by Rosalie Ash
She felt hot tears prickling her eyes, and rubbed her hands over her face to banish them.
‘I might have exaggerated a little, about not loving you any more,’ she whispered, her heart thudding erratically, ‘No, more than a little. Basically I lied.’
‘So what’s new there?’
Heat flooded her face. She unwound her scarf, and flung it onto the sofa.
‘I suppose I deserved that.’
His slightly raised eyebrows were his only response.
She felt physically sick now, the sense of helplessness growing. ‘Why did you bother coming tonight, if you’re just going to sneer and mock?’
‘I’m not.’ Matt unwound his own scarf, and it followed hers onto the sofa. ‘I’m just not sure of my ground at the moment.’
She stared at him, trembling with nerves.
‘That makes two of us! Why did you ask me to marry you?’
‘I already told you. Archie deserves a secure upbringing, with both his parents, if possible, to be there for him.’
She bit her lip. This was not going the way she’d hoped.
‘Is that the only reason?’
‘No.’ Matt narrowed his eyes to silver slits, and his voice had an angry edge when he added softly, ‘It’s not the only reason, Victoria, and you know it. There’s the fact that I am hopelessly in love with you. Christ knows why, when you are such a fucking nightmare.’
She caught her breath, held it to prolong the cautious little zing of joy inside.
‘Right.’ Had she really just heard Matt say he was in love with her? She had to fight to keep her voice level, ‘So, if you love me, and I love you back, could we maybe... start again? Could you maybe… ask me to marry you again?’
He had gone very still, and she stepped forward, finding her courage, reached out her hands to touch his shoulders, then his face.
‘It wasn’t all lies,’ she whispered, reaching on her toes to kiss him lightly on the mouth, ‘I did try really hard to stop myself from loving you. I just didn’t succeed, that’s all.’
She felt him shudder against her, and she moved in closer, wrapped her arms round him and held him as tightly as her muscles would let her.
‘Of course I still love you. I always have and always will.’ She breathed it against his chest, and finally felt him relax, felt his arms tighten around her until she was almost breathless. ‘And if you ask me to marry you again, I promise to say yes.’
He pushed her a little away, his eyes narrowed on her face.
‘Will you marry me, Victoria?’
‘Um mm… oh, Gosh, let me think… yes?’ She laughed up at him.
‘See what I mean? You’re a nightmare.’ He caught her head in his hands and kissed her, and the kiss seemed to release all the suppressed emotion of the last couple of years. Lost in it, all her senses swimming ecstatically in the dark sea of love and desire, she felt him stroke the whole length of her until she was moulded to his body, hot, breathless, and deliriously happy. She could stay like this for ever, she thought dizzily, although maybe without quite so many layers of clothing in the way, kissing Matt, crushed in the solid strength of his arms, knowing that he loved her. God, he loved her! Matt loved her! That made everything perfect, nothing could ever go wrong again, if Matt just loved her and she loved him back. There was a manic little sparkler-waving princess leaping up and down doing the Highland Fling in her heart.
‘Right,’ he eased them apart at last, his voice hoarse, ‘We need to go and find your sisters, and Archie, and all your friends, and tell them our news. But first, I want to give this.’
The box he drew out of his jacket pocket was small, square, from an expensive jewellers.
‘My birthday present?’ Her throat was suddenly tighter.
‘No. But it matches your birthday present.’
Eyes wide, she flipped the lid to see tucked into soft black satin a big, square cut diamond on a rose-gold band. She looked up at him blankly, dizzy with emotion, happiness and confusion.
‘An engagement ring?’ she managed, dazzled, ‘But how…I mean we didn't… how did you know…oh, Matt! It’s beautiful!’
‘Did you really think I’d give up on you as easily as that?’ he said.
She blinked at him, his words sinking in, momentarily uncertain how to react to this admission that he’d manipulated her this evening. But the brief twinge of doubt vanished as quickly as it came. She lifted the ring out of its satiny nest, and looked at it in awed happiness.
‘Matt… thank you. I promise to be the best wife in the world, I’ll do everything I can to make you happy!’
‘Whoa! Too many wild promises,’ he teased, ‘I’m not expecting a complete change of character, sweetheart.’
He took the ring from her and slid it onto her finger, where it flashed fire and ice in the lamp light.
‘It fits perfectly. How did you get my size?’
‘You have two conspiratorial sisters.’ His slanted eyebrow made her burst out laughing.
‘Come on,’ she said suddenly, grabbing their scarves, and clutching his arm again and propelling him back outside, ‘I can’t wait to tell everyone! I’m engaged, I’m getting married! Woohoo!'
They found Archie first, and Victoria swung him up into her arms.
‘Say hello to your Daddy! And Mummy’s fiancé!’ she ordered, smiling, and melting inside at the expression on Matt’s face as he smiled at his baby son.
They hunted down Jessica and Megan, who didn’t need much explanation when they saw Victoria’s excited glow, and Matt’s look of quiet satisfaction.
‘I’ve got to tell everyone!’ She was bubbling with happiness, eager to share her joy with all her birthday guests. Passing Archie to Matt, she found a nearby stack of hay bales and climbed up so she could wave to the crowd.
‘Everybody! I’ve got an announcement to make!’ she shouted across the hubbub, ‘Hush, listen to me! It’s my birthday, so you have to shut up and listen to me!’ She finally had her audience, ’I’ve had the best 21st birthday present ever. Matt and I just got engaged!’
There was a spontaneous round of applause, followed by much laughter and cheering. Someone started to sing a slightly tipsy version of ‘Congratulations’ and several others joined in. There were calls for a toast. Someone, she thought it was Daniel, offered to drive to his village restaurant and bring back a crate or two of champagne.
Victoria jumped down from the bales. She was grinning from ear to ear as friends surged forward to hug and congratulate her. Blinded by happiness, she held out her arms for a hug and kiss on the cheek from the first well-wisher.
Then she saw a face in front of her which was white and gaunt, with no hint of congratulations or laughter. In the split second it took for her to register that he was clutching a broken wine bottle like a weapon, he’d roughly grabbed her by putting his arm around her throat, dragging her back against him, and she could feel the point of jagged glass against her face.
It happened so fast. All she could think about, all she could concentrate on was that Archie was safe with Matt, and how not to end up with that jagged glass cutting her. Frozen with shock, fear, outrage, she stayed limp and still, her heart hammering like a piston. The man began shouting obscenities in a slurred, tearful voice,
‘Matt Larson! You’re a fucking murderer! You fucking killed my father, you wrecked my whole goddamn family, you asshole, how’d ya like me to wreck your pretty fiancée’s face, huh?’
Like a film in slow motion, she heard Matt shout ‘Leo, you bloody idiot!’ then watched him hurtle forward, rugby-tackle them to the ground, felt him wrench her forcibly out of Leo’s grip by thrusting himself between them. Freed, she rolled away, and just lay there for a few seconds, winded and shaken.
There was a violent scuffle, Leo sobbing like a child now, Matt cursing bitterly under his breath.
Megan came rushing to her, knelt down by her, ‘Are you OK? Are you hurt, Vic?’
‘No, I don’t think so..’ She
tried to get up, but her limbs felt like rubber. She lay there, shaking, listening to the chaos erupting around her. Someone screaming, children crying, Archie shouting, ‘Mumma, Mumma'! Elspeth’s voice, shaky but calm, calling Archie to her. And then Jessica’s voice, frightened, urgent, using her mobile to ring not just for the police, but for an ambulance as well.
When she finally managed to stagger to her to her feet, with Megan’s arm tightly round her shoulders, she saw that Leo was being pinned to the ground by a group of men including Daniel.
Then she saw Matt. He was lying on the ground, still as death, ashen-faced. Jessica was kneeling beside him, crying, frantically pressing an ominously blood-soaked scarf to a wound on his neck.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘What do you mean, he’s checked himself out?’ Victoria, out of breath from speed-walking all the way to the ward, clutched the bunch of orchids and lilies she’d brought, and stared at the nurse in horror.
Ten minutes earlier, she’d parked, in a flurry of impatience, in the hospital car park, then had to force herself to walk, not run, down the endless corridors to see Matt again. He’d been rushed in to A&E, with the paramedics letting her sit strapped in beside him in the ambulance, clutching his hand. He’d had five stitches in the jagged gash on his neck, which had narrowly missed the artery, and had been kept in for two nights now, for observation and intravenous antibiotics. The doctors had been worried about the possibility of infection from the dirty bottle, and the amount of blood he’d lost.
Having pleaded to be allowed to stay with him each night, she’d been dismissed by the doctors and by Matt himself, told to go home, not to worry, and get a good night’s sleep.
Some hope! She’d now spent two completely sleepless nights, doing a lot of worrying of her own. It was as if a continuous video clip was unwinding in her head, replaying over and over again the frightening attack at the party, the moment Matt had dived headlong to save her, the terrifying moment when she saw Matt lying there white faced and bleeding on the ground.
She’d also been worrying about his mood. The police had been coming and going at the hospital, taking statements. Matt had been undecided about pressing charges, and had been using up far too much energy ringing Leo’s family in New York, when he should have been resting and recovering.
When she saw his empty room this morning, she thought he’d been moved to another bed and gone in search of someone to find out where. The nurse she’d found rinsing something in a small room off the corridor, was telling her otherwise.
‘Mr Matt Larson,’ The solemn faced Asian nurse nodded emphatically, ‘He discharged himself. He left early this morning.’
Victoria checked her watch. ‘But it’s only ten o’clock now! How… why? Where did he go?’
The nurse shrugged, her expression blank, ‘He was collected by a friend.’
‘A friend? But I’m his fiancée!’ Victoria wanted to shout, to wave her gorgeous engagement ring at the uninterested nurse, restraining herself just in time. Instead, she fished out her mobile, and tried ringing him. It switched straight to answer-machine. Four more attempts met the same result.
‘Did the doctors discharge him? Did they say he was OK to go?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘The doctors don’t do their rounds until later.’
‘Then… then how did he get to leave?’ She felt as if she were bashing her head against a brick wall in an effort to glean the facts.
‘He just undid the antibiotic drip, got dressed, and left,’ her tormentor said impassively.
‘Were you here? Didn’t you try to stop him?’
‘He is a very determined man. His friend helped him out of the hospital.’
‘What did his friend look like?’
‘A woman. Dark hair. Red coat.’
‘Oh.’ Victoria breathed shakily, ‘Well, there’s a surprise.’
‘He left something behind,’ the nurse said, as if suddenly remembering, and darted into the room to return with what looked like a small white pedal-bin bag. ‘You might want to take this.’
In the bag was Matt’s silver and grey striped wool scarf, still matted with dried blood. Tears welled, and she quickly blinked them away.
Wordlessly, she took the bag and walked back out of the hospital.
In the car, she collapsed into the driving seat, clutched the scarf to her stomach while she gave in to a cathartic crying fit.
Then she found tissues, mopped her face, and picked up her mobile again. She didn’t care how many phone calls, texts, emails, answer-phone messages it took this time, she had to speak to him, she had to find him.
Her fingers were shaking, her heart was thudding. She was really frightened, for his physical health, but also for his state of mind. Because this time, she thought she did understand him. She felt that she knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling, and why he’d vanished from her life again.
And she could turn it around, reassure him, if only he would let her.
‘Victoria?’ The female voice on the phone was familiar, although it lacked its previous warm confidence. She dashed into the relative quiet of the kitchen to take the call. The Christmas tree was being decorated in the sitting room, Megan and Jessica were hovering, helping with the tree but also to keep a discreet eye on her, she knew. An excitable William was draping small pieces of red tinsel around the fir branches, executing a little dance as he did so, and Archie was doing his best to copy his older cousin. An agonising few days had gone by, with no word at all from Matt, and her attempts to contact either him or Emma had all met with ‘this mobile is switched off’. She was nearly at breaking point.
‘It’s Emma.’
‘Yes… oh, thank God, I’ve been going out of my mind. Where is he? Please tell me he’s alright?’
There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘He’s at his cottage in Cornwall. He’ll probably kill me for telling you. But I’m worried about him. He tried to send me away the minute I’d driven him down there. But I was so worried about the stitches, the wound. You know what he’s like, there’s no reasoning with him once he makes a decision.’
‘Was he OK when you left him?’
‘Yes, at least there was less inflammation. I insisted he went to the local GP and got antibiotic tablets to take, just in case. I stayed the first two nights. I just drove back this morning.’
Victoria caught her breath involuntarily, had to stamp quickly on the surge of sick jealousy at the thought of Emma being with him for two nights. There had better be a spare room, she told herself fiercely. She was too proud to ask.
Then she thought her heart might simply break at the vision of Matt alone in his Cornish cottage, and she could only feel gratitude that Emma had been there.
‘Thank you for looking after him,’ she said, ‘Can you give me the address and directions?’
Jessica had come through to the kitchen, and was listening in, impatient to know what was being said. Victoria clicked the phone off.
‘Can you let Elspeth bring Archie to you again for the night? Matt is at his cottage in Cornwall. I need to go to him.’
‘Oh Vicki, of course you do.’ Jessica looked close to tears of relief, ‘Come on, I’ll help you pack a bag.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The cottage in Port Gaverne was perched on a jut of headland, a long, low, two-storey building of whitewashed Cornish stone. On a sunny day the sea-blue shutters would no doubt match the colour of the water in the small fishing inlet. But as Victoria battled her way to the door, against the wind and rain, the sea was a stormy grey with huge rollers crashing white foam against the rocks below.
Hammering on the door brought no response, so, briefed by Emma, she found the key under a pot of battered red geraniums, and let herself in, her heart thumping nervously.
The door led straight into a huge square living room, with stunning views along the curving green cliffs and out to sea. She quickly took in simple white walls, an exposed stone wall with a deep smoke bla
ckened inglenook fireplace, polished slate floors and sofas and rugs with a calm colour scheme of cream, sand, and muted shades of turquoise and blue. Leading off to one side, was a glass conservatory which was clearly used by Matt as a painting studio. She could see canvases stacked against the back wall, paints, palettes, brushes on a long table. Leading off to the other side was a kitchen, with cream units, a big solid pine table and chairs, and a shiny black range cooker. Beyond that there was a lobby, with several pairs of walking boots, wellington boots, and jackets on pegs.
‘Matt?’ Her voice sounded shaky as she called. When there was no answer, she opened a latched door onto a small staircase, and ventured upstairs. A rapid search found Matt’s en-suite bedroom, almost as big as the sitting room below and with the same to-die-for views. His king-size bed was rumpled and unmade, although the white bed-linen looked clean.
