by C F Dunn
I wrinkled my nose at the thought of not seeing him.
“Fat chance I’ll get to misbehave if you’re not around…”
He looked serious. “Emma, is that a deal?”
Compliance seemed the only way he would agree to terms.
“OK, it’s a deal.”
“Then it starts now. Sleep time. Do you need any pain relief after your manhandling?”
I shook my head, blushing slightly. “Not if they knock me out like the last lot. You are staying, aren’t you? You did say you would.”
“I will – but over there.” He indicated with his head to the chair in the corner.
He stoked the sleeping fire with new wood, sending a shower of sparks spiralling up the chimney before settling in the chair. Holding his scarf close to me, I lay down facing him, so that the last thing I remembered before I slept was his quiet face, still and palely watching.
Chapter 22
Lines of Engagement
JUST OVER A WEEK HAD PASSED since the attack.
Sunlight streaked across the lawns, colliding with the college windows and breaking into shattered rays of light. Frost lined every branch of the trees – every twig and blade of grass rimed with transient crystals that shone in the new sun. I yearned to walk on the lawns – to feel the stiff, yielding blades under my feet, and sharp air clean in my lungs; but I had promised to rest and behave.
Matthew obviously didn’t consider me a suicide risk because he’d left me a bottle of painkillers and a box of the bi-coloured knock-out capsules next to my clock. Most of the discomfort now was tedious background aching that nagged away, but by mid-morning I needed something to take the edge off it.
Breakfast had been delivered and consumed and I craved to get up. Infuriatingly dependent on others, I waited for Mum so I could bathe and then change into something with buttons. She appeared delighted to help, partly because she could mother me – which I hadn’t allowed for a decade – but also because it reinforced her assertion that I couldn’t care for myself.
The mobile phone Matthew had given me sat wordlessly on the bedside table next to the medication and I toyed briefly with phoning him. Mum saw me.
“Is Dr Lynes seeing you today?” she asked artlessly, my father just behind her.
My skin warmed as I remembered the night before, and I fiddled about trying to get my foot into a shoe, not meeting her gaze.
“No, he’s busy today, but he’s taking me out tomorrow.”
Dad finished rotating each shoulder in turn, feeling the effects of the previous day’s journey on his joints.
“Surely you shouldn’t be going anywhere in your condition. Where is he taking you and why? Is it a medical appointment?”
I didn’t rise to his confrontational manner; there seemed no point. I reflected that some of Matthew’s tolerance had rubbed off on me, although how long it lasted would be anybody’s guess. Long enough to see us through the next couple of days, then perhaps – with Matthew’s help – I could begin to work out where the relationship with my father went wrong in the first place, and start to put it right.
“He’s the doctor, Dad; he wouldn’t take me if he thought I couldn’t cope. I’m not sure where we’re going – he didn’t say – but I’m off for a walk around the college today; would you like to come?”
Mum picked up on the cue. “That sounds very nice. It will do you good to get out for a bit, darling – build your strength – and we would love to see the college, wouldn’t we, Hugh?”
She helped me put on my sage jacket, trying not to see the yellowing bruising around my windpipe or the healing wound on the side of my throat.
“What a lovely top, such a delicate colour on you; I don’t remember seeing this before; is it new?” She buttoned the collar so that it stood softly around my throat. “You do look a little peaky, though; are you sure you’re up to it today?”
“I won’t go far, Mum; I’ve promised to behave and rest.”
Mum could cock an eyebrow that spoke more eloquently than a thousand words, and she did so without Dad catching on. My father shrugged into his tweed coat and picked up his leather gloves; all he needed was a swagger stick to complete the picture.
I took it slowly, but I wouldn’t have drawn attention to myself had it not been for my father tailing every step as if I were a toddler just learning to walk. By the time we reached the cloister, the area teemed with students heading for lunch. Passing the door to the atrium, my mother stopped, peering through the glass panels.
“Where’s this, Emma? We haven’t been in here yet.”
Reluctantly I stopped and turned around.
“No, we haven’t – it’s the atrium; you go in if you want to, but I think I’ll find somewhere to sit down.” My pulse thumped uncomfortably, and I turned my back on the doors, not able to look at what lay beyond.
“Darling, you’re as white as a sheet! We’d better get you back to your room; you remember what Dr Lynes said?”
She squeezed my shoulder, concern lining her face; she looked ten years older than when I saw her last, standing in the doorway of our home, and I felt a huge weight of responsibility for the already considerable burden she carried. I turned my back on the atrium and shook myself free of the fear.
“I’m hungry,” I fibbed. “Let’s get something to eat. We can go to the staff dining-room for lunch; how about it?” I smiled cheerfully, hoping it would carry the lie.
As usual, it wasn’t very busy, but I instantly recognized a couple at one of the tables.
“Hi, you two!”
Matias was up and giving me a hug before Elena could warn him.
“Ow!” I protested feebly. “Not a good idea, Matias, but thanks anyway.”
He grinned apologetically; I had missed him over the last week.
“Let me introduce you – Mum, Dad, this is Professor Elena Smalova and Professor Matias Lidström, two very good friends whom I don’t deserve but I can’t seem to get rid of anyway. Like fleas.”
Matias chortled and Elena laughed. My father looked disapprovingly at me, but held out his hand in greeting to them both, formality never far away where he was concerned. My mother shook their hands warmly.
“Thank you so much for looking after Emma; she’s told me all about everything you’ve done for her, and I know she can be a handful…”
“Mum!” I remonstrated.
Elena beamed. “Ah yes, you know it is true, Em; you are so stubborn sometimes; I do not know how Matthew…”
I shook my head at her, hoping my father hadn’t recognized the warning for what it was; her eyes widened in acknowledgment. “How Dr Lynes puts up with you,” she finished.
Dad looked at me severely. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you haven’t been giving the medical staff any truc, Emma; they are only doing their job and it’s bad form to make it harder for them.”
Behind him, Matias raised his eyebrows at me in sympathy, but Elena gawped at my father until her boyfriend tugged at her sleeve and she remembered to close her mouth.
“I need to sit down,” I said weakly.
“Come and join us,” Matias indicated an empty chair at the circular table, and I sat down appreciatively, all too aware that it meant inflicting my father on them, but eternally hopeful that he would be more interested in the food than in ritual humiliation.
Elena lowered her voice. “Where’s Matthew?”
“Busy,” I whispered back.
She cast a furtive glance at my father, who had taken off his coat, and now investigated the menu with an enthusiasm he reserved for such occasions.
“That is a shame.”
“Oh, yes,” I agreed, and we both giggled like schoolgirls because that was precisely how Dad made us feel. Matias passed the breadsticks and I cast my eyes over the menu, but the medication suppressed my appetite and even the lightest dish looked unappetizing. A figure passed close behind us, bringing a gust of chilly air.
“Is there room for one more?” said Sam in
a jaunty tone, already pulling out a chair next to my father opposite me and giving Matias little option but to invite him to join us. Elena looked at me nervously as I stared fixedly at my table setting. “I’m Sam, by the way,” he said, as if we were all the best of friends. I could feel my father waiting expectantly to be introduced; Matias came to my rescue.
“This is Distinguished Professor Sam Wiesner.”
My head shot up – Distinguished Professor – when did that happen? Sam grinned his old grin at me as if nothing had happened between us and, for a brief moment, I almost believed we could be friends. Matias continued as much for my benefit as my parents’: “Sam’s been awarded the Endowed Chair of Metamathematics, the youngest ever to hold the position; isn’t that right, Sam?”
That explained the suit and tie, then. Sam looked smug, and Dad duly impressed.
“Congratulations, young man; so you are a friend of my daughter?”
There were times when patricide would have been too good for my father; I could see exactly where his thought processes were going. Unfortunately, so could Sam. He eyed me from across the table, and turned towards Dad with his smoothest tone – the one he used when after something.
“Yeah, sure, I’m a good friend of Emma’s; we met very early on, didn’t we, Freckles?” I shot him a stony look. “We’ve seen quite a bit of each other over the semester; perhaps she’s told you about our date? How are you, by the way, Em? Now you’re on your feet, we can get together again.”
His words held a challenge and I ground my teeth, feeling anger and resentment swim dangerously close to the surface. Bristling beside me, Mum sensed it too, but Dad remained oblivious, liking everything he’d seen so far. Matias cleared his throat.
“I think we better order before it gets any later – Mrs D’Eresby, girls?”
I couldn’t just sit there and listen to all this drivel; whatever the relationship between my father and me, I wasn’t going to let him become a sap for Sam’s entertainment, or his way of getting back at me. I pushed my chair abruptly back from the table.
“I’m sorry, I’ve lost my appetite; you stay, I’m going back.”
I started to get up, but Sam was on his feet, leaning across the table.
“Don’t go, Ginger; I’ll bet Dr Lynes wouldn’t want you to miss a meal.”
I met his mocking eyes and suddenly realized that Sam was playing a game, and I couldn’t leave him to play it out with Matthew as the pawn in the middle. Sam hadn’t forgiven either of us and he meant to make life as difficult as he could. I sat down again and he looked as if he’d just scored a point.
Food was ordered, general conversation resumed, but I couldn’t join in. I racked my brain for anything Sam could use against Matthew other than suggestion and gossip; but I knew all too well that rumour became a powerful weapon, bringing down governments in the past. All it took were a few well-chosen words in the right places and, on fertile ground, the seeds of doubt would germinate and strangle the truth out of existence. Sam had almost succeeded in duping me before I realized that his insinuation was borne of jealousy of Matthew, not concern for my welfare. This was a complication I hadn’t anticipated.
Sam reached out and took a breadstick from the tall jar in the centre of the table. Biting off the end, he looked at me with an exploratory expression as if weighing up the odds.
“Well, Freckles, how about it – shall we make a date?”
My mother came to my rescue unexpectedly.
“Emma needs to rest as much as possible; her injuries were very extensive and they are still causing problems, aren’t they, darling?”
Before I could answer, my father interjected, “That’s not insurmountable, though, is it, Penny? After all, Dr Lynes is taking Emma out tomorrow, and he wouldn’t do that if she wasn’t up to it, now would he?”
My mother and I glared at him.
With eyes narrowed, Sam whistled through his teeth, a smirk the size of Westminster Bridge on his face as he leaned back in his chair, tapping the breadstick into the palm of his hand like a conductor’s baton.
“Well, well, Lynes sure is a fast worker, I’ll grant him that. Think he’s got your best interests at heart, Em? I’m not sure if the police department think so; I mean, why was he in the atrium that night? And why was he so keen to get you out of the med centre all alone, when…”
I rose to my feet before I knew what I did, blind with fury, my temper erupting before I could control it.
“You’re despicable!” I snarled at him, enunciating each syllable with venom. “You’re bitter, twisted, jealous and so intent on destroying others that you can’t see what it’s doing to you. You… you’re… pathetic!”
Silence fell on the room, the only sound my harsh breathing as the voices of the other diners stilled. I didn’t care; he had pushed me to my limits and, whereas I could cope with a certain amount of personal abuse, when it came to insulting Matthew, my tolerance was just about non-existent. I turned my back on the stunned faces of my parents and friends and tried to push my chair away from the table with my knee, but its feet dragged on the thick pile carpet and it fell over with a resounding thud. I gave it a vicious kick to get it out of my way, my chest complaining at the sudden movement. Matias pulled it away from me before I could fall over it.
“Emma, sit down; you can’t behav…” Dad started to say, employing his military authority to bring me back in line.
I whirled on him. “Don’t say another word,” I hissed. He blanched and I finally escaped from the confines of the table and made for the door, accompanied by the whispered stares of the other diners.
I didn’t care whether anyone followed me or not and I reached the end of the cloister out of breath and near to tears. Any residual energy kept in reserve was spent, and I stopped, leaning against a stone arch, and held Matthew’s scarf to my mouth, recalling his face in the faintly lingering scent that clung to it.
“Emma… darling?”
My mother put her thin arms around me and I buried my head in her shoulder. She rubbed my back and I became a child again. Behind her, my father hovered.
“Sorry,” I snuffled, aware now of the semi-detached interest of people passing by.
“You’re never too old to cry, darling; that’s what mothers are for – you’ll find out one day.” She gave me an encouraging smile and I gave her a watery one back. “Anyway,” she added, “that man deserved what he got; he reminded me of Guy – pushy.”
In any other circumstance I might have laughed at the expression on her face, but I just nodded. By the time I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I needed to lie down, feeling as washed out as I no doubt looked.
I lay back carefully on my bed and closed my eyes, blaming Sam for everything. If someone told me he was solely responsible for global warming, I would have believed them at that moment. The last thing I wanted was for us to become enemies, but he left me no choice and, if forced to take sides, it would never be his. In the idle moments between waking and sleeping, I ruminated that in those few minutes, Mum saw what I had failed to appreciate: the similarities between Guy and Sam. The all-consuming ego – the need to control.
A low rumble reminded me that I hadn’t eaten lunch. I heaved out of bed, irritated beyond belief, and went in search of my parents and something to eat. They were sitting – one in an armchair, the other on the sofa – reading a newspaper divided between themselves and drinking cups of tea; a normal, domestic scene witnessed so many times before at home. Mum looked up.
“I’ve made you a cup of tea, Emma, and you must have something to eat; what can I get you?”
Two plates on the coffee table bore the remains of cheese on toast; Dad must have been disappointed not to sample the best menu the college could offer.
“Some toast, please, Mum.”
I sat down in the spare armchair, rested my head against the high back and closed my eyes again. The newspaper rustled as my father folded it and put it on the arm of the sofa.
“
Hummuph.”
I opened my eyes and he glanced back towards the kitchen, making sure my mother couldn’t hear us.
“I don’t know what that was all about at luncheon but I didn’t like what the Professor insinuated. Did you have a… relationship… with this man?”
The word sounded uncomfortably modern coming from my father’s mouth.
So there would be no room for misinterpretation, I replied emphatically; “No, I did not. Sam hoped there would be and he’s not very good at taking ‘No’ for an answer. He’s jealous and he’s making trouble – that’s all, Dad; there’s nothing more to it.”
“Jealous of whom?” my father said, quietly.
I mentally thumped myself – tiredness left me prone to making mistakes; I would have to be more careful. I rolled my head on the back of the armchair and looked out of the window; the frost had begun to melt, threatening to turn the world dull greens and browns again.
“Sam’s jealous of anybody and anything. He’s had his nose put out of joint just because I wouldn’t go out with him, and you can see why I didn’t, can’t you?”
He eyed me speculatively. “You didn’t lead him on, did you?”
I jerked my head upright, glaring at him, feeling my temper beginning to flare.
“Whose side are you on?”
He looked at me calmly. “Yours – you are my daughter but that doesn’t always make you right. I’m trying to get a brief on one or two things and I didn’t like what he said, or how he said it. What was all that about Dr Lynes and the police?”
“Arrant nonsense. Rubbish. Tripe. He’s playing games and making trouble.”
“Then I have to ask again – for whom? It seems that he doesn’t like Dr Lynes; why?”
I fixed my father with as steady a look as I could manage and drew a deep breath. “Because Sam recognizes that when it comes to a choice between him and Matthew Lynes, there is no contest.”
