by C F Dunn
“Oh? Did he say anything about my research?”
“No, he said nothing about you.” She redirected the air vent onto her face. “But Sam did.”
Blast. Sam knew little of what I did, but what he knew was too much in the hands of someone out to make mischief. I slowed for a red light, impatiently tapping the rim of the steering wheel. “What did he say?”
“Nothing much. I think he still does not like to talk about you. It hurts him – here.” She placed her hand against her heart. We entered the long drive and she bent down, struggling with the strap of her fuchsia-coloured handbag that had wrapped itself around her feet.
“But he said something?” I pressed.
She yanked and the bag came free. “Oh, da, he talked about your research.” Her hand hit the dashboard as I brought the car to a violent halt. “Emma, why did you stop?”
“What did he say?”
She looked over her shoulder. “We are blocking the drive.”
“Elena, what-did-he-say?”
“Sam just said that you were researching an old book – a diary, he said. It was not important I think, is it?”
A car honked impatiently behind us. In the rearview mirror, Shotter’s bulbous head glowered over the steering wheel. I took my foot off the break. “Did Guy say anything?”
“No,” she dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead with a tissue. “He just smiled.”
What do you do when your gut tells you something is wrong? Where do you turn when you have nothing more than instinct and insinuation to go on? I dropped Elena off in the staff car park and headed home the long way round to give myself time to think.
Less traffic crowded this route and I pulled over in a shallow lay-by near the bridge and climbed out. The bridge’s planks had been worn smooth and silver by decades of wind and snow and rain. I leaned cautiously over the low metal parapet, corrugated where it had been struck by vehicles over the years. The river flowed tamer than it did only a few days before, and rocks that had lain submerged now held their bald heads above the water. Tail twitching furiously, a tiny startled squirrel rattled up the trunk of a nearby tree and sat swearing at me from a branch. I knew how it felt.
I didn’t want to tell Matthew. I didn’t want Guy to intrude any more on our marriage. I wanted to accept at face value the apology he offered, give him the absolution he sought for whatever reason he asked for it – and then be done with it, be finished with him once and forever.
The remains of the skunk had all but vanished, but its stink lingered in the grain of the wood. I held my breath and stepped past it. There might be nothing in what Sam had said about the journal that would whet Guy’s appetite for fresh blood, not if what he said in the restaurant were true. I raised my head as the note of a car’s engine rose above the gabble of the water – a harried noise, angry.
Too fast.
I made it to the other side as a small silver car sped around the angle of the bridge and tried to stop. Tyres skidded on the smooth planks, forcing the car into a spin and coming to a juddering halt against the low crash barrier that separated it from the drop to the river below. I sprinted to the driver’s door as it flung open. “Are you all right?” A dazed boy of no more than eighteen fell out onto his knees. “Hang on, don’t move.” I leaned in and switched off the engine.
“My Mom’s gonna kill me,” he moaned, clutching his shoulder.
“Your mother will be thankful you’re alive. You’re OK, here…” I helped him sit with his back propped against the car, and put my jacket around him. “I’ll call for help, then let me take a look at your shoulder.”
The boy’s face alternated between white and an odd shade of green. “I didn’t know the bend was there; I couldn’t see it. My Mom’ll kill me,” he said again. He seemed in one piece, just shaken, but the passenger door had caved in and the crash barrier had fared little better; it had been a close call.
“He was sure lucky,” the stocky policeman said as the grey-faced mother collected her son. “Seen a number of fatalities here over the years. Something was supposed to be done about the bend. Spending cuts.” He kicked at the loosened bulwark and it rattled unevenly. “I’ll report it anyhow – lotta good it’ll do.” He eyed my sleek, powerful car. “You take care on the road now, ma’am. I don’t want another callout tonight.” He picked up a piece of discarded black trim and went back to his vehicle. I waited until he drove off and the recovery truck towed the lame car away, leaving the river to flow in peace once again with nothing more than the blackened marks of tyres and warped barrier as witnesses to what might have been.
CHAPTER
24
Cat and Mouse
It was getting dark by the time I arrived back home. Tail lights bobbed and dipped like demon’s eyes in my rearview mirror as I passed a car coming down our drive.
“Who was that?” I asked Matthew when I found him in the study deep in thought.
“Maggie,” he replied shortly. “Had a good day?”
I dumped my bag on my chair. “It was interesting,” I said noncommittally, but instead of asking me to clarify my remark, he just nodded without looking at me. “Is everything all right?”
He shoved his chair back from his desk, taking in my face, my mouth, my eyes. “I could ask you the same.” He gave a tight smile. “I’m sure you’re ready for something to eat; dinner’s waiting.”
He remained quiet all evening, and when I looked up unexpectedly, I found him watching me. Later, when I climbed into bed still damp from my shower, he wasn’t there. When he didn’t appear I went downstairs to find him. A single light lit his desk. He looked up when I came in. “I’ll come to bed later,” he said. “I have work to do.”
Curling up alone, I pulled the covers over my ears, staring at my triptych in the faint light that crept from the landing under our bedroom door. Christ smiled down at me, and I yearned for the certainty that the dread I felt was unfounded, but my ears were filled with the sound of the river, and my dreams stained with blood.
Matthew lay beside me when I woke, as if nothing had happened. He reached out when he saw me stir and stroked my lips with his thumb as if cleansing them. “Bad dream?”
If I had I didn’t remember, just the vague feeling that something wasn’t right. I held his palm to my face and breathed him in. “I’m better now you’re here.” Already dressed, he withdrew his hand and slid out of bed. I followed his movements as he opened the shutters. “Matthew, is something bothering you?”
He opened the last shutter before answering. “Ellie’s bringing her boyfriend to meet the family today. She has the afternoon off and they are seeing her parents for lunch, but she wants to introduce him to us after that – about tea-time. Do you think you’ll be back by then?”
“I expect so. I don’t see why not.”
“So you won’t be meeting up with Elena again?”
“Elena? No, we haven’t arranged to.” Did he know about Guy? Did he know and yet wouldn’t ask me outright? I did my best to look nonchalant. “Nope, nor anyone else, but I can tell you one thing, I won’t take the same road home I did yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“It’s pretty, but the bridge on that route is lethal – a boy crashed there yesterday. That’s why I was back so late; I had to wait until his mum and the police arrived.”
Matthew gave me a funny look – not so much one that questioned what I’d said, but rather why I’d said it. “You didn’t say.”
“No, I forgot.” Still chilly in the mornings, I shivered and drew my dressing gown around my shoulders. “I’ll be back by four.”
Perhaps I should have told him about Guy. If he knew I had seen him would he not have mentioned it? Or did something else stalk him which he declined to share with me? I tussled with the wisdom of keeping it to myself as I made final checks to Aydin’s work, and then again, as I made adjustments to my own. I was still pondering when I entered the library. The journal was where it had been and where it should be. Not
hing had changed and I began to think that my growing anxiety amounted to nothing more than paranoia.
I made it home by two. By the time I opened the windows to let the grass-scented air run freely through the house, Matthew still hadn’t returned, and I put on a load of washing and went to change into something lighter.
Pressing the damp, fresh linen to my hot skin, I began to hang it out. I had come to the conclusion that I would tell Matthew about the conversation with Guy, even if mentioning him made him more significant somehow, like an unwelcome weed. In the breeze, the sheet snapped damply against my legs and the peg securing one end sprang from the taut line, landing in the grass some feet away. Uttering mild oaths and stretching, I tussled with holding the sheet on the line as the freshening wind tried to tease it from my grip, and reached for the peg. Ghost-like, the sheet suddenly billowed into human form and a hand appeared beneath the veil of fabric and picked up the peg.
“Did you want this?” a disembodied voice asked. I stiffened.
“What are you doing here?”
Guy ducked under the line. “Your husband’s tamed you, I see. What an image of domestic bliss; I never expected to see you hanging out laundry.”
I ignored the peg in his outstretched hand. “How do you know where I live?”
“Does it matter?” he asked with a sardonic lift to his lip. “It would hardly be difficult to find out.” The sheet flicked in my face and I pinned it to the line viciously without answering. “I like these.” He bent down and lifted something from the washing basket. “I don’t remember you wearing anything like this for me.” I snatched my knickers from his hand and threw them back in the basket. I refused to be riled. So where was my resolve to forgive him? Vanished – the moment I heard his voice and realized nothing had changed.
“You didn’t say why you’re here, Guy. I thought we’d said everything there was to say yesterday.”
“I didn’t come here to see you, if that is what’s bothering you. I told you; I’ve moved on. I’m here on other business.”
What business could he have here if not with me? He wanted me to ask but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
A woman’s voice called out from the direction of the house. “Guy!”
I felt the blood drain from my face and I looked at him with undisguised horror.
“Oh, there you are,” Ellie laughed, lightly stepping between the sheets. “You’ve found Emma.” She tucked her arm through Guy’s. “I hope you’ve been helping with the laundry.”
“No, Ellie,” I whispered, my lips numb.
“Aw, Guy, that’s too bad of you.” She gazed up at him as he held my eyes. “Have you told Emma where you’re from and what you do?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Gee, what have you two been talking about?” She turned to me, her eyes shining. “I wanted to keep it a secret until today. Guy’s from the UK, but you’d already worked that out, huh?” She laughed again. “But the best bit is he studies history like you. Isn’t that neat? I couldn’t believe it when he told me. It’s a real coincidence, isn’t it?”
“But Ellie, she doesn’t believe in coincidences – do you, Emma?”
Ellie’s brow wrinkled into a puzzled smile. “How do you know that?”
“An educated guess. You wanted me to meet your uncle?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Is Matthew back yet, Emma?”
“No. Not yet.”
She appeared impervious to my stilted reply. “Can I show Guy the house?” She was already dragging him in the direction of the back door. “You’ll love it; Matthew collects antiques. Come on.” She didn’t wait for my answer.
The distant sound of a car engine became audible as it climbed the rise towards the buildings. I raced around the front of the house waving frantically as the claret chassis came into view. Matthew leapt out of the car as I ran up to him. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s Ellie,” I gasped, bending to recover my breath, but I didn’t have a chance to explain.
“Matthew!” she called, waving from the front porch. She ran down the steps into the sun. “Matthew, come and meet Guy; he’s dying to meet you.”
Matthew’s face clouded as he looked at me. I nodded, not daring to say anything in front of Ellie in case my voice gave me away.
“Hurry up,” she said and danced up the steps and back into the house, disappearing from view.
“Guy? He’s her boyfriend?”
“I didn’t know, Matthew, I had no idea. What do we do?”
He swore quietly. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” I said again. “I don’t trust him; this is too much of a coincidence to be one.”
He looked towards the gaping mouth of the open front door. “Have you said anything to Ellie?”
“I haven’t had a chance. He’s in the house, in our home.”
I must have looked upset because he said more evenly, “It might be more innocent than it appears. Let her introduce me – you never know, he could be genuine,” he smiled, but without conviction. “Let’s find out what he really wants. We’ll play the long game. If he’s after something, he’ll reveal his hand sooner or later. Is he aware that I know who he is and about your relationship with him?”
“No, I haven’t told him.”
He gave a short nod and we started to walk towards the house. “Good, keep it that way for the time being.”
“But we have to warn Ellie, Matthew, before it’s too late.”
“Yes,” he said grimly, “we will, before it’s too late.”
A steady breeze from the open front door cooled the hall. Subdued voices came from the study. Matthew tensed and quickened his pace. They were standing by his desk surveying the bookcases, close together as they discussed the titles. As we walked in, Guy’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed into calculating gashes. Matthew strode across the room, holding out his hand in an open show of conviviality.
“I’m Matthew Lynes. I apologize for not being here to welcome you, but I was held up at work. I believe you have already met my wife Emma?”
Guy shot me a look that I returned frostily. He reached out and shook Matthew’s hand, weighing him up. “Yes,” he replied slowly, “I have; the pleasure was all mine.”
Nothing in his demeanour betrayed the deep rage that tore through Matthew and only I could tell by the scalding vapour that suffused the air around him. He drew a smile out of nowhere. “You’ve met my brother Dan, and Jeannie, I believe.”
Ellie beamed, taking Guy’s hand in hers. “It went well, didn’t it? Mom really likes you.”
“Yes, your parents are charming. I can see the family resemblance in looks, if not in accommodation.” His eyes travelled over the room and back to Matthew, resting on his hair before engaging his eyes again. “Your brother designed the conversion, I understand, Matthew, and your parents live in…?”
“The Barn,” Ellie said.
“Yes, the Barn. And you have the main house,” he stated as if the fact were significant. “An extended family – very traditional, very old-fashioned.”
My heart thudded uncomfortably and Matthew put his arm around me. “Indeed, we are a close-knit family and protect our own.” He smiled politely. “I see that Ellie has been showing you around.”
“I took Guy to see the horses. Ollie’s a bit jumpy today; he tried to bite Guy, but he just grazed his arm.” She extended his forearm, revealing the reddened skin beneath the dark hairs.
“Shame,” I muttered.
Ellie soothed Guy’s arm. He twitched. “Ollie’s not normally like that, is he, Matthew?”
“No. Not usually.”
“I was telling Guy who you named the horses after,” Ellie blithely continued. “He’s a historian. He’s written books; there’s one in the library, he showed me.”
“Really? What period do you study?”
“The same period as your wife.” He smiled. “We share common interests – a common history, if you like.”
“I came initially for the conference, but there’s something of greater interest here I want to investigate.” Ellie’s face shone, but I had the impression it wasn’t what he meant. For the second time that day, I shivered.
“Are you cold?” Ellie asked me.
Yes, from the inside out. I forced a smile. “No, I’m fine.” I held on to her arm as she made to follow Guy and Matthew across the hall. “Ellie, wait a mo.”
She examined my face. “You look awful, Emma. Sit down and let me take a look at you. Do you feel nauseous?”
She seemed so blissfully happy and I tried to find a way that wouldn’t destroy her newfound joy. “No, but I need to speak to you. Ellie, what do you know of Guy?”
Her smile wavered. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“What has he told you about himself?”
She giggled. “We haven’t spent much time talking…”
“Have you slept with him?” I asked, aghast.
She dropped her gaze, running a hand through her hair and tucking the long strands behind her ear. Her mouth tightened. “Sure, I guess.”
“For goodness sake, Ellie, you know nothing about him!”
I could have kicked myself as her eyes flashed defiance. “I know what I need to and that we’re in love. He’s older than me, sure, but I thought you of all people would understand. Mom really likes him.”
“She doesn’t know him.”
“And you do, Emma?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do.” I took her hand. “Ellie, please listen to me. I know about Guy Hilliard…”
“I know he was married, if that’s what you mean,” she interjected. “It’s OK, he’s told me. He had a really rough time – his wife had an affair. She even took their children. Can you believe it!”
“Ellie, she wasn’t the only one. You can’t trust him.”
