by C F Dunn
I shifted slightly and my shadow danced across the water’s surface. The fish darted deeper beneath the bank. “I think so. It was Granddad – that’s Dad’s dad, by the way – who didn’t have the patience to hunt fish. If he could have intimidated them out of the water he would. Failing that, he would have resorted to explosives. He didn’t have the finesse to woo them – bludgeoning was more his style.” I remembered my grandfather’s red-scowled face glowering at the water and the permanent anxiety I felt when with him. Those days were always overcast and grey in my memory – dank, dark days, marled with churned mud that glued itself to my boots so that I carried the weight and smell of it back home. “It was Grandpa who taught me to fish when I was very little. We had a duck punt and we used to stalk the fish, so Beth and I had to keep very still and quiet so we didn’t frighten them. When I couldn’t keep quiet any longer, Grandpa let me sing to the fish and they liked that. He used to call me his Lori Lie and place me in the bow to lure them.” We had spent long, sun-soaked hours in the boat during the summer holidays, trailing fingers through fine filaments of emerald weed as Grandpa worked the stern oar, driving us slowly forward across the shallow lake. I became aware again of the restless water by my feet and of Matthew watching me, his lips parted.
“How could any creature resist such temptation?” he said and I smiled self-consciously. “They sound like happy memories.” He pulled me closer to him. “I’m ready to move on. Thank you for being patient with me.”
“I think that is the first time anyone has called me patient. You bring out the best in me.”
He kissed my upturned face. “I would say we’re a perfect match.”
I flinched as the low sun dipped and bobbed under the waving branchlets, striking my eyes. He shielded them, his expression becoming wistful as he lifted a long strand of my hair to the light. “This is almost the same colour as those dogwoods – so beautiful – Rembrandt red.” I froze and turned away. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “What is it? What have I said?”
“It’s not you.” I bent my head, burying the lower part of my face in my scarf.
“What in the name of goodness did I say to upset you?”
“You didn’t say anything, it was… oh, it’s so stupid,” I floundered. “I didn’t mean to react.”
“Did somebody else say the same thing once? Sam?”
“No, not Sam.”
“Guy?”
I nodded.
“He said you were beautiful and he upset you?” I glanced up and saw him frowning.
“It wasn’t so much what he said, as how and when he said it.” Merely remembering made me shudder. I felt exposed sitting under the arc-light of the sun, revealing something I thought I had dealt with and almost forgotten. But deep disquiet, as born from such an early, bruising experience, is not so easily put aside.
“It was your first time?”
I nodded again. “Yes.”
“But something happened, something went wrong? Did he make you do something you didn’t want to do?” Alarm spread through his voice. “Emma, did he force you?”
I hunched into my coat, grasping the collar tightly around my throat. “No, not really. I’d had too much to drink.” I smiled weakly, but he looked aghast.
“He let you drink and then took advantage of you?”
“Something like that.”
“Like what – exactly?”
“There’s no point going over it, Matthew. It was a long time ago, it doesn’t matter.”
Appalled, his eyes flared. “Matter? Of course it matters. Whatever he did to you, this… man has hurt you. He’s left scars as surely as Staahl did. Emma, I want to know what he did.”
“Why, Matthew? Why do you need to know?”
He turned bleak, blank eyes on me. “Because right now I want to kill him,” he snarled. Horrified, I stared at him, but the moment passed and he slowly drew his hand down his face and said more moderately. “I need to know so that I don’t make the same mistake and say something to upset you again.” Tentatively, he said, “Tell me what happened.”
I found it hard to find the words to describe the impact that night had on me without it sounding banal or sleazy, but he waited patiently.
“I’d had an argument with Dad. Guy picked me up from home but it was raining so hard we had to stop before we reached Cambridge. He… he found us a room. I didn’t want that, I didn’t feel comfortable, but he said there was nowhere else and I was soaking, so…” Matthew became still. “He went to get something for me to eat, but there wasn’t anything.”
“He came back with alcohol instead,” he said quietly.
How stupid, how naïve.
I nodded miserably. “Yes. He said it would make me feel better. I… drank it.” I wondered whether he regarded me as the fool I felt.
“And…?” he said, not moving.
“He started kissing me and… you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
I avoided Matthew’s eyes. “He started kissing me. I didn’t really want him to, but he wouldn’t stop. I’d had too much to drink and he was too heavy, and I thought… I thought that I owed him for helping me with my work, f-for making him wait so long.” I swallowed. “Anyway, it was over pretty quickly and it didn’t hurt that much.” I picked at the fringe on my scarf, remembering all too clearly how I felt that night. I looked up as an odd, rough noise came from his jaw as his teeth ground together. “Matthew, stop it!”
I heard the fractured agony in his voice. “He raped you.”
“No! No he didn’t, he can’t have done!”
His face clouded. “Why not?”
“Because then I would be a victim. Don’t make me into a victim, please – I haven’t the strength to be a victim.” I scrambled to my feet and edged along the plank to solid land, leaving Matthew with his eyes closed and his clenched fist to his mouth. For a long moment, he said nothing. Eventually, he swung his legs back onto the bridge and followed me. “And afterwards?”
“Afterwards? Afterwards he drove me back to uni.”
“What did he say? Do?”
“Nothing – well, he talked about some research or something…”
He swore and whacked the trunk of a nearby tree, making it shiver from root to crown. “He said nothing about what he had done? No apology, no concern, no affection? And you had an affair with this man. He raped you, and you had a relationship with him?”
His accusation stung. “Don’t. I know how it sounds, but I had to…”
“Did he compel you?”
“No, if anything I did. I had to make it into a relationship, don’t you see? If I hadn’t it would have made it so much worse.”
“You had to legitimize it, you mean?”
“Yes!” All the years it had taken me to justify my actions and here I was again, with those same feelings of helpless guilt and tainted youth. I felt dirty. I turned my back on him. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“I know how it seems. I was an idiot… I should have seen…”
I felt his hand on my back and he turned my face to his, and there was so much kindness there, compassion, and distress. “You were young and innocent, and an older man took advantage of a situation he created to take what he wanted. He raped you, Emma – there is no way it can be dressed up to be anything else, no matter what you did afterwards to rationalize it to yourself. You owed him nothing – he took everything. What he did was despicable; he’s everything I hate in a man.”
“He’s not as bad as Staahl.”
“No, he’s much, much worse. Staahl had insanity as an excuse; this man has nothing to defend his behaviour. Where is he now?”
“Why do you want to know?”
He shrugged and looked away. “Curiosity.”
I clasped my arms around me. “I don’t know. I think he’s left Cambridge, I’m not sure. I haven’t asked and nobody’s said. He kept trying to see me again when we broke up, but I wouldn’t. After he tried to co
mmit suicide I only saw him once – at a conference last April. I didn’t speak to him. He phoned before Christmas when I was back at home, but Dad wouldn’t let him speak to me.”
“Does anyone else know what happened?”
I shook my head. “No.”
His thumb stroked my cheek. “And this you have carried by yourself for all these years.” Some of the tension left him and I detected regret in his smile. “Now how can I tell you how beautiful you are without it reminding you of him?”
“You can tell me – I believe you, I trust you.” I rested my head against his chest and he caressed my hair.
“But not enough to tell me what he did to you. Were you ever going to tell me?”
“No, not if I could help it. I’d persuaded myself that it didn’t matter and I didn’t want it coming between us. It’s over – another lifetime.”
“It’s left its scars, otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted as you did. It won’t come between us because the foundations of what we have go far deeper than he can reach. Remember the text you sent me during the trial – the quote from Donne? ‘Who is so safe as we? Where none can do Treason to us, except one of us two.’ Do you remember how it continues?” I shook my head, soothed by his words and by the vibration of his voice beneath my cheek.
“‘True and false fears let us refrain,
Let us love nobly, and live, and add again
Years and years unto years, til we attain
To write threescore: this is the second of our reign.’”
He smiled. “Well, perhaps this is still our first year together, but the same principle applies. I understand why you didn’t tell me, Emma, but it is not your shame; it’s his. What you did was to protect yourself in the only way you felt you could at the time, and he doubly betrayed you because he lied to you about his wife, and took what little hope you had.” His hand stilled on my hair. “I know that I didn’t tell you about Ellen, and I can only trust that you’ll forgive me in time, but what we have is richer and stronger than all of that, and we said ‘no more lies’ and I meant it – I meant it, my love.” He bent to look into my eyes and saw I fought tears of relief because now he knew and he understood, and it couldn’t sully what we had. “Marry me, Emma, be my wife.” He lifted my face and with infinite tenderness kissed each eyelid in turn, then my lips, and we drew from each other our grief and with each kiss condemned it to the wastelands of the past.
From somewhere behind us, bird song rang sharp and clear, beckoning spring.
CHAPTER
2
Eternal
The sun had skirted around the house and the study felt cold without direct light. Matthew lit the fire and pulled a cocoon of blanket around me. Now within his arms I felt warm – inside and out – and content. I stirred and he eased around until he faced me, and kissed my smiling eyes. I touched the curve of his mouth. “Are you real?”
“As real as you are.” And to make certain I believed him, he took my hand and placed it over his heart. Beneath my palm the regular beat, beat confirmed the truth of it. I replaced my hand with my lips, and then burrowed against him, at ease and at peace.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“About us, Ellen, the family – life.” Tucking my head beneath his chin, his steady breath stirred my hair. “In many ways it might be enough that we’ve made solemn pledges to each other. For centuries that would have been valid in the eyes of the law and the church, but things have changed, Mistress D’Eresby, and we have a wedding to arrange.”
I groaned. The thought of arranging a wedding, of all the clothes, invitations – the food – seemed daunting enough for someone who had never organized anything more than a seminar, but the thrill of marrying him was liquid metal in my blood. “I can’t quite believe it yet,” I said, dazed at the very idea of it.
“Well,” he extricated himself, “I might be considered a modern male in some respects, but in others I’m a traditionalist, and I won’t believe it until I have done one other thing, so if you will excuse me…” He picked me up in my blue blanket and put me in the big armchair by the fire, then crossed to the desk and reached for the phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked, beginning to hum a few bars from My Fair Lady, the notes becoming song as joy burst from me. He dialled, waited.
“Colonel…” he said in reply to a muffled answer.
I squawked, clamping my hands over my mouth.
“Matthew Lynes, yes, Emma’s fine, very well, in fact. No, I have no concerns for her health at all at present. The strange noise? Oh, I think you’ll find that was Emma singing – yes, it was interesting, wasn’t it?” I gesticulated wildly at him, and he laughed silently. “I trust the family are well? And Emma’s grandmother? That’s good to hear.” I trotted over to the desk, dragging my jumper on over my head and Matthew pulled me onto his knees. I nestled contentedly into his neck.
“Really? That’s encouraging. Look, Colonel, I phoned because there’s something I would like to discuss with you. I have asked Emma if she would consent to be my wife, and she has said yes.” I bounced, mouthing, Yes, yes, yes. “We would be very pleased if you would give us your blessing.” I could hear the bass notes of my father’s voice over the line, but couldn’t make out what he said. I tugged at Matthew’s arm and he put the phone on hands-free so I could listen.
“… splendid…” Dad was saying. I could hear a great deal of excited chatter from Mum and Beth in the background, with chirruping from the twins, and an occasional gurgle from baby Archie. By the echoing sound their voices made, they were in the dining room. “… it’s about time Emma had something to look forward to. I take it you will live in the States?”
“We haven’t discussed our plans yet.”
“No, of course not, and I expect it’s too soon to have thought about dates for the wedding?”
“I think sooner rather than later.” Matthew raised an eyebrow in question and I nodded wildly.
There followed an ominous pause. “There isn’t a necessity for haste, is there?”
“Not at all, Colonel, but equally we see no need to wait. However, Emma will have the ultimate say in the matter.”
“Well, good luck with that; you know she can be very strong-willed at times – a bit of a handful.” Matthew took the opportunity to kiss my pout. “But I expect you already know that.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, and it’s probably what’s given her the strength to cope over the last few months.”
Dad humphed. “I think you are probably right on that point. Your parents must be pleased. It can’t have been easy for you losing your wife.”
Matthew hesitated. “No.”
“But Emma’s a good girl for all her stubbornness. She’ll be a loyal wife, and I have no doubt you’ll look after her.”
We both heard the implied threat. I scowled but Matthew just smiled. “I will.”
“And I don’t have to ask if you can afford to keep her, do I? She’s quite low-maintenance in that respect – good, sturdy economy model.” I heard his muffled laughter. He must have known I was listening. “I would like to have a word with my daughter, if I may?”
“Of course.” Matthew handed the phone to me.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Well, well, this is a turn-up for the books, hey, Em? And I didn’t have to pay him much in the way of a dowry to take you off my hands.” He guffawed.
“Dad!” I protested.
“Your mother and sister are delighted of course. No doubt you will have female things to talk about – dresses and flowers and all that guff. It’s a pity you’re so far away.” I heard the slight catch in his voice and understood that for all his bluff talk, he would miss me. For the first time in my life I felt a wrench at the thought of not seeing him, and Ellen’s forewarning about the inevitable separation from my family as Matthew’s agelessness became apparent, materialized. I couldn’t let the future cloud our present happiness – this was now, and we still had some yea
rs ahead of us before contact with my family became reduced to disembodied phone calls and the internet, or brief visits without him, and lies – always the lies.
“We’re not that far away, Dad, and Matthew’s going to teach me to fly.”
“He’s not going to let you loose in that jet of his, is he? Good grief, you’ll be shot down as some rogue intercontinental missile. I’ve never forgotten that time Rob made the mistake of letting you ride his motorcycle – reckless, totally reckless. No wonder he sold it.”
“That’s because he had to buy a car when the twins were born. It had nothing to do with me and you know it.”
He chuckled, “Yes, well,” then sighed. “We’re so pleased for you, Em; you sound truly… content.” He meant that I sounded happy at last, because it had always seemed to elude me somehow.
“I am. Give my love to Mum and to everyone – especially Nanna. Tell Beth I have the perfect matron of honour outfit in mind for her: lovely big lacy frills, all fluffy and pink.” I could hear an exclamation of horror in the background from my sister, and Flora’s excited voice shouting, “Me, me, me!”
“I will, Em. Just take care of yourself.” Again, the thick note that told me he needed to control his emotions. “Oh, and tell Matthew that he has my permission to marry you. I didn’t think people bothered asking nowadays.”
Matthew took the phone and replaced it, giving me a quiet moment in which he cuddled me. I let out a long breath. “Wowie.”
“Wowie,” he agreed, looking up as we heard a faint chink of china on glass.
“Pat?” I asked.
“Supper,” he replied.
“Oh, there you are!” Pat exclaimed. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. I didn’t know what Matthew had done with you…” She faltered and I caught a glimpse of my bright, flushed face in the mirror between the windows, my hair in disarray.
Matthew took the tray from her. “This looks wonderful, Pat. I know Emma’s hungry.”
“Am I? Oh yes, I am.” I jumped up and sniffed the steaming plate of beef and sliced potatoes in a rich gravy that made my mouth water. “It smells lovely.”
