Widow - Anne Stuart [75]
“What do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. The entire household does. Are you going to forgive him and take him back, or are you going to break the engagement?”
Charlie glanced at her. “I’m sure you have an opinion on that that you’re just dying to tell me.”
Olivia shrugged. “I want what’s best for you.”
“Sure you do.”
“Actually, I really do. We never got along, the two of us. I suppose I was just too selfish to be a mother. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I worry about you, Charlie. I don’t want to see you make another mistake.”
Charlie didn’t bother to hide her disbelief. “Don’t tell me you want Henry for yourself? He’s too old for you.”
“You still think I wanted Pompasse?” Olivia asked, disbelieving.
“Why else were we here? Why else did you have a screaming, raging fit when I told you we were married?”
Olivia shook her head. “I love how the young always have all the answers. Of course I intended to have an affair with him when we first came to visit. He was famous, he was fascinating, and I was in a celebrity-hunting mood. I never intended to marry him. And I certainly never intended for you to marry him.”
“I did. And you couldn’t stop me.”
“I know, Charlie. And I’m sorry for that.”
Charlie jerked her head up, the dough momentarily forgotten. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you. The man was obsessed with you, and when I couldn’t stop it I could only hope he’d treat you like a goddess. Instead you had years of misery.”
“It wasn’t misery,” she said absently, still concentrating on Olivia’s words. “I don’t think you’ve ever apologized before.”
Olivia laughed. “Haven’t I? Well, I’m an arrogant bitch, there’s no denying that. Not anybody’s notion of an ideal mother. I’m selfish and greedy and self-absorbed, and I doubt if I ever put your well-being ahead of mine in your entire lifetime.”
“I’d agree with that.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Charlie.”
Charlie looked at her, her hands motionless in the dough. “And how do you define that love? Isn’t love caring about someone, sacrificing for someone, putting their happiness ahead of your own? You’ve never done that in your life.”
“No, I haven’t,” Olivia said. “But, nevertheless, I love you.”
Charlie straightened her shoulders. “I’m touched to hear it.”
“You’re all I’ve got, Charlie.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Mine,” Olivia said. She slid off the counter in one smooth move. “I just thought I’d mention it, in case it might come in handy later on in life. The fact that your lousy mother loves you.”
“Great.” Charlie punched the dough.
“Nothing like a touching mother-daughter reconciliation to get me sentimental,” Olivia said lightly. “So tell me, precious. How was Maguire in bed?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” she shot back.
“Apart from the fact that I don’t know where he’s gone, I’m not interested. You know me, I like ’em buff and brainless. Maguire’s buff enough, I gather, but he’s a little too complicated for me. I think you could handle him, though.”
Charlie turned to stare at her mother in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? He’s a tabloid reporter! He was lying to us, using us to get his slimy little secrets to splash all over the pages of some disgusting magazine. He probably has pictures of you in the shower.”
“And pictures of you in bed. I agree, he’s a very bad boy, and he deserves to be punished. But I’ve never seen anyone look at you the way he does, when he thinks no one is watching.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“Of course you don’t, sweetie,” Olivia said. “You have all the answers. But you know, sometime you ought to consider the alternative. Maybe things aren’t quite what they seem.” And she left the room before Charlie could reply.
Typical of Olivia. She had a flair for the dramatic, and she always wanted to have the last word, the great exit line. She probably expected Charlie to throw her arms around her and weep gratefully at the thought that beneath her pathological self-absorption