His expression was unreadable, and, although she had no real desire to talk about Perry, at least it was a safe topic. All the same, she wished she had never got into this situation. Talking about Perry to Matthew didn't seem right somehow.

Now, she rubbed the pad of her thumb along her lip, wiping away an errant crumb of her sandwich, as she considered how to reply. 'He"he's involved with the stock market,' she said at last, hoping that would satisfy him. 'Um"when do you think she'll bring the coffee?'

'Soon.' Matthew was indifferent. 'So he's a stockbroker, is he?

Does he work on Wall Street?'

'No.' Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth.

'He"invests in things. In"people; and commodities.'

'A commodities broker?'

'No.' This was far more difficult that she'd thought it would be. 'I've told you. He's an investor.'

'And that's a living?'

Matthew's tone was contemptuous now, and Olivia sprang to Perry's defence. 'Well, you can't talk,' she exclaimed. 'You've never had to work for anything in your life. Not really. I don't know what you're doing now, but when I went away you weren't exactly being forced to go to college!'

Matthew's nostrils flared. 'You"don't know anything about my life,' he intoned quietly, but Olivia wasn't prepared to let it rest.

'Then tell me,' she taunted. 'Tell me what you're doing now.

As far as I can see, nothing's changed. The Ryans are still the wealthiest family in the district.'

'It depends what you mean by wealthy,' retorted Matthew, and then was silent for a moment, as the waitress set a tray of coffee and two cups on the table. 'We still own the land"or most of it,' he amended. 'But there have been expenses. Not least, the fact that my father made some rather doubtful investments, and lost a lot of money.'

Olivia moistened her lips. 'I see.' She paused. 'Well, I'm sorry.

I didn't know that, of course. But, even 'Even so, nothing,' said Matthew flatly. 'The fact is, I'm running the estate on a hand-to-mouth basis. It's going to take us the best part of five years to get back on an even keel. Always providing we have decent summers, of course. Otherwise, we're going to have to sell some of the farms.'

Olivia blinked. ' You're running the estate?' she echoed.

'Trying to,' conceded Matthew, taking another sandwich.

'But"what about your father?'

Olivia had spoken automatically, but now she put down her half-eaten sandwich and took a deep breath. Matthew's father!

She had wondered how long it would be before she would have to cope with thinking about Matthew's father, and the role he had played in her life.

'Oh, my father spends most of his time in the estate office,'

answered Matthew, unaware of her ambivalence. 'Since Hetherington retired----'

'Mr Hetherington's retired?' It didn't seem possible. The old man had seemed a permanent fixture at Rycroft.

'Well, he was sixty-eight,' said Matthew mildly. 'Anyway, with our financial situation being what it is, it didn't seem sensible to hire another bailiff. Not when Father said he was perfectly capable of doing the job himself.'

Olivia shook her head. 'And"and your mother?'

'She manages,' said Matthew drily. 'We all manage. We have to, don't we?'

And Helen? she wanted to ask, but she didn't have that right.

From what Sara had said, Helen didn't care about Rycroft, only about the Berrenger estate. She had always been mad on horses, and apparently she hadn't changed. And now that her father was dead...

CHAPTER SIX.

Olivia was fourteen when she first got to know Matthew Ryan. Really know him, that was; as in speak to him.

She had known of his existence, of course, for as long as she could remember. She had often seen him in the village, either riding with his mother, or sitting beside his father in the big black Bentley they used to run in those days. Everyone knew about the Ryans. How Matthew's grandfather had died at Dunkirk and how his father had married Lady Lavinia Stacey, the debutante of the season, and brought her to live at Rycroft, soon after the war.

They were a constant source of gossip, and Olivia wouldn't have been human if she hadn't listened to some of it.

All the girls in the village talked about Matthew Ryan. From the time he was old enough to be noticed he had become the favourite topic of speculation, and Olivia's friends used to chatter excitedly every time he chanced to look in their direction.

Not that he seemed to notice. Unlike his father, who everyone used to say 'had an eye for the ladies', Matthew had always seemed indifferent to the interest he evoked. He was a solemn child, grey-eyed, and studious. It wasn't until he was older that he had become less serious.

Jenny Mason's mother would say he was like that because his parents were so much older, and he was an only child. She said that the Ryans had been married more than a dozen years before Matthew was born. Indeed, she had added, people had been beginning to say that, for all his philandering ways, old Matt Ryan couldn't sire a son. But then Matthew had come along, the apple of his parents' eye, and all the gossips had been silenced.

Even so, she said, Lady Lavinia had had to go away to have the baby, and because she had had such a hard time the doctors had advised her not to have any more children. In consequence, Matthew had grown up alone, without any brothers and sisters, and Olivia hadn't envied him, living in that big house, without another child to play with.

Until he was thirteen, Matthew had attended the local preparatory school, which also set him apart from the village children. Then, later on, he was sent away to Winchester, and it was only during the holidays that he came back. Olivia had thought it couldn't be very pleasant to be sent away from home either. She knew how much she would miss her family if that had happened to her. Even though, since Sara was born, her grandmother had taken charge of the household, her mother was always there to comfort her, if things became too tough.

For Harriet Stoner had always had little time for her eldest granddaughter. Olivia was expected to spend her free time either helping about the house, or babysitting her younger brother and sister. She seldom attended parties or discos, or joined in the social life of the village. It was only on the very rare occasions when she appealed to her mother that she was allowed to have some fun.

And then, one evening, during the summer when she was fourteen, she had rescued Matthew Ryan's dog from the river.

It had all happened quite spontaneously. For once, Olivia had escaped her ch.o.r.es, and the other children, and gone for a walk along the riverbank. It was a dull evening, with overhanging clouds threatening the rain that was to come. Many of the children had gone home early to avoid getting wet, but Olivia was indifferent to the weather. She was simply enjoying her freedom.

It was then that she saw the young retriever, struggling in the reeds that clogged the bank. It looked little more than a puppy, and had probably plunged into the river after a rat, or some other small animal. She didn't know where it had come from, but it was obviously unable to get out. And, if somebody didn't do something soon it was going to drown. Already its struggles were draining its strength.

Without hesitating, Olivia rolled up the legs of her jeans, kicked off her trainers, and waded into the stream after the puppy. In no time at all, the water had soaked her legs to her thighs, but it was summer, and the water wasn't icy.

The young dog seemed to realise she had come to help it, because it made no protest when she reached down and disentangled its legs from the reeds. On the contrary, it nuzzled against her gratefully, its little heart beating at twice its normal pace.

Cuddling the dog against her, Olivia was wading out of the water when a voice accosted her. 'Hey,' it called. 'Where are you going with that dog? He doesn't belong to you.'

Olivia turned, half indignantly, to face her accuser, and then felt her face deepen with colour when she saw Matthew Ryan standing on the opposite bank. In jeans, and a cotton sweatshirt, he could have been any one of the village youths. Except that he was taller, and darker, and his att.i.tude set him apart.

'I'm not stealing him, if that's what you think,' she called back, as the puppy licked the underside of her jaw. 'If he's your dog, you should look after him. He was tangled in the reeds.'

'Was he?'

Matthew didn't sound convinced, and Olivia's temper flared.

'Yes, he was,' she shouted back, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to. 'You don't think I'd walk into the water with my clothes on for nothing, do you?' She gestured at her wet jeans. 'My gran's going to be furious!'

Matthew's expression grew less accusing. 'Was he really trapped in the reeds?' he asked doubtfully. 'He ran off while I was trying to teach him to walk to heel. Stupid mutt!'

'Well, he was nearly a dead mutt,' retorted Olivia, as the puppy recovered its strength and began to squirm against her.

'How do you want to get him back? Shall I walk into the village, and you can meet me at the bridge?'

'I'd rather not.' Matthew bit his lip. 'There's a weir a few yards upstream. If you wouldn't mind walking that far, I could come across and get him.'

Olivia hesitated. She knew the weir he meant, and it was considerably more than 'a few yards' upstream. With the sky getting blacker every minute, it was obviously foolish to go so far. But if she took the dog back to the village, everyone would know what had happened. And for some reason she didn't want that, any more than he did. This was private. Between her and Matthew Ryan. For the first time in her life, she had done something important. Whether she chose to tell Jenny about it later was something she would have to think about.

Matthew evidently mistook her hesitation for something else, and he called, 'I suppose you'd rather go home and change your jeans. I never thought of that, when I said about walking to the weir. And it's going to rain anyway. I'll get the Land Rover, and drive over to your house instead. Where do you live? In the village?'

'No, I"I mean, I don't mind about being wet,' shouted Olivia hastily, imagining how her grandmother would react if she took the puppy home. Of course, she'd probably be very nice while Matthew was there, but after he was gone...

'Well, if you're sure.'

'I am.'

Olivia nodded, and started along the bank, clutching the puppy in her arms. So what if it did rain? she thought resignedly.

She was wet anyway. One way or another, she was going to rouse her grandmother's wrath.

'What's its name?' she called, as they kept pace with one another, on either side of the river, and Matthew grinned.

'Would you believe"Leander?' he shouted ruefully. 'That's the first part of his name anyway. We call him Sandy, for obvious reasons. But it is rather ironic, don't you think?'

Olivia frowned. 'Why?'

'Oh"well, Hero and Leander are part of Greek mythology.

Hero lived on one side of a stretch of water, called the h.e.l.lespont, and Leander lived on the other. And every night Leander swam the h.e.l.lespont to get to his lover.'

'I see.' Olivia nodded.

'No, you don't. That wasn't the end of the story,' said Matthew wryly. 'One night, a storm blew up, and Leander was drowned! I guess I'll have to watch that little beggar. There may not always be someone around to save him.'

Olivia smiled. It was nice to know he believed her now, and she cast a covert glance in his direction. She could hardly believe what was happening. She was actually having a conversation with Matthew Ryan! The other girls in the village would be green with envy. If she ever told them, she amended thoughtfully.

Which wasn't an absolute certainty.

Of course, it did rain, and she did get wet, particularly her trainers, which she had left lying on the bank, while she walked the half-mile or so to the weir barefoot. But it gave her an excuse not to tell anyone else what had happened, and for the next two years she kept the knowledge to herself.

Then, when she was sixteen, she ran into Matthew again.

Literally ran into him, this time. She was cycling back from Jenny's house, one snowy February afternoon, when she came round a bend in the road, and found Matthew's car stuck half in the ditch. Not expecting to find anything on the road in these conditions, she was unprepared for the blockage. And as her brakes were wet and slippery, they didn't have much traction.

Even so, she managed to avoid hurting herself too badly, by jumping off the bike before it connected with Matthew's back b.u.mper, and he came round from checking the bonnet to find her sprawled in a drift.

'Hey"aren't you---?'

It was obvious he remembered her, but perhaps not from where, and Olivia was absurdly glad that she was wearing her best blue parka as his grey eyes swiftly swept up and down her body. Tall for her age, Olivia found it rather a novelty to be able to look up at him. The boys of her acquaintance were all under-sized.

But then, Matthew Ryan wasn't a boy, she thought, feeling an unfamiliar surge of excitement. He was nineteen or twenty at least, and he was a student at the university in London.

'Oh"I'm all right,' she said, brushing the remaining specks of snow from her skirt. 'Did you"corner too fast, or something? I could cycle to Pollack's garage, if you need help.'

Matthew grinned, and Olivia's heart turned over. He had such a nice mouth, and his teeth were white and even. It wasn't fair, she thought, that one person should be so attractive. It wasn't just his dark good looks, or the lean, muscled strength of his body. He just seemed a really genuine human being, with a sense of humour to match her own.

'We really should stop meeting like this,' he remarked humorously now, gesturing towards the damp patches on her coat. 'Without you getting soaked to the skin, I mean. And thanks for your offer to ride to the garage. But I think I might be able to get it out myself.'

'I'll help, if you like,' offered Olivia impulsively, aware of a desire to do anything to prolong this encounter. If she was late home, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time she had got into trouble because of him.

'OK.' Matthew regarded her consideringly. 'Can you drive?'

'Drive?' Olivia's voice faltered. How old did he think she was?

'Um"well, I've driven a tractor,' she volunteered doubtfully.

'Well, that's something, I suppose.' Matthew swung open the car door, and indicated that she should get inside. 'I'll explain what I want you to do, then we'll take it from there.'

In the event, Olivia proved an apt pupil, and with Matthew heaving on the rear fender the Mini eventually skidded out on to the road. Its sudden traction caused Matthew to lose his balance this time, and Olivia couldn't stop herself from laughing as she got out of the car. Matthew had sat down in the slush, and the seat of his trousers was soaking.

'I know, I know,' he muttered good-naturedly, examining his trousers as best he could. 'I bet you did that deliberately. It's a wonder I didn't slide down into the ditch.'

Olivia sobered. 'Oh"really, I didn't----' she began, and Matthew grinned again.

'I'm only kidding,' he said, abandoning his efforts to squeeze any water out of his jeans, and turning back to pick up her bicycle. 'I may be wet, but I am grateful. I don't think I could have done it without your help.'

Olivia glowed. There was no other word to describe how his words made her feel. But then Matthew scowled, and her sense of well-being dissipated.

'Is"is something wrong?'

'Mmm.' Matthew swung the bike he had picked up round to face her, and she saw the buckled front wheel. 'Looks as if we've got a problem.'

'You mean I have,' she said ruefully, not needing a crystal ball to antic.i.p.ate how her grandmother, and her father, would react when they saw the bent wheel. She had been warned about riding in slippery conditions, but it took so long to walk to Jenny's house.

'No, we have,' amended Matthew, squatting down on his haunches to examine the damage. 'You know, I think Sam might be able to straighten this.'

'Do you think so?'

Olivia squatted down beside him, and Matthew shrugged.