by Anne Mather
To begin with Max had tried to bluff it out. He’d tried to convince Matt that he’d only been teasing his wife by threatening him; that he was jealous.
Of course, he hadn’t known how intimately Matt had come to know her, that anything he said would be suspect to a man who’d seen what he’d already done to her in the past. He’d probably hoped that he could deceive Matt as he had deceived her mother. Certainly when he’d released her and got up from the couch there’d been nothing but bland geniality in his face.
Matt, however, had had a different agenda.
‘Pack an overnight bag, Sara,’ he’d said, ignoring Max’s protestations as if he wasn’t there. ‘You can collect the rest of your clothes later.’
And, because that had been exactly what she’d wanted to do, Sara had obeyed him. She didn’t know what had happened after she’d left the room. She’d closed the doors of the drawing room behind her, running up the stairs to the first floor as if the devil himself was at her heels.
It had taken only a few minutes to throw some trousers and shirts into a bag. She’d added underwear, shoes and stockings to the leather tote, sweeping her toothbrush, moisturiser and lipstick into a make-up case.
Then, cramming the bag shut, she’d picked it up and taken a last look around the bedroom she had shared with her husband. Even looking at the bed had caused a sick feeling in her stomach, and, with the bag banging against her legs, she’d hurried down the stairs again, eager to be gone.
She’d half expected to hear angry voices as she’d descended the stairs. She’d been apprehensive of what Max might do if he was cornered. But when she’d opened the drawing room doors again she’d found her husband and Hugo seated together on the couch while Matt had been standing by the window.
Matt had looked relieved when she’d reappeared again. She guessed he’d wondered if she might change her mind about leaving. After all, only days before she’d told him that she had no choice but to return to her husband. Despite Hugo’s revelations, he was still unaware that Max’s first wife was alive, that her mother’s eyes had finally been opened.
Right then, however, it had been Max’s face that had drawn her attention. Scarlet with rage, he’d been forced to watch their departure with furious eyes. He’d said nothing, but his eyes had promised retribution, and she was sure it was only Hugo’s hand on his sleeve that had stopped him from saying how he felt.
She didn’t know what Matt had said to him even now—what he’d done—but clearly it had been enough to prevent any immediate retaliation. Nevertheless, Sara had worried that Max’s desire for revenge would overcome Hugo’s common sense.
It hadn’t happened.
Max himself had suffered a stroke a few days later that had left him severely paralysed and barely able to speak. Hugo had had to abandon the play he’d been appearing in to take charge of his brother’s affairs, and he had been more than willing to co-operate with Sara in any way he could.
It had been a difficult time for all of them. And, although Sara hadn’t wanted to accept anything from the Bradburys, Hugo had insisted on organising convalescent treatment for her mother when she’d left the hospital. He’d also arranged for the deeds of Mrs Fielding’s apartment to be made over to her, ensuring that she would keep her home whatever happened.
He’d wanted to provide an apartment for Sara, too, but, although she’d thanked him, she’d turned him down. Matt had found her somewhere to live until her affairs were settled. A friend of his, another doctor, was planning to spend six months working in the United States and he was quite happy for her to look after his house in Putney while he was away. It had two bedrooms and a garden, and Sara had spent much of the past three months sitting on the patio, trying to make some sense of her life.
Of course, to begin with, she’d spent quite a bit of time at the hospital with her mother. Matt had respected this, but it had meant they’d had little time to talk. Although he’d told her about Max’s visit, and his own concern for her whereabouts which had culminated in Rob Marco’s supplying him with Max’s address, they hadn’t discussed personal matters.
She’d been so grateful that he’d run into Hugo outside the apartment building. She doubted he’d have been admitted on his own. And if he hadn’t…
But they hadn’t talked about that either. Although he’d stayed on for a while she’d known that Matt was eager to get back to his daughter. He’d left her with Mrs Webb and her family while he’d made the trip, but he couldn’t stay away indefinitely.
Nevertheless, he had been a tower of strength when Max had had his attack. And when Sara had tried to blame herself for being the cause of it he’d put her straight.
‘You have to stop feeling guilty for being a victim,’ he’d said, just a couple of days before he’d returned to Northumberland. ‘Max had been living on the edge for far too long. His blood pressure must have been sky-high. It was only a matter of time before he snapped.’
Sara suspected he was right, but it had put another obstacle between them. There was no way they could talk about their future with Max lying paralysed in a hospital bed. It was only now, with her initial decree for divorce in her bag, that she felt able to come here and find out if she meant anything to him. Or whether circumstances had blinded her to the obvious: that she was merely another patient to add to his casebook.
She’d read most of Matt’s books now. Although his kind of hard-edged crime novel wasn’t usually her choice of fiction, she’d found his style of writing fascinating. The main character in all his books was a criminal psychologist, and she’d seen Matt himself in the intelligent caring man he wrote about.
She’d seen, too, that apart from his special treatment of her she had no real reason for believing she was any different from any of the women in his novels. Some of them became attracted to the character he wrote about, but at the end of every book the man was on his own again.
Was that how Matt wanted to live his life? she wondered anxiously, as the signs for Ellsmoor began to appear on her right. Was she only asking for more pain by coming here? Pain of a different sort, and far more devastating?
She had to find out. She couldn’t go on not knowing. It was killing her. Living every day as if it was her last.
She passed Rosie’s school just as the children were streaming out of the classroom for the morning break. She was tempted to stop and speak to the child, but she knew that was just a delaying tactic. But it did make her think.
Although Rosie had been keen enough for her to be her nanny, Sara didn’t know how she’d feel about anything else. Would she want to share her father’s affections with another woman? Sara’s experience, limited as it was, didn’t condition her to expect any happy endings.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when she turned into the private road that led up to Matt’s home. Her hands were slippery on the wheel of the hired car, but she succeeded in turning into the gates of Seadrift and drawing the car to a halt in front of the house.
It was amazing how familiar everything looked. It was a warm sunny morning, and the walls of the house were bathed in a mellow light. Her eyes moved beyond the house to the cliffs and the ever-changing sea beyond, and she took a deep breath. She had the most ridiculous feeling that she’d come home.
Although she’d have liked to go round to the back of the house, she rang the front doorbell instead, stepping back a little apprehensively when she heard footsteps in the hall.
Mrs Webb opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Why Miss Victor,’ she began, and then corrected herself. ‘I mean, Mrs Bradbury. What are you doing here?’
It was hardly the greeting Sara could have hoped for. ‘I—I’ve come to see Matt,’ she said firmly, wishing she felt more confident. ‘Could you tell him I’m here?’
Mrs Webb shook her head, and Sara’s spirits sank. But the housekeeper only said, ‘You’ve changed your hair, haven’t you? It suits you.’
‘Thank you.’ Sara had had the long hair Max had always cov
eted cut to a length that barely touched her shoulders. Then, trying to be patient, ‘Is Matt in?’
Once again Mrs Webb shook her head. ‘I’m afraid he’s not,’ she said, briefly dashing Sara’s spirits for a second time. ‘He’s taken the dogs out, Mrs Bradbury. I believe he’s gone down to the beach. Do you want to come in and wait?’
Sara’s head turned towards the cliffs and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. ‘I—no,’ she said, realising there was no way she could go into the house and sit and wait for Matt to come back. ‘I—er—I’ll go and meet him.’
‘Are you sure?’
The housekeeper looked disappointed, and Sara guessed she’d been hoping to hear what was going on. But it seemed fitting somehow that she should meet Matt on the beach. After all, that was where their relationship had changed so dramatically.
‘I expect I’ll see you later,’ Sara murmured, hoping she wasn’t being too presumptuous, and, leaving the woman to gaze consideringly after her, she walked away.
She was glad her shoes had only modest heels as she crossed the grassy stretch to the cliff path. Although it was a beautiful morning, dew had soaked the grass and her heels sank into the soft earth. She was wearing a cream silk blouse, and a brown suede skirt, and the breeze blew the lapels against her cheek.
She paused at the top of the path and looked for Matt. And saw him. He was standing with his back to her, at the edge of the water, throwing spars of driftwood for the dogs to rescue. The two retrievers were charging excitedly into the surf, fetching the wood back to him and waiting with wagging tails for him to repeat the procedure.
Sara’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him. She hadn’t realised until then just how much she’d needed to see him, and her knees shook a little as she started down the path.
She didn’t know what alerted him to her presence. It wasn’t the dogs. They were too busy playing to pay any attention to someone who was still so far away. But Matt glanced around and saw her, and, leaving the animals, he strode across the sand to meet her.
Sara reached the bottom of the path at the same time he did. They both halted, as if now that they were face to face they had nothing to say to one another. Then, feeling it was incumbent upon her to break the silence, Sara said breathily, ‘You’re wet!’
Matt glanced down. The legs of his jeans were soaked. ‘I know,’ he said ruefully, but he didn’t sound as if he cared. ‘You’re not,’ he added, after a moment. ‘In fact, you’re looking great. Life must be agreeing with you.’
Sara didn’t know how to answer that. But as she continued to look at him she saw that he had lost weight. Although he still looked good to her, she saw that his cheeks had hollowed, there were pouches beneath his eyes, and his mouth had a distinctly cynical curve.
But she couldn’t say that either. Instead, she chose to gesture at her own clothes, saying lightly, ‘It must be quite a change for you to see me in something decent at last.’ And when that didn’t provoke any response she went on, ‘Do you like my hair?’
‘I liked it before,’ said Matt indifferently. Then, as Mrs Webb had done before him, ‘What are you doing here, Sara?’
Sara took a deep breath and decided she had to be forthright about this. ‘I—thought you might be glad to see me,’ she said, lifting her shoulders in an embarrassed gesture. ‘Was I wrong?’
Matt swayed back on his heels. He was barefoot, she noticed, the cuffs of his jeans rolled to his knees.
‘I’m always pleased to see a friend,’ he replied at last, which wasn’t at all what she wanted to hear. ‘How’s your mother?’
‘Oh—’ Sara was taken aback. ‘She’s much better, thanks. She’s home again now, of course, but a friend of hers is staying with her.’ She paused. ‘If it works out, it may become a permanent arrangement.’ She paused. ‘Her friend is a widow, too.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Matt evenly. ‘And Max?’
‘Max?’ She swallowed. ‘I believe he’s making good progress. He’s still paralysed. I don’t think that will change. But his speech is improving.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yes.’ Sara didn’t know what else to say, so she took the easy way out. ‘My mother asked me to thank you for what you did. She’s very grateful. We both are.’
Matt’s nostrils flared for a moment. ‘It was my pleasure,’ he said politely. Then, carelessly, ‘I expect you’ve been busy. Dave says you’ve kept him up to speed on the house. Do you think you’ll stay there the full six months?’
I hope not, thought Sara anxiously. Dave Sloan was the doctor whose house Sara was living in. But it was another opening. ‘Has he been in touch with you? He didn’t mention it.’
‘Why would he?’ Matt’s tone was cooler now. ‘As far as Dave is concerned we’re just acquaintances. He probably assumes you used to be a patient of mine.’
‘And was I?’ asked Sara, desperate to break through the wall Matt was steadily erecting between them. ‘Was that all I was to you? Just another specimen for your casebook?’
‘Don’t be so bloody stupid!’
Matt turned away from her now, whistling for the dogs that had strayed further along the beach. He seemed as far away from her as ever, and in spite of what he’d said she sensed he wished she’d never come here.
Moving until she could see his face again, she touched his arm and was startled when he pulled away from her. He was wearing a sleeveless tee shirt and his skin was chilled beneath her fingers.
‘You’re cold,’ she said, without thinking, and he looked at her with eyes that were as dark and bruised as hers used to be.
‘Look,’ he said grimly, ‘there was no need for you to come all this way just to thank me for helping you. A phone call would have sufficed.’
‘Not for me,’ said Sara fiercely. ‘I wanted to see you again.’ She waited a beat. ‘I thought—I hoped you might want to see me, too.’
‘I am pleased to see you,’ said Matt, but there was no warmth in his voice. ‘It’s good to know that you’ve taken control of your life again.’
‘Is it?’ Sara pressed her lips together. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you don’t mean that? What’s wrong, Matt? We used to be so—so close. Now—now you’re acting like we’re strangers.’
‘We are strangers, Sara,’ he said quellingly. ‘I was there when you needed someone. Don’t try and make it into something different. It doesn’t work.’
Sara stared at him. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘It’s what I know,’ he told her flatly. The dogs were racing towards them now, and he moved to deflect their noisy excitement. ‘Go find someone else to play with. I’m too old for these games.’
‘What games?’ Sara was trembling. ‘I think you’re mixing me up with someone else.’
Matt glanced over his shoulder. ‘It’s not me who’s doing the mixing,’ he said coldly. Then, as the dogs reached him and he grabbed for them, ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing, Sara. Because, God help me, I don’t.’
‘Obviously not.’ Sara gulped. ‘You clearly have no idea how much courage it took for me to come here.’ Turning, she looked up the cliff path through eyes that were virtually blinded with tears. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know why I came,’ she added in a muffled voice, ‘when what you really mean is that you hoped you’d seen the last of me!’
She heard his sudden intake of breath a moment before the dogs reached her. Her words had evidently surprised Matt, perhaps causing him to momentarily relax his hold on the animals. Whatever, Sara was suddenly assaulted by two damp squirming bodies whose wet noses and sandy paws showed no respect at all for her or her clothes.
She gasped, staggering back under their exuberance, helpless laughter mingling with her tears. They were so excited, so welcoming, that she wanted to wrap her arms about them and bury her tear-stained face in their soft fur.
Her heel turning on a pebble gave her her wish. Without anything to save her she lost her balance, and the weigh
t of the dogs bore her back onto the sand.
For a moment she was overwhelmed by doggy breath and licking tongues, and then Matt was hauling them off her, his anger causing even the retrievers to cower away from him.
‘God, I’m sorry,’ he apologised, helping her to sit up. ‘Crazy beasts!’ Then he saw the tears on her face. ‘Did they hurt you?’
Sara shook her head. ‘No more than you did,’ she said unsteadily, but when she would have got to her feet Matt stopped her.
‘Don’t say things like that,’ he muttered. ‘How did I hurt you? All I did was give you time to come to terms with what had happened. And you have.’
Sara looked up at him. ‘And that means—what?’
An expression of weariness crossed Matt’s lean face. ‘You know what it means.’ His tone was bleak. ‘I asked you how Max was and you told me. You’ve been to see him, haven’t you? Several times. You’re thinking of going back to him.’
‘No!’ Sara was horrified that he should even think such a thing. ‘I’ve been to see him, yes. But that was only a—a courtesy. I don’t want to live with him again.’ She shivered. ‘I couldn’t.’
Matt’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t have to spare my feelings, you know,’ he said harshly. ‘I know how much he thinks of you; how much he wants you back. And it’s not as if he’s a danger to you any more. You could call the shots any way you chose to play it.’
Sara stared blankly at him. ‘Where is all this coming from?’ she demanded. ‘Surely you know, better than anyone, that I’d never go back to Max, however sorry I felt for him? I don’t hate him any more, that’s true, but I don’t have any intention of—of staying with him. I’ve got my first set of divorce papers in my bag if you don’t believe me.’
Matt sat back on his heels. ‘But Rob said—’
‘Yes?’ Sara quivered. ‘What did Rob say?’
Matt raked an unsteady hand through his hair. ‘He said—hell, don’t blame Rob. He got it from your husband’s brother. Hugo—Hugo told Rob that he’s optimistic that you and Max—’
