Savage Awakening

by Anne Mather

  ‘It’s a kind of picture record of the different stories I used to report for Thames Valley News,’ he explained. ‘I thought you might find it more interesting than all these reference books.’

  Amy’s eyes widened. ‘Did you used to work on television?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, wow! That’s so cool.’

  ‘It was just a job,’ said Matt modestly, finding her innocent admiration much more appealing than the insincere flattery he’d received from various quarters since he’d got back. All the same, he didn’t deserve it, and to divert her he bent and pointed to a man pictured in one of the stills. ‘Did you know he used to be the President of Abuqara?’

  Amy stared. ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Matt’s jaw tightened and he wondered why he’d bothered to bring Abraham Adil to her attention. ‘That was why I was in Abuqara. To report on the rebellion that was trying to get rid of his administration.’

  ‘And did they?’ Amy asked, her interest as innocent as her praise, and Matt sighed.

  ‘Get rid of the government?’ And after a quick nod of assent, ‘Eventually.’ He pulled a face. ‘Unfortunately, the new government is likely to be just as corrupt.’

  ‘Corrupt?’ Amy frowned.

  ‘Bad,’ amended Matt, straightening again with an effort. ‘There are oil reserves in Abuqara and everyone wants to control them. Not always for humanitarian reasons.’

  Amy clearly didn’t understand now, and he realised he shouldn’t be talking of such things to her. She didn’t understand. How could she? In her world—thank goodness—people didn’t lie and cheat and torture to gain their own ends.

  ‘Was it this man who put you in prison?’ she asked suddenly, and Matt caught his breath.

  ‘Who told you I’d been in prison?’ he demanded, feeling unexpectedly betrayed. ‘Your mother?’

  Amy wouldn’t look at him now. ‘No one told me,’ she muttered, turning another page of the album and pretending to be interested in a picture of sand-dunes. ‘Is this in Abuqara, too?’

  Matt sighed. ‘Amy,’ he said sternly. ‘How did you find out?’

  Amy glanced at him then, her brows arched in artless enquiry. ‘How did I find out what?’

  ‘Amy!’

  She sighed. ‘If you must know, I heard Grandad talking to Mummy,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘He was annoyed because she hadn’t told him who you were.’

  Matt hesitated. ‘And do you know who I am, Amy?’

  She gave a careless shrug. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So who am I?’

  ‘You’re Matthew Quinn,’ she responded at once. ‘You told me who you were.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Matt considered her answer. ‘I suppose I did. Not that it matters. The whole village probably knows I’ve bought this place.’

  Amy’s brows drew together again. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, and he was unwillingly touched by her sincerity. ‘Are you ashamed because they put you in prison?’

  ‘No.’ Matt wished it were that simple.

  ‘So why did they put you in prison? What did you do wrong?’

  Matt sighed. ‘In Abuqara, you don’t have to do anything wrong to be put in prison.’ He grimaced. ‘If you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, you don’t have a choice.’

  Amy put the photograph album aside. ‘And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So why don’t you want people to know where you are now?’ she asked practically, and he couldn’t prevent a wry smile.

  ‘Do you know what the media is?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, it’s newspapers and magazines and television reporters—’

  ‘Like you?’

  ‘Like I used to be,’ he admitted honestly. ‘Since I got back, they’ve all wanted a piece of me.’

  ‘A piece of you?’ Amy was perplexed. ‘You mean, they want to cut you up?’

  In a manner of speaking, thought Matt drily, but he didn’t say it. ‘I mean, they all want a story—my story,’ he said instead. ‘I guess getting kidnapped by guerrillas is news. They want to know how I survived it.’

  ‘Gorillas?’ said Amy curiously. ‘Why would gorillas want to kidnap you? Did they hurt you?’

  Matt couldn’t help himself. He laughed, and, seeing his amusement, Amy laughed, too. For a few moments, they were both convulsed with mirth, and it was only when the door opened and Fliss appeared that Matt realised she must have heard them and wondered what on earth was going on.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, and Matt made an effort to control himself. But it was the first time he’d laughed so unrestrainedly since he got back from Abuqara, and it felt good. Really good.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ he said now, as Amy scrubbed the heels of her hands over her wet eyes. ‘Amy said something funny, that’s all.’

  ‘Did you know Quinn was kidnapped by gorillas?’ asked the little girl, trying to stifle her giggles, and Matt saw the look of comprehension that crossed her mother’s face.

  ‘Guerrillas, Amy,’ she said, and then, as if realising she was being too pedantic, she shook her head.

  ‘Well, I can see you’ve been having a good time,’ she remarked wryly. ‘Are you ready to go home now?’

  Amy’s face dropped, and even Matt felt a reluctance to let her go. ‘Is it that time already?’ he asked, gazing at his watch in disbelief. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Do we have to go, Mum?’ protested Amy. She hurriedly picked up the album again and opened it at the page showing the picture of Abraham Adil. ‘Look, that’s the President of Abuqara. Quinn says he knows him.’

  ‘Really?’ Fliss barely glanced at the picture before looking at Matt again with concerned eyes. ‘You haven’t been telling Amy about—well, about your experiences, have you?’ she asked tightly, and he gave her a narrow-eyed look.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. Then, seeing her dismay, he relented. ‘What do you think I am? Crazy?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Her response was automatic, but he couldn’t make up his mind whether he believed her or not. And, dammit, he hadn’t exactly given her a good impression of himself so far.

  ‘Look, we were just talking, that’s all,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘If anything, I was giving her a history lesson. About the problems in North Africa.’ He paused and then continued wearily, ‘She already knew I’d been in prison. Perhaps you ought to ask her how she knew about that.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  FLISS had to work at the pub that evening.

  She didn’t feel like it, particularly after the way she’d left the Old Coaching House that afternoon. She felt on edge and uneasy, ready to snap at the first wrong word. But, although she would have liked to blame Matt for her bad mood, she knew it wasn’t his fault that she felt so depressed.

  Yet it seemed that every time she and Matt seemed to be making some progress, something happened to upset the balance. This time, it was what Amy had overheard—and apparently related to him—and she hadn’t known what to say when he’d accused her of gossiping about him at home.

  Of course, his response had been triggered by her reaction to Amy’s excitement over the photographs. She’d immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion and there was no excuse for that. But, dammit, her fears had been fuelled by what her father had told her. If he hadn’t filled her head with what he’d heard about Matt’s supposed instability, she’d never have suspected him of telling Amy horror stories in the first place.

  Not that those things weren’t constantly on her mind, too, she conceded unhappily, heading back to the restaurant to take another order. Although she’d attempted to convince herself that the scars she’d seen on his back looked worse than they actually were, the images they’d evoked simply wouldn’t go away. What had he done, for God’s sake, to deserve such punishment? What kind of monster had done that to him? Did anyone ever recover from that kind of experience?

  ‘Hello, Fliss.’

  Someone spoke, a man,
and Fliss, who had been concentrating on adding the table’s number to her order pad, looked up in surprise.

  Harry Gilchrist was one of the four young people who had recently been shown to a table in the window. He and another man Fliss knew by sight were sitting opposite two young women she didn’t recognise. Pasting on a friendly smile, she returned his greeting and then said, ‘Are you ready to order?’

  ‘What are your specials?’ asked the other man, nodding towards the extra dishes that were posted on a board beside the bar. He raised his eyebrows at his companion. ‘I fancy a steak.’

  ‘Do you?’ she said archly. ‘I fancy something else entirely.’

  Fliss ignored this and recited the evening’s special dishes, but she could see that Harry wasn’t comfortable with his friends’ behaviour. ‘Are you OK, Fliss?’ he asked, showing her the kind of attention he should have been showing his girlfriend. ‘I heard you’d gone to work for our local celebrity. What’s he like?’

  Fliss’s lips tightened. ‘You should know, Harry. I saw you talking to him yourself the other afternoon.’

  Harry looked a little put out now and Fliss knew she shouldn’t have taken her bad mood out on him. ‘I only meant what’s he like to work for,’ he muttered. ‘He’s bit of a weirdo, isn’t he?’

  ‘Who, Matthew Quinn?’ asked his male companion with interest. ‘I didn’t know you knew him, Gil.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Harry shortly, giving Fliss a resentful look. ‘He came into the store, that’s all.’ He paused, before returning to his earlier comment. ‘That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.’

  ‘Well, you heard wrong,’ said Fliss, her nails digging into her pad. ‘Now, have you decided what you want to eat or shall I come back?’

  She was flushed when she got back to the kitchen and Eileen Reardon regarded her curiously. ‘Is something wrong, love?’ she asked, her gentle Irish brogue soft with concern. ‘I saw Harry Gilchrist come in. What’s he been saying to you?’

  ‘Oh—nothing.’ Fliss couldn’t let Eileen think Harry was to blame. In all honesty, he had only been trying to be friendly, as always. ‘I—it’s very warm in there, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Eileen was looking at her with such compassion in her eyes that Fliss was tempted to confide in her. This was when she missed her mother most. Her father did his best, but he was a man. He didn’t always understand how she was feeling.

  But she didn’t have the right to discuss Matt’s affairs with anyone, and, forcing a rueful smile, she said, ‘It’s been a long day. Thank goodness it’s the weekend.’

  Eileen hesitated. ‘Is the job at the big house getting too much for you?’

  ‘Oh—no.’ Once again, Fliss’s colour deepened. ‘Um—I’d better give these orders in,’ she added, easing past her employer’s wife with some relief. ‘Or your customers will be complaining.’

  Eileen let her go, but Fliss knew she wasn’t entirely satisfied with her answer. She hoped the older woman thought it was just because she was tired. She would hate any more gossip to find its way to Matt’s ears.

  Fliss had hoped to stay in bed a little later the next morning, but at seven o’clock Amy came bounding into the room. She’d taken to copying her mother’s example and sleeping in cotton boxers and a T-shirt, and now she bounced onto the bed and crossed her bare legs.

  ‘It’s another lovely morning, Mum,’ she announced brightly, as her mother struggled to get her bearings. ‘Do you think we could go to the beach?’

  ‘The beach?’ Fliss shook her head in some bewilderment. She’d slept only fitfully again and she was having trouble in assimilating the fact that it was Saturday and she didn’t have to go to work. ‘Oh, I don’t know…’

  ‘Come on, Mum,’ Amy was pleading. ‘You know we always have a good time at the beach. And we haven’t been for ages and ages.’

  ‘At least a month,’ agreed her mother drily. ‘Amy, I’ve got housework to do. And shopping. You can come into Westerbury with me, if you like.’

  ‘I don’t want to go shopping,’ said Amy moodily. ‘We always go shopping. I wanted us to have some fun together. Kelly Mason says that her mum and dad always take her out at weekends.’

  Fliss expelled a weary breath and eased up against her pillows. She could have pointed out that Kelly Mason’s mother had all week to do her household chores. She didn’t have a job outside of looking after her husband and family, but Amy didn’t want to hear that.

  Besides, Fliss had to admit she was right. She did usually spend Saturdays shopping or working in the garden, and it was only natural that Amy resented her preoccupation with such matters. But going to the beach…

  ‘How about having lunch at McDonalds?’ she compromised, knowing Amy loved eating out, but the little girl only picked disconsolately at a thread hanging off the bed sheet.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she muttered, pursing her lips, and Fliss sighed.

  ‘Amy—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said indifferently, sliding off the bed. ‘I’m going to give Buttons his breakfast.’

  Which was something else she had to do, Fliss reminded herself, unable to suppress a yawn. Unless she got some netting, the rabbit’s enclosure would never be made. Her father had made his order and he wouldn’t do anything else until she supplied the materials.

  With a feeling of tiredness that had little to do with her restless night, Fliss swung her legs out of bed and got up. When she opened her bedroom door she found that her father had beaten her into the bathroom. She could hear the shower running, and, realising he was going to be some time yet, she went downstairs to use the toilet there.

  There was no sign of Amy, but she wasn’t worried. Although the child was unlikely to have got dressed before she went out, it was a warm, sunny morning and she’d come to no harm going outside in just her sleeping shorts and T-shirt. Besides, Harvey was obviously with her, and he’d bark if anyone was about.

  After attending to her immediate needs, Fliss washed her hands and then spooned coffee grains into the filter. With the reassuring sound of the coffee straining into the pot, she linked her hands together and stretched her arms above her head.

  It was so good to feel her spine expanding, to feel all the kinks disappearing beneath a sudden wave of well-being. At least she was fit and healthy, she reminded herself firmly, her spirits lifting. She should be grateful for that.

  She frowned as she looped one arm over her shoulder to meet the arm she’d twisted behind her back. Perhaps she and Amy could go to the beach, after all. She was up early enough, goodness knew. If she hurried and got her chores done straight after breakfast, she could leave the shopping until they got back.

  She was reversing the exercise when the back door opened behind her. Guessing it was Amy, she didn’t immediately turn to look at her. She was too busy anticipating how delighted her daughter was going to be when she broke the news, and only when the cooler air from outside drifted about her bare midriff did she say, ‘Can you close the door, Ames? Please.’

  She was arching her back in a final stretch when a disturbingly familiar male voice said, ‘Amy’s coming. She’s just checking on the rabbit, I think.’

  Immediately, Fliss abandoned her exercises, and swung round to face him. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, the shock of being discovered in her night wear briefly obscuring the fact of how unusual it was for him to leave the house. ‘Where’s Amy?’

  Matt tucked his fingers beneath his arms, an expression of mild amusement giving his dark features a disturbingly sexual appeal. Like her, he was wearing shorts, though she guessed he hadn’t slept in his. And a black vest, that revealed surprisingly muscled biceps for a man who supposedly led a sedentary life. Just looking at him like this made her toes curl, and the ache down in her belly caused a moist heat to make itself felt between her legs.

  ‘As I said before, she’s coming,’ Matt declared, his eyes surveying her just as thoroughly as she was surveying him.
‘I think she wanted me to speak to you first.’

  Fliss’s heart sank. ‘What’s she done now?’ she asked wearily, deciding she couldn’t worry about her appearance right now. What she was wearing was decent enough, even if her nipples were etched unmistakably against the thin cloth of her T-shirt. ‘Don’t tell me she’s been annoying you again.’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, Amy has never annoyed me,’ he retorted, emphasising the last two words. ‘I like her. She’s a good kid.’

  Fliss breathed through her nose, trying to subdue the erratic beat of her heart. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop her from getting into mischief.’ She paused, and then, as the reality of his presence registered, ‘I’m sorry. Were you looking for me?’

  Matt sighed. ‘In a manner of speaking, I guess.’

  Fliss frowned. ‘You haven’t come here to speak to my father, have you?’

  ‘Unlikely.’ Matt’s lips twisted. ‘My information was that he isn’t up yet.’

  ‘From Amy?’ Fliss blew out an exasperated breath. ‘Well, sorry to disappoint you, but he is up. He’s in the bathroom, but I have every reason to believe he’ll be down here any minute now.’

  ‘Magic.’ Matt pulled a wry face. ‘OK, here’s what I came to say—Amy tells me you don’t have time to take her to the beach—’

  ‘Amy told you that?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Matt shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘All right, I’ll admit it. She did come over to the house. The dog—what’s its name? Harvey?—had got into the garden and she was looking for it.’

  Fliss snorted. ‘Yeah, right.’ She gave him a pitying look. ‘Believe me, if Harvey was in your garden, Amy must have put him there. There’s no way he could get out of this garden without someone opening the gate.’

  ‘Perhaps she was taking him for a walk?’ suggested Matt mildly, but Fliss only made another impatient gesture.

  ‘In her nightclothes?’ she demanded scornfully, and Matt gave a lazy shrug.

  ‘Why not? You apparently do aerobics in yours.’

  Fliss felt the colour flood into her throat. ‘In my own kitchen,’ she retorted indignantly, and his lean mouth tilted in an incredibly sexy grin.