Innocent Sins Read online

  But for some reason Griff had changed his will, and Oliver could only wonder at the feelings that had caused such a change of heart. What had Stella done? What lie had Griff caught her out in? What betrayal had been so bad that the old man had decided she didn’t deserve to stay at Penmadoc?

  In the days following Laura’s departure, he’d found no answers. His mother had said and done nothing to arouse his suspicions, and Aunt Nell had been as predictably reticent about her feelings as she was about Laura’s whereabouts. If she knew where her niece was, she wasn’t saying, and Oliver had wondered if the kindest thing of all wouldn’t be to leave the situation as it was. Goodness knew, he didn’t want to be the one to drive his mother out of Penmadoc. But he also knew he’d be betraying everything he’d ever believed in if he allowed her to have her way, and until the situation was resolved he supposed he’d go on having sleepless nights.

  That was why he’d brought the will back to London with him, along with the key to the safe. Although his mother had assured him that she wouldn’t attempt to tamper with her husband’s papers again, Oliver was of the opinion that it was wise not to put temptation in her way.

  Which was much the same thing as not trusting her, he acknowledged drily, thinking of the will locked securely in the drawer of his desk. But one way or another it was down to him, and until he’d had a chance to tell Laura he was making no promises he couldn’t keep.

  ‘If you say so, Mr Oliver.’

  Thomas’s disapproving response brought him to an abrupt awareness of where he was. Clearly, the man was not in the mood to be placated by a few words and Oliver wondered when he’d started down this track. When Griff died, he reminded himself grimly, refusing to admit that meeting Laura again had done more to upset the comfortable little niche he’d made for himself than anyone—or anything—else.

  However, before either of them could say anything more, the phone rang. Thomas arched a brow, a silent enquiry as to whether he should answer it, but on the off chance that it could be important Oliver crossed to the desk and picked up the receiver himself. He needed the diversion, he thought. There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that it might be Laura.

  ‘Oliver!’ Natalie’s voice sounded shrill and unfamiliar. ‘Oliver, it’s me! Guess where I am?’ Then, without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. ‘I’m here, at Heathrow. The shoot’s been cut short because two of the girls were taken ill so I’m back earlier than I expected. Isn’t that great? Have you missed me?’

  ‘I— Sure.’ Oliver raised his eyes to Thomas’s and gave an imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. ‘That’s—wonderful, Natalie.’ He struggled to inject a more positive note into his voice, which was difficult when he’d barely thought of his girlfriend for the past three weeks. ‘You—just caught me, actually. I was on my way out when you rang.’

  ‘Out?’ Natalie sounded less than cordial now. ‘I tell you I’ve just flown more than four thousand miles to be with you and all you can say is that you’re on your way out. Come on, Oliver. You can’t be serious.’

  ‘I’m afraid I am.’ Oliver stifled a sigh, reflecting with some irony that he was in danger of alienating all the people he cared about in his life. He’d already had a blazing row with his mother when she’d discovered he’d taken the safe key with him. Did he really need any more aggravation? He strove for an upbeat response. ‘It’s good to hear your voice again, Nat. Did you have a good trip?’

  ‘Do you care?’ Natalie didn’t attempt to hide her irritation. ‘I was going to suggest you might like to come out to the airport to pick me up, but I suppose you’re too busy. I’ll have you know we left the island at dawn just so we could connect with this morning’s Concorde from New York. I’m cold and I’m tired. I just want to go home and have a shower. I had thought I might have it with you.’

  Oliver groaned. ‘Look, Nat—’

  ‘Don’t try to humour me, Oliver. Not when you can’t even put off whatever it is you were going to do to see the woman you’re supposed to love. Do you realise it’s been almost a month since we were together?’

  Well, near enough, thought Oliver, knowing better than to show surprise. ‘Yeah, I know, but—’

  ‘But you’re not going to change your mind, are you? I sometimes wonder if you care about me at all’

  Oliver had been wondering that, too, and it didn’t help when Thomas, who had been pottering about the room as he spoke, turned to give him an enquiring look. ‘Okay,’ he said heavily, grimacing at Thomas’s expression, ‘forget what I said, right? I’ll come. Yeah, yeah, right away. Tell me where you are.’

  ‘Another change of plan?’ asked Thomas primly as his employer put down the phone, and Oliver blew out a weary breath.

  ‘You might say that.’

  ‘Would you like some coffee before you leave?’

  ‘No.’ Oliver scowled. ‘I’ll get something at the airport.’

  ‘The airport?’ Thomas pretended not to understand.

  ‘Yeah, the airport,’ agreed Oliver, refusing to be provoked. ‘Natalie’s back. I’m going to pick her up.’

  It was after midnight by the time Oliver left Natalie’s apartment. The formalities at the airport had taken longer than he’d expected and then Oliver had had to pay a fine to rescue his Mercedes from the compound where it had been sequestered for being parked illegally. He knew he hadn’t been in the best of moods as he’d driven back to town and his irritation had only been aggravated when they’d arrived at Natalie’s apartment and she couldn’t find her key. She’d eventually found it at the bottom of the vanity case she’d carried on to the plane, but not before Oliver had searched the car from end to end because Natalie had been convinced it had been in her handbag when she left the airport.

  His refusal to accept her invitation to come in had provoked another argument but by then Oliver had been too tired to humour her. He’d promised to ring the next morning instead, climbing back into the Mercedes with a definite—and disturbing—feeling of relief.

  There was a message on the pad beside the phone when he got home. Half expecting it to be from Natalie, checking that he’d gone straight home, he gave it only a cursory glance. If Thomas answered the phone while he was out, he usually left a handwritten message for his employer to read and Oliver assumed it wasn’t important.

  But, as he was turning away, Eleanor Tenby’s name jumped out at him. Thomas always printed names in block letters, and curiosity as to why Laura’s aunt might be ringing him had him reaching for the pad.

  Thomas’s message was short and to the point. There’d apparently been a break-in at Penmadoc that evening while Miss Tenby and his mother had both been out. As she’d been sure Laura would be upset at the news, she wanted him to get in touch with her and tell her what had happened.

  The address of Laura’s hotel followed and Oliver thought how ironic it was that suddenly he was permitted information that up to now had been denied him. He ought to ring her back and tell the old woman to find someone else to be her messenger boy, he thought grimly, but then the wider connotations of what had happened occurred to him and he wished Thomas had thought to ask what, if anything, had been stolen. He refused to acknowledge the treacherous suspicion that Stella might be involved.

  He frowned, tearing the note off the pad and screwing it up before dropping it into the waste basket. If only he hadn’t had to go out this evening, he might have been able to do something about it tonight. He wondered what time the old lady had rung. He might at least have been able to get in touch with Laura and find out what—if anything—she intended to do now.

  He glanced at his watch. Whatever he was going to do would have to wait until morning. If he got to her hotel early enough, he should be able to catch her before she went out— if she was going out, that was. He had no idea how she was filling her time or indeed why she’d felt the need to leave Penmadoc as she had. He didn’t flatter himself it was because of anything he’d done, although his own guilt wouldn’t go away. She probably h
ad friends in London, he assured himself firmly. Her publisher had an office here. She was probably catching up with her colleagues.

  But what colleagues? he brooded, as he climbed the stairs to his second-floor suite. Male or female? And what the hell did it matter to him anyway?

  Despite the assurances he’d made to himself that Laura was unlikely to leave her hotel before nine o’clock, Oliver was up and dressed by seven o’clock the next day. Surprising Thomas browsing through the morning newspapers as he sipped his first cup of tea of the day, Oliver took the opportunity to question him about the call he’d taken the night before.

  ‘What time did she ring?’ he asked, refusing the man’s offer to make him coffee and pouring himself a cup of tea instead. ‘Did she say if the intruder had been caught? What was taken? Your note didn’t give any details.’

  ‘Miss Tenby didn’t give any details,’ replied Thomas, folding the newspaper and putting it aside. ‘I don’t think she wanted to talk to me. All she said was that there’d been a break-in and would I ask you to deliver the news to Mrs Neill. I suppose she thought you could always ring her back if you wanted to. But my impression was that she wanted to keep the call as brief as possible.’

  Oliver wondered why. Did his mother know she’d called? And, if not, why not? Why hadn’t his mother rung him herself? The temptation to call Stella and ask her what was going on was appealing, but he squashed it. He preferred to see his mother’s face when he was talking to her, and if that was a shameful admission—on his part—then so be it.

  But that didn’t stop him from ringing Laura’s aunt, and, going on the supposition that his mother was unlikely to be up so early, he made the call while Thomas made him some toast.

  To his relief, Aunt Nell answered the phone herself and she didn’t seem surprised to learn that it was him. ‘What’s all this about a break-in?’ he asked, deciding that she would prefer him to get straight to the point. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Have you seen Laura?’ countered the old lady, not answering him, and Oliver breathed an exasperated sigh.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said flatly. ‘I was hoping you might be able to give me a few more details. What was stolen?’

  Aunt Nell hesitated. ‘I’d rather not discuss that over the phone,’ she said, after a few minutes. Then, because she seemed to realise that something more was expected of her, she added, ‘I’m not sure what was taken. We—we’re still checking.’

  Oliver suppressed his impatience. ‘But it was a robbery?’ he persisted, and he heard her give a little tut of offended dignity.

  ‘I’d rather talk to Laura, if you don’t mind,’ she said, and Oliver knew a moment’s impulse to ask why the devil she hadn’t phoned her, then. But he supposed he could understand the old lady’s reticence to discuss anything with him. Whatever had happened, it was Laura who was really involved.

  ‘Will you be going down to Wales again?’ Thomas asked, as his employer spread butter and marmalade on a slice of toast and attempted to shovel it into his mouth. ‘I assume you will be going to see Mrs Neill after breakfast.’

  ‘Right now,’ said Oliver, around a mouthful of the delicious concoction. He grimaced. ‘Sorry.’ He swallowed the dregs of his tea. ‘That was great.’

  ‘Don’t you want any more?’ Thomas was dismayed.

  ‘I’ll get something later,’ Oliver promised. ‘Oh, and if Miss Harlowe calls—’

  ‘I’ll tell her you’ve had a family emergency,’ said Thomas drily, and Oliver gave him a grateful grin.

  ‘I owe you one,’ he said, heading down the hall. ‘I’ll let you know what’s going on when I know myself.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A uniformed commissionaire eyed Oliver’s arrival at the West End hotel with doubtful eyes. But he was evidently used to seeing all-night party goers arriving back at breakfast time and Oliver, in his black turtleneck sweater, black jeans and black leather jerkin, looked the part. Particularly as he hadn’t taken the time to shave and the dark stubble of his beard gave him a disreputable elegance.

  He supposed he should have phoned before turning up out of the blue. Crossing the marble reception hall, he approached the desk with some misgivings, but he hadn’t wanted to give her the chance to ring Penmadoc to find out if anything was wrong and for his mother to exaggerate the situation. Stella would have few qualms about upsetting Laura, and until he’d spoken to her and gauged her reaction to the news he preferred to keep the reason for his visit to himself.

  The receptionist was very accommodating. It helped that she recognised him, and his assertion that he’d just got back from abroad and was hoping to give his stepsister a surprise elicited the number of Laura’s room without too much effort. Oliver took the lift to the sixth floor, aware that his heart was beating much faster than it should, and when he knocked at Laura’s door he felt the unpleasant dampness of his palms.

  Dammit, what was happening to him? he wondered irritably. He wasn’t a schoolboy any longer and he’d never felt like this when he was going to meet Natalie. When he was going to meet any woman, for that matter, he conceded grimly. And Laura wasn’t just any woman, she was his stepsister.

  There was no response to his first knock and, gritting his teeth, he knocked again. There didn’t even seem to be any movement beyond the heavy panels, and he wondered if she was still asleep. She could be. Unlike him, she didn’t appear to have suffered any after-effects from their encounter at Penmadoc, and he was half inclined to go away again and tell Aunt Nell that he hadn’t been able to reach her.

  The security peephole in the middle of the door mocked him. What if he was mistaken? What if she was standing at the other side of the door right now, watching him? He scowled. He didn’t like the idea that he was providing entertainment for anyone. Least of all her.

  He was getting paranoid, he thought impatiently. And, as he was weighing his options, he realised he could hear something beyond the wooden door. It was the sound of water running, and he guessed Laura was taking a shower. That was why she hadn’t answered his knock. She hadn’t heard him.

  But, as the sound of the water was abruptly cut off, another thought occurred to him. He was probably being monitored on one of the hotel’s security cameras. The rest of the corridor was deserted and there was no doubt that his presence was suspicious.

  He sighed. He’d give it one last try. If she didn’t open the door this time, he was going to go downstairs and find a courtesy phone. The last thing he needed was to be arrested for loitering with possible intent.

  He felt self-conscious as he knocked again. Being aware of the camera made everything that much harder and he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard movement in the room beyond. There was a nerve-racking moment when he thought she’d looked through the peephole and decided not to let him in, but then the lock clicked and the door opened.

  She didn’t immediately say anything at all. She just stood there, wrapped in one of those chunky towelling bathrobes that hotels provided for their guests, a towel attempting to hold the red-gold tangle of her wet hair in check. It wasn’t succeeding. Curling strands clung damply to her flushed cheeks and were a vivid contrast to the white collar of her robe.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, when she said nothing, still aware of those securitv cameras. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Why?’

  Wrong answer.

  Oliver heaved a sigh and glanced up and down the corridor again. ‘Because our conversation is being monitored,’ he said evenly. ‘I’ve been banging on this door for the past five minutes and the management is becoming suspicious.’

  ‘I was in the—’

  ‘Shower. Yeah. I can see that.’ He couldn’t prevent his eyes from seeking their own appraisal and his lips took on a sardonic slant. ‘Well? Are you going to risk being responsible for one of your closest relatives getting arrested?’

  Laura’s lips had tightened at the searching penetration of his gaze but she didn’t contradict his interpretation of their relationship. ‘I
suppose you’d better come in, then,’ she said, stepping aside, and Oliver moved gratefully beyond anyone’s analysis but hers.

  Laura waited until his shoulder had taken the weight of the door and then scooted quickly back into the bathroom. By the time Oliver had closed the outer door, the bathroom door was closed, too, and he expelled an aggravated breath. What now?

  ‘I want to talk to you, you know,’ he said, putting his face close to the panels. ‘You can’t stay in there for ever.’

  Silence greeted this announcement, and he was just about to demand that she stop behaving like an idiot and come out of there when the door opened and Laura’s face appeared.

  ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’

  ‘Come out and I’ll tell you,’ said Oliver, annoyed to find that, far from being angry with her, he was fighting a totally different kind of emotion. He walked determinedly into the room beyond the dressing area and turned to face her. ‘Have you heard from your aunt?’

  For once, he must have said the right thing. Wrapping the folds of the bathrobe closer about her, Laura left the comparative safety of the bathroom and came further into the bedroom. She was barefoot, he noticed, and that didn’t help his rampant libido. Nor did the fact that the curtains were still drawn against the dull twilight of early morning, and the only illumination came from the lamps beside the queen-size bed.

  ‘Why would I have heard from Aunt Nell?’ she asked, obviously still wary of him, and Oliver scowled.

  ‘Well—she rang me last night.’

  ‘You?’ Evidently, that surprised her.

  ‘Yes, me.’ Oliver endeavoured not to feel affronted by her reaction. ‘There are obviously times when I have my uses.’

  Laura rolled her lips inward. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well...’ There was no easy way to say it. ‘Penmadoc was broken into yesterday evening.’

  ‘No!’ Laura’s face paled. ‘Oh, God—what was taken?’