the aristocracy for this new lifestyles format he's creating?'

  'What?' Rachel lifted her head wearily, not really in the mood for her young colleague's provocation. She had a mountain of work to get through before the airing of that evening's programme, and with Justin breathing down her neck every five minutes she was in no state to indulge in verbal sparring with the man who wanted her job.

  'I said—does Justin know ---- ?'

  'Yes, I heard that.' Rachel endeavoured not to let her tension show. It wouldn't do to give Alan another reason to complain to Justin that she simply wasn't doing her job. 'You mentioned something about the—aristocracy?'

  'That's right.' Alan jerked his head towards one of the empty studios. 'I've put her in there. You'd better go and sort it out before she really sets the station by its ears.'

  Rachel put down her pen. 'Sort who out?' she asked evenly.

  'She calls herself Lady Olivia—Conroy. Funny that. I never realised before. It's the same name as yours.'

  Rachel felt as if all the blood were draining out of her body.

  Lady Olivia? Here? Her hands curled convulsively on the desk in front of her. What was Lady Olivia Conroy doing in London?

  And why had she come to see her? What possible reason could have brought her here?

  'Are you all right?'

  Even Alan, uncaring of her feelings as he usually was, had noticed her pallor, and Rachel made a determined effort to allay his curiosity. If he went to Justin now and told him that Matthew's mother had come here to see her, who knew what further catastrophe that might precipitate?

  As it was, she and Justin were barely on speaking terms, his reaction to her return to work four months ago very much tempered by her present lack of any enthusiasm. He had no sympathy with her, she knew, and she had never attempted to explain what had happened at Rothside to him. But she had no doubt that he had guessed that Matt was at least in part to blame for her loss of co-ordination, and it was only their long association that was preventing him from replacing her.

  But it was incredibly difficult to apply herself to anything at the moment, and she was seriously thinking of giving up her job at the television station and finding something less demanding to employ her time. Where once she had looked forward to coming to work, now she loathed even getting out of bed in the mornings, and her whole life seemed empty and without any point.

  She had believed that she couldn't feel any worse than she had when she'd first come to London ten years ago, but that had been proved to be as untrue as everything else. Wounds that had at least partially healed did not take kindly to being opened again, and, although once she would have said that Matthew couldn't hurt her any more, now she recognised this for the fiction it was.

  She should have left well alone, she thought bitterly. No matter how convincing Matthew's words had sounded, she should never have attempted to verify the past. It should have been enough that he had told her his side of the story. Without her aunt's involvement, they could have been happy.

  Or could they? For weeks after her return to London Rachel had asked herself that question without coming up with any satisfactory answer. If she had not approached Aunt Maggie, would the woman have let them be happy? Or would she have chosen to wait until they had a child of their own before exposing Matthew for the liar he was?

  In any event, she had not waited to find out. Once Uncle Geoff had conceded, albeit a little bemusedly, that Barbara had indeed lost a baby before Rosemary was born, Rachel had only wanted to escape. She had been sorry to leave Rosemary, particularly as she had been unable to tell the little girl when, or even if, they would ever see one another again. But it was imperative that she get away before Matthew returned from Geneva, and although she had wondered if he might come after her, as he had done before, she had heard nothing more from him.

  And now this. Her stomach quivered at the thought of Matthew's mother sitting in the empty studio, waiting to speak to her. And for what purpose? What earthly reason could have brought Lady Olivia to London? Rachel knew the old lady had friends in town, but she couldn't believe that this was just another social call. She and Lady Olivia didn't have—had never had—that kind of an association.

  'Do you want me to get rid of her?' Belatedly, Alan showed an unexpected compassion. Perhaps even he could see how unnerved his news had made her, and the stark pain in the eyes she raised to his face made him shift a little uncomfortably. 'I can tell her you're too busy,' he offered. 'I could even tell her you're not here. Why don't you take an early lunch? It's cold outside, but the sun is warm.'

  'No.' Rachel looked down at the papers on her desk again and shook her head. 'No, it's all right. I'll see her,' she said, sliding back her chair and getting to her feet on legs that were distinctly shaky. 'But—thanks for the offer. I'll do the same for you some time.'

  Alan looked as if he half regretted his leniency, but he said no more as she ran a nervous hand over her hair and checked that there were no specks of lint on her skirt. The dark green velvet suit she was wearing unfortunately enhanced her pallor, and she thought how haggard she l
ooked when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the swing glass doors.

  Lady Olivia was not sitting waiting for her. When Rachel entered the small studio, which was used for recording interviews for their radio channel, she found the old lady standing stiffly by the windows, staring out on to the roofs below with a definite air of tension. But she turned when she heard the door open, and her knuckles tightened perceptibly on the bag she held in her hands.

  Rachel squared her shoulders, unconsciously adopting a defensive stance. But she could still think of no good reason why Lady Olivia should be here, and she automatically anticipated the worst.

  'Good morning,' she said, her words tight, her features schooled and impassive. 'I understand you wish to see me.'

  Lady Olivia regarded her silently for several seconds, and then, as if no longer capable of maintaining her indifference, her shoulders sagged. 'May I sit down?'

  'Of course.' Rachel shook off a sense of unreality, and nodded towards a chair. 'Please.' She paused as the old lady took the seat. 'Can I get you some coffee?'

  'Perhaps. Later,' said Matthew's mother, fingers that were not quite steady loosening the buttons of her tweed jacket. 'There.'

  She sighed. 'That's better. I was beginning to think you had refused to see me.'

  Rachel could feel the sense of unreality returning, and frowned. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'I said, I was beginning to think you had refused to see me.'

  Lady Olivia's thin lips parted in a faint smile. 'But you always were a polite child, weren't you, Rachel? Even if people were not always polite to you.'

  Rachel wondered if she had been working too hard, and that this little scene was simply a figment of her imagination.

  Perhaps she was dreaming, she thought. Perhaps she would wake up soon and discover she was late for work again. Justin had already complained about her tardy timekeeping. He had even asked her if she was trying to get him to sack her...

  'I know I must be the last person you expected to see.' Lady Olivia's voice came again, as if from a distance, and Rachel struggled to concentrate on what she was saying. 'I must admit, six months ago, I would have agreed with you. But circumstances alter cases, as they say, and I find my son's happiness is more important than my pride.'

  Rachel stared at her. 'I'm afraid I ---- '

  'You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?' Lady Olivia didn't wait for her to shake her head before continuing,

  'No, well, I dare say that's not so surprising. I haven't exactly welcomed you to Rothmere in the past.'

  'Lady Olivia ----- '

  'Please, won't you sit down, too? What I have to say will not take long, but I find myself faltering these days, and with you standing over me like this------'

  Rachel expelled a breath. 'Did Matthew send you here?' she asked abruptly, without any emotion, a possible excuse for the old lady's being here suddenly occurring to her. 'Because if he did--------'

  'Matt doesn't know I'm here,' the old lady replied wearily.

  'You have my word on that. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that he would be furious if he knew. But, unhappily, that is not likely, and------'

  'Unhappily?'

  'Yes. Oh ' Lady Olivia spread her hands '—won't you sit down, Rachel? I can't go on looking up at you like this. It makes my head swim, and I have to keep my senses.'

  Rachel hesitated a moment, and then, reluctantly, drew forward another of the leather-based chairs and subsided into it.

  'All right,' she said. 'I'm sitting. What is it you want to tell me?'

  Lady Olivia's fingers smoothed the fabric of her skirt, pleated the wool repeatedly, and then, just as Rachel was on the verge of springing frustratedly to her feet again, she said, 'I want you to come back to Rothmere.'

  'What?' Rachel felt a surge of adrenalin coursing through her veins, and how she prevented herself from thrusting back the chair and walking out of the studio, she never knew. 'You're not serious?'

  'I am serious.' Lady Olivia lifted her head and looked at her now. 'Matt needs you, Rachel. Rosemary needs you, too, I think.

  And I need you.' Her lips twisted. 'Oh, don't look like that, I've not entirely lost my reason. What I'm saying is, I need you because Matt needs you. If you don't come back, I'm very much afraid I'll lose him.'

  Rachel blinked. 'Lose him?' she echoed. 'What do you mean, lose him?'

  Lady Olivia heaved a sigh. 'Well—ever since the accident, he's been drinking ---------- '

  'Accident?' Rachel's mouth dried. 'What accident?'

  'Rosemary's accident. But you know about that.'

  'No, I don't.'

  'You don't know she had a fall from Saracen?'

  'No!' Rachel was horrified. 'How could I?'

  'But—well, didn't your uncle write and tell you ?'

  'No one wrote to me,' Rachel cut in swiftly. 'What happened? Is she all right? Good lord, Saracen! That's her father's horse, isn't it?' She remembered the huge black stallion with awful apprehension.

  'Yes, that's right.' Lady Olivia shook her head. 'The little idiot should never have got on its back. But when Matthew came home and found you'd gone back to London, he became totally unapproachable, and I suppose Rosemary was trying to attract his attention.'

  'Oh, God!' Rachel felt sick. 'Was she—was she badly hurt?'

  'Fortunately not badly.' Lady Olivia grimaced. 'She had cuts and bruises, of course, and like you she had some concussion.

  But I'm afraid her ruse—if that's what it was—to get Matt's attention backfired. If anything, since the accident he's been even more withdrawn, and when Malloy told me how much he was drinking-----'

  Rachel's hands clenched. 'What makes you think I can do anything to help him?' she asked, fighting the instinctive urge to throw common sense aside and go and see Matthew for herself.

  'Who else is there?' replied Lady Olivia bitterly. 'It was you he always wanted. He would never listen to anyone else.'

  'How can you say that?' Rachel couldn't prevent the uncontrollable retort. 'He lied to me - '

  'When? When did he lie to you?' Lady Olivia stared at her fiercely. 'If he told you he never loved Barbara, then it's the truth. He's not lying. After the first few months, their marriage was just a sham. If it hadn't been for Rosemary...' Her voice trailed away, and she fumbled in her handbag for a tissue as Rachel took several steadying breaths.

  'It wasn't that,' she said at last, realising she at least owed it to this woman to be honest. 'I don't know if Matt ever loved Barbara. He was certainly attracted to her '

  'Not until you went away,' the old lady asserted swiftly. 'You didn't really believe he had been unfaithful to you, did you? My God, that night he found out you had been cheating him, he was too drunk to—well, you know what I mean.'

  Rachel's features felt frozen. 'Is that what he told you?'

  'Eventually,' agreed Lady Olivia. 'After I confronted him with it. Mrs Moffat found the bottles the following morning. It wasn't until later that I found out Barbara had been involved.'

  Rachel got up now, unable to sit still any longer. 'I— wasn't cheating on him,' she said at last, walking to the windows and rubbing her elbows with nervous hands. 'Barbara—I think Barbara made that up to cause trouble between us. In any event, she achieved her objective, didn't she? And picked up the pieces into the bargain.'

  Lady Olivia caught her breath. 'Are you saying you were not opposed to having a baby?'

  'No. Yes. Oh, in the beginning I was, but afterwards...' Rachel shook her head. 'All I'm saying is, they weren't my pills that Barbara showed Matt. They must have been hers.'

  'And when did you learn all this?'

  'Matt told me,' said Rachel dully. 'The day before I left Rothmere.'

  'And it didn't mean anything to you?'

  Rachel swung round. 'Of course it meant something to me. But it wasn't enough.'

  Lady Olivia lifted her thin shoulders. 'I hoped—I had hoped—

  that you still cared for my son.'

>   'It's a little late for that, isn't it?'

  'I'm beginning to think it is.' The old lady looked drained.

  'In any case,' Rachel couldn't let it alone, 'even if I did still care about Matt, I couldn't live with a liar.'

  'You said that before.' Lady Olivia blinked. 'In what way did Matt lie to you? I've told you he didn't love Barbara

  '

  'And I've said it wasn't that.'

  'Then what was it?'

  Rachel was trembling now, but she couldn't help it. 'He—he told me Barbara wasn't pregnant when I left Penrith.'

  'She wasn't.' Lady Olivia frowned.

  'She was.'

  'No.' Lady Olivia shook her head. 'I can assure you '

  'If you're going to say that Rosemary is only nine years old, I already know that. But Barbara had a miscarriage, didn't she?'

  'Well—yes --- '

  'There you are, then.' Even now, the confirmation made her feel sick.

  'But it was after they were married, my dear. And the foetus was barely two months old.'

  'No!' Rachel couldn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it. Her uncle had endorsed everything Aunt Maggie had said, and he wouldn't have lied to her.

  'I'm afraid it's yes.'

  'It can't be.' Rachel shook her head.

  But what had Aunt Maggie said exactly? she asked herself desperately. How had she phrased the question? She had asked Uncle Geoff, on Rachel's behalf, whether it was true that Barbara had been pregnant before her marriage, and Uncle Geoff had said yes. And then she had gone on to ask whether Barbara had had a miscarriage, and—and

  Rachel put an

  unsteady hand to her

  head. And—she had jumped to the obvious conclusion, just as Aunt Maggie had known she would.

  She must have groaned, because Lady Olivia got up then, and came to put an anxious hand on her arm. 'Are you all right, Rachel?' she asked, her tone concerned, and Rachel knew an overwhelming urge to confide in the old lady.

  'I—I—when Aunt Maggie told me Barbara had had a miscarriage, she said it had happened just—weeks before the baby was due.'

  'Good lord!' Lady Olivia was astounded. 'But—why did you believe her? Did she offer you any proof?'