Never Too Late (44 page)

once and so could claim that the meal was international

in honour of the international guests. Another dollop of

the seriously alcoholic Irish Mist in the pudding should

help too.

An entire bottle of vintage port was gone, along with

two bottles of white wine and three of red by the time the

deeply appreciative guests had been decanted into their

taxi by a swaying Stephen. Olivia stared at the devastation

of her dining-room table and decided that she’d leave the

tidying up for the morning.

‘That was wonderful,’ said Stephen loudly, when he

arrived back in the apartment and slammed the door.

Olivia winced at the thought that he’d wake Sasha but

reasoned that if the little girl had slept through Stephen’s

slurred rendition of ‘Seven Drunken Nights’, then she’d

sleep through anything.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he muttered, nearly cannoning into

Olivia’s prized peace lily in its Spanish pottery container.

‘Mee too,’ she said.

He looked surprised. Olivia normally didn’t go to bed

while the place was a mess, no matter how late the party.

She always stayed up to fill the dishwasher, wash the

saucepans and restore order to the dinner party mess.

In their bedroom, Olivia pulled off her slingbacks and took

her hair down from the knot she’d tied it into for the dinner

party. She’d only removed one earring when Stephen came

out of the bathroom, clad in shirt and socks that showed off

strong, hairy legs, and took her in his arms. His dark face was relaxed, his mouth, sometimes harsh, was smiling.

‘I like having people over when you cook but I didn’t

like the way Gerhard was looking at you,’ he murmured,

clumsily unbuttoning her blouse.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Olivia answered, aware that Gerhard

had been eyeing her up in a less than surreptitious manner.

He’d been so charming, too, offering to help her in the

kitchen, something Stephen would never dream of.

‘He was.’ Stephen’s voice was hard. ‘When you weren’t

watching, his eyes were all over you. I’d kill anyone if they

ever touched you,’ he said. His fingers slid greedily inside

her blouse. ‘You’re mine, Olivia, all mine. I couldn’t share

you with anyone.’

A tremor ran through her body at his words. Not sharing

her with anyone presumably included the viewers of a

morning television show.

As his mouth closed fiercely on her nipple, she closed

her eyes in resignation and chickened out of telling him.

Maybe in the morning, she thought hopefully.

Morning brought a raging hangover for Stephen and an

argument about clothes for the two-week trip he was

taking that afternoon.

‘I didn’t know you were going away today,’ said a

startled Olivia.

‘It came up yesterday,’ he said curtly from the depths of

his wardrobe where he was searching for his black Ralph

Lauren polo shirt. ‘I rang you twice but you weren’t home.

Where the hell were you?’ he said in annoyance.

‘Out,’ she said. ‘You know, out and about. Buying food

for the dinner party.’

‘Got it,’ he said triumphantly, extracting the missing

Lauren shirt. ‘Now where’s that blue one …’

Tempers were very frayed by the time Stephen’s case

was packed to his satisfaction, having mentioned twice that

he’d have liked to have taken the blue polo shirt with him.

‘If you’d remembered to tell me last night, I could have

washed everything you needed,’ Olivia said, feeling she

couldn’t take all the blame for a last-minute trip she’d

known nothing about. And I’m going to miss you,’ she

added placatingly, which wasn’t entirely true.

‘I know. My poor baby will have to be Mother Hen

while I’m away,’ he said, pulling her to him. ‘Last night was

very sexy,’ he added.

Mother Hen, thought Olivia. Is that all I am to him? Mother bloody Hen! That was it. She was telling him about her new job. He could do with a shock of the short, sharp

variety. If she wasn’t Mother Hen she was the damned

Irish washerwoman. There had to be more to life than

that.

‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you,

Stephen.’ she said coldly.

‘What?’ He gave her a sharp look.

Under his suddenly belligerent gaze, Olivia felt herself

quake. ‘I might go down to my parents’ house for a few

days if you’re going to be away,’ she said quickly.

He looked puzzled. ‘You normally can’t get away from

them quickly enough,’ he said, before shrugging in a

‘Women, who understands them?’ way. ‘Do what you

want, dear.’

When he was gone, she tugged at a strand of her hair

with impotent self-disgust. Stupid, stupid bitch! Couldn’t

you have had the courage to be honest, just for once!

She’d only returned from leaving Sasha at playgroup

when Paul Reddin - Max’s producer friend whom she

hadn’t met - phoned to say he was delighted with her

audition tape and could she please come in the next day to

sign a contract?

‘Of course,’ Olivia said, delighted. Then, because she

didn’t want to appear too unprofessionally excited about

the whole thing, she inquired about fees and expenses.

Putting the phone down, she danced around the kitchen

with glee. Her fee was twice what she earned for a

morning’s teaching. She should have gone into the TV

business years ago.

When the phone rang a second time, Olivia answered

with a lift in her voice that hadn’t been there for months.

‘Olivia, it’s Max. I wanted to find out how you got on

with the audition?’

‘Max!’ she said, pleased he’d rung her. ‘Wonderful! I got

the job, can you believe it?’

‘Of course I can,’ he responded warmly. ‘I spotted your

potential as soon as I set eyes on you. What did you think

of Paul?’

‘I never got to meet him,’ Olivia confessed. ‘But I met

Nancy Roberts and I got such a shock. She’s nothing like I

imagined …’

Max’s rich laugh interrupted her. ‘I could tell you stories

about that lady that’d make your hair curl. I’ll tell you

what, how about I take you out to lunch to celebrate. Are

you free this week? Today?’

Faced with the prospect of having nobody else to

celebrate her good news with, Olivia jumped at the

chance.

This was the beginning of a new life for her, she decided,

singing to the radio as she raced around the apartment

tidying up before she left. With Stephen and his glowering

bad mood gone, the place felt lighter, a happier home

altogether. Olivia felt capable of anything.

The dishwasher was humming with dirty dishes, the

crumbs had been hoovered up from the dining room and

the kitchen gleamed like a showroom specimen by the

time she hurried out of the front door, wearing a businesslike

striped suit in honour of the occasion. Well, Olivia

reasoned as she jettisoned her original choice - a rose pink

slub silk dress - in favour of the suit, she had to start

looking like a professional woman now.

Max drove up just as she was jamming coins in the pay

and display machine on Merrion Square.

‘You look lovely. Very “woman in the media”,’ he said,

kissing her hello on the cheek.

‘I normally get dressed in five minutes,’ Olivia replied.

‘This look took ages to get right.’

‘Suits you.’

The number of people who greeted Max when they

entered Patrick Guilbaud’s made Olivia aware of his status

as a mover and shaker.

He greeted everyone by name, chatting urbanely and

charmingly to all comers as he moved easily to their table

in the restaurant ante-room. He was graceful for such a big

man, she thought. She’d always thought that Stephen had

the most fluid gait of all the tall men she knew, but Max,

though of a more powerful build than her athletic husband,

was positively feline.

When he introduced her to a media tycoon whose

name she’d only ever seen in the world’s richest people

list, and the tycoon slapped Max on the back and

demanded to know when they were going marlin fishing

again, Olivia realised that he really was a man of influence.

And that he’d gone out of his way to use that

influence to help her.

His friend Paul was a big name in the world of television

yet a word from Max had secured her, a complete novice, a

much sought after audition. The question was: why had he

done it?

‘Why did you fix me up with an audition?’ she asked

bluntly as they sat with the menus and glasses of mineral

water.

‘Do you think I did it with an ulterior motive in mind?’

he responded.

Olivia grinned. ‘That’s like that joke that goes, “Do you

know that an Irishman always responds to a question with

another question?” And the Irish guy replies, “Who told

you that?”

Max chuckled. ‘Fair point, Mrs MacKenzie.’ he conceded.

‘Or should that be Ms de Were?’

‘You’ve spoken to Paul,’ she said accusingly. ‘I wanted to

fill you in on the details.’

‘Sorry.’ He looked unabashed. ‘I only rang to ask him

how you got on after you’d told me you’d got the job. I

wouldn’t have gone behind your back to ask otherwise, but

I do think it’s a marvellous idea to use your maiden name.

It’s much more interesting but…’ he paused delicately

‘… problematic’

She exhaled heavily. ‘Yes. I haven’t told my husband

about either the interview or the name yet. He’ll go mad.

I’d hoped to tell him this morning but he went off on

another business trip and there never was a moment to

talk. Well, there was but I fudged it.’ She looked up at

Max, startled. ‘What is it about you that makes me divulge

my innermost secrets to you within three minutes of

meeting you? Are you a wizard or something?’

She was only half-joking. It was utterly bizarre the way

she felt she could speak to him on the sort of subjects

she’d normally only discuss with Evie. Here she was telling

him everything. She’d never had that sort of relationship

with a man before.

Platonic and yet truthful. Because it was totally platonic

between her and Max. There wasn’t the faintest spark of

attraction there, they were comfortable with each other

but that was it.

‘I mixed up eye of newt, wing of bat and a few hairs I

stole from your brush,’ he said solemnly. ‘That’s the secret.’

If they hadn’t been in such a classy restaurant, Olivia

would have flicked her menu at him. As it was, she restricted herself to a stern look that vanished as soon as she caught the gleam in his eyes.

‘Really,’ she said reprovingly, ‘what is it with you?’

He shrugged, in the nicest possible way, I’m not interested

in you, Olivia. I’m sure that’s very rare in that you

are a very beautiful woman and most men probably drool

openly in your presence or else are rendered speechless.’

She would have gone red if any other man had said this

but with Max speaking, she merely grinned in mild embarrassment.

‘I

appreciate your beauty,’ he emphasised, ‘but I don’t

want to possess it or you. And you instinctively know that. That’s the difference. You’re not threatened by me.’

‘It’s like having a marvellous gay friend,’ she said wickedly.

‘Well,

you’ve found all my secrets out,’ he said dead pan,

‘so we’re equal.’

When the waiter had taken their orders, she returned to

the subject.

‘Right, so you don’t want to get me into bed,’ she

quipped, as if ticking off an imaginary list, ‘and I don’t

think you’re doing it to get my husband into bed, so why

did you fix me up with the interview?’

Max steepled his fingers in front of his face and regarded

her through suddenly veiled eyes, ‘I wanted to do something

for my new family,’ he said.

‘I’m not a member of your new family,’ she pointed out.

‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘but you’re a close friend of …’ he

was about to say something else but stopped himself just

in time ‘… the family.’

Olivia knew he was hedging but she left him alone.

Because she instinctively knew which member of his

new family he really wanted to help, which name he’d

nearly blurted out: Evie. Olivia had seen the way Max’s

gaze had lingered on Evie at the wedding, the way he’d

stared at her and Simon with fierce concentration, only

breaking away when either of them turned his way. Poor

Max was crazy about Evie, she was sure of it. But would

any good come of it? Had he tried to make his interest

plain already and was that why Evie was so vehemently

anti him?

‘That’s all, that’s my motive,’ he said firmly, making it

clear the subject was closed. Olivia would have liked to

discuss it more but Max obviously didn’t want to.

During a marvellous lunch, he regaled her with stories

of the television world and the dreaded Nancy, who was as

sexually voracious - if Max’s terrible stories about innocent

young camera men seduced in hospitality were to

believed - as she was malicious.

Olivia hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in ages. Max was