by Anne Mather
Her mother made a careless gesture. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and Sara’s spirits took a dive.
‘You don’t know?’ she exclaimed. ‘Then how do you know she wasn’t lying? She could have made the whole thing up. She could be anyone. Some people will do anything to draw attention to themselves.’
‘She had photographs.’ Mrs Fielding seemed curiously unfazed by her reaction. ‘They were of their wedding. Hers and Max’s. She got them from her mother to show me, to prove she was telling the truth.’
Sara shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Mum…’
‘Well, I believe her,’ replied her mother staunchly. ‘I believe she has no reason to lie. I also think she’d be prepared to make a statement confirming Max’s cruelty. Particularly now you’ve turned up safe and well.’
She paused then, looking somewhat anxiously at her daughter. ‘You are safe and well, aren’t you, my dear? I must say, you do look better than you did before you went away. What did Max say when he saw you? I’m surprised he let you come and see me on your own.’
‘Max doesn’t know I’m here,’ said Sara flatly. ‘It was Mrs Taylor—your neighbour—who told me you’d been ill. She also told me Max was with you when you had your attack. Are you too tired to tell me what he was doing at your apartment?’
The old lady sighed. ‘He was hoping I’d heard from you, of course,’ she said. Then, ‘But that doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I realise now what a blind fool I’ve been all these years.’
Sara groaned. ‘Max hit you?’ she asked, appalled, but Mrs Fielding was shaking her head again.
‘No, he didn’t go as far as that, but he did threaten me.’ She gave a rueful little smile. ‘It was when I told him that I knew Sophie was alive that he became quite unpleasant. He accused me of being a parasite, of living on his charity all these years. I’ll admit he frightened me a little. But I don’t know if I can honestly blame him for my attack.’
Sara was horrified. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said helplessly, wishing she’d been there to defend the old lady herself. But then another thought struck her. ‘Do you really think he knew Sophie was alive?’
‘I think it’s possible,’ said her mother slowly. ‘He didn’t seem as shocked as I expected he would be at the news. But I don’t think he found out until after he’d married you. The fact that he was already married again must have been a strong deterrent to exposing the truth.’
‘Yes.’ Sara was still incredulous.
‘Sophie is here because she wants a divorce, and after all this time, she knows she can get one fairly easily. It may not be necessary, of course. I’m not sure what happens in these circumstances.’
‘Lucky Sophie.’ Sara couldn’t help feeling envious. She wished Max was out of her life, too. She wished she was free to be with Matt again.
But her mother wasn’t finished.
‘You know what this means,’ she persisted, tiring rapidly now, but determined to finish what she had to say. ‘When Max married you he was still married to Sophie. Maybe your marriage isn’t legal. You could be a free woman, Sara. And no one would be more relieved about that than me.’
It was early evening when Sara arrived at the apartment in Knightsbridge that she and Max had shared for the past three years.
She hadn’t left the hospital until about half an hour ago. Although her mother had been exhausted after her revelations, and had slept for most of the afternoon, Sara had wanted to stay until she woke up again.
The nurse had suggested she should go home and come back again later, when her mother was rested, but Sara had declined. She’d wanted to be there when her mother opened her eyes again. She’d wanted to reassure her that she was there and all was well.
Perhaps part of it was that Sara had wanted to put off returning to the apartment. Despite what her mother had told her, she couldn’t believe Max would let her go without a fight. If he threatened her or her mother she would tell him she’d use what she knew against him, she told herself firmly. But Max was an unknown quantity. How far would he go to protect his reputation?
She wondered if Hugo knew about Sophie. She didn’t think so. Max’s brother might be many things—weak being one of them—but she didn’t believe he was a liar. Yet, as far as his brother’s character was concerned, he did have a blind spot. Without it, surely he’d have seen what was going on.
There were no lights showing in the apartment, but that didn’t mean anything. It was still daylight and Sara glanced at her wrist, realised she didn’t have a watch, and shuddered in spite of herself. She couldn’t help remembering how her watch had come to be broken. The idea that Max might be reasonable was just too unbelievable to be true.
Perhaps she should wait until tomorrow morning, she thought doubtfully. Although it was still fairly early, night was coming, and everything seemed different after dark. But she recognised that for what it was: a pathetic attempt to put off the inevitable. She had to speak to Max; she had to collect her belongings. She had to prove to herself, and him, that she was not going to be bullied any more.
Yeah, right.
The trouble was, she didn’t believe it.
Oh, she believed what Sophie had told her mother. But what of it? The idea that Max might allow her to live her own life again seemed just as remote as ever.
It would never happen, she thought dully. He was never going to let her go. Already she could feel the chains of his possession closing about her.
She had to make it happen, she told herself desperately. She’d been afraid of him for far too long. Whatever it took, whatever he did to her, she had to stand up to him. She had to break the chains once and for all.
The doorman looked taken aback when he admitted her. ‘Mrs Bradbury,’ he said, politely enough, but she knew he was assessing her appearance with a critical eye. She knew she looked pale and harassed, and his attitude didn’t help things. The man gave a smirk. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you again.’
‘Thank you, Patrick.’
Sara determined not to let him intimidate her. This was not the man she had once been friendly with. He was long gone, despatched by Max, she was sure, and this man had taken his place. He was always polite, but Sara had always had the feeling that he was Max’s ally. She was certain she could expect no sympathy from him.
Now, tugging on her braid, she asked, ‘Is Mr Bradbury in?’
‘I believe so, Mrs Bradbury,’ Patrick replied, pressing the button to summon the lift for her. ‘He’ll be delighted to see you, I’m sure.’
‘I’m sure.’ Sara’s voice was tight. She walked into the lift. ‘Thanks.’
Patrick drew back as the doors closed, and as if that was the signal for Sara’s nerve to give out on her she sank against the panelled wall of the lift in mute panic. Weakness, like a debilitating blanket, enveloped her, and she had to steel herself not to stop the lift and send it down again.
Only the thought of facing the doorman’s smug expression kept her from doing so. She was committed now. Forcing her legs to support her, she straightened, watching the indicator light moving through the floors. Three, four, five, six…At seven, it stopped, and she stepped out onto royal-blue broadloom that was inches thick. She was here. Back in the place she had never wanted to see again.
Max’s was the only apartment on this floor and the one above. Sara would have preferred a house, with a garden, but her opinion hadn’t been invited. Max had said he preferred the privacy afforded by having no immediate neighbours, and in the beginning she’d assumed it was only a temporary arrangement anyway.
How wrong she’d been.
She was approaching the double panelled doors when they opened. She should have known that Patrick wouldn’t have been able to resist warning Max of her arrival. His excuse, had he needed one, would be that he’d known Mr Bradbury was anxious to know she was safe and well. He’d primed her welcoming committee, even if it was a committee of only one.
Panic flared again as Max stepped into the hallway and the
concealed lighting that ran along the tops of the walls illuminated his smiling face. She wasn’t fooled by his apparent pleasure at seeing her. She knew, as he did, that the doorman would be watching their reunion avidly on the CCTV cameras.
‘Victoria,’ he exclaimed, as she paused to gather her composure, and before she could guess his intentions he had covered the space between them and was enfolding her in his arms. ‘My dear Victoria, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.’
Sara’s first reaction was to try and get away from him, but experience had taught her it was wiser not to fight. Even so, she was aware that he was squeezing her far more tightly than was necessary. Crushing her ribs, making it difficult for her to drag any air into her lungs.
‘Please…’ she got out at last, and, as if he hadn’t been aware of her discomfort, Max released her to lay a possessive arm across her shoulders.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his eyes glinting with cold malevolence. ‘Was I hurting you? Well—’ he urged her towards the door and into the apartment ‘—put it down to my delight at seeing you again, Victoria.’
As soon as they were through the door Sara struggled free of him, however. Without Patrick’s unseen eyes monitoring her every move she felt more prepared to defend herself. She had to defend herself, she told herself grimly. If Max hurt her, this would be the last time he had the chance.
So why did that sound so hollow?
Max closed the doors behind him. The click they made caused a shiver of apprehension to feather her spine but she tried not to show her fear.
Max was looking at her with an expression of satisfaction he didn’t try to disguise. ‘Victoria,’ he said at last, the breath he took expanding the buttonholes on his waistcoat. ‘How good of you to grace me with your presence. I must admit, I was beginning to have my doubts about you. But whatever are you wearing? And your hair…My dear, you look like a refugee. Still, I’m happy to see you’ve come to your senses at last.’
‘I haven’t—’ Sara broke off, licking her dry lips. Then, stepping back into the elegant drawing room behind her, she added, ‘I haven’t come to my senses, Max. Or at least, I have. That is, I’m not staying. I’m leaving you, Max. I’ve seen my mother and I know about Sophie. About how she faked her own death to get away from you. You can’t stop me—’
‘Hey…’ Max came away from the door, spreading his hands in a gesture that on anyone else would have looked conciliatory. Following her into the drawing room, he assumed an expression of mild indignation. ‘Have I said I’m going to try and stop you, Victoria? Just because your mother’s been filling your head with lies doesn’t mean we can’t sort things out. The woman’s senile, for heaven’s sake. You must know that. I was half afraid she was going to accuse me of assaulting her!’
‘I bet you were.’ Sara moved, putting the width of a Regency striped sofa between them. ‘You must have got quite a shock when she collapsed.’
‘I did. Of course I did.’ Max was defensive now. ‘I had no idea what the crazy old bat was likely to say next.’
‘That you threatened her, perhaps?’ suggested Sara, before she could lose her nerve. ‘You didn’t like what she was saying so you lost your temper, didn’t you? That was a mistake, Max. You’ve lost your strongest ally.’
Max’s broad face hardened. ‘I don’t need allies,’ he said indifferently. ‘I have you.’
‘You don’t.’ Sara knew her voice wasn’t as strong as she’d have liked, but that couldn’t be helped. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said, Max? I’m leaving you. I—I only came back to tell you goodbye.’
Max sighed. ‘My dear Victoria, you know you don’t mean that. If you’d really wanted to leave me you’d have sent me another letter.’ He paused. ‘Where have you been, by the way? I think I deserve an explanation.’
‘You don’t deserve anything.’ Sara quivered with indignation. ‘You’ve been lying to me for years.’ She took a breath. ‘How long have you known Sophie is still alive?’
Max shrugged. ‘Sophie?’ He made a careless gesture. ‘My first wife is dead, Victoria. She was drowned in the Solent ten years ago.’
‘That’s not true.’ Sara was amazed he would think she’d still believe it. ‘She only pretended to drown. With her mother’s help she escaped to the States. She’s been living there ever since. You know that.’
Max shook his head. ‘I know that’s what your mother says,’ he said patiently, almost as if he was speaking to a child. ‘But it’s not true. And, even if it was, it has nothing to do with us.’
‘It does.’ Sara was desperate. ‘If Sophie is alive, you were not free to marry me.’
‘You’re wrong.’ He was smug. ‘Sophie was legally declared dead before our marriage could take place.’
‘Even so—’
‘Face it, Victoria. We are married. Do you think I’d make a mistake like that?’
‘But our marriage is a mockery,’ protested Sara, her hopes for the future fading before her eyes. ‘I—I want a divorce.’
‘I don’t.’ Max was infuriatingly casual. ‘And if there’s the slightest chance that I may have overlooked something, we can easily rectify it. I’ll arrange for us to—how shall I put it?—restate our wedding vows. Yes, that sounds good. No one but ourselves need know why we’re doing so.’
‘No!’ Sara’s jaw dropped. ‘Do you honestly think I’d do something like that?’ she gasped. ‘You are crazy.’
‘Like a fox,’ said Max drily, but his mouth had tightened ominously even so. Then, obviously making an effort to control himself again, he said, ‘You still haven’t told me where you’ve been, my dear.’ He arched a quizzical brow. ‘Or would you like me to tell you?’
Sara was taken aback, and showed it. ‘You don’t know where I’ve been,’ she said quickly, but Max merely bared his teeth in a mocking smile.
‘I’m afraid I do,’ he said. ‘I know exactly where you’ve been hiding yourself. And who with. A charming young lady in Ellsmoor heard me asking about you and kindly volunteered the information I needed. I think her name was Proctor. Is that right? Emma Proctor? She was very kind.’ Then his features hardened again. ‘So, how long have you known Matt Seton?’
Sara’s fingers gripped the back of the sofa. She wanted to tell him she didn’t know what he was talking about, but she was very much afraid her face had given her away.
‘I—I told you in my letter,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve been staying with friends—’
‘Not friends,’ Max contradicted her harshly, leaning across the sofa and imprisoning her white-knuckled hands beneath his. ‘One friend, Victoria.’ His face contorted. ‘I repeat, how long have you known Seton? How long has he been your lover?’
‘My lover!’ Sara could feel all the blood draining out of her fingers as Max’s grip tightened. But it wasn’t that that caused her breath to strangle in her throat. ‘Matt Seton’s not my lover!’
‘Isn’t he?’ Max knelt on the sofa to increase his hold on her. He stared at her intently. ‘So why are you looking so guilty?’
‘I’m not looking guilty.’ But she was, and she knew it. ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘I can hurt you a whole lot more than this,’ snarled Max savagely. His lips curled. ‘Who would have thought it? My frigid little wife has the hots for a famous author. I wonder how long his sales will hold up when my publicity people are through with him? Dare you risk that?’
‘Oh, I think my public has more sense than to believe an abusive bastard like you,’ remarked a casual voice from the doorway, and Sara looked beyond Max to see Matt and Hugo standing watching them. ‘And I suggest you let go of Sara. At once, if you don’t mind. We don’t want any more visible signs of your cruelty on her when she files for her divorce.’
Chapter Fourteen
SARA took the train to Newcastle, spent the night at the Station Hotel, and hired a car to drive north the following morning.
Needless to say, she hadn’t slept. Although she was excited at the prospect of seein
g Matt again, she couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t being too presumptive. After all, Matt was a famous man. He could pick and choose his friends, male as well as female. The very fact that he hadn’t been in touch with her since he returned to Northumberland three months ago should have been enough to give her pause.
Maybe she should have waited for him to contact her. He was bound to visit London some time. Or should she have phoned him before recklessly boarding the train? Just because he hadn’t wanted her to go back to Max that didn’t mean he wanted her himself.
The truth, which was always the hardest to stomach, was that she wanted to see him. She was desperate to see him, actually, she thought ruefully. She had to know if they had a future together. She had to know if his kindness to her had been motivated by pity—or love.
Judging by the weeks and months that had gone by since he’d left London, the former seemed infinitely more probable. She’d known he felt sorry for her, that he’d wanted to protect her. Why couldn’t she get her head round the fact that that was all he wanted? Why did a little voice inside her keep insisting that they deserved another chance?
If they’d had the opportunity to talk three months ago things might have been different. Clearer, certainly. As it was, all she had to go on was the stand he’d taken on her behalf when Max had been threatening her; his support when she’d explained that she’d been protecting her mother. And his efforts to ensure that until she got her divorce she had a place to live.
The scene Matt and Hugo had interrupted in Max’s drawing room was indelibly printed on her mind. Despite what had happened since then, subconsciously she kept replaying it in all its awful detail, reliving the moment when Max had realised he had underestimated his enemy.
Underestimated his brother, too, she remembered. It was Hugo who had let Matt into his brother’s apartment; Hugo who had told him about Mrs Fielding’s heart attack and his fears that Max might have had something to do with it.
