Back in Edgartown, the town was less busy now the sun was at its highest. Running his hand under his collar, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and, ditching the tie, rolled it up into a careful ball before stuffing it into his trouser pocket. He still had over an hour to kill before his ferry, an hour when all he wanted to do was run and hide from his thoughts. If he could have just seen her. If he could have just asked her why, although as questions went it was probably one he could answer himself. He was just a one night stand, a throw away accessory that she’d enjoyed and then cast aside along with the last of her trash before leaving New York.
It was too hot to be wandering the streets. It was too hot, full stop as he felt a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Lifting his head, he found himself outside a small restaurant and on impulse, pushed the plate glass door open and headed inside the dark interior, his eyes widening at the sight of the Jolly Roger draped across the bar not to mention the cutlasses hanging from the ceiling.
He’d heard about the pirates, of course he had; it was all part and parcel of the history of the area but he’d never expected to be sitting inside what looked like a pirate ship about to order a beer and a ham on rye. Even the waitresses were in on the act with pirate hats and eye patches to match their red striped costumes. If he wasn't in such a bad mood, he’d have cracked an ‘all right me hearties’ type of joke with his waitress as she tried to strike up a conversation, the tip of her pencil poised on top of her notepad as she waited. But he was in no mood for jokes or indeed banter. He barely lifted his eyes to meet hers as he added an extra portion of coleslaw on the side. All he wanted was her and, tilting his head to look around at the rest of the tables, his wish was unexpectedly answered because, just across from him, there she was.
How long does it take to look before seeing; minutes, hours, days? It took him one glance, one second to take in every line and each curve. Her auburn hair was a tangled mass over bare shoulders. Her plain green sundress with tiny spaghetti straps. Her deep red lips to match the red of her nails as she cradled her wine glass in the palm of her hand, her left hand. He was surprised at that, his eyes now on her fingers and the fluid movement as she placed the glass back down on the table. It was only when he realised he was staring too long and too hard that he broke away and, shifting slightly, realised she wasn't alone.
His eyes now on her companion, he allowed himself the agony of examining the competition, if competition was the right word because if this was a competition, he wouldn’t be one of the contenders. Although men weren’t really his thing, he recognised good looks in others and this man wasn’t just good looking. For a start, he was built like a builder with muscles rippling along his arm as he rested it on the table. His shoulders were herculean under his blue shirt and that was before Matti had even glanced at his face; a strong arrogant face that took handsome to the next level.
He’d always known life wasn't fair. The mantra had been drummed into him by his parents for as long as he could remember. The bullies won, they always won. The criminals always came out on top. The good men, at least the men that were meant to be good, had usually screwed their way to the top before proceeding to screw everyone underneath them. It didn’t matter who or what they were, they always won over the little man. Even his wife had won. She’d walked away scot-free from their marriage and their daughter and was now living in the lap of luxury. One look at this man and he knew that yet again he’d lost. No, he’d lost the moment he’d woken up to find her gone.
She hadn’t spotted him. It wouldn’t be long before he had a choice to make but until then, he picked up his glass and allowed himself the luxury of just looking. He knew it was rude, weird even, but he didn’t care. She was clearly so wrapped up in the man opposite that she hadn’t even glanced in his direction. He watched as she reached up a hand and, with fingers weaving through his hair, started whispering in his ear and then, only then did he stop watching.
Ignoring the sandwich, he stuffed a pile of notes into the surprised waitress’s hand and headed out the door.
‘Has he gone?’
She felt Pascal’s hand on her shoulder squeezing lightly before gently pushing her back into her seat.
‘Oui, he’s gone.’
‘Who’s gone?’ Sarah asked, returning to the table just in time to catch the back of Matti’s head as he turned left down the street. ‘Was that him, how did he find you?’ she added, lifting Anique back into her highchair before tucking a bib around her neck.
Cara didn’t answer. Instead of an answer, she stood and, excusing herself, made her way to the rest room. She needed to be alone, if only for a moment. Heading for the sink, she lifted her face to look in the mirror.
She didn’t look any different; perhaps a little pale under the artificial lighting but that was all. Lifting up her hand, she ran it over her head, smoothing out the curls. Her hair was the same, a little wild and tangled but that’s the way he’d said he liked it. Apart from the wild woman of Borneo hair, she looked exactly the same as she had before leaving the house.
So a broken heart didn’t show; good to know.
She thought she’d be cured by now. She’d made the mistake in believing her feelings for him were all tied up with the fabulous intimacies they’d shared. It followed that; once the memories of that afternoon faded, her feeling would fade too. So why then had her heart nearly exploded in her chest the moment she’d spotted him pushing the door open? Why then had she had to force herself to stay exactly where she was instead of racing across the room and flinging herself into his arms? Why had she gripped her hands tight at the sight of the busty waitress spilling out of the too tight outfit as she’d batted her false eyelashes along with her false boobies in his direction?
Turning on the tap, she splashed water on her face before smoothing the drips from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She wasn’t cured and the way things were going, she never would be.
Sarah and Pascal had to lead her out of the restaurant like a child, a second one to the one Pascal had resting on his shoulder with her small hand bunched up under her head as she searched for her thumb. They had to manoeuvre her into the car and even fasten her seatbelt, as she sat trance-like and motionless. Pulling into the drive, they reversed the process and only when she was tucked up in bed with the blinds shut and the door closed did they retreat to the kitchen.
‘It’s like she’s lost Aaron all over again.’ Sarah’s voice less than a whisper as she watched Pascal trying to make sense of the all-singing all-dancing, top of the range coffee machine. ‘No, it’s worse. It’s like she’s lost herself.’
Pascal’s hand paused as he poured water into the chamber, both their eyes now on the baby monitor at the sound of Anique muttering to herself.
‘Should I?’
‘No, I’ll go, and I’ll pop my head in to check on Cara.’ She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head onto his back. ‘So this is what it will be like with two children. You are happy about the baby, aren’t you?’ her voice even quieter than before.
She found herself swivelled around and scooped up in his arms before she knew it.
‘Ma cherie, I think I should come up with you to, er, check on both children, and then I’ll prove to you just how happy I am.’
Chapter Twenty Four
New York was different somehow, or was it just that she was different? But New York was where it had begun so New York was where it would end.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, the relentless sun, beating its tattoo down on her bare head, showed no signs of abating now summer was drawing to a close. They were talking about the hottest summer on record and all the usual experts were adding to the conversation with long discourses on the effects of global warming. But, whatever the reason, she was sick of summer, she was sick of the heat but most of all she was sick of herself and the lassitude that had descended like a cloud.
New York was too hot and where had all the people come from? The sidewalk was jam pa
cked with camera toting holidaymakers trying to jostle for pole position with the locals as they headed for the subway, or wherever it was they were going.
She’d been back in the metropolis for three days and already she missed the sights and smells of The Vineyard with an absurd longing. She missed the sight of the fishing boats passing almost under her windows and the screeching of the seagulls as they made their way out to sea. She missed it all and made a promise to return just as soon as the last check-up was out of the way. Martha’s Vineyard was her home, more than Wraysbury, Paris or even New York had ever been. The one thing she hated was the loneliness but there was nothing she could do about that. Another lover was out of the question, not that there hadn’t been offers. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t realise she was a catch. It wasn't just her youth, vitality and looks that attracted them though. It was the large, fancy house on the posh edge of town that had them swarming around.
Heading towards the park, Gramercy Park, she pulled the metal key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock with a slight chink as metal met metal. The park was different now. The bare branches and empty flowerbeds a long forgotten memory as a delightful array of carefully tended plants flowered in abundance. She sat down on her bench and missed him. She couldn’t help it. It was as if he was irretrievably linked to both her heart and her soul and, whatever she did, she could never escape, not that she hadn’t tried. It seemed as if she spent most of her time trying to find an antidote to the obsession that was Matti, and her music was suffering because of it. Her music wasn’t as important anymore.
Resting her bag beside her, she sneaked her hand into her pocket and pulled out a sliver of bread, well aware that feeding the birds was forbidden but she didn’t care. Offering bread to the sparrow, even now hopping towards her with open beak, was the least of her worries.
She’d recently returned from a trip to Mallorca, retracing her steps back over where she’d thought herself happiest. But the happiness had left long ago and, as much as she tried, she couldn’t reclaim the thoughts, feelings and memories of those now long distant days. Aaron and her former life were a dream, a fading dream and her greatest fear was she’d soon forget completely.
She had no one she could talk to about her worries. Sarah and Pascal had finally taken the plunge and started work on his uncle’s chateau and that, along with baby number two on the way, meant there was little time left apart from the odd Skype call.
Pauline had moved on too. Now there were no money worries, she’d thrown herself into setting up the animal sanctuary she’d always longed for with the help of Mr Pidgeon and all the laws and bylaws that had to be negotiated. Cara smiled to herself at the thought of Pauline and Mr Pidgeon as there’d been a rapid increase in the amount of times he’d been mentioned. They’d suit each other down to the ground.
The sparrow had gone only to be replaced by a little robin, his red breast puffed up with pride as she started to sneak her hand back inside her pocket. Everyone was happy around her, including the robin. It was just her, lost as she was in a haze of memory that couldn’t seem to find her place. Oftentimes, she’d tried to imagine what life would have been like if she hadn’t found that letter for, in truth, the letter wouldn’t have made any difference, to Pauline at least. Prymentia would still have lost because, without the loan to hold her to, they’d never have been able to get their poxy hands on Northtonly Manor.
They’d have been married now, or if not married then living in sin. No, she’d have wanted to have made it legal if only for the children. There was no way she’d do what her grandfather had done to her mother. Any child of hers, whoever the father, would have full entitlement to her worldly goods, all of them. She wouldn’t have had a church wedding though. There’d be no lengths of satin and lace because she’d done that already. She’d have dragged him off to the nearest registry office in the clothes on their backs and then whisked him back to The Vineyard.
Her pocket was empty but the little robin remained, perched next to her on the bench preening his feathers as her hand sneaked towards her stomach and remained there. She could even be pregnant, her hand curving around a soft mound instead of the reality of flat empty skin. She could be pregnant with his child. It hadn’t taken Sarah and Pascal long to start their nursery and she wanted exactly what they had. She wanted all that and more.
Tears of regret and apology tore down her face and hung off the rim of her cheek before making their mark on her pink t-shirt. But she didn’t care. Pressing the heel of her hands into her eyes she didn’t care if she was mussing up her eyeshadow or smearing her lipstick because she wasn't wearing any. She wasn't going to hide behind a slick of paint and as for preening herself. She’d torn into the first thing she’d laid her eyes on instead of skimming through the racks of clothes hanging neglected from the rails in her closet. Even her hair, now that she could wash and comb it, was only pulled back into a hasty ponytail. She didn’t care what she looked like because she didn’t expect him to come. Why would he after the way she’d treated him. No, he wouldn’t come but that didn’t stop her from hoping.
Chapter Twenty Five
Matisse Bianchi, standing with his hand poised on the gate, was nervous, as nervous as he’d ever been. How could he want to be in two places at once? A question he couldn’t, or wasn’t prepared to answer. He wanted to be here. He wanted to be here desperately, fervently, passionately. He wanted to be here and yet he didn’t. If he had a choice, he’d be on the other side of the world. But he didn’t have a choice. As soon as he’d received her letter, all choice had been removed. She’d taken all choice from him all those months ago when he’d seen her sitting on the same bench in the same park. He was here to hear her out and then… There was no then. There was only now. There was now and there was fear because, of course, he was afraid of what she had to say.
He hadn’t been able to think of anything else for days. Why would she have gone to all the effort of searching up his parents address and what was she planning to say that couldn’t be said over the telephone? Their phone was listed in the Cape Cod directory so she could easily have picked up the phone. He remembered the letter and the words, words he now knew off by heart. She needed to see him and only face to face would do. She needed to see his expression. She had to look into his eyes. It was all so bizarre. Too bizarre.
He needed to see her eyes, too. He also had questions, or at least one question but he wondered if she’d give him time to ask it. He wanted to know why she’d walked out and then walked away. He wanted to know because, deep inside he knew she felt the same, otherwise, why had she bothered to get in touch?
When he was a boy, he’d had this puppy he’d found in the gutter along Main Street; a tiny brown puppy someone had fastened to the lamppost by wrapping tape around its tail. He’d been on his way back from school, his rucksack on his back, when he’d heard the plaintive yowl from behind a garbage can. Crouching down, he’d tried his best to remove all the tape without pulling or tugging but it had been an impossible task. Instead he’d grabbed the scissors from his pencil case and freed him from the lamppost with most of the tape still in place. It had taken his mother and a razor to finish the task and all the time the dog had stood still, his large brown eyes wide as he’d let them work on his tail. There was barely a whimper or a squeak, just resounding trust and faith in what they were both trying to do.
Standing in front of her, he was ten years old again and looking love and trust in the face, love and trust quickly masked by lids dipping down to cover eyes. He knew eyes were meant to be the windows to the soul but in that instant he knew that to be wrong. They weren’t windows to the soul they were windows to the heart, her heart. She loved him. He loved her. It was just the rest they had to sort out and he wasn’t allowing her up off that bench until they had.
‘How did you get in,’ wasn’t perhaps the words he’d like to hear from her lips but they’d have to do for now.
‘Er, well, I kept the key,’ he
said, pulling out the duplicate of hers with a smile. ‘I’m expecting the NYPD to pick me up any day…’
‘They’ll have to find you first. It took me ages.’
He sat down beside her. Well, not right beside her. In fact, there was quite a distance between them but it could easily be breached if the time was right. ‘And why was that exactly?’
‘Why was what?’
‘Why were you looking, and why did it take you so long?’ He said, allowing a teasing note to creep in around the edges.
‘Oh, well. I didn’t know you’d left Prymentia.’
‘I don’t believe I ever told you where I worked, not that it’s important or anything?’ Even though it was, dreadfully so as heat pooled under his ribs. Something was going on here and he was determined to find out exactly what.
‘Yes, no, I didn’t,’ she mumbled, picking up her bag and rooting around, pulled out a tissue only to keep it balled up in her hand, her eyes flickering towards his before returning to the ground by her feet. ‘I went to see them.’
‘You went to see Prymentia?’ He laughed. ‘That must have been fun.’ He paused, his eyes searching her face or at least the cheek and chin that were visible. ‘What did they say?’
‘They didn’t say anything much. Only that you’d had to leave suddenly and that they didn’t know where you’d gone. I tried your apartment but it’s vacant.’
The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan Page 54