'That's the problem with addictions,' he said. 'They can break out at any minute.'
'You're addicted to ice-cream?'
His grin slanted at her. 'Who mentioned ice-cream? Now let's go and catch our boat'
Olivia followed, head whirling, feeling as if she stood on the brink of some dizzying abyss.
Oh, God, she thought I've got to be so careful.
In spite of her anxieties, it was a very relaxed afternoon. They had lunch in a small French restaurant, and Olivia ate all her chicken with wine and herbs, and the crême brulée that followed.
She spent two enthralled hours wandering from room to room in the Tate, filling her mind with colour and light.
When they emerged, Declan's prediction had been fulfilled and a heavy cold drizzle was blowing from the river.
'Ugh.' Olivia checked at the top of the steps. 'What do we do now?'
Declan took her hand. 'We run-come on.'
Almost before she knew what was happening, Olivia found herself being whisked through enormous glass doors and into the glossy foyer of a hotel.
'Dry yourself off in the cloakroom,' Declan directed. 'I'll see you in the lounge presently.'
She found him at a table beside a large fireplace where a log fire had been lit.
'This is incredible.' She sank into the feather cushions of an enormous armchair, stretching a damp foot to the flames, as a waiter arrived with tea, a covered dish containing buttered crumpets, and a mouthwatering selection of cream cakes.
'They couldn't run to a birthday cake, I'm afraid.'
'You amaze me,' she said faintly.
'Sometimes I surprise myself.' There was an odd, almost bitter note in the quiet voice, but when Olivia looked at him, puzzled, he smiled swiftly, and passed her the crumpets.
'Declan,' she said, a while later as she refilled their cups. 'Will you tell me something?'
He gave her a guarded look. 'If I can.'
'Who is the "beloved" that Sasha mentions so often? Do you know?'
'Yes,' he said. 'Indeed I know. He was my uncle-my mother's elder brother by some years. He and my aunt had only been married for a short time when she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. They were unlucky, because she became very ill quite quickly, and so the marriage, as such, was over before it really began.
'He was wealthy, and he spent a small fortune on treatment for her, travelled the world looking for anything that would alleviate her condition, but ultimately it did no good, and she was confined to a wheelchair.
'It was around then that he met Sasha. He'd put some money into a West End play, and she was in the cast. By this time he was almost at the end of his tether. She saw this, and was kind to him. They became lovers, and remained so for the fifteen years that my aunt lingered. Without her, I think he'd have had a complete breakdown.'
'Did your aunt know about her?'
Declan shook his head. 'No, and she never suffered in any way because of their relationship either. My mother felt that Uncle Paul had more time for my aunt-more patience than ever before. He cared deeply, but she'd been an invalid for almost all the time they'd been together-and he was only human. With Sasha he could relax and be happy.' He gave a wry smile. 'As you must have discovered, she's got a heart as big as the world, and she was just what he needed.'
He sighed. 'When my aunt died, they planned to marry. But Sasha felt awkward about moving into the marital home, so my uncle bought the house she's living in now for them both. But he had it put in her name, and he made financial provision for her too, so that she need never work again unless she wanted'
He shook his head. 'He was absolutely determined about it-as if he knew, somehow, that there would never be a wedding. Three weeks before it was due to take place he had a massive heart attack, and died immediately.'
'Oh, poor Sasha,' Olivia whispered. She was silent for a moment. 'So are you living in his house?'
Declan nodded. 'I was his nearest male relative, and I saw a lot of him and Sasha too, when I first came to London. He left it to me in his will.'
'Yes,' she said slowly. 'Yes, I see. It makes a lot of things much clearer.' She paused again. 'Were you fond of your aunt?'
Declan said carefully, 'She'd been a sick woman for a long time and it had made her understandably bitter. I- made allowances.'
'It's so sad,' Olivia said softly. 'Having their chance of a happy life snatched away.'
'Sasha doesn't pity herself. She has a host of friends, Humph, the occasional lodger-and her memories. She counts herself a rich woman.'
'And she has you.'
'I do what I can.'
She said carefully, 'I hope you didn't mind my asking?'
'No,' he said. 'I expect she'll tell you all about it herself, one of these days.'
'Yes.' Olivia replaced her cup in its saucer. She said, 'That was a terrific tea. In fact, the whole day's been wonderful.'
He looked at her steadily across the table. It doesn't have to end here. It's a big hotel, with all kinds of facilities. We could always explore a few of them.
The words seemed to hang, charged, in the air between them.
Olivia said hurriedly, 'I don't think I'd be much of a companion.' She pantomimed a yawn. 'All that walking and food has made me sleepy.'
'The hotel also has bedrooms. Very comfortable ones, I'm told.'
No use pretending she didn't understand him now. She knew, without being told, that he'd probably made enquiries already at the desk. That if she said the word he would take her up to one of those bedrooms and make love to her, and she would yield herself to him, body and soul.
And be lost for ever.
Because there was no future with Declan. If she slept with him, she probably wouldn't have a job either. And casual sex wasn't her scene, and never had been. She believed in love. She believed in commitment, and nothing less would do.
But while Declan might well become her whole life, she would just be another telephone number on his home computer files. And eventually, as his life moved on, she would be erased-as if she had never existed at all.
She uncurled herself from the chair and got up slowly and carefully.
She made herself look at him calmly, hiding the fact that she was shaking inside, that her mouth was dry, and her legs trembling under her.
She kept her voice even and dispassionate. 'Actually, I'd prefer to go home.'
'Just as you wish.' He spoke equally coolly, showing no sign of regret. No disposition to persuade her to change her mind. He got to his feet, too, signalling to the waiter to bring the bill. 'I'll get them to call a taxi.
Outside, it was raining heavily. Olivia scrambled into the cab and waited for Declan to join her. But the door closed on her alone, and she saw him hand the driver some money after giving her address.
She opened the window. 'Don't you want a lift?' 'It's probably wiser if I walk.' His tone was ironic. She flushed. 'But you'll be soaked.' 'On a lovely soft day like this?' he mocked. 'Never.' The cab drew away, and through the rear window Olivia watched him turn and walk away in the opposite direction. It was the right thing to do, she assured herself. Absolutely the right thing. But why did it have to hurt so much?
Huddled into the corner of the cab, looking out at the glistening streets and buildings, Olivia tried to make sense of what was happening to her. The buoyant happiness which had possessed her all day had vanished, leaving her raw and uncertain.
Jeremy's behaviour had left her shocked and disillusioned, but that wasn't sufficient cause to send her stumbling into another man's arms. And especially a man like Declan Malone, who could have any woman he wanted- and probably did, she thought, deliberately lacerating her feelings.
It occurred to her that Declan had never mentioned Jeremy's name once, or asked why she wasn't spending her birthday with him. Yet Jeremy lived under his roof, so he must have known exactly what his plans were.
Did he know that she'd been stood up, and had his own invitation been issued because he felt sorry for her? Or was there some darker motive?
Pain lanced through her at the very idea, but it had to be faced. Recognised as a probability.
After all, seducing her would be the perfect way of ensuring that the remnants of her relationship with Jeremy could never be rescued and restored.
And she'd nearly succumbed, beguiled by his charm and the heady sexual charisma that surrounded him. But they were his stock in trade, after all. They accounted for much of his success on television. He was undoubtedly a skilled political commentator, and a tough interviewer, but to his female audience he was also a fantasy figure. That dangerous combination: a sexy intellectual. An object of desire.
And off I went, she derided herself, all decked out in my new scarf and earrings, like a lamb to the slaughter.
She'd known, of course, that he held a dangerous attraction for her, but she'd believed that her feelings for Jeremy were the barrier that would protect her from herself. But now that relationship was faltering she realised just how flimsy that protection had always been.