by C F Dunn
“Er, no, not as far as I’m aware, Josh, thanks.” They stared with open curiosity, and I supposed it unreasonable to expect that they hadn’t heard the salacious details of the trial in all its humiliating glory. Only Aydin behaved as if I were relatively normal. He put his bag on the floor and held out his hand.
“I am much pleased that you are OK. These things are now over, evet? Yes, and we can work now and all will be good. The fire is out and you are not burned; your news is old news, I think.” He beamed widely and shook my hand. The others looked bemused, but neither Aydin nor I felt like explaining his reference to our conversation after Christmas, when the campus had been awash with gossip about me. “The fire of rumour,” he’d said, “will burn hot and fast and burn itself out without doing any lasting damage.” He had been right – still a little singed on the outside I might be, but inside I remained whole and fresh and clean.
“Thank you, Aydin, it’s good to see you. Let’s get on.”
They settled in their chairs and we slipped back into our routine more easily than I had left it only a few weeks before. By the time we finished the session, I had arranged to see each of them separately so I could go through their work in detail, and they fully accepted that I was not a ghost.
Half-way across the quad after lunch and wishing the snow would hurry up and melt, I found myself outside the medical facility without really knowing how I arrived there. The glass doors swung open invitingly. Would it matter if I took a peek just to make sure he was all right?
A familiar gravelly voice rose in greeting. “Well, look who’s here!”
“Matias!”
He swung me into a crushing hug. “Who’s back from the dead, hey? I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you; Elena has been driving me insane these last weeks.” He stood back and examined me closely. “You’re looking remarkably well, I must say. I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened. I honestly didn’t expect to see you back here before the spring break.” His voice dropped along with his customary smile, and he clasped my hands in his. “Quite frankly, Emma, I didn’t think we would be seeing you again at all. It sounded like…” He shook his head and he didn’t need to finish what we both knew he meant.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Matias Lidström. It takes more than that to put me out of action.”
He managed a laugh. “Yes, that’s what Matthew said just before he told me he has to marry you to keep you out of trouble.”
“Beast!” I walloped him. “You could have told me he’d said. I’ve been very restrained – I haven’t told anyone yet.”
His face crinkled. “That’s more than Matthew’s been doing. He wanted to tell me the second I walked through the door this morning, I could tell.”
“How?”
“Apart from the grin the size of Niagara you mean? He gave the game away when he asked me to be his best man. I said I’d have to think about it and let him know…” He took a rapid step backwards as I aimed a jab at his ribs. “… and then I thought about what Elena would do to me – or not do to me – if I didn’t accept, so I told him that if I didn’t have anything better to do that day, I might as well spend it eating and boozing at his expense. Hey, hang on there, you’ll make the staff jealous!” The people milling around the foyer weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to us, and besides, I didn’t care who saw me plant a delighted kiss on his stubbly cheek.
“What does Elena think?” I asked, once I had relinquished my hold on him.
“She doesn’t know; I haven’t told her. I thought you would have done by now and I’m not saying a word about it until you do. Can you imagine what hell my life would be if she found out without you there to answer all her incessant questions?” He made his fingers into a mouth and made it jabber away, making me laugh.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her when I see her. Light the blue touch-paper and retreat.”
I spent the afternoon engrossed. Hannah had produced a fascinating initial response to her proposal, which required intense concentration on my part to unravel. Should her hypothesis be proved right, she could turn current thinking on its head. As it was, the facts just didn’t stack up.
After struggling to make some sense of it for several hours, I welcomed Elena’s interruption shortly before remembering I had something to tell her. If I had a chance. I hadn’t seen her since the trial and she was bursting with gossip as she danced through my door, her face glowing with excitement.
“I have so much to tell you! Now, let me look at you first.” She spun me around before I could say anything, then stepped back and scanned me up and down. “Yes, you are well, I think. I could not believe it when Matias said you were coming back so soon. He would not let me see you at Matthew’s home. He said that you had to rest and that I would make too much excitement for you. I said to him that he is a man and he doesn’t know what a woman needs, and he said that he thinks he does and that you didn’t need me!” Her laughter rang out.
“Elena, I have something to tell you…”
She pranced across the room, her long arms waving above her head like saplings in a breeze. “And then there were all the reporters for days and days. Nasty rude men asking lots of questions and flash, flash, flash with those cameras in my face – like this…” and she illustrated by thrusting her hand towards me so that I ducked instinctively out of the way.
“Elena…”
“And I told them,” she waggled her finger, “I told them that the things they said about you were not true – lies, all lies – and that you were nearly killed by that terrible man. And when they asked about Matthew…”
My head jerked up. “What did you say about Matthew?”
She stopped as she heard the edge in my voice. “I said he is a good doctor and he saved your life, nothing more. You said not to, Emma, do you remember? You said that no one must know how close you are.”
I breathed again. “That’s good. Elena, can I tell you something?” She looked at me with her head on one side, which usually preceded some profound declaration. “Elena?”
“Do you know,” she said slowly, “there is something different about you. Da, I can see it, you look alive. Yes, yes, alive and happy. Hah! Something has happened I think!”
“I survived a massive cardiac arrest, perhaps?” I suggested dryly.
She flapped a hand. “Yes, yes, of course. But this is something else.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look, mmm – all warm and happy – yes, that is it – happy.”
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “That’s probably because I am, you noodle. Good grief, I’ve waited all day to tell you.”
“You must tell me e-verything. No, no, tell me nothing – I shall guess.” She made herself comfortable on one of the armchairs and sat forward, hands on her knees, eyes bright with anticipation. “Matthew took you out to dinner and…”
I held up a hand. “Clichéd and pointless; I don’t eat enough to warrant spending money on.”
“Oh, so you lay there dying, and he took you into his arms and…”
“Unprofessional and far too public – we were in the courthouse at the time,” I reminded her.
She pursed her lips. “In bed as you…”
“Nope.”
She crossed her arms huffing in exasperation. “What then?”
“Well, that would be telling now, wouldn’t it? Suffice to say he…”
“Swept you off your feet and asked you to marry him,” she interrupted gleefully.
“Well, yes, he did as a matter of fact.”
“Da,” she whooped, “I knew it! It is written all over your face. This is such good news. You have mended his heart…”
“And he mine. We’re getting married in May.”
She became still and quiet. “Married? In May? But this is so soon. Matias and I have not even… we cannot…” She gathered herself. “There is so much to do first. What about the arrangements? What about your dress? Do your family know? Are you pregnant?” I spent the
next five minutes filling her in on the details, then she wrapped her willowy arms around my shoulders. “I am so, so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I returned.
“And now,” she said, stepping away and using the back of her sleeve to dry her face, “I must tell Matias. This is such a good day and he will be so pleased for you both.”
She produced her mobile and had lifted it to her ear when she stopped and squinted at me. “Why do you look like that?” I rearranged my face to look innocent, but too late. “He knows? Matias already knows about the wedding?” she asked. I nodded. “He did not tell me! Wait until I see him,” she almost spat, her hands on her hips like a fishwife. I didn’t know who should be more afraid – him or me.
“It’s not Matias’s fault, and anyway, I wanted to tell you first and didn’t want him spoiling the surprise. I have a question to ask.” She sneaked a look at me, curiosity roused. “I would love you to be a maid of honour – or matron of honour if you beat us to it and marry first.”
Her face fell. “No, that won’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“There are difficulties.” I waited for her to go on but she didn’t elaborate. “I will be your maid of honour and interfere in your wedding instead, no?” she said with a small smile.
“Interfere to your heart’s content,” I said, hopping down from my perch and making for the door before Matthew could use his key.
“Well, hello there,” he said, grinning at me. “Matias here is looking for Elena. Is she with you? He mentioned something about needing a bulletproof vest… ah.” He came to a halt. “I see. Good evening, Elena.”
“Incoming,” Matias groaned behind him, as Elena glowered like a thundercloud.
“Good evening, Matthew,” she said primly, then turned on her fiancé. “Matias, you did not tell me.”
He grabbed her slender frame in a bone-crushing embrace. “I knew you would want to hear it from Emma first, my little sugarplum. I think this calls for a part – don’t you, Matthew? A joint celebration in honour of our beautiful brides? What do you say, girls? How about a party?”
Elena forgot to be angry. “I will need a new dress.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Of course you will, kitten.”
“A party?” I said hesitantly to Matthew, thinking of all the food and drink he would have to avoid.
“Definitely. We have something worth celebrating with a few good friends, music, dancing… sounds like a plan. Matias and I will arrange it, as you have enough to do.”
“Emma and I can go shopping this weekend,” Elena suggested, already practising a few dance steps.
Matthew took the bag he carried through to the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder. “This weekend is already booked, I’m afraid.”
“New York,” I explained. “How about the one following?”
“New York,” Elena said wistfully. “Matias, we haven’t been to New York for ages…”
He growled, “No, we’ve been to Finland and St Petersburg instead; New York will have to wait. I’ll have to look out my tux for the wedding. I’m a little more dignified around the waist than before Christmas. All that Russian fare Elena’s mother produced – it would’ve been rude not to eat it.”
Elena prodded his stomach. “All you did was eat, eat, eat and now you are getting fat. It is your own fault. Look, Matthew is not even a little fat,” she said as he returned from the kitchen. Matias ruefully observed his newly acquired paunch.
“Well, Matthew is younger than I am and he gets far more exercise by the looks of it, though how he’s developed muscles like those from picking up a scalpel I’ll never know. Besides, he never eats anything much to speak of, while here I am, doing my best to support the agrarian economy of this country…”
“Single-handed.” Elena tittered. “I like you just the way you are, like my little Russian bear, all round and furry and…” He put his hand over her mouth and she giggled from behind it.
“All right, I think they’ve got the idea; you don’t need to show me up any further in front of Superman here.” He pitched a look at Matthew, then at me. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to rely on you to fatten him up and redress the balance, will I, Emma? Do you two compete to see how little you can eat? Abnormal, the pair of you.”
My mind went into free-fall trying to think of something to say, but Matthew replied seamlessly. “It’s all in the genes – nothing either of us can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“You could darn well eat more for a start. Tell me which genes are responsible and I’ll start a program of genetic modification and be the guinea-pig. How about it, Matthew? Take a break from all this blood analysis and geno-morphing and venture into adipose-reduction. We could make a killing on the open market, what with your brains and my looks – what a team!” He elbowed Matthew in the ribs and yelped, clutching his arm, the grin dropping from his face. “What the…? What’ve you got under there? Body armour?”
Now I felt Matthew tense. “Caught a nerve I suspect. Want me to take a look?”
“No, I don’t think so, thanks.” Gingerly, Matias rubbed his arm, eyeing Matthew in a way I hadn’t seen before.
I soothed Matthew’s ribs. “That’ll teach you not to abuse my fiancé. Elena, keep Matias under control, will you? He’s supposed to be his best man, not duffing him up.”
Elena forgot all about compassion and rounded on him. “Best man! Matias, you did not tell me. How can you be best man like that? You will not be able to fit in your clothes! Stop making such a big fuss about your arm. Come, we have things to do and you have a party to arrange.” She dragged him towards the door. Matthew winced in sympathy and Matias grimaced back, his elbow all but forgotten except for the element of speculation that remained in his eyes when he bid us goodnight as they left the room.
CHAPTER
6
New York
Days passed and with them the snow. Depressed grass, crushed by months of frost, now churned into mud under student feet as they ignored the “keep off the grass” signs dotting the quad. Everything looked grey or brown and lacklustre – life suspended – a long breath held in anticipation of an early spring. Then the sun shone. Within days, spears of green burst through the broken sward and pulsing buds erupted on the trees lining the paths. Heads lifted towards the sun, shoulders straightened, steps lightened and, like ants from a nest, the campus emerged into the light.
I had arranged to see members of my tutor group individually over the coming weeks, spending many hours every evening in my room pruning their initial work until the dead wood was cast aside and new growth lay gleaming and transparent on the page. It now became a question of bringing the research to fruition and that would be quite another matter. Not all would stand up to scrutiny and, until each piece had been honed to perfection, I would not, could not, let it pass muster. If Guy had taught me anything, it was to raise the game and maintain unassailable standards. My students would rise or fall on the work they presented at the conference and my reputation with them. I thought their research encouraging, but in no way complete.
By the time I put my pen down on Friday evening, I felt ready for the weekend. I yawned and stretched my legs out under my desk.
“If you’re too tired we can postpone the trip for another week.” Matthew massaged my stiff shoulders.
I rested my cheek on his fingers. “No, I’m up for it; a change is as good as a rest,” I quoted Nanna. “Anyway, you said you have appointments to keep in New York. I’ll get some sleep on the plane.” We were catching a late night flight on one of the internal airlines from Portland, rather than taking his jet. “I’m all packed. I didn’t know what to take so I’m playing safe.”
He stroked my cheek. “Safe – that’s what I like to hear. Anything you need we can buy when we’re there.”
“If we have time,” I pointed out.
He tugged my plait like a bell-pull. “We’ll make time if need be. Ready?”
Even in the ea
rly hours the city streets heaved. People spanned crowded pavements, meandering fluidly before melting into the darker side streets away from the biting illumination of the shop windows.
Spangled in light, the hotel’s façade looked like a French chateau from a hundred years ago, and I wondered if I appeared as shabby as I felt after the flight, wishing I could be at ease in these polished surroundings. Still weary despite sleep, I had to remind myself that not so long ago the most I might have looked forward to was a long, slow recovery with a brain resembling a green vegetable, so – all things considered – I wasn’t doing too badly.
I stood up straight and tried to assume an element of poise and composure as we fed through the revolving glass doors and into a foyer glinting glass and gold, the marble floor echoing our footsteps. I found it strange, disorientating, like being thrown from one world into another.
Matthew made arrangements with a man who greeted us by name. I became sidetracked by a sudden clatter as, oozing opulence, a middle-aged couple rolled through the doors, shattering the discreet hush in a bloom of alcohol. The woman lurched in our direction, flashing vulgar diamonds and neon teeth, jingling noisily as she wove past and leaving a florid scent as pungent as sweat. The man belched loudly. Wealth. It took people differently. I grew up with the vestiges of wealth left by generations of fading fortunes until it became no more than a distant memory in an almost forgotten past. Matthew seemed comfortable with money, wearing it neither to dress his reputation, nor to boost his esteem, but as a tool to secure the comfort and safety of his family and to ensure their means of escape, and its lack of hold over him endeared him to me all the more.
He declined an offer to show us to our room, and together we walked towards the lift. He seemed to know where we were going.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“Once,” he said quietly, “when it was first built.”
