by Lulu Taylor
‘You can’t think like that.’
She went on, hardly hearing him. ‘All I knew after the accident was that he’d wanted to kill me. I had to get away. I had to get as far away from him as I could.’ A sob began to shake in her chest again. ‘But now I don’t know if it’s far enough!’
‘Emily, this is terrible.’ James looked aghast. ‘I had no idea you felt like this. I hate to think what you’ve suffered all alone. No wonder you’re in shock.’ There was a pause and then he said firmly, ‘You shouldn’t be on your own tonight. Is your brother about?’
‘He’s busy. I . . . I don’t want to be on my own.’
‘I’ll stay,’ he declared. ‘You’ve got a spare room, haven’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Good. I’ll make it up and stay here with you tonight. All right?’
Relief washed through her. ‘Thank you.’ She felt that she should be strong enough to face the night alone but it was too much for her. She needed another presence to stop the terror from overwhelming her.
‘That’s all right.’ He smiled at her.
‘James . . . can I ask one more thing?’
‘Of course.’
‘I know it sounds strange . . . but . . . would you hug me again? Just for a while?’
‘Of course I would.’ He held out his arms. ‘I’ve been thinking that you look like you need a hug.’
‘I do,’ she said, feeling shakier than ever. She moved across the sofa into his embrace. At once, she felt calmer. Through his jumper she could hear the soft thud of his heart and feel the rise and fall of his chest. ‘Thank you, James.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, his voice rumbling through his chest and tickling her ear. Something in her felt as though it was melting, and she was filled with the feeling she had experienced in her dream: a serene anticipation of joy soon to come and a sense of complete acceptance. She stayed there, warm in his arms, until she fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emily woke in her bed and then remembered with a rush of embarrassment that James had eventually woken her and helped her upstairs to her room. She hoped he had found the linen for the spare room.
But no nightmares, she thought with a feeling almost of triumph. I slept all through without any.
She went downstairs to find James already in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. ‘Good morning,’ he said brightly. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine.’ She smiled sheepishly. In the fresh light of day, her fears seemed a little foolish. ‘Thanks for staying over, James. I feel a bit embarrassed about it now.’
‘Don’t be silly. You had a shock. You needed to recover. Don’t worry at all.’ He went over to the sink to fill the kettle. ‘I’m glad I could help.’
‘Will your mother be worried about you?’ she asked.
He stopped, turned and looked at her seriously. ‘Emily, I’m a grown man. My mother doesn’t worry about me. She might live in the same house but we’re not exactly cheek by jowl.’
A stain of embarrassment crept over her cheek. ‘Of course not,’ she said. The way he had said ‘grown man’ made a shiver go through her, and her pulse began to race. Oh no. Not while he’s here! The more uncomfortable she became, the stronger the feeling inside her grew. She was trembling lightly, not with fear this time, her skin hot and tingling, a strange ache in her belly and groin. The knowledge of it was making her blush harder.
‘Emily?’ he said, his voice low.
She released a shaky breath, staring at the flagstoned floor. What’s wrong with me? I can’t stop this! James took a step towards her and a rush of something hot flared up inside her, like the range when the logs caught. It made her gasp. He put the kettle down on the counter and said again, ‘Emily.’
She couldn’t look up, but could only stare at the floor, feeling as though she were burning up, filled with an intense longing and unable to do anything about it. Then James was closer to her than ever. He knows. He must see it . . . Part of her was mortified and the other desperate for him.
He reached out a hand and touched her arm. At last she raised her eyes to him, and saw in his that same serious, intense look that had started all the trouble. He could read everything in her face and in the way she was shaking, she was sure of it.
He was close to her now, his body heat radiating out and inflaming her even further. Every proof of his solid, living maleness was turning her to jelly. There was nothing to do to stop it. I’m powerless. She relaxed suddenly. It’s going to happen. I want it to. She tipped her face upwards as he put his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace, and then his mouth was on hers. His lips opened and she tasted him – he tastes as delicious as he smells – and then they were kissing hard and passionately, as though they’d both hungered for it for an age. Emily was utterly lost in the feeling, a dark velvety sensation that resonated inside her. She had not been kissed like this for a very long time, and she felt like a leaf unfurling in the sunshine after a long, dark winter.
The door in the passage banged, sending them both apart, breathless and staring at each other in surprise at what had just happened. The kitchen door opened a moment later, and Carrie stood there in her nightie, trailing her teddy after her.
‘Mummy,’ she said in her lilting voice, tinged with a tone of accusation. ‘You forgot us and Joe can’t get out of his cot!’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll come up right now.’ She glanced over at James, a shy look, and said, ‘I’m sorry . . . I—’
‘Oh no,’ he said quickly, his cheeks pink. ‘I’m sorry. That is . . .’ He turned away and picked up the kettle. ‘I’ll just make that coffee.’
‘Yes,’ she said faintly, and followed Carrie out of the kitchen.
Breakfast was somewhat awkward. Both she and James were almost too shy to look at one another and so they focused all their attention on the children, who seemed very pleased to have so much hearty adult input into their breakfasts.
When it was over, Emily said, ‘I must get the children dressed.’
James got up at once. ‘Yes, I should be on my way. Are you sure everything’s all right now? You’re okay on your own?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’ The terror she had felt yesterday now seemed overblown and a little ridiculous.
‘Would you like me to come back tonight?’ he asked.
Embarrassment flooded through her again. After what had just happened in the kitchen, if she said yes, it would surely sound like an invitation and, tempting as it was, she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. And if she said no . . . ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Um . . . I’m not sure.’
‘No. Of course.’ The same idea seemed to have occurred to James, and he looked just as embarrassed at having offered himself. ‘Don’t decide now. I mean . . . just, whatever you like. Call me if you need me.’ He headed for the door, picking up his coat as he went. ‘I must be getting on. Goodbye, kids. See you soon.’
She watched him go, half relieved, half wistful. That kiss . . . Her lips still tingled where he’d pressed his mouth on hers and she could feel the scratch of stubble on her cheek and chin. Don’t think about it, Emily! she reproved herself. As if you don’t have enough to worry about. Today I need to decide what to do about Will.
Before she could clear the breakfast table, her laptop chirruped the little tune that told her there was an incoming Skype call. She lifted the lid and accepted the call, slipping into a chair as she did. A moment later, Cameron appeared on the screen.
‘What’s up?’ he called down the line, when he saw her. ‘How ya doin’, Emily?’
‘Are Australians always so cheerful?’ she said, smiling.
‘Pretty much,’ he replied, grinning back. ‘And always when we’re winning at the cricket. So, any developments your end?’
She told him quickly what she’d discovered the day before. ‘So, if the art dealer is right, there was a Catherine but she was Ralph’s sister. Cressida said she had died.’
‘But your
email sounded spot on – that it was Catherine who went to Australia in Cressida’s place. I mean, that makes perfect sense, right?’
‘Yes. We still don’t know why, of course, but it does explain how Cressida could be in two places at once.’ She was glad to be able to focus on the mystery of Catherine Few again, as though she could erase the things that had happened since she last spoke to Cameron. She remembered what he had said the day before. ‘Did you find those letters?’
‘I did. There were only six of them. They were mostly very boring, the usual teacher-talking-to-pupil thing – lots of description of the countryside, yapping on about books and poets and reminding my dad to work hard and all of that. But there was something a bit strange.’
‘Yes?’ Emily cocked her head to listen more intently.
‘In one of them, she asked Dad to do her a favour. She asked him to go to an address in his town and give a message to the lady there. And the message was “Miss Fellbridge wants to know if you’ve received the money.”’ Cameron paused to let this sink in.
‘That is strange,’ Emily agreed. ‘So, what did your dad do?’
‘Well, I talked to him. He drifts in and out a bit these days but he seemed to remember when I reminded him. He told me that he went after school on his bike one day. The house was over the other side of town, quite a nice side of town too. He knocked on the door and asked if he could speak to the lady there. It was a young woman who answered the door – hardly more than a girl really. And Dad said he saw the name on the mailbox. It was Kemp.’
‘Kemp,’ echoed Emily. It meant nothing to her. ‘And what happened?’
Cameron went on. ‘Dad said that the girl told him to give her the message, so he told it to her and she said, “Tell her yes, and thank you very much.” He thinks she might have said more, but he can’t remember it. He just recalls that the answer was yes, they had the money. So Dad went home, wrote it down and sent the letter back to England. There was only one more letter after that, and it didn’t mention any more messages or anything like that.’
‘The correspondence ended there?’ asked Emily.
Cameron laughed. ‘Yeah. Dad said he grew up that summer. Fell in love with a girl and started writing to her instead. That was the end of that.’
Emily stared at his face on the screen. ‘But what does it all mean? Who was the girl he took the message to?’
‘Search me.’
‘Does your father remember the address?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Well, we have a name and an area. Do you think you can chase it up a bit?’
‘Sure thing, that’s exactly what I intend to do,’ he said. ‘Just keeping you in the loop as I go along.’
‘It’s great progress,’ Emily said encouragingly.
‘I’ll keep on it,’ Cameron said. ‘Signing off for now! Bye, Emily.’
‘Bye.’
She clicked to disconnect the call and sat back in her chair. Cressida, what were you up to? And why?
In the afternoon, the familiar sense of fear began to crawl over her skin again.
I have to face this, Emily thought, sitting down with the phone. James thinks I’m brave. I should be braver. I’m really a coward. She dialled the number of the hospital in London and waited until she was connected to the ward where Will had spent the last few months.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here any more,’ the nurse on the ward said down the phone.
‘Oh, okay. I was told he might be moved to another ward. Do you know where he’s gone?’
‘No – he’s left the hospital. He’s not here at all. I don’t know where he is, I’m afraid. You could try the consultant’s secretary in the morning.’
‘No, that’s fine, thank you,’ Emily said, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Goodbye.’ She put the phone down, the surge of sickness rising in her gut again. He’s well again. He’s walking. He’s dressed and in a car and on his way here. Then she told herself firmly not to be so silly. She tried Diana’s mobile and then her landline with no success.
Stay calm, she told herself. She wondered if she should call James again. Already she was thinking of the night with dread. But she knew exactly how it would look if she did. I’ll be asking him to kiss me again, maybe more . . . Even if her body responded to the idea with pleasure, she knew that it would make life very complicated indeed.
Where’s Tom? He’d said he would be back later to check on her and he’d never come. Still, if she thought about it, she was glad in a way that he hadn’t come. James’s presence was more reassuring.
I mustn’t be scared. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m safe.
But the frightened feeling grew stronger as the day went on. By the children’s suppertime, she was on edge and jumpy, feeling the same prickle at her neck whenever her back was to a window or a door for too long. The children were crotchety. They’d hardly been out for days now, and she was running low on supplies too. Tomorrow we’ll have to go shopping. Tomorrow, no doubt, she would speak to Diana again, and she would learn the truth about Will’s progress and his whereabouts.
Then I’ll discuss with her the practicalities of getting a divorce.
It was the only option, she knew that now. She couldn’t pretend that his life had anything to do with hers any longer, and she couldn’t go through a farce of visiting him when the sight of him repelled her. He would have a right to see the children, she supposed, but she would get some advice on that. Diana would be the raging tigress but Emily was prepared to tell the whole truth if necessary. If she had to, she’d press charges on Will.
Will. Diana will have told him by now – about me selling the house and all his things, and taking the children up here.
She could imagine him now, his expression set into one she remembered well: the cold, implacable fury that would not be satisfied until she knew the full force of it. That was what she had not been able to tell James, barely admit even to herself, that just before the accident he had started to turn dangerous. He’d begun to push her hard against a wall or onto the bed in his anger. Sometimes there had been fists in her face and a spitting fury close up, filling her with fear. Occasionally it had turned into something strange: sex, hard and unpleasant, when he’d gripped her throat and entered her roughly, or had forced her to take him in her mouth hard, filling her throat as he pulled her head onto him, thrusting hard. Only his climax, always quick she’d been relieved to discover, had eased his fury.
That was over stupid things. When I dyed his tailor-made shirts pink. When I spent too much on those shoes. When I nicked the car against the lamp post.
Little things . . . so much anger over those little things. And then . . . She closed her eyes. How much anger would there be over what she had done now?
He’ll come for me. Nothing will stop him. He’ll kill me. He’s tried before.
The fear came corkscrewing up from the pit of her belly. Would this come every night? How on earth would she ever be free of it?
‘Oh God!’ she said out loud. ‘I can’t stand it. I don’t know how I’ll stand it.’
The children were in bed. She had got through the bedtime routine, her need to keep calm in front of Carrie and Joe helping her to seem outwardly serene, but as the darkness came, the world seemed full of danger again. Half a dozen times she went to the phone to call James but then stopped herself. It seemed so weak and cowardly to call a man when she was afraid. She had to be able to cope alone.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop herself going to the windows and doors and bolting them all. In the back of her mind, a small voice was saying over and over, ‘Six hours to drive from London to here. What if he left at midday? He’d have to stop for petrol and food, so . . .’ Her mind’s eye followed Will in his car (the one that was destroyed in the crash so she knew it was impossible, but . . . ) as he travelled through London, out onto the motorway and northwards. He was stopping for lunch in a motorway services, going to the loo, buying a chocolate bar in Smith’s, back in the car
again, roaring along the motorway. He was off the motorway and entering the beautiful starkness of the Cumbrian landscape. The afternoon was coming to an end as he zoomed along the winding roads. On the seat beside him was . . . She gasped. She saw the glitter of a knife. Then the cold dullness of a hammer. Then a gun, black and deadly. He can’t even fire a gun! she told herself but that wasn’t enough to stop the panic.
The car was approaching Howelland. He was minutes away now.
Oh my God, oh my God . . . She ran to the phone and picked it up in shaking hands.
He was turning into the lane, slowing down as he peered out of the window to see the house.
I’m calling James . . . She slammed the receiver down. ‘No!’ she exclaimed aloud. ‘This is stupid. STUPID.’ She called out to the house. ‘I won’t be afraid!’
There was a bang at the front door. She jumped violently, crying out. It’s him. Oh shit. She walked along the passage, her heart pounding, feeling giddy with the horror. Will was outside the front door. He’d come and he’d found her. He was out there, like the Big Bad Wolf, and she was inside, one of the three little pigs he’d come to devour, only the walls between her and the snapping jaws. Or the slice of the blade across her throat, or the crash of a hammer on her skull, or the explosion of a bullet between her eyes . . .
The door knocker banged again and she cried out in terror. ‘Who’s there?’ she called.
‘Emily?’
A male voice. Will? It could be. It was hard to tell.
‘Who is it?’ she demanded, desperation soaking her voice.
‘It’s me. Tom.’
Tom. Relief saturated her and she let out a great breath. Going to the front door, she started to unlock it. ‘Tom!’ she called through the wood. ‘Why didn’t you say? You frightened me half to death.’ At last the bolts were out of their homes and she pulled open the door. ‘Thank goodness you’re here, I’ve been getting myself seriously spooked.’
She looked him full in the face. His face was set like stone and his blue eyes glittered.