“No, not at all. They are all responsible for their own actions and I am unsure if you reporting it on the back of a later retracted accusation would have stuck, so no, I don’t think you are at fault. I think it’s about what you could, still can do rather than what you should do. So, what do you want, Olivia?”
“I don’t know what I want beyond wishing they’d all fuck off.”
I am inclined to share her wish because day to day life would be much easier without this hanging over her. There is a part of me that thinks this would be far easier if it did end up in the public domain so that once the initial furore dies down she could move on, we both could, although I accept that her relationship with me is likely to give it a little more momentum in the gossip columns, but I have no intention of letting her go.
Olivia is still speaking and although I am aware of it, I don’t really hear what she’s saying until she utters the words, “And she did suggest that Raymond might track me down.”
“Like fuck he will! Not if I have anything to do with it,” I reassure her, pulling her closer, too close I realise as she hisses in pain when I press her sore face against my side. “Sorry. You need to take some pain relief for your face.” I’m already heading for the bathroom to get her some with a plan forging in my mind.
Chapter 38
Olivia
When I wake the next morning, I find that Mason is already up and showered. He is sitting in his usual place at the breakfast bar eating some eggs and toast with a cup of tea whilst chatting and laughing on the phone. It’s still early, before eight, and as I enter, he turns and flashes me a smile followed by a frown as he sees my face that still bears a few red marks. With another laugh and a speedy goodbye, he hangs up and follows me into the kitchen.
“Please tell me you’re not planning on working today?” I suspect he already knows the answer to that question.
“Okay, I won’t,” I reply with a small grimace as I prepare to do battle with the coffee machine before even considering taking on Mason.
“Stay here, rest,” he suggests.
“Mason, I would rather work. I’m fine, certainly fit enough to work next door and I have things to get finished.”
“Mmm, just promise me you’ll take it easy.”
“I promise, on one condition.” He eyes me with intrigue on his face. “You buy a new coffee machine. This thing is going to kill me from stress alone.”
“It’s top of the range and really does benefit from a simple three button operation.”
I groan and laugh at the same time at his use of that bloody phrase that makes me want to scream.
“I’ll make you a drink and then I have to shoot, people to see, things to do,” he says with a grin and a wink that makes me a little suspicious.
It’s lunchtime before I hear from Mase again and having thrown myself into work I have somehow managed to keep my mind off all things relating to my family when I return to the flat to meet Mason for lunch following a text message summons. I am back in the kitchen, in the same place he left me when I hear him come in behind me.
“I was very, very busy creating the perfect office for you, so your demand to meet immediately had better involve your mouth, intimate parts of my body and multiple orgasms,” I warn him, knowing he is behind me, close enough to touch.
When I turn around, he looks amused and a little startled by my words and then takes in my appearance.
“You’re looking a little paint splattered there, baby.” He grins looking down at me dressed in an old pair of well worn, distressed jeans, a white vest and a loose fitting checked shirt over the top.
My shirt is fastened from about halfway down leaving the swell of my breasts clearly visible above the top of my vest. With my hair piled loosely on top of my head I wonder what I must look like with the liberal splattering of paint that I realise is across my clothes and the skin of my bare chest. Looking at Mason’s clothes I realise what a stark contrast he provides, him all suited and booted in a charcoal three piece suit, white shirt and a dark grey tie that has a tiny dot design on it in a shade of purple that his handkerchief is a perfect match to.
“Told you, I was busy creating and in the interests of me keeping the paint restricted to my clothes you might want to lose yours, or I could lose mine.” I pout my lips as I reach forward on tip toes preparing to kiss him.
My lips are just crushing against Mason’s when I hear a cough, one that belongs to a third party, a cough that is quickly followed with words.
“Mase, I, erm…”
Looking beyond Mason, who has now turned to face the owner of the cough I see another man, an older man of about fifty five-ish, tall and broad, he looks almost familiar, twinkly blue eyes and dark hair that has some grey peppering the sides…
“We have a visitor, you really need to start warning me,” I whisper, almost hiding behind Mason and probably looking ridiculous as I peep around him to look at the man walking towards us, smiling.
“You, young lady must be the reason for my son’s ridiculous smile,” he states with a grin and if there was any doubt that this man is Mason’s father it dissipates with his identical smile.
“He’s your dad,” I whisper, still making both Harding men laugh at me.
“I know, baby, we’ve met. Dad meet Olivia, Olivia, meet my dad, Jimmy.”
