Never Too Late (36 page)

with her. The party won’t last more than another couple of

hours or so.’

It was just before half-eight and Vida had explained that

she hated long drawn-out weddings. ‘The die-hards can sit

in the bar all evening but Andrew and I will be retiring

early,’ she’d told Olivia earlier. ‘It’s been a long day and

we’re getting up early to drive to the airport.’

They were going on a cruise for their honeymoon and

Olivia could feel her eyes take on an emerald green hue

when Vida spoke about cocktails on deck, day trips to

Santorini and the glamour of the captain’s table.

‘I’m not tired, Mummy,’ piped up Sasha, still bright

eyed after her exciting day.

‘Darling, you have to do as you’re told,’ Stephen said

gravely.

Like your mother, Olivia surprised herself by thinking.

Automatically, she got up and swung Sasha into her

arms. ‘OK, Munchkin,’ she said, nuzzling her daughter’s

face, ‘let’s say goodnight to everyone.’

Stephen arrived in their hotel room when she was

tucking Sasha into bed.

‘Will I read you a story?’ he asked.

Sasha nodded and squirmed delightedly in her small

bed. Olivia put Sasha’s flower-girl dress away and listened fondly as Stephen read the story of Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail for the zillionth time.

She put her navy jacket back on, reapplied some lipstick

and waited for him to finish. If she went downstairs to the

party for another half an hour, she could speak to everyone

and then retire to bed while Stephen went back for an

hour. That suited her fine. She was tired anyhow.

Slipping the lipstick back in her handbag, she adjusted

her waistband and stood quietly by the door.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Stephen, total amazement

in his voice. ‘You’re sitting with Sasha, surely?’

Olivia blinked. He obviously expected her to stay. It

wasn’t even open for discussion. Stephen had already

worked out that Olivia would forfeit the rest of her

evening to mind their daughter. It wasn’t that Olivia didn’t

want to sit with Sasha; she simply couldn’t bear the fact

that Stephen hadn’t given her a choice or offered to take

his turn.

She was the woman therefore she looked after the

children - that was it. QED. End of story. He was the

hunter-gatherer and couldn’t be bothered with menial

tasks like caring for their daughter.

Like lava boiling dangerously under the earth’s tectonic

plates, her anger suddenly came volcanically to the surface.

Face suffused with rage, Olivia motioned shakily for

Stephen to join her in the corridor.

‘You never think about me for more than one second,

do you?’ she whispered fiercely. ‘You blindly expect me

to do as you want, without even asking me what I think.

It never even occurred to you that I might want to go

back to the party for a while and that you could look

after Sasha.’

Flustered, Stephen searched for words to give his side

of the story. Thanks to several glasses of decent Fleurie,

he couldn’t think of any. This was not usual, Olivia

flaring up twice in one day. It wasn’t even unusual; it was

unheard of.

She wasn’t finished. Her eyes strangely bright, she poked

him in the chest with one finger.

‘You can stay up here. I’m going to enjoy myself with my friends. You didn’t even want to come to this wedding, Stephen, so you can have an early night. I’ll be downstairs

if Sasha needs me urgently.’ She swept him with a disgusted

look. ‘You don’t spend enough time with her to

know what to do if she gets sick.’ She swivelled regally and

swept off towards the stairs.

She made straight for the bar, anger making her determined

to have a huge drink that would irritate Stephen.

She rarely drank but when she did, he hated it. A modest

white wine spritzer fitted in with his version of cosy

Mother Hen, she thought venomously.

Vida’s son was standing at the bar and Olivia detected a

slight sag to his shoulders.

He’d been so charming when she’d met him earlier, very

debonair and polite, although he’d had eyes for no one but

Evie. Now he greeted her warmly and asked her if she

wanted a drink.

‘Something very strong,’ she answered flintily. ‘Something

that’ll knock me out so I don’t murder my husband

in his bed tonight!’

Max’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

‘Far be it for me to interfere,’ he said gravely, ‘but I

believe alcohol is more likely to make you murder your

husband.’

Olivia’s eyes met his and they both laughed.

‘I was getting a Brandy Alexander for my mother

because she adores them but only allows herself one as a

special treat. Can I get you one?’

The party was indeed winding down, with people sitting

in little groups and the musicians playing softly in the

background. Max and Olivia sat in a quiet corner and

watched the last few dancers swaying merrily on the floor.

Olivia didn’t know if it was the Brandy Alexander, the

soft lighting or the fact that Max proved to be such a good

listener, but she found herself telling him about her row

with Stephen. And about her crisis of confidence.

‘I love cooking and teaching people how to cook

but …’ She broke off in frustration. ‘It’s so difficult to

teach when you’ve got a few brats in your class and I’m

not strong enough to control them. I feel so useless when

they misbehave and I can’t stop them, as if every other

teacher in the school is standing outside the door listening

in shock.’

“Course they’re not,’ Max said reassuringly. ‘I doubt if

you’ll find many teachers today who don’t have problems

with their classes. It’s a tough job, teaching, I wouldn’t like to do it. Kids are so clever, they instantly pick up on it if

you’re nervous.’

‘You can say that again,’ Olivia sighed. ‘I wish my

husband understood this,’ she added. ‘He’d only see it as

proof that I shouldn’t be teaching in the first place. He

thinks I should be at home glued to the oven, cooking him

dinner and polishing the silver, instead of teaching what he

describes as “juvenile delinquents”,’ she said bitterly.

‘Your husband doesn’t understand you,’ Max said gently,

a twinkle in his eye.

Olivia laughed, a throaty sound that surprised her. She

hadn’t laughed in so long, not a real laugh, anyway. ‘He

doesn’t,’ she replied candidly. ‘I think he understood me

once, about a million years ago, and he thinks he still does.

He has me neatly in a little box, labelled “Olivia”. That’s

me. I’m not allowed to change in any way, inside or out.

He can, but I can’t.’ She paused, and looked at Max, taking

in the glittering eyes that were so kind as he returned her

gaze unwaveringly. He’d looked like a wolf in Armani

earlier, a real lady killer, dangerous with a capital D. Now

he looked like the most compassionate, sympathetic man

she’d ever met. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I

never talk to strangers, certainly not to strange men.’ She

gave a little false chuckle. ‘My husband doesn’t like it. He

thinks I’m throwing myself at them.’

‘Today seems to be a day for doing things your husband

doesn’t approve of,’ Max remarked.

Her face lit up. ‘Order me another Brandy Alexander,’

she declared. “I fancy another one and as I’m not driving,

I’ll have it.’

Halfway through the second drink, Max said something

that startled her into almost spilling champagne on her

jacket.

‘I told you I’m involved in TV production,’ he said.

‘Mainly those two-hour mini series but I did a lot of

straight TV work years ago. The thing is, a friend of mine is

working on this morning TV show and they’ve run into

difficulties with their cookery presenter. It’s a slot three

times a week and this woman has just been offered a job in

Paris so she’s pulling out. They’re going mad because they

need someone to take her place immediately. I think you’d

be perfect for it.’

Olivia just stared at him. Was he on drugs? The?’

‘Yes, you. You’re beautiful, you’re an expert cook, and I

think you’d look marvellous on television.’

The?’ she repeated, practically gasping this time. ‘I’d

panic, I’d be hopeless, I’d look terrible, I’d …’

Max shrugged. ‘I’ve been on one side of the camera for

twenty years now and if there’s one thing I’ve got a feel for, it’s how somebody translates on to the screen. I don’t know for sure and it’s not an exact science, but I’m convinced you’d be wonderful.’

Olivia was still staring at him disbelievingly but he

pushed on.

‘It’s just in front of a small TV crew, smaller than an

average class, and at least they’ll be hanging on your every

word. The slot is fifteen minutes long and you’d have

researchers to help you.’

‘I’ve never done anything like that before,’ Olivia said,

feeling stupid. ‘I was never in the drama club in school, I

just wasn’t a performer.’

‘This is different.’ Max’s face was earnest now. All you

have to do is cook something on television. You can plan

and test it all beforehand and make several different

versions at different stages, otherwise it’s just doing what

you do now. Except you’d get paid more. But,’ he paused,

‘I can understand if you’re nervous about Stephen not

wanting you to do it.’

Olivia’s grey eyes flashed like quicksilver. ‘That’s not it.

Don’t try and manipulate me, Max.’

He put up his hands in surrender. ‘Forgive me, you’re

right. I wanted to prod you into doing this, just a screen

test, that’s all. I was wrong to try that …’

‘Just a screen test?’ she interrupted.

‘Two hours of your life,’ he said, ‘between make-up and

shooting. Then you’ll know for definite.’

She breathed heavily, wondering if she was going to

regret this. ‘I’ll do it. But don’t tell anyone,’ she added

hurriedly. ‘Nobody is to know.’

Max crossed his heart. ‘Scout’s honour.’

Olivia gave him a wry grin. ‘I can’t see you as a scout,

somehow.’

Max chuckled, eyes flashing mischievously. ‘I can make a

fire by rubbing two girl guides together. Seriously, Olivia, I

bet you anything you’ll be great.’

Olivia banished the notion that she didn’t know what

exactly she was getting herself into and gave him a gutsy

smile. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, crossing her fingers. ‘And you’re right - Stephen will hate it.’

Evie waved the Butlers goodbye at the hotel’s front

entrance. She was tired and ready for bed.

‘Long day, huh?’ said Cara, leaning against the wall and

not bothering to stifle a yawn.

‘Yes, I’m ready for bed,’ Evie replied.

‘Ms Evie Eraser?’ said a voice.

The receptionist held a white envelope in her hand.

‘Yes?’

‘A letter for you, Ms Fraser.’

Too weary to think who would be sending her letters at

this hour of the night, Evie unthinkingly ripped the

envelope open. Inside was one sheet of paper.

The message was simple, written in a bold hand: ‘If

you change your mind, phone me. Max . And a phone

number.

She ran her fingers over the message, as if touching him.

‘What’s that?’ inquired Cara, peering over her sister’s

shoulder.

Evie hastily stuffed the paper into her handbag. ‘Nothing.

A fax for Simon, the hotel addressed it to me by

mistake because we’re sharing,’ she lied.

They walked to their rooms, Evie’s mind seething. She

couldn’t deny she’d felt something intense when she’d met

Max Stewart but she couldn’t do anything about it. He

was just a fantasy, not real, not for her. She was in love

with Simon. How dare Max try and rock her boat? She’d

clearly told him she couldn’t see him again.

‘It was a lovely day,’ Cara was saying. ‘Vida looked

marvellous. Her son was very nice too, wasn’t he? Dishy

really,’ she added dreamily. ‘I told Dad I’d take him out, get

to know him better. He’s sort of related to us now, like a

brother.’

‘He’s a rogue,’ Evie said shortly, thinking of the note and

of her engagement ring. ‘Personally, I’d be happy if I never

saw him again.’

CHAPTER NINE

Olivia closed her eyes and let the make-up artist do her

best. She felt a sponge smooth foundation on to her face,

pressing into every crevice relentlessly. With one eye open

a smidgen, she realised it was a dark honeyed shade she’d

never have worn.

‘Don’t worry,’ reassured the make-up artist, seeing

Olivia’s long lashes flutter in horror. ‘You’ll look as if

you’re anaemic on TV without a dark base. This Screen

face stuff is perfect for you, I promise.’

Seeing as Olivia knew absolutely zero about the world

of television, she said nothing. Perhaps it was good to look

tangerine on camera? What did she know?

Since she’d arrived at the studio half an hour ago and been

whisked up to make-up without a by-your-leave from the

producer she was supposed to meet, Olivia had felt like a kid