Hadn’t I even seen it drive away once or twice?
‘Yeah,’ Marcus said, his eyes meeting mine. ‘He’s in the air force. But he’s on leave.’
‘How long for?’
Marcus’ eyes bored into mine, the brown and amber flecks blazing. ‘Not sure.’
Something clicked in my head, and I remembered talking to Marcus before, in another lifetime, about his brother. He’d been Heath Lockwood then, and his brother had been Sebastian.
My blood ran cold.
‘Maybe we can catch up later?’ Marcus asked warmly.
I shook my head, suddenly wary. My heart slowed, and a chill spread from my chest. ‘Actually, I have a stack of homework to catch up on, that Jane Eyre assignment is due soon, and I need to get an early night.’ My voice was tight and forced when I spoke.
Marcus’ face fell, and Meredith shot me an angry look. I knew my obvious and blunt rejection of Marcus would heat up her discussion about the antidepressants, but I couldn’t help it.
I had to think. I was scared of what Marcus’ brother might mean. Scared of who Marcus’ brother really was.
Terrified that he’d been living next door to me all this time.
That it wasn’t just Penelope who was in danger after all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
1806
Penelope stayed away from Broadhurst Manor as much as she could. It had suddenly become a stifling place where she suffocated under the intense, watchful eyes of Sebastian, who followed her every move. Instead, she hid herself in the attic of the parsonage, surrounded by her paintings.
But she missed Georgina, and she missed Heath.
She was working on an image of the parsonage, capturing it from the side and through the cemetery, as if she gazed out from the edge of the forest. Penelope gulped as dark thoughts filled her mind.
Edge of the forest…swallowed by the forest…
Blinking, she looked beyond the canvas and out the window to the clear blue sky. Resting on the window ledge was an orange rose bloom, one she was trying desperately not to look at.
They were everywhere.
There had been one on her pillow last night before she had climbed into bed. There had been one resting idly in the kitchen when she’d gone to talk to the cook, and one beside her mother’s grave when she took down her small posy.
And there was one here today, in the attic. In her own private enclave.
She opened a small folder filled with sketches of the rider. The horse was rearing on its hind legs and obscuring the sun, creating a silhouette of the horse and man.
‘I knew you had drawn me,’ a soft voice murmured in her ear, sending her jumping to her feet, the sketches falling to the floor.
She backed away, alarmed, as Sebastian filled the tiny space.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, glancing behind him. He blocked the entrance, but maybe she could dart past him and down the ladder…
‘Don’t be scared,’ he said, smiling easily as he bent to pick up the images. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
Penelope eyed him warily, not entirely sure she believed him. Something tugged at her mind and she tried to locate it, but her mind was foggy and it remained hidden, veiled by a cloud of shadowy images.
‘How did you get in here?’ she asked.
‘Your father let me in.’
‘Where’s Heath?’
Sebastian’s eyes flashed. ‘You still think of him?’
‘Of course.’
‘You think you love him?’
She blinked at him. ‘I do love him.’
He advanced towards her and she shrank back. ‘You’re wrong, Becca. You don’t love him.’
Penelope stared at him, something stirring in her chest. ‘What did you call me?’
‘Pene,’ he said, his voice low and tender as he reached out and touched her face, his chill fingers tracing the outline of her jaw. ‘I called you Pene.’
She didn’t believe him, knew he’d said something else, but was too frightened to move and could only tremble beneath his touch.
‘These are very good,’ he said, ‘although I think you could have drawn a more intimate portrait of me.’
She stared at him, confused.
‘One that shows us together.’
‘I’m not very good at portraits,’ she replied, not understanding his meaning.
‘Yes,’ he glanced up at the various paintings of Broadhurst that filled the attic. Pictures of the manor house, the parsonage, the gardens, the forest and meadows, the village and the brook.
He moved to examine one, his fingers tracing over it. Penelope trembled as if his fingers were tracing over her. ‘So much potential,’ he murmured and then turned to her, smiling. ‘All I ask is a chance.’
‘A chance?’ she repeated dumbly.
‘A chance for us. For you and me. Is that so much to ask?’
‘But you’re—you’re Heath’s brother,’ she stammered.
‘Yes. But I’m yours first.’ He stepped closer, and the coldness seeping from him froze her to the spot. She couldn’t move if she wanted to.
‘Becca,’ he said, his voice low and husky, his face inches from hers, ‘give me a chance, Becca, just one chance…’
His eyes lingered on her mouth, and Penelope could feel his breath on her cheek, hear the strange, erratic thud of his heart, which beat so close to hers.
Then she remembered Heath. Heath, who looked at her with such warmth, who loved her so passionately and intensely.
Sebastian lowered his head, but she turned at the last moment.
He sighed—she wasn’t sure if it was out of exasperation, annoyance, or disappointment, but she didn’t dare look at him to find out.
‘Ah, Penelope,’ he crooned. ‘One chance? No? Don’t I at least deserve that?’
He was talking in riddles. A chance for what? Closing her eyes, she curled her hands into tight fists and willed a barrier around her soul that would forever shut him out.
She didn’t know how long she stood like that—head turned, posture rigid, heart frozen in her chest—but when she finally opened her eyes, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Present day
I stared at the ceiling. What had he called her? Becca? Who was Becca? As far as I knew, there was no Becca, at least none I’d ever dreamed, and yet I was sure that was what he’d called her, as if he had expected her to answer.
Had been disappointed when she hadn’t.
The words from my research rang in my head as I climbed out of bed. Souls are often born repeatedly together when there are unresolved issues. Did that mean I had unresolved issues with Sebastian? That he had a score to settle with Becca, whoever she might be? It seemed entirely plausible. He’d suggested she owed him.
Bleakness descended on me like a crashing wave as I went to look out the window, staring at the neighbour’s yard, which was bathed in morning sunshine.
My mind wandered naturally to Heath. Marcus. A delicious thrill ran down my spine as my head filled with memories of warm, brown eyes and a lazy, lopsided grin. Of the way he looped his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest to share his heartbeat. Of the way he murmured against my lips, calling me his pixie girl, before he kissed me.
It was Friday and Marcus’ car was parked crookedly on the lawn, a large silver and black motorcycle stealing centre stage on the driveway. Staring down the street, I saw Marcus turn the corner on his way back from his morning run. Wearing shorts and a tank top, his body gleamed with perspiration, muscles in his arms and across his chest unselfconsciously on display. He wasn’t alone though; someone ran with him. Someone who had the same dark brown hair and broad shoulders, but who was older, stockier. Someone who worked out more and possessed an arrogance that was discernible even from this distance.
His brother.
My throat tightened of its own accord and I stepped back, letting the curtains fall into place.
I didn’t want to be caught
staring.
Not again.
And not by his brother.
‘So, are you coming to Hurricanes tomorrow night?’ asked Beth over lunch. She tried to look nonchalant, but I knew she felt neglected, and I hated myself for it. Hated that I was becoming one of ‘those girls’ who dropped their friends as soon as a boy came along.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Are you still up for it?’
Beth nodded, stabbing her lunch with her fork. ‘What about Marcus?’
‘I’m not sure. His brother’s in town so he might be hanging with him.’
We were silent for a few moments before I spoke again. ‘Hey, what’s up with you and the basketballer?’
Beth’s eyes became glassy and she didn’t look at me. ‘Nothing.’
‘Oh, come on,’ I cajoled, ‘I thought it was all go?’
Beth lowered her head and I was surprised to see her eyes well with tears. ‘It was. Until he decided I wasn’t good for his image.’
I stared at her; I was hurt and horrified on behalf of my friend. That someone would feel like that about me I could completely understand, but I was furious that someone had dared to do that to Beth.
‘Well, you’re way better than someone like him,’ I snorted. ‘I told you, they’re all losers. A flock of sheep.’ My gaze shot over to where the basketball team sat laughing, probably cracking up over some ridiculous, lame joke. Probably laughing at us.
Marcus arrived and squeezed into the seat beside me, giving my shoulder a quick peck. His eyes met mine briefly, which sent a warm shiver down my spine.
‘Do you want us to leave?’ Beth rolled her eyes as Laura joined us.
‘Absolutely not!’ I cried.
Beth looked at Marcus. ‘Are you coming tomorrow night?’
‘Tomorrow night?’ Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
‘Hurricanes,’ I explained. ‘You’re welcome to come.’
‘Sure,’ Marcus said easily. ‘Hurricanes it is.’
‘Maybe we can invite your brother too?’ Laura suggested.
Marcus stiffened beside me. The movement was almost imperceptible, and if he hadn’t been sitting so close, I never would have noticed. But he was sitting close, his thigh resting against mine, and I did notice. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied stiltedly.
‘Ah, why not?’ crooned Laura, oblivious to the sudden tension.
‘I think he’s busy,’ Marcus replied. ‘And I don’t think Hurricanes is really his scene.’
‘Ask him anyhow,’ she shrugged, ‘Abbie, you ask him.’
‘I haven’t met him,’ I informed them.
‘He’s in the air force,’ Marcus interjected loudly, startling everyone, me included. ‘He’s only just back.’
Beth and Laura shot me looks, but I averted my eyes. The fact that Marcus was keeping his brother away from me was apparent. Why he was doing so was not so apparent, and I had the overwhelming suspicion that it had something—everything, maybe—to do with Sebastian.
I walked into art class a little later, Marcus by my side, with a lighter heart and a clearer head. Having already sat through biology, English, and history, I’d forgotten all about Marcus’ brother and Sebastian, feeling once again happy in my close proximity to Marcus and the warm, soothing heat that radiated from him.
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring straight ahead.
‘Oh, Abbie,’ groaned Marcus. ‘I’m so sorry.’
My painting. The one I’d worked on all term, the one of my beautiful parsonage that I’d put my heart and soul into, was ruined. Someone had scrawled across it with dark orange paint. It dripped down the canvas, pooling at the bottom of the easel, still wet.
I chewed my lip and willed myself not to cry. Never cry, I reminded myself, trying to locate the hostility that’d been almost absent these past few weeks. But it was gone. Suppressed or gone, I didn’t know, but something in Marcus’ kindness had pulled me into an artificial happiness.
My painting, I wanted to cry, My beautiful, beautiful painting.
‘Oh no!’ cried Miss Morup, appearing by our sides. ‘Who would do such a thing? Oh Abbie, after all the work you put in!’
Still I didn’t move. Marcus squeezed my hand, and I focused on him, on the feel of his fingers wrapped securely around mine. On the way he pulled me towards him, like he would suck my pain and disappointment into him. But it was no good; my palms were too sweaty, slipping against his, and the connection was lost, my insides dissolving. To make matters worse, my bottom lip began to quiver.
‘Let’s see if we can clean it up,’ Miss Morup said soothingly, moving away to get some materials to try repairing the damage.
I stared at the canvas. The scrawled words blocked the cobblestone church and obscured the blue of the sky. The only section still visible was the dark clouds of the gathering storm overhead, flashes of silver lightning amongst the grey fog I’d spent hours working on.
House of Horrors, the graffiti read. It wasn’t even original. My painting, my home, had been ruined for a weak, pathetic insult.
‘You okay?’ Marcus’ warm voice whispered in my ear.
I nodded, choking on a sob I refused to release.
‘Do you want to get out of here?’
I nodded again, hot, fresh tears slipping traitorously from the corners of my eyes. Marcus wrapped a shielding arm around my shoulders and led me from the room. I kept my head down, my vision blurring as salty tears overflowed.
Marcus walked me down the hallway a little then sat me on a bench as gingerly as if I was a fragile china doll. He crouched in front of me.
‘Do you want to cry?’ he asked kindly.
I shook my head but felt hot tears on my cheeks betraying me. I didn’t want to cry, but I was crying nonetheless.
‘Who would do something like that?’ Marcus wondered out loud, and I stopped my stream of tears, swallowing hard as I stared at him.
‘Are you kidding?’ I ground out. ‘I know exactly who did this.’
‘Who?’
‘Lilly.’ Anger started to pulse through my veins, and I was secretly pleased. Anger was a much more familiar emotion. Through anger I could stop the tears.
‘Really? You think Lilly would stoop that low?’ He didn’t seem convinced.
I nodded. I knew that the juvenile, pathetic, cruel, thoughtless, childlike act was exactly the sort of stunt Lilly would pull. I’d had plenty of exposure to Lilly’s taunts over the years and knew the girl inside out.
House of Horrors. I shivered at the ominous words.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I didn’t wait for Marcus or Beth after school but caught the bus. My phone trilled as soon as I sat down.
It was Marcus.
‘Abbie, you okay?’ His voice trembled slightly with concern.
‘I’m fine. I just wanted to get home.’
‘Why didn’t you wait for me? I would’ve given you a lift.’
‘I know, but…Marcus, who is your brother?’
‘My brother? What’s he got to do with anything?’
I closed my eyes. He was avoiding the question. In a tight, controlled voice, I repeated, ‘Who is your brother?’
There was a pause. ‘I told you. He’s in the air force. On leave. He’s only here for a short time.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Abbie, what’s going on? Why are you so interested in him all of a sudden?’ Marcus snorted bitterly on the other end of the phone. ‘Figures though, he always gets the girls.’
I squeezed the phone in my hand. ‘How could I possibly be interested in your brother when I’ve never even met him? When I’ve never even seen him?’
‘Is that what this is all about? You want an introduction?’
‘I want to know who he is.’ Why was he being so difficult? So secretive? This whole conversation was unlike any that I had ever had with Marcus. Even when I’d been short and unfriendly he’d always been open and easygoing, as if nothing bothered him.
Silence
on the other end of the line greeted me, and I could imagine Marcus chewing his bottom lip, the way he did sometimes when he was thinking. Eventually, he said, ‘You have seen him, Abbie.’
I gasped. No, no, no, no… ‘What?’
‘I saw you watching us the other day when we came back from our run.’
I sighed. I wasn’t getting anywhere with him. ‘Fine. Whatever. I’ll see you later.’ I hung up.
Immediately my phone trilled again, and I flicked it open angrily. ‘What?’
But it wasn’t Marcus. ‘Abbie?’
I relaxed. ‘Oh, Simone. Sorry. I thought you were Marcus.’
‘Very glad that’s not my chilly reception,’ Simone said, a slight inflection in her voice. ‘I was wondering if you can work tonight? Lock up for me, maybe?’
‘Another date?’ I asked wryly.
‘Uh-huh. You don’t mind, do you? It doesn’t sound like you have plans with Marcus.’
No, I thought bitterly, it certainly doesn’t. ‘Sure. No worries. I’ll see you later.’ I flicked my phone shut and stared out the window as the bus jerked and lurched along.
I sighed, sliding down in the seat with my head full of weary thoughts that just went round and round, the same unanswered questions appearing over and over again. I had to make a trip to the state library. I needed to do more reading.
I needed answers.
I made sure I was on time for work that night, not wanting to arouse Mr Frank’s ire any further. Plus, I hated to disappoint Simone.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ Simone gushed as she finished applying lipstick. She flicked her hair over her shoulders and grinned at me. ‘How do I look?’
‘You look great,’ I told her, somewhat amused. ‘You really like this guy?’
‘Oh god, what’s not to like? He’s intelligent, charming, conversational and—’
‘Hung like a horse?’ I interjected, watching as Simone’s face darkened.
‘Abbie! Why do you have to be so crass?’ she hissed. ‘You really shouldn’t talk like that. You shock people.’
Time After Time Page 17
