by C F Dunn
“Now, I know you said not to cook for you but I came across this recipe from your own part of England and had to try it.” Matthew and I frowned simultaneously. “You know, Lincolnshire hot-pot?”
I threw my arms around her. “Pat, you are so kind, and I love hot-pot, wherever it’s from. You spoil me.”
She beamed. “There now, I sure hope I do.” She halted. “You are from Lincolnshire, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “Yes, I am, but hot-pot is a Lancashire dish – not that it matters one jot. You’ve just invented another type.”
“I wasn’t wearing my glasses – when I read the recipe.” She looked dubiously at the plate.
“Mmm, it smells fabulous.”
“Have a fork,” Matthew said, handing me one. “Pat, is Henry about? I have something to tell him.”
“I think he went to the observatory. Do you want me to go fetch him for you?”
“No, I’ll find him, thank you. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind staying with Emma for a while, would you, please? I think she would like to talk to you.”
“That was delicious,” I said, putting down my fork and placing the tray on a little side table. “Perfect Lincolnshire hot-pot. Pat, I have something we want to tell you and I’m not sure how you’re going to take this but…” I counted to three, “… we’re getting married.”
For a moment, the loudest thing in the room was the tick-tick sound of the cooling metal of the grate, and the noisy thumping of my heart, then she clapped her hands.
“Well, at last and about time too! I never thought I’d live to hear it. What took him so long?”
I stared at her open-mouthed. I had expected a reaction, but not this one. “Er, Ellen only died recently.”
She flapped a hand. “Yes, yes, I know. This is so exciting. We haven’t had a wedding since Dan and Jeannie’s twenty-five years ago. Now, you British have a different kind of wedding cake, don’t you? And then there’s the wedding feast to arrange… there’s so much to do.” A thought struck her. “You are getting married here in Maine, aren’t you?”
Still somewhat taken aback by her reaction, it took me a moment to reply. “I don’t know, we haven’t discussed it at all yet.”
She tutted in her good-natured way. “Just like a man. It’s the details that count. I’m sure your mom will have something to say on the matter.” I rather thought she would. I had a vision of two clucking hens and me not having much say in my own wedding. She must have guessed what I was thinking. “Now, you won’t want your future daughter-in-law taking over, will you?” I did my best imitation of a goldfish. She laughed. “It’ll be just as strange for me, sweetie, believe you me.”
“Golly, Pat, this is going to take some getting used to, isn’t it?”
“Sure is, honey.”
“How is everyone else going to take it, do you think? What about Maggie? What about Henry?”
Her smile faded. “Ah well, just let his papa handle that. It’s a little soon, but Henry’s always known you would take his momma’s place one day and he’s very fond of you. Matthew’ll talk him round, and I’m as happy as a gopher in spring for both of you, and that’ll help him accept it in the right spirit of things.”
“And Maggie?”
“Well, Maggie’s another question altogether. Let’s just leave her to the boys to sort out, shall we?” I had an image of her seventy-year-old “boy” and my nigh-on four-hundred-year-old fiancé dealing with Henry’s troubled and troublesome daughter, and silently wished them luck. Pat found a piece of paper and a pen on Matthew’s desk and sat, poised and expectant. “Now, what about your wedding feast?”
CHAPTER
3
In Plain Sight
“So, how did it go with Henry?”
“It went,” Matthew said quietly. “He’ll be all right.” He leaned over and switched on the desk lamp.
I must have hoped that Henry would have been a little more enthusiastic about our news, but his grief was still raw.
“I suppose it’s still so soon,” I observed.
“Yes.” He adjusted the shade. “How did Pat react when you told her?”
“She’s already planning the wedding breakfast.”
“Good, that will make it easier for Henry to come to terms with the idea. Pat is fairly irrepressible once she has the bit between her teeth.” He gave me an oblique look. “And what about Ellie?”
Rather than prolong the agony, I had decided to tackle Matthew’s great-granddaughter as soon as she returned from her shift at the medical centre. She sat in the kitchen of Matthew’s home – his home, our home – neat brows drawn into a question.
“So you have something to tell me, huh?”
There could be no easy way to tell Ellie so I made it as quick and painless as I could. Her face flushed then paled as she fumbled her hands in her lap, and after a minute, her colour returned. “Oh, OK, that’s great I guess.”
“I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”
“No, that’s cool. It’s really good. I’m so pleased for you.” She didn’t look it. “I didn’t expect… I mean I thought that you might… just not so… soon.”
“We don’t think there’s much point in waiting.”
“Do Mom and Dad know?”
“I think Matthew’s telling them now.”
I gave her some time to think it through and went into the larder to fetch the tea. The room looked more used now, populated with all the packets and bits and bobs you would expect to find in any normal kitchen anywhere. Just looking at it, nobody would have guessed that I was the only person who ate in this household. When I went back in, Ellie had regained her equilibrium.
“This is so weird. For all my life Ellen was the sort of great-gran you would expect to have – you know, old, and kind of cranky now and again – but you…” she shook her head as if trying to sort the information in it, her honey hair swaying with her, “even if I try really hard, I don’t think I can ever see you as my great-grandmother. You just don’t fit into that category; you’re more of a friend.”
I left the tea on the table and went to stand in front of her. “You know, Ellie, that’s one of the nicest things anybody has ever said to me.” And before she could react, I gave her a hug, which made everything right between us.
On taking the mug of tea I offered, she added with a twist to her mouth, “I really am glad for both of you – and us. It could have been so much worse – he could be marrying Megan.” And at the thought of Matthew’s thwarted, permanently pouting Nordic blonde research assistant, we both had to laugh.
“So Ellie’s accepted it?” Matthew sorted through some old papers he had taken from a concealed panel behind one of the bookshelves in his study. He had shown me how to locate the catch that opened it.
“Fine, and she’s delighted I’ve asked her to be a bridesmaid.” I nodded at the wall. “Isn’t that rather an obvious place for a secret cubbyhole?” I ran my hand around the now empty space, the contents sitting on his desk in the lamplight.
“It is,” he agreed. “Which is the whole point.” He leaned inside the hole and applied pressure to the top left and bottom right corners of the rear panel at the same time, and the whole panel slid out of sight, revealing a deep space from which he took a large, battered metal box, with lifting handles either side of it. “The trick is to give them what they think they’re looking for, and then they’re less likely to hunt any further. The compartment is lined in lead, so shouldn’t be picked up by a scanner as a void, but could be detected as a dead zone, so” – he rapped his knuckles against the wood lining of the outer safe – “this is also lined in lead and faced with wood…”
“To give them what they are looking for,” I finished.
“Precisely. But as technology advances, so I have to come up with more effective ways of concealment. Soon, I reckon we’ll come full circle.”
“In what way?”
He smiled cheerfully. “I’ll resort to hiding things beneath o
ld yew trees again and hope developers haven’t set their sights on a bit of real-estate, and start digging.”
“You’ve done that before?”
“Oh, yes. That’s when boxes like these come into their own.” The metal thudded dully under the rap of his hand.
I pulled a face. “It makes you sound like a criminal.”
“Well, I’m not, and I always try to stay within the law of whatever country I’m in and at whatever time I’m in it. Within reason.” He took a small silver-coloured key from his desk. It looked innocuous, like any key to any cupboard whose contents needed minimum security.
“Watch.” He placed the key in the lock of the box and I heard a slight click from inside. “That’s armed the explosive device.”
“Matthew!” I took a step back.
“Wait…” another click, “… there’s a thirty-second time-delay. Now rotate anti-clockwise one-quarter turn.” A whirring like the wing-beat of a small bird. It stopped. “Then turn the key fully and take it out. The mechanism is now deactivated and safe.” He opened the lid. I half expected to see “Top Secret” written across the neat cardboard folders almost filling the box; instead, it looked like old documents. A frayed edge of a legal ribbon escaped from one folder; from another a glimpse of a wax seal. I drew in a deep lungful of one of my favourite scents.
“Yum, I smell vellum – and parchment – delicious. It’s better than chocolate. What’s in there and why do you need to protect these documents with explosives?”
He smiled at my sudden zeal. “It contains enough explosive to rupture these phials, which in turn sets up a chemical reaction that will destroy the contents irretrievably. It’s crude in today’s terms, but very effective, and it won’t harm anyone inadvertently.”
I surveyed the row of little glass bottles arranged within the lid and what must have been the detonator among them. “What happens if the phials break by accident?”
He flicked at one and I flinched back. The glass tinged, but no more. “They won’t – not even if the box is dropped – hence the need for a detonator. But get the sequence and timing wrong with the key, or try to force the box open, then – ka-boom!” He grinned. “It’s been an exciting life at times.”
“Golly, Matthew, you certainly know how to get a girl’s pulse racing. Most men would buy a bunch of flowers, but you, on the other hand, demonstrate Pandora’s Box!”
He placed a finger against my neck. “Mmm, nope – your pulse is nice and steady. I think it’ll take a lot more than an old box to raise your heart rate. Now, there’s a challenge.” His lips substituted his fingers against my neck, and a hand found its way beneath my jumper and caressed the skin of my back.
“Reprobate,” I chastised softly.
“Wanton,” he replied. My mobile rang. “Of all the saints…”
I pulled his face back to mine. “Ignore it.” It rang again – insistent. I fished it out of my pocket, about to switch it off, but saw my sister’s number.
Beth sounded too upbeat to be the bearer of bad news. “Em – it’s Beth. Nanna’s fine, don’t worry, I’m not ringing because anything’s wrong. Dad and I were just wondering…”
Frustrated relief broke through my initial fear. “Beth,” I looked at my watch and counted on, “it’s the middle of the night in the UK. What on earth do you think you’re doing phoning now!”
“Oh, it’s Archie’s latest tooth. Rob and I have been taking it in turns to sit up with him. It’s my turn tonight. I was really fed up but, do you know, it can be awfully peaceful at this time of night – I swear I can hear the daffs opening. They’re quite fabulous at the moment, you should see the garden when the sun shines – which hasn’t been that much lately. How’s your weather? Still have snow? Ooo, I’d just love to see some proper snow for once.” I thought I had huffed soundlessly but obviously not quietly enough, because she apologized. “Sorry, look, Dad and I wanted to know what you had in mind for your wedding breakfast – we’re just talking some ideas through – you know, having a look at what you might like. I’m making a list now. What’s Matthew’s fave food? I bet it’s not burgers…”
I put my hand over the microphone. “Can you hear this?” Matthew raised his eyebrows in assent and looked sympathetic. There came a break in the monologue on the other end of the line. “I’m not disturbing you or anything, am I?”
“Yes, you are.”
Beth whinnied like a schoolgirl. “Ooo, sorry! Really? At last! What’s he like?”
“Beth!” The box with the explosive strapped to its lid winked at me. I averted my eyes.
“Sorry, Em, just wondering. So what about it? Don’t tell me – he’s vegan. He is, isn’t he? I knew it. With skin that good he doesn’t eat animal fats, does he? Do you remember those sisters at school – the youngest was in your class, she had buck teeth, remember? They were vegan and they had great skin. Shame about the teeth though. I wish I could be so disciplined, but you know I really like my food…”
I pursed my mouth. “Beth…”
“What?”
“Matthew and I haven’t even discussed the wedding yet and I don’t know where we’re getting married, so please don’t go arranging things. I’m going to need your help, but please, please let us sort ourselves out first.”
“Oh.”
“Please, Beth?”
Matthew was reading a time-worn document with interest. He picked up another one. Seconds passed. Finally, “Yeah, OK. But Flora thinks she’s going to be a bridesmaid.”
“Well, of course she is! And Alex my pageboy and, Beth, please will you be my matron of honour?”
“What, and wear pink frills and lace? Not on your nelly!”
“You get to choose the outfit: silk, fitted, flattering…”
“Oh, go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.” She gave an impish laugh. “I don’t suppose Matthew could come and fix it?”
“No, he can’t. And by the way, he’s not vegan. I’ll let you have the date and venue and things when we know. Are you all right with that?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Can I think about the twins’ outfits?” An Archie-shaped siren wailed plaintively in the background.
“Please do. I haven’t a clue where to start.”
Archie’s pitch began to climb towards a crescendo. Beth had to raise her voice to be heard. “I’d better get back to him before he wakes the neighbours. Love to Matthew – have fun, play safe!”
“Yes, thank you, Auntie Beth,” I replied with lashings of sarcasm, but she had already gone to her son.
Matthew flipped a piece of paper over, cast his eyes down it, and put it to one side. I sat in my chair opposite his desk wondering how much longer he would be. He didn’t raise his eyes as he scanned the next document.
“How did Dan react?” I asked.
“Well. He’s very pleased, he likes you a lot.”
“And Jeannie?”
“She didn’t say much, but she still thinks you’re making the biggest mistake of your life, or rather your career, which amounts to the same thing in her eyes.” He continued reading.
“What about Maggie – when are you going to tell her?”
“I’m going to wait until she’s more stable. Any more questions?”
“Yes, what do you want to show me?”
He stacked the folders into neat piles and waited until I’d settled next to him before he lifted the first sheaf of papers. “These relate to this estate: the house, the land, goods and chattels. Henry owns the Barn, and Dan the Stables – those are in their names. Everything else is mine. This section, here” – he put his hand flat on a fatter pile – “is to do with various investments, also in my name.”
I didn’t want to know because my knowing made it seem as if he thought he wouldn’t be around one day to manage it all. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Concentrate. Everything to do with my current financial affairs belongs in the outer safe – you know how to access it. There is nothing in there that will, in any
way, suggest who I really am.” He held up a slim leather wallet, about A5 in size. “This document case holds my current passport, birth certificate, identity, the works – all right? Emma? Do you understand?” I nodded mutely. “This box,” he tapped it once, “contains everything else. You know where it’s hidden, and it stays there until such time as it’s needed.”
“Why are you telling me, Matthew?”
“Because soon you will be my wife.” Despite the context, I felt the thrill of it roll through me. “Emma, I want you to learn the mechanisms to open and close these compartments and the box. You need to know them off by heart until you can do it blindfolded. Right, let’s make a start.”
It wasn’t what I had in mind for an evening’s entertainment but, by the time I mastered the box, I felt fairly confident that I wouldn’t destroy the contents with a fumbled sequence. What I didn’t know – and he did nothing to throw light on the matter – was why he thought it necessary for me to have this information, and in what circumstances he thought I would need to use it.
CHAPTER
4
Moon and Stars
I never went anywhere without it. The little triptych Matthew gave me at Christmas gleamed reassuringly beside my bed – the last thing I saw before I slept, the first thing when I woke. When it had been made, oh, centuries ago by an unknown maker in some north Italian state, its creator went to sleep each night in the sure and certain knowledge that he didn’t know what the new day might bring, or whether he might live to see it at all. Over the last months, I too had witnessed the turmoil of uncertainty, and today, the box and its contents hidden in the wall served as a constant reminder of unquiet times.
We were in our own insulated world for those first days, and our world had changed. We were entirely our own and each other’s. We talked and walked and made plans and, when I slept, he was there when I woke. It could not last; life intervened and by Sunday evening I steeled myself for the return to college and work.
