Catch

by Kenyon, Toni

  "What do you mean?" He started fiddling with the espresso machine. "Can't we have a coffee and talk about this?"

  "I'm not discussing it, Matt. I'm going home. Your mother's practically packed my cases, so if you’d just get your keys we can go."

  "I'm not going anywhere until I've had a cup of coffee." He had a thunderous look on his face. "What has my mother been saying to you?"

  "Nothing worth talking about."

  "Tamsen! Stop avoiding the question and answer me." He added, almost as an afterthought, "Pass me a cup, would you?"

  She turned on him, frustration and anger taking hold. She was tired of it all - him, his mother, the arguing, everything. "Sure."

  The emerald green cup, complete with blue trim, left her hand and sailed straight over his right shoulder, hurtling missile-style through the glass window beyond. Shards of glass rained on the outdoor table, the cup skipping over its surface like a stone on a pond.

  "Your fucking mother deliberately chased my cat outside. There was meat in that trap. She wasn't hunting frigging possums! The woman hates me. Wants me off the scene so you can get back with darling Angie. Well, newsflash - she's won. It's over! Take me home."

  Matt's voice rumbled, low and controlled. "You could have just passed the cup."

  She threw another one for good measure, taking out another pane of glass.

  He seemed unfazed by her aggression. She found that more infuriating. "I won't let her chase you out of my home, Tamsen."

  "There won't be much of it left, Matt, if you don't get me out of here. Besides, it's not your fucking home anyway! Is it, Matty?"

  Plucking a crystal champagne flute from the cupboard, she dropped it on the tiled floor. It chimed musically before crashing into pieces at their feet. "All she has to do is call up your loans and you're out on your ass. Aren't you?"

  "She told you that?"

  "Are you taking me home yet?"

  "There's plenty more crystal, and plenty more we have to talk about."

  Tamsen swept her arm across the shelf the shattered flute had called home, its companions tumbling to the floor like little glass lemmings. The sound of smashing Stewart crystal filled the room.

  Matt didn't flinch. He simply stepped gingerly across the ruins of his crystal flute collection, unhooked a coffee cup, and opened another couple of cupboard doors to reveal neatly stacked white china.

  "There's a Royal Doulton dinner service here that might interest you. About 86 pieces or so. I'm sorry it's not a family heirloom so there won't be the emotional pain of attachment you're looking for, but it is certainly expensive. I hope it makes you feel better. When you've finished I'll be downstairs and we can talk."

  He poured a coffee and left her to it. The unmistakable sound of quality china morphing into mosaics followed him down the stairwell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tamsen, still furious, took him at his word and completely destroyed the dinner set. When she finally stopped she felt a strange sort of camaraderie with the fractured glass and china strewn across the floor.

  She carried her packed bags down to the car and left them with Azriel by the boot. However short of hot-wiring the car, a skill she'd not learned in this lifetime, she had to converse with Matt.

  Sudden brainwave. Flicking through the numbers on her cellphone, she found the local taxi company and ordered a cab. Bugger the cost – she was in no mood to go crawling to him, she'd find the money - no way would she give his mother any opportunity to think she was a gold digger. Marguerite's stinging words came back and Tamsen felt hot tears prickling her eyes. Such a waste. A wonderful man like Matt bound to his mother in such a sick, dependent way.

  Determination to never be bound to anyone like that overcame her. Independence was something Tamsen worked hard for. The fish business was going well but Gina had been right, her heart wasn't completely in it. The awful realization dawned. She could end up just like Matt - trapped in a life being run behind the scenes by somebody else. The thought made her physically ill.

  A taxi pulled down the long driveway, the driver spotting her bags and clicking opening the boot as he came to a stop in front of her. Best she just got the hell out of Matt’s life now, before she became even more attached and wasn't able to leave him.

  "You want to put the cat on the backseat with you, miss?"

  She couldn't help smiling; the driver clearly hadn’t noticed Azzie was dead, not sleeping. "Yes, fine."

  Tamsen watched Matt's turret window in the driver's side mirror as it faded from view. Ironic really - Marguerite had managed to kill her cat and her relationship in one afternoon.

  Matt heard the door open and his spirit rose. She'd come to talk it out - a good sign. He'd been at a loss how to deal with her and his mother. Lots of loss around here at the moment, he mused.

  "That good-for-nothing, gold-digging girl has gone, Matthew." Marguerite's harsh tone made him jump. "So you can stop hiding down here now!"

  A searing bolt of hatred and anger roared through him and he rose from the couch, spinning on his heels, iron self-control holding his voice to a bare whisper. "Don't, Mother. Don't even begin to describe her that way."

  "Matty, have you seen what she did to your kitchen? She trashed half your china and crystal. In fact, she is trash."

  He'd never come so close to hitting a woman in his life. Well, aside from Tamsen the other night, but that was different. His mother should be glad he’d put the couch between them.

  "If there's anyone here who is trash -" the word came out through clenched teeth " -then it’s you. Take a look at yourself. All jewels and finery, yes. Everything perfect on the outside - but the inside? How the hell you have the gall to stand there and tell me the beautiful woman you've just driven out of my home and my life is trash is beyond me. I can't believe the lengths you've gone to in disrupting my life. I'm surprised you didn't just put a knife through the cat and have done with it."

  He felt the years of rejection and torment rising from profound depths, spurred on by his frustration at it being Marguerite, not Tamsen, who stood in front of him. "Oh, but just killing Azriel wouldn't have put to use your years of acquired manipulative skills, would it, Mother?"

  The color drained from Marguerite's face and she fidgeted with the large opal at her throat. "I was only protecting you, my darling. She was just after our money. You don't really think she loved you, do you? Not really. Not like Angie loves you."

  "Angie doesn't love me, Mother. You love the idea of me marrying a diplomat's daughter. Advancing the family name. Love had nothing to do with it."

  "But she's such a good match for you, darling." Marguerite inched closer, sensing his growing misery, his exhaustion from battle. As if she could smell blood. "That girl-"

  "Tamsen, Mother. Her name is Tamsen."

  "Tamsen is no good for you. She was just looking for what she could make from you and the family."

  "Well, you told her I had no money. That the house belongs to you."

  "It's the truth, and you know it's only for our protection, Matty. Your Father, bless his soul, didn't own any property either."

  "Spare me the tax evasion lesson." He didn't owe his mother an explanation, but what the hell. "Tamsen doesn't need our money - she comes from a wealthy family. She wouldn’t have needed to touch your precious trust funds."

  He sank down, anxiety and grief getting the better of him at last. "And since we're into destroying relationships, I thought you should know that I'm resigning from the partnership and giving up law."

  Marguerite steadied herself against the side of the couch; it almost looked as if she'd taken a physical blow.

  "Matty, if you're trying to punish me, you don't need to do this."

  "It's not about punishing you, Mother, I've been unhappy for a long time."

  "It's that... that girl. She's put you up to this."

  "I haven't breathed a word of this to Tamsen. I was going to tell her soon, but it looks like you've ruined that for m
e."

  Marguerite reached over toward him, then withdrew her hand, thinking the better of it.

  Something inside of Matt told him this was how it would be now. There would forever be a distance between them that couldn't be bridged. Relationships lay shattered, like the china and glass smashed on the floor upstairs.

  Tamsen closed the apartment door behind her.

  The whole place smelt wrong from the commercial cleaners. She checked Gina's room. Empty. No trace whatsoever of her friend, or that she'd killed herself, except for the lousy, heavy, claustrophobic atmosphere. Tamsen shuddered. Gina's family had made short work of removing her belongings, the gaping space where the dining table and chairs used to be reminding her of their wonderful Tuesday dinners.

  Everything about the apartment was tainted with memories of Gina, or Azzie or Matt. How to function here when everywhere she looked were reminders of what she'd lost? She and Matt weren't so different, Tamsen thought, he lived in his mother's home and she lived in her parent's apartment. An overpowering moment of intense, paralyzing despair passed through her body, a palpable ache in her heart.

  Jolted out of her melancholy thoughts by the shrill ringing of the phone, she knew it would be him. The answer-phone could pick it up, though then he’d probably try her mobile.

  As if one step ahead of her thoughts, her mobile started ringing. A blinking blue broken heart flashed at her with Matthew written underneath. They'd laughed when she loaded his numbers into her phone. He’d said he should have the broken heart icon because he was destined always to have his heart broken by beautiful women. She cried now. It seemed so prophetic.

  Not up to conversation, she let the call go to voicemail.

  Amidst exhaustion and grief, Tamsen pulled her brass sensor from the Goddess altar, located a small, round brick of charcoal and set to igniting it over the gas hob in the kitchen. It always fascinated her the way each block sparked, its saltpeter igniting, dragging heat and flame through the dense charcoal chunk. A mini Guy Fawkes display, complete with crackling.

  She left the block to fully ignite on the sensor and located fresh coffee grounds and her supply of smudge. This was a ritual she performed often, clearing her home of negative energy. The bitter scent of burning coffee permeated every room as she walked with the sensor at arm’s length, chanting positive affirmations of peace and love.

  Then she retraced her steps with smudge - a mixture of dried lavender flowers, rose petals and rosemary – so the sickly scent filled the vacuum with soft, loving and cleansing smoke. Nature abhorred a vacuum. If she didn't refill it with something beautiful, another nasty would surely take up residence.

  Her cleansing ritual complete, she settled into her own bed, a place she'd not been for over ten days. She loved her bed, but tonight it seemed isolating. She wanted to weep, yet just didn't have the energy. So many conflicting emotions had coursed through her in the last few hours; now she was numb and empty - a shallow caricature of her usual self.

  She closed her sore eyes, relaxed into the warmth and comfort of her grandmother's bed, and waited for the sweet relief of sleep to take her.

  "Danni!" Matt swore under his breath again. He couldn't find the bank documentation for the financing on the Sinclair deal. He'd barely scratched the surface of the franchise documents and was coming to the horrifying realization that financing for the purchase hadn't been completed, yet they were due to settle this afternoon. He was in deep shit.

  "Danni! Where the-"

  "Matt, please don't shout. I've got a screaming headache."

  He gazed up from the mess on his desk. "You look like death." The vision of perfection, his Danni, had gone missing.

  "You should try it from this side." She tried for a weak smile but it looked more like a grimace.

  "Sit down, girl, before you fall down." He cast his mind back to this morning. She hadn't looked ill when she brought his coffee in, he was certain. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

  "Just came on suddenly. I had a headache and an unbearably sore throat when I came in this morning but now I feel as if my entire body's on fire."

  She was covered in sweat and he noticed her legs were trembling. With no warning she collapsed, sliding from the chair into a wrinkled heap on the floor, pretty much at his feet.

  "Shit.

  "Matt - " her voice was barely audible " - I feel real bad."

  "Don't worry. I'll get help."

  As Matt dialed for an ambulance it occurred to him there weren't many times in a lifetime when you had to call for urgent assistance. This was the second time in less than two weeks.

  Matt tried hard not to think about Danni ensconced in isolation or her plaintive request in the ambulance that he confirm her will was up to date. He'd never seen anyone in such excruciating pain.

  "There's really nothing else you can do for now, Mr Solomon." The officious looking nurse was, for the second time in less than half an hour, trying to convince him to leave the hospital. "Your employee's husband has been informed and is on his way to the hospital."

  The nurse quickly clicked a mouse on a pad that he noticed was emblazoned with the District Health Board's logo. No wonder hospitals didn't run to budget if they were spending money on overprinted mouse pads.

  "So I suggest you go back to work. I'm sure you're needed there." She looked up over the top of the latest slim-line monitor and gave him a dismissive look.

  "You will inform me if there is any change to her condition?"

  "We're not exactly sure what we're dealing with at the moment, Mr Solomon. But I can assure you, her husband will be kept fully up to date with any progress." She gave him another one of those looks that made him feel small. "Him being next-of-kin."

  She was right – it was time for him to leave, he decided, before the temptation to shove her mouse where the sun didn't shine overtook him.

  Tamsen couldn't understand it at all. Some voodoo curse perhaps? Or maybe she'd inadvertently hexed someone. Lord knows, she'd been tempted with Matt's mother.

  She looked with some anguish at the last of the goldfish in the aquarium in Matt's foyer. The poor little guy was struggling to stay upright, swimming for dear life, the way fish do when there's little hope of making it through a few more hours. Her heart lay heavy in her chest.

  Tamsen had already been filled in on the sorry aquarium history by Gina's replacement - a tall willowy blonde, heroin chic. The kind who should be traipsing catwalks in Milan, designer clothes hanging off her bones, and the latest electric pink blusher radiating from her high cheekbones. Her perfect teeth and impossibly high fuck-me heels were wasted on today's batch of pensioners sporting orthopedic underwear who lounged in reception.

  She was still deciding whether or not to just pluck the poor dying creature from the aquarium and have done with it when Matt arrived. He was all she needed. She'd hoped to get in and out before running into him but the universe continued to crap on her.

  "Tamsen. Thank God - a friendly face."

  He looked pale, flustered and anxious. Not himself at all. "What's the problem?" Her concern for him, she realized, was genuine. No matter about his mother, her feelings for Matt hadn't changed. He was a victim of circumstances just as much as she. Besides - even after all they'd been through she still felt her heart lift at the sound of his voice.

  He pulled her to him, hugging her. Her response to him - the scent and touch of him - was automatic. He said, "It's Danni. She's collapsed. She's in hospital in isolation. They've got no idea what's wrong with her. I don't know how I'm going to cope. I can't take much more, Tams."

  "Is someone with her?"

  He nodded. "Her husband arrived just before I left. He's going to keep me up to date with what's happening.

  "Matt, you really look awful. Maybe you should go home." Although, she thought, with the mother from hell still in residence maybe that wasn't a great idea.

  "No, I've got a deal here that's falling apart. But what I do need is coffee. I'll send
out for a couple. Would you come down to my office where we can talk?"

  She sorely didn't want to spend time with him, but the pleading look on his face and the horrible circumstances he found himself in made her accept. With a heavy heart she followed him down the corridor to his office.

  "It's wall to wall paper in here." She couldn't help contrasting the everything-in-it's-place Matt she'd come to know and love with the mess she found herself standing in. "Is it always like this?"

  Matt pulled another grim face. "Not normally. I just don't seem to have been able to get to grips with anything lately though Danni's been doing her best." He ran his finger around the neck of his shirt, trying to loosen the firm grip it had on his throat. A sign Tamsen associated with his feeling trapped - which seemed to be happening with monotonous regularity.

  The emaciated receptionist arrived with two coffees and just as Matt gestured for her to put them on the desk his cell phone rang. He took the call, barely making more than a couple of grunting sounds.

  Tamsen busied herself with the steaming coffee, conscious of her already increased caffeine intake and making a mental note to cut back. No wonder her anxiety levels were up. She sugared Matt's for him, out of habit more than anything else, and felt a small pang of grief tug at her heart. What might have happened if everyone could have just left them alone to get on with it?

  "That was Danni's husband."

  Tamsen handed him the coffee and he instinctively reached for the sugar.

  "I've sugared it for you."

  He looked surprised. "Bless."

  An awkwardness surfaced between them, and Tamsen felt the strain of not quite knowing how to behave around him anymore. She asked, "How's Danni?"

  "She's in a coma."

  "Oh, Matt." Tamsen was shocked. "That's terrible. Do they know what's wrong?"