‘Are you dressed? I’m not used to…’
‘I thought you said you’d been married? You must have seen nude women before?’
‘Cara, stripping off in front of strange men is just not done.’
‘Well, you said it.’
‘Said what?’
‘That you’re strange.’ She walked over to him and, grabbing his chin with her fingertips, forced him to look her in the eyes. ‘Matti, I don’t just strip off in front of strange men, as you put it. I said I trusted you and that still stands, unless,’ her gaze wavering. ‘Unless there’s some reason not to, that is? You’re not going to jump me or something ridiculous are you?’
‘No, I-’ He lifted up a hand to her hair, still sodden from the bath. ‘Although it wouldn’t be ridiculous. You’re a very beautiful woman, Cara,’ his eyes back on her face.
Yanking out of his reach, she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Me, beautiful. Ha. In your dreams, Matti. I’m some tragic pity person only good when no one else is around.’ Walking back to the bed she picked up the comb and handed it to him. ‘I didn’t take you as someone who’d welsh on a deal. You might as well finish the job because I can’t. Don’t worry about hurting me, you won’t, and don’t worry about me asking you any more questions. The same goes - I won’t.’
Chapter Fourteen
His hand was shaking so much it took all his will power to pluck the comb from her fingers.
Did all the girls just strip off like that? Did Evelyn strip off in front of her friends as if she was only removing a scarf? He bloody well hoped not but how could he ask, and did he really want to know? His little girl being all grown up didn’t change the fact she was still his little girl.
He was still reeling from the sight of her naked. It had happened so quickly, too quickly. One second they were arguing and the next… The next she was stripped down to her birthday suit with not even a blush or a by your leave. As a strategy, it had certainly stopped the argument. It had disarmed him more than anything, his eyes on strings pulled in the direction of her arms and the pure disparity between the creamy white skin and the travesty that remained. He ached, but not with desire for her. His pain was less tangible, but no less acute than passion; than lust. He was mixed up. This strangely beautiful woman was messing with his head and there was nothing he could do other than take the comb and play along. Lust, desire, passion – that would come later, if at all.
Separating the glossy hair into strands, he started combing and was pulled straight back across the years to when Evelyn was a child, although there was no comparison. Where his daughter’s hair was almost white blond and fine, Cara’s was thick, so thick, too thick as he yanked through a particularly stubborn knot.
‘Sorry.’
‘No need, I’m used to it. As thick as industrial carpet.’
‘I didn’t say that. Just a bit knotty.’
‘Well, I try to keep the right side combed but I can’t always reach…’
‘I’m not criticising, Cara. I can only guess how hard it is,’ his mind, despite itself, remembering the sight of her naked back as she struggled to put her socks on. Could he put his socks on single handed, he wasn't sure but he very much doubted it. He shook his head trying to get his thoughts on track.
‘There, you’re all done.’ He said, patting her on the head like he used to do with Evelyn.
‘Are you all right in there, I can’t keep the soup warm for much longer?’
‘Come in, Pauline. Matti was just helping me with my hair.’
They both watched the door push open.
‘I thought it must be something like that.’ Her smile sweet. ‘How are you feeling honey, the pain all gone now?’
‘I probably took all the hot water, but it helped.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ She turned her attention on Matti. ‘I’ve made up the room next door, its warmer this side of the house as it’s over the Aga. I’ve left some spare clothes although they may not fit,’ her eyes landing on the breadth of his shoulders with another smile. ‘Alex wasn’t as big as you.’
He stood in the middle of the room struggling not to laugh. The blue and red striped pyjamas laid out on the bed would have had Evelyn reaching for the phonebook in an effort to have him committed. He was an old T and jogger bottoms type of guy and getting dressed up just to get into bed was frankly ridiculous. Holding up the trousers they ended mid-calf and as for the jacket – no chance! He suddenly remembered the embarrassment of sitting in the doctor’s surgery discussing his concerns regarding middle-aged spread. He was never ill so he even had to go through all the palaver of registering with a practice before being allowed through the door to meet the portly man dressed head to toe in black, probably not the best choice for a doctor unless he was intending to break a whole barrel-full of bad news to his patients. He’d been lectured like a five year old about both his perfect blood pressure and perfect cholesterol. He’d also been told his square build was more down to genetics than greed and to go away and not bother him again for at least another twenty years, when he’d be retired and living it up in The Hamptons.
Jumping into bed, he nearly jumped back out again at the feel of something hot and rubbery against his leg, so hot he was at risk of burning his feet if he hadn’t decided to leave his socks on. He wasn’t normally the kind of bloke to wear socks to bed, or at least he wasn’t now. His former wife, of the Louboutin and many handbags, had drilled in the rudiments of basic hygiene. Not that his Italian mama hadn’t done her own rule drilling but with college he’d let standards slip somewhat.
He must have finally drifted off to sleep but he couldn’t remember when. The house was too cold and far too quiet. The snow had enveloped and sound proofed so, until any brave bird decided to break the silence, it was the quiet of the grave. The quiet only found in a churchyard at midnight; the quiet that never comes with a teenager in the house. Noise and mess followed Evelyn around like a bad hangover, not that he could remember when he’d last had one of those, probably sometime in the last Century at a guess. In fact, the whiskey he’d had tonight was probably the most he’d had to drink in years.
The only reason he knew he’d drifted off to sleep was because he would have heard the door open. He would have heard her footsteps creaking on the bare floorboards and he certainly would have heard her whisper his name. But he heard nothing. He heard nothing until he felt her hand on his shoulder and the brush of her hair against his cheek. He thought he was dreaming because, just before he’d been dreaming of her. But like most dreams as soon as he opened his eyes, it dissolved into a cloud of nothingness.
‘Matti, Matti, for God’s sake, wake up.’
‘What?’
The first thing he saw was her wild woman of Borneo hair and his first thought was she must be in pain, the way her eyes were flickering anywhere and everywhere except at him. Struggling to release himself from the duvet he appeared to have wrapped around him like a cocoon, he freed an arm and went to pull her down beside him.
‘No, it’s not me. It’s Evelyn; we need to get back to London straight away.’
‘Back to London, why? What’s happened? Has she been in an accident?’
Words strung out of his mouth, haphazard words. Disjointed words to match his disjointed actions as he started flinging around the bed linen in an effort to find his trousers.
‘Here,’ she laid out his trousers and shirt, adding his jacket and tie on the side.
‘Thanks,’ both his manners and lawyer brain finally kicking into gear. His embarrassment was another issue entirely. He was always the one in the back of the photos and the one who liked to take his showers in the private cubicle at the gym. He’d never been able to just strip off in front of his mates or indeed girls without at least the comfort of a long promising relationship under his belt and, ever since the divorce, he’d been too busy to give relationships more than a passing thought of regret. Now with Evelyn in some kind of trouble, he didn’t give a hoot. As she’d s
aid herself nudity was a state of mind and at the moment, his mind was on far more important things.
‘What’s she done, gone and got herself drunk? Arrested? Had a bust up with her bestie?’ he said, picking up his briefcase and following her quickly down the stairs.
‘Matti, come into the kitchen. I’ve made you a hot drink and anyway it will be a few minutes before the helicopter arrives.’
‘Helicopter, why do we need a helicopter?’ Pulling at her arm, her good arm, he swivelled her around, his face suddenly as white as the snow piled up on the window ledge. ‘Cara, I’m not budging an inch until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘She’s gone missing, Matti. She’s gone missing with Stella. There’s some kind of note but Mavis was pretty distraught on the phone and Maggie wasn’t much better. They need you to see if you can make sense of it because it’s addressed to you, and the helicopter was the only way I could think of that could get us through all this snow.’ She’d propelled him into the kitchen and, lifting the ginger tom off the rocking chair, pushed him down into it before placing the cat on his lap and wrapping a mug between his fingers.
‘I’ll pay you back.’ His voice automatic, his mind swirling around with a multitude of random thoughts, none of them of any use to anyone. Evelyn on her sixth birthday with a cake the shape of a snail. He’d never been any good at baking so he’d roped his mother in to help with the icing. Evelyn at ten, head girl at her primary school and a head taller than any girl or boy there and, finally, Evelyn only a few weeks ago yearning for that diamond ring in Tiffany’s and her look of pleasure at the sight of the earrings instead. If truth be known, he’d rumbled a while ago she was angling for a pair, probably because of the way she kept mentioning the earrings her new teacher always wore, his eyes on her ears, just visible now she’d pulled her hair off her face. The ring was a ruse, the kind of trick he’d used to play on his parents. Demand the moon in the hope of getting some stars.
‘There’s no need…’
‘There’s every need. This isn’t your fault,’ the sound of light footsteps on the stairs interrupting their words.
Cara walked across to the door and handed Pauline a mug. ‘I have to take Matti back to London, his daughter’s gone missing.’
‘Oh no, I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing you can say. We’ll find her and Matti will probably read her the riot act just like you and dad did with me.’ She reached out and patted his hands. ‘All the best sort of girls are tearaways, isn’t that right, Mum?’
Matti, one hand on the back of the cat was still focussed enough to realise the sudden change in the room. Glancing up, he noticed tears glistening against Pauline’s cheek even as Cara reached out, drawing her into a tight hug. ‘I’m sorry Mum, I really am.’
‘There’s no need, darling.’ The hand smoothing her hair back off her face stilled as the noise of a helicopter interrupted the quiet, causing the cat to jump off his lap and hide under the dresser with only his tail visible.
Chapter Fifteen
It was a nightmare. Every parent’s worst case scenario and no less worrying now she was a near adult because as far as sensible went, he’d met more sensible five year olds. Sitting hunched in the helicopter, unable to hear anything apart from the whoosh of the blades, his thoughts were in free-fall. He felt sick; that deep down retched feeling that comes with eating late, waking early and being scared out of his wits. His little girl out in a big strange land by herself, for Stella was worse than her if anything.
As a teenager, had he ever pulled a stunt like that on his parents? His parents, oh God. He pulled his hands into fists and nails met flesh. He couldn’t tell his parents. They loved her like a daughter and now he’d gone and lost her.
He felt her touch and, looking down found she’d taken his hand within hers; uncurling, smoothing, gripping. Their eyes met, and although he couldn’t hear what she was saying, her eyes said it all. Concern, horror, pity even. If he didn’t hold it together now he was going to embarrass himself big-time in front of the most gorgeous woman. Taking a big breath, he closed his eyes on the world, trying not to allow the tears to escape through the barrier of regret. Regret at the break up of his marriage. Regret at not being able to provide Evelyn with the mother she obviously craved and, finally, regret at having gone away with Cara, even if it was on business. If he’d been there, he might have spotted the signs of some impending prank. His heart started pounding in his chest as all the fears in the world came crashing down on him. He looked into her face and, raising a tentative hand ran it over her cheek. She was real, only her. His vision blurred.
She’d rested her head on his shoulder, curling up next to him like a kitten in search of warmth and, picking up her scarred hand, he tucked it between both of his, trying to filter heat through the thin layer of fabric his mind now shifting to her. He couldn’t be the cause of more pain, not now she’d spent probably all her savings on the helicopter. He’d repay her even if it meant he still had to carry on working for Murray. He remembered the resignation he’d typed and left ready on his laptop before getting on the plane but he’d tear it up when he got back. He’d work for that shyster until the debt had been paid in full.
They were in the car now. She’d arranged everything beautifully, even down to the driver waiting to hurry them across the tarmac and into the top of the range 4 x 4. There was no need to tell him of the urgency of the situation, he’d scarcely had time to strap his seatbelt into place before they went screaming out of the aerodrome. She had her phone to her ear chatting to one of the hats, he wasn’t sure which one but, by the way her eyes flickered towards his with a little shake of her head, there was still no news.
Looking out of the window, all was black, but it was still only 4 am, his eyes now on his watch. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his messages just in case she’d texted him. With the noise and the headphones, he’d have had no chance in hearing anything outside of his own thoughts. There was nothing apart from yet another text from Murray demanding an update. If he was going to keep his job he’d better give him one, but not now. He’d draft something after he’d actually tried to work out what his conniving daughter was up to because, deep down, he knew she was up to something. It had been there in the way she’d dragged him into a bone-breaking hug at breakfast when the usual behaviour was pretending he didn’t exist if any of her mates were within hearing distance. She was up to something but what, his eyes suddenly drawn to Cara. He’d put a bet on it that it had something to do with her.
Evelyn had always been possessive, too possessive; so possessive that he’d stopped dating all together. But recently that had changed. She’d changed. She’d changed to the point where now she was encouraging him to date and make a life for himself as if she’d decided, in her own way, it was time to break the apron strings. What had Cara said about breaking ties and not being too strict? He’d ask her again when he’d found her – if he found her…
Lifting his hand he ran it across his chin, grimacing as skin met stubble. Not shaving was the least of his worries, he told himself as he again took Cara’s hand back into his, praying that her pain would stay away just long enough for him to sort out this mess. Then the next thing he was going to do was carry her kicking and screaming to the nearest burns specialist.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea, Stella?’ she said, propping herself up on her elbow to root around for a bar of chocolate in the bottom of her rucksack. Splitting it in two, she handed over the other half before stuffing her piece whole into her mouth.
‘Well, it’s too late now, and keep your voice down. There’s bound to be alarms as well as that guard.’
‘I really think we should just give ourselves up. What if they find us? They’ll probably arrest us or something for breaking and entering.’
‘No they won’t,’ she said, waving a couple of tickets above her head. ‘I kept the stubs so all we have to do is say you were feeling sick and, by the time I�
�d helped clean you up a bit, everything was closed and we didn’t want to get into any trouble.’
‘Why does it have to be me that’s ill?’ her voice truculent. ‘Why not you, hey? This was all your idea, after all.’
‘Really Evelyn, if anyone would ever think I’m ill. I’m never ill and even when I am, I have the devil’s own job of convincing anyone,’ she added, prodding her red rosy cheeks with each forefinger. ‘And anyway it may have been my idea but you were the one who wanted to think up some way of getting Mrs Bachmeire to spend more time with your dad, so you can’t blame me.’
Evelyn delved back into her rucksack and dragged out her mobile. ‘He’s called again, and texted. I’ll just text him to let him know...’
‘You’re safe? That it was all a prank to get him together with your teacher? Get real. Tomorrow, all we have to do is say we got locked in and our phones were out of charge. They’ll never find us on the strength of your note, which, by the way I still don’t think you should have written.’
‘The plan was to push them together, not scare them witless.’ Heaving a sigh she bunched up her coat into a more comfortable shaped pillow before lying back down and turning her face to the wall.
‘Cara, thank God.’
They were all gathered in the dining room surrounded by empty coffee cups. It was 5 am now and the hotel was starting to come to life with the early morning cleaners polishing the front entrance from top to bottom, their breath streams of fog in the cold morning air.
‘Mavis just tell us what happened - I thought you were all going to Madame Tussauds for the afternoon?’
‘We were, we did,’ her hand pulling at the neck of her jumper, which she must have pulled on in a hurry being as it was both inside out and back to front. ‘We had all eleven girls with us when we left just before it closed, and then and then…’ She stumbled to a halt, shaking her head in disbelief.
The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan Page 45