by Anne Mather
‘Thanks.’ Sara forced a smile, even though she knew her face must look pinched. ‘I think I’m all right now.’
And it was true. She could put her weight on her injured hip again now. Not heavily, of course, and not with the freedom with which she’d come down the cliff path. But, as before, it got easier as she moved forward, and she faced the climb with only a small amount of trepidation.
Even so, going up the cliff was much different from coming down. Each step required an effort, and although Rosie surged ahead, Matt insisted on following behind. She didn’t truly believe he was doing it because he got some pleasure out of watching her struggles, but she was very relieved when she reached the top.
She longed to sink down onto the grass then, and allow her aching limbs to relax, but she didn’t dare. She had to keep going until she got back to the house at least. Even then she had to remain on her guard. Or Matt might get even more suspicious. She already knew he was not an easy man to deceive.
Back at the house, with the dogs corralled in their compound in the yard, Rosie was sent to change her clothes and Sara asked if it would be all right if she went to her room. ‘I’d like to have a wash,’ she said, picturing the bed where she had rested earlier with real longing. ‘If you don’t mind.’
Matt regarded her consideringly. ‘Why don’t you have a bath?’ he suggested. ‘I expect you’re feeling quite stiff.’
Sara sucked in a breath. ‘Why do you say that?’ she demanded, and he lifted his shoulders in a careless gesture.
‘Well, you have had a long drive,’ he pointed out mildly, and she dipped her eyes to hide the relief that rose in her face.
‘I—I see,’ she said, glancing about her for the haversack which she’d left behind when they went out. She managed a slight smile. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Why else would your legs give out on you?’ he queried, and she wondered just how innocent his remarks really were.
‘I—they didn’t give out,’ she protested. ‘I told you. I lost my balance.’
‘I know what you told me,’ he returned, taking off the cream sweater he’d pulled on over his black tee shirt when they’d left the house. He smoothed his ruffled hair with long-fingered hands. ‘Okay. Have it your own way. But I’d still get in the bath if I were you.’
Sara straightened up. ‘I might do that.’
‘Be my guest.’
She was aware that he watched her as she left the kitchen. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she knew she hadn’t done anything to improve his opinion of her by collapsing on the beach.
It was surprisingly easy to find the room where she’d rested earlier. She could hear Rosie clattering about in her room, which was apparently further along the galleried landing, but Sara went into her own room and closed the door behind her. Then, sinking down onto the side of the bed, she allowed her body to sag with relief. Exhaustion rounded her shoulders and she allowed her wrists to fall loosely between her knees.
Had he believed her? Or did he suspect that there was more to her conduct than a simple stiffness in her spine? No doubt he had a computer. He’d need one for his writing. Was he even now combing the Internet for any story that might match her unconvincing explanation?
She looked for her watch and then remembered that she’d taken it off before lunch. It was broken anyway, so it wouldn’t have been any good to her. Besides, she knew it was nearly five o’clock. She’d seen a clock in the kitchen. Almost a whole day had passed since she’d left the apartment. She’d been a widow for almost twenty-four hours. She shivered. Oh, God, what was she going to do?
The effort required in taking a bath wasn’t particularly appealing now, but she guessed the hot water might soothe her aches and pains. Somehow she had to get through the next fifteen hours without breaking down. When Matt left to take Rosie to school the following morning she’d ask him to give her a lift into Saviour’s Bay. With a bit of luck her car might be repaired by lunchtime, and then she’d be free to move on.
But where?
And what if Matt wouldn’t let her go?
But she wouldn’t think like that, she told herself severely. He couldn’t keep her here by force and, despite what he’d said before, she didn’t think he’d report her to the authorities. Not without knowing who she was. He wasn’t that kind of man. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
The corner bath filled quickly. She found some pine-scented bath gel in a glass cabinet over the sink and added a squeeze of fragrance to the water. Steam rose, warm and scented, into her nostrils, and she felt a twinge of anticipation at the prospect of feeling clean again. One day at a time, Sara, she told herself encouragingly. She had to believe that she’d get through this.
It was hard to hold on to that thought when she took off her clothes, however. With the removal of her dress it was impossible to avoid the many bruises and contusions colouring her pale skin. She looked as if she’d been in a fist fight, she mused bitterly, and of course she had. But there had only ever been one real contender.
Yet Max was dead and she was alive…
The incredible truth couldn’t be denied and she sagged weakly against the basin. She hadn’t meant for him to die, she insisted painfully. But who was going to believe her now?
For so long she’d accepted that her hands were tied, that there was nothing she could do to change things. Even without the threats Max had made against her mother, she’d known he would never let her go. He’d told her so many times. And she’d believed him. God knew, she’d had every reason to believe his threats before.
So what had happened last night? How had the victim suddenly become the hunted? She’d had no notion that anything different was about to happen. She’d been too busy defending herself to anticipate that help might come from a totally unexpected source.
She swallowed the sickly feeling that surged into her throat at the memory. She saw Max raising his hand towards her, saw herself falling against the corner table on the landing of their duplex apartment. Even now her hip throbbed in memory of the agonising pain that had stunned her at the impact. She remembered rolling herself into a ball, arms curled over her head in mute acceptance of the boot that would surely follow—but it hadn’t happened. Instead, Max had lost his balance. He’d tripped, swearing as he’d stumbled over her crumpled body, and, unable to save himself, had fallen headlong down the stairs.
Another wave of nausea gripped her. It had been an accident, she assured herself now, as she’d assured herself then. If she’d rolled against his legs, if she’d caused him to lose his balance, it hadn’t been deliberate. If he hadn’t hit her, if he hadn’t caused her to fall across the head of the stairs, she wouldn’t have provided an obstacle. She’d never dreamt that he might trip over her; that he’d break his neck as he fell.
But it had happened. She could hear Max’s voice in her ears, hear the frantic cries he’d made as he’d tried desperately to save himself. He hadn’t given up without a struggle. She’d heard the scratching of his fingernails against the banister, the creaking of the wood beneath his weight. And then the awful thudding sound as his body pitched forward, no longer aggressive, out of his control.
An accident.
She sucked in a breath. That was what it had been. When she’d scurried down the stairs to where he was lying in the foyer of the apartment she’d had no other thought in her mind than to assure him she was sorry, so sorry, for what had happened.
But he’d been lying still, so very still, and she’d guessed at once that it was hopeless. She’d attempted to revive him. She’d even put her trembling mouth over his cold one and tried to breathe air into his lungs. He hadn’t responded. That was when she’d called the emergency services. That was when she’d known she had to get away.
She’d realised how it would look to a stranger. Realised that she was virtually admitting her guilt. But it was no good. No one was going to believe it was just an accident. Men like Max, men who were fit and strong, di
dn’t just fall down a flight of stairs without provocation. And if they arrested her, if they examined her and saw what he’d had done to her. Well, she was afraid her battered body would prove her guilt.
She expelled the breath she had hardly been aware she was holding, and then almost jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on the bathroom door.
Immediately she sprang to brace a shoulder against the panels, terrified that whoever it was out there was going to open the door and see her naked flesh. She suspected that Matt Seton was still curious about her. And if he glimpsed—
But she stifled the thought, saying instead, ‘What do you want?’ in a voice that sounded annoyingly tremulous even to her.
‘You okay?’
It was Matt, and unreasonable irritation gripped her. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘No reason, I guess. Except that you’ve been in there for over half an hour and I haven’t heard a sound since the water stopped running,’ he replied mildly. ‘I wondered if you’d fallen asleep? That can be dangerous, you know.’
She gulped. ‘Are you spying on me?’
‘Hardly.’ His tone had hardened, and she couldn’t honestly blame him. He’d been concerned, that was all. Something she wasn’t used to. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘supper will be ready in about an hour, so don’t hurry. You’ve got plenty of time.’
Sara pressed her hot cheek against the wood. ‘Thanks.’
‘No sweat.’ The harshness had left his voice. ‘Just don’t drown yourself, okay?’
Her lips quivered. ‘Okay.’
‘Good.’
She heard him leaving the bedroom, heard the outer door slam behind him, and breathed a little more easily again. But she couldn’t help the frisson of pleasure she felt at the knowledge that he’d been worried about her. It was so long since anyone had cared about her in that way. Hugo had treated her with affection, it was true, but she’d always known that in any real confrontation he would always take Max’s side. He was his brother, after all, and without Max’s support his acting career would very likely have slid back into oblivion where it had begun.
But she had to stop thinking about Max, she thought fiercely, checking that the door was securely closed before crossing the room again and easing herself into the bath. There was no lock on the door, but she found she trusted Matt Seton not to come in without an invitation. As for Rosie: she seemed like the kind of little girl who would follow her father’s example. Abandoning herself to anything but the reassuring embrace of the water, Sara sat down.
She winced as its heat probed the tender places of the hip and thigh she’d injured when she fell. Even sitting on the hard enamel was painful at first, but after a few minutes the warmth acted as an analgesic and she was able to relax. She leaned back against the side of the bath and closed her eyes.
Goodness, that felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a bath. These days taking a shower was so much quicker and easier. Besides, she avoided spending too much time in the bathroom. Without her clothes she felt that much more vulnerable, and it wasn’t above Max to take advantage of it. She’d dreaded those occasions when he’d stepped into the shower with her and—
Her eyes jerked open. She must stop reliving the past. Eventually what had happened was going to catch up with her, but for now she had to think of something else. She had to think about herself, think of what she was going to do tomorrow. The future stretched ahead of her, uncharted. And, however shameful the admission, she was glad Max was never going to be able to hurt her again.
By the time she got out of the bath she was feeling infinitely more human. She dried herself on one of the large towels from the rack and then, after a moment’s hesitation, wrapped herself in the cream towelling bathrobe she found hanging on the back of the door. She wondered if Matt would mind if she wore the robe for a couple of hours. Then she could wash and dry her bra and panties. The expensive scraps of silk and lace that Max had bought for her would need no artificial drying, and she’d feel infinitely fresher wearing clean underwear tomorrow.
When she opened the door into the bedroom, however, she discovered that, as well as checking on her well-being, Matt had also left a pile of clothes on the bed. Sara’s eyes widened in amazement when she discovered a cellophane-wrapped package of bikini briefs beneath what were obviously his chambray shirt and sweat pants. The shirt and sweat pants were freshly laundered, but it was obvious that the package containing the briefs hadn’t been opened. Where had they come from? she wondered. He hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend. But a man like him was bound to have women friends. Hadn’t he been speaking to one of them—Emma—earlier on?
Still, the idea that he might have contacted one of his girlfriends for help didn’t sit well with her, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth as she turned the packet over in her hands. And discovered that the label indicated that they were suitable for a nine- to ten-year-old!
Rosie! she thought incredulously, a gulp of laughter escaping her. They had obviously been bought for Rosie, but just as obviously they were too big for her. Ripping open the cellophane, Sara pulled them out and examined them more closely. Made of white cotton, they looked plain and practical, and, although they’d probably be a tight fit, she thought they’d do very well.
A feeling of gratitude filled her, and with it a sense of shame at her own presumption. Matt was trying to help her; that was obvious. She had to stop believing that all men were like Max. They weren’t. He had been the exception. Was it evil to be glad he was finally out of her life?
The briefs were barely decent, but Sara didn’t care. With Matt’s sweat pants bulking around her thighs, and the ends of his shirt tied at her waist, she looked anything but provocative. He’d also left a pair of sports socks, which she found worked equally well as slippers. After she’d rinsed out her own bra and panties, and hung them on the radiator in the bathroom to dry, all that was left for her to do was brush out her hair and plait it again. She was sitting at the dressing table, securing it with an elasticated band, when there was another knock at her door.
She stiffened. She couldn’t help it. Old habits die hard, she thought, taking a deep breath and calling, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Rosie.’ The little girl needed no further bidding before opening the door and putting her head round it. ‘Can I come in?’
Sara found herself smiling. ‘It looks as if you are in,’ she remarked mildly. ‘But, yes. Come in. What can I do for you?’
Rosie entered the room, revealing that she’d changed out of her school clothes into cut-off jeans and a pink tee shirt. She had evidently washed her face, too, though Sara could see the telltale smears of what appeared to be chocolate around her mouth. But she looked sweet and wholesome, and Sara wanted to hug her.
‘Daddy says supper will be ready in ten minutes,’ she declared, regarding her father’s guest with interest. ‘Are those Daddy’s clothes?’
‘Yes.’ Sara nodded. ‘He was kind enough to lend them to me.’ She got up from the stool. ‘How do I look?’
‘We—ll.’ Rosie was thoughtful. ‘They look a bit big,’ she confessed at last. Then, glancing about her, ‘Don’t you have any clothes of your own?’
‘Not here,’ replied Sara, determinedly suppressing thoughts of where the rest of her clothes were. ‘Oh, and your father gave me these.’ She held up the packet that had contained the bikini briefs. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Oh, no!’ Rosie giggled. ‘Daddy’s Aunt Margaret sent them last Christmas. She’s ever so old, and Daddy says her eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.’
‘Ah.’ Sara screwed the packet into a ball, preparatory to taking it downstairs to throw away. ‘Well, I’m very grateful for that.’
‘Do they really fit you?’ asked Rosie, staring at her critically, as if trying to imagine how they might look on an adult, and Sara grimaced.
‘Just about,’ she answered, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. ‘Shall we go down?’
Rosie hesitated. ‘Have you changed your mind? About staying, I mean? I wish you would.’
Sara sighed. ‘Rosie—’
‘’Cos Daddy really needs someone. We slept in this morning, and I was nearly late for school.’
Sara shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should be having this conversation, Rosie.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because—because, like your Daddy said, I’ve got to leave tomorrow.’
Rosie’s lips pursed. ‘Don’t you like it here, either?’
‘Of course I do.’ Sara wished she didn’t have to lie to the child. ‘I think you’re very lucky to live so close to the sea.’
‘Most people don’t.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘Then—’
‘I think we should go down for supper,’ Sara insisted firmly. She pulled a face at her reflection, knowing the little girl could see her. ‘I just hope your father isn’t expecting any visitors tonight.’
Chapter Five
MATT came awake slowly, staring up at the ceiling that was striped with bars of sunlight. He’d left the window open the night before, he remembered, and the slats of the blind were moving in the breeze.
He often left his window open. He liked to come awake to the muted roar of the sea. The constant movement of the tides gave him a feeling of constancy, a sense of knowing that in this world not everything was subject to change.
So why did he have such a feeling of unease this morning? he wondered, pushing the sheet back to his waist and running an exploratory hand over the rough pelt of hair that angled down to his navel and beyond. And then he remembered his uninvited visitor. Sara Victor, if that really was her name. And why should he care, anyway? She was leaving this morning. When he got back from taking Rosie to school he’d pretend to check her car and miraculously find that it was working. Then she’d have no excuse to hang about any longer, and he could get back to doing the job he loved.
Only it wasn’t quite that simple. Rosie had taken an instant liking to her, which was unusual in itself. Since Hester had retired the little girl had been introduced to many of the would-be nannies who had turned up at his door, and she hadn’t been impressed with any of them. Granted, most of the younger ones hadn’t wanted to live in the area, but even those who had had left a lot to be desired so far as Rosie was concerned.
