‘My father was a controlling, vindictive man.’ Oliver held his breath as Chloe began speaking, wanting to protect her, hoping he was strong enough to help her through what was to come. Cradling her head on his shoulder, he kissed the top of her head. ‘I don’t know what had turned him that way but he was paranoid about things and he had very set rules and ideas. Nothing was ever good enough for him. The slightest thing would send him into a rage.’
‘Was he an alcoholic?’
Chloe shook her head, turning more fully into him, her hand resting on his chest. ‘No. He didn’t need a drink to lose his head, to be violent. He did have a drink, on occasion, but not often. He had cut my mother off from her family and friends before I was even born. I don’t know if I have grandparents, cousins or anything.’
‘Why did he do that?’ he asked when she paused, his fingers tracing soothing circles on the back of her neck.
‘Like I said, it was all about control. He brought her here when they married. She knew no one, wasn’t allowed to work, to go out without him, to have friends. He had to be in charge of her whole life. And mine when I came along,’ she added, a quiver in her voice, and Oliver closed his eyes. ‘He was physically, emotionally and verbally abusive to us both…sexually abusive to my mother.’
‘But not to you?’ He didn’t know how to get the words past the painful lump in his throat.
‘Not to me. Not that,’ she confirmed softly.
A sigh of relief escaped him. Not that the rest she had suffered hadn’t been bad enough. He couldn’t bear to think of Chloe left vulnerable at the hands of such a man—her own father who was meant to protect and nurture her.
‘What happened, Chloe?’
‘Sometimes, when I was very young, if he decided I’d been bad, he’d lock me in a cupboard, often for hours. Later he’d use his fists,’ she admitted, and he could hear the remembered fear and pain behind her words.
‘Didn’t your mother do anything to protect you?’ Despite seeing cases during his medical career, knowing of people who stayed with their abusers for various reasons, he didn’t have his rational doctor head on now because this was Chloe and personal, and he felt angry, aching for her. ‘Why didn’t she leave him?’
Chloe drew in a ragged breath and he shifted them so they were lying on the sofa and he could hold her more securely, keeping her close and safe. ‘I feel bad, guilty, because I often hated her, blamed her for staying,’ she whispered, and he felt the wetness of her tears seep through his shirt.
‘No, babe,’ he protested, desperate to get through to her, to not have her carry this burden. ‘They were the adults. Their responsibility, their duty, was to care for you. You have nothing to feel guilty about.’
For a few moments a tense silence stretched, and he wondered if she would continue, if he could bear it if she did. They had not turned the light on and, as dusk fell, the darkening room gave a privacy that appeared to encourage the sharing of secrets.
‘I think my mother was so brainwashed, her self-esteem so shattered, that she couldn’t think for herself,’ Chloe explained, a deep sigh torn from her. ‘She said she loved him once, that it was her duty as his wife, that you made allowances, even that he didn’t mean it. But he did mean it.’ Anger and disgust rang in her voice. ‘He enjoyed the control, the domination. His rules were strict and often contradictory. He demanded that my mother remain feminine and attractive for him, yet he criticised her for her appearance and accused her of trying to attract other men.’ Almost by instinct, she pressed closer, as if seeking the comfort he was so desperate to give her. ‘Once I became a teenager, his anger focused more on me, on putting me down, challenging me, finding fault. Apart from school, I wasn’t allowed out. I couldn’t have friends, wear nice clothes, make-up, jewellery, perfume. Then he started accusing me of flaunting myself for men, of being just like my mother.’
‘Chloe…’ Her name escaped as a groan. He felt helpless, unable to imagine the horror her life had been, furious that no one had helped her. And he could see how the groundwork had been laid to make Chloe subconsciously deny her sexuality and attractiveness—and mistrust men. ‘Was there no one you could talk to?’
She shook her head. ‘He had us so well isolated. And he made it clear what he would do if we ever told anyone. I hated him, Oliver, and while I felt sorry for my mother, wanted to stop her pain, I began to hate her, too, to disrespect her for not doing anything. And yet I did nothing myself, was just as cowardly and afraid of him.’
‘What could you have done on your own? As a child, with no adults stepping in to care for you?’ he interjected. ‘Don’t blame yourself, babe, please. It is not your fault. And you most definitely were not, and are not, a coward.’
He understood now why Chloe’s past experiences made her wary and cynical about relationships, love, marriage, men. Frightened, she had protected herself by shutting down the part of her that would allow desire, believing it led to hurt and abuse and the surrendering of control, of her very self. He was angry and distressed at all she had endured, but so proud of her for all she had achieved despite it, for having the courage to face it, to share it with him, to let him close to her. It was a special gift, one he hoped he deserved. To know he was the first man she had ever trusted, had ever allowed to kiss her, hold her, touch her…It was humbling, overwhelming.
‘What happened to make you run away?’ he asked, his voice rough with emotion.
He felt her shaking and hated himself for causing her any further upset. ‘It was after my exams, when I was sixteen. I came home from school to find my father waiting for me. He started accusing me, saying he had seen me flirting with a man outside school. It was crazy. I’d spoken to a boy, a classmate, about an exam for less than a minute, but nothing I said made a difference. You didn’t answer back, didn’t challenge his perception of things. He…’ She halted, her voice breaking.
‘It’s OK,’ he whispered, his chest tight, stroking a hand up and down her back. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’
‘I do. I need to.’ Oliver’s own shuddering breath mirrored hers. ‘He said I had to be taught a lesson.’ Again she paused and he heard the determination in her voice. Turning more onto his back he drew her on top of him and she pressed her face into his neck. ‘It was Lauren who found me hiding after I had escaped his attack. She and Vicky were three years ahead of me at school, so not really friends with me then. Lauren had left home after A levels, moving away to do her physiotherapy training, but she was back for a week’s break. I was a mess. Bleeding and bruised. He’d hacked all my hair off with scissors. I was so scared, so angry. I felt guilty leaving my mother, but I knew I could never go back there. I believed he’d kill me one day.’
‘God, Chloe.’ Shocked, his hold tightened and he wished he had been around to protect her, get her away.
‘Lauren took me to her home. Thankfully her parents were out. Did you know she was adopted?’ she asked, confusing him for a moment with the change of tack.
‘No,’ he admitted, getting his head together. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Anyway, Lauren cleaned my cuts, found me clothes, fed me, got part of the story out of me. Then she gave me money, made some phone calls to a women’s group she knew through college, and found me a safe place to stay away from Penhally. No one else knew where I had gone, at least to begin with, but I kept in touch with Lauren and she passed on news about my mother. The shelter helped me get on my feet and find a way to pursue my goal to be a midwife. When I was twenty-three, I heard my father had died and that my mother needed someone. I came back and felt strangely detached. I couldn’t grieve for him, and I had confused, ambivalent feelings for her, but I needed to do it, needed the closure. She was a broken woman, her mind was scattered, hardly in touch with reality. We never talked about what happened. As for Lauren, I returned the money eventually, but I can never repay her for all the rest.’
‘You are amazing, babe. Strong and brave.’
‘No, it was just s
elf-preservation,’ she refuted, sounding sad. ‘Years ago my mother told me I’d understand one day. But I’m never going to be like her, never going to endure what she did for love.’
Her words troubled him and showed him the journey was not yet over. Cupping her face with his hands, he tried to see her in the darkness, to give her his strength, assure her he was sincere, prove to her she could trust him.
‘That wasn’t love, Chloe. Not at all. You’re not your mother…and I’m not your father.’
She didn’t answer, but neither did she pull away. Instead, she rested her head on his chest and slipped her arms around him. He held her long into the night, seeking guidance for the best way to help her, stunned, overcome, even more in awe and in love with her than he had been before she had trusted him with the horrors of her childhood.
For a moment he froze, realising what he had just admitted to himself. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, but this whole gamut of feelings and emotions had grown and deepened over the weeks and he was in love with Chloe MacKinnon. In some ways he was stepping into the unknown as much as she was, experiencing all this for the first time. Chloe deserved the best—he prayed that could be him.
He felt the full weight of responsibility for what he was taking on, for what this meant for Chloe’s sake. But he knew with an utter certainty and finality that he didn’t just want to be the first man Chloe let into her life, he wanted to be the only man. The man to claim her heart, the man to cherish her and love her and care for her…for ever.
If only she would let him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HER Saturday lunch-time parents’ class over, Chloe headed out to Lauren’s cottage and wandered around her studio, admiring the selection of paintings her friend had available for sale. When she decided which one she wanted, there would be the usual good-natured debate about the cost, an argument Chloe was always determined to win, convinced that Lauren should not make over-generous allowances for her friends. In truth, she loved all Lauren’s work, but this painting had to be extraspecial because it was for Oliver.
Just thinking about him made her warm and tingly, although thoughts of last night, of facing up to the past and revealing the full extent of her father’s cruelty, had a chilling effect. Confiding in Oliver had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done. Not because of the way Oliver had reacted. Far from it. He had been wonderful…tender, considerate, protective and supportive. She had felt his anger, but it had been for her, and she had never felt anything but safe with him.
For the second time she had fallen asleep in his arms, only to wake up that morning to find herself alone on the sofa, a light throw tucked around her, a pillow under her head, and his note propped on the coffee-table, waiting for her. She’d had appointments and her lunchtime class, while Oliver had had morning surgery, so she had not seen him yet today, but she had done a lot of thinking.
That he believed in her made her feel good, and thinking of his words, his reasoning, had helped ease her long-buried guilt. Oliver was right. None of it had been her fault. Her parents had failed in their responsibilities to protect her. She had not been to blame for her father’s anger, or for her mother’s choices. Sharing the burden with Oliver, telling him things she had never told anyone else, not even Lauren, had brought unexpected but welcome inner peace, a letting go. She refused to allow her father any more influence on the rest of her life.
She wanted to do something for Oliver to show her appreciation. Something tangible that, should he decide to leave, would be a reminder of her and his time in Penhally. That he might go was too painful to consider. It would soon be his birthday and, knowing how he admired Lauren’s work and loved the local landscape, it had seemed an excellent idea to buy one of her paintings for him.
‘Have you found something you like?’ Lauren asked with a smile, handing her a glass of chilled fruit juice.
‘Thanks.’ Chloe took a sip of the drink and turned back to the array of work with a sigh. ‘I love them all. That’s the trouble.’
Her friend laughed. ‘I appreciate the compliment. Perhaps I can help. Where are you going to hang it?’
‘Actually, I’m not. It’s a present…for Oliver,’ she admitted, blushing.
‘Really?’ Lauren’s smile widened. ‘That’s great. I’m so pleased for you, Chloe.’
‘It’s his birthday in two weeks’ time. I want to thank him—and I want him to have something to remember me by if he leaves Penhally.’
Lauren frowned. ‘What makes you think he might leave? He wants to settle down, doesn’t he?’
‘He’s said nothing about staying or extending his contract at the surgery.’ Sitting down, she confided her fears to her friend. ‘I told him about Gabriel Devereux arriving from France in the autumn, and Oliver wasn’t the least bothered.’
‘The surgery is getting busier all the time, especially with the ongoing expansion, and could easily carry another GP or two. Lucy is still on maternity leave and Dragan will be cutting back when Melinda has the baby. And with Ed and Maddy having recently chosen hospital work in St Piran over staying at the practice, there is space for Oliver and, later, the French doctor for his year’s placement. Probably another nurse, too. You’re really smitten with Oliver, aren’t you?’ Lauren added after a pause, sitting beside her.
‘Yes.’ Chloe met her friend’s gaze. ‘But I don’t know how he feels. And I have no experience of this sort of thing. What if Vicky’s right and this is just a fling?’
Lauren waved her comment aside. ‘Vicky was talking nonsense, and you know it. Oliver cares about you, Chloe. We can all see it. And we can all see the difference in you, too. You’re blossoming. It’s fantastic. You’ve come such a long way in the last days and weeks. Don’t get cold feet and turn back now. Oliver is good for you—and believe me, you’re good for him. See where it takes you, go for what you want.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Hasn’t he shown you how different he is? Has he ever pressured you, scared you, tried to change or control you? Has he ever said he’s leaving?’
Confused, Chloe shook her head. It was true that Oliver made her feel things she had never felt before. Things that were so unfamiliar but which made her heart beat with excitement and brought incredible sensations to her body. But he had always left the choice to her, had respected her, never pressured her.
‘What I feel is scary…but exciting,’ she admitted.
‘You are learning what it is to be a woman, desired by a sexy man. Go with it. You won’t be sorry,’ Lauren reassured. ‘Now, about this picture.’
Dragging her thoughts back to the matter at hand, Chloe stood up again and returned her attention to the canvases. ‘Are you trying some new techniques?’ she asked, noting subtle differences in Lauren’s new work compared with older pictures.
‘No, why?’
Surprised at the edge in her friend’s voice, Chloe glanced round and saw Lauren frowning in puzzlement, almost squinting as she looked at her own work. A flicker of unease curled inside her as she remembered Oliver’s questions about Lauren’s clumsiness. Could there really be something wrong? Unwilling to consider it, sure her friend would say something if there was a problem, Chloe tried to set her disquiet aside. Perhaps she was seeing changes in the paintings that weren’t there.
‘All the pictures are amazing, Lauren. But with Oliver’s love of the sea, I’ll settle on this magnificent coastal landscape,’ she decided, preparing herself for the battle ahead to ensure Lauren took enough money for her work.
Oliver glanced at his watch and wondered when Chloe would be home. He hadn’t seen her since last night, when leaving her had been almost impossible. After a busy morning at the surgery, when his clinic had overrun he had sent her a text and discovered she was with Lauren for the afternoon and having a meal with her friend. Having told her he was home if she wanted to meet up, all he could do was wait. And worry. He understood if she was feeling awkward after last nig
ht’s talk about her past and knew she might need some space. But he wanted to be with her. He still felt shaky, sick about all she had suffered, angry that no one had helped her. Until Lauren. Thank goodness she had been there to help Chloe get away to safety.
As for his own feelings for Chloe, well, he loved and wanted her more every day. He had never spent so much time with a woman, being with her, getting to know her, talking, laughing, dating…all without sex getting in the way. He enjoyed it. Because it was Chloe. Not that he didn’t want to make love with her. He did. He ached for it, and hoped they’d get there before he expired from unfulfilled desire. In the meantime, everything about her fascinated him, and the slow build-up of the physical side of things was exciting, and heightened the anticipation.
That she had been completely unaware of her own body’s needs and desires was amazing, but awakening her to intimacy, sharing the journey with her, was the most incredible experience of his life, an honour and a privilege. He could kiss and touch Chloe for ever. Yearned to do so. It took every atom of self-control he had not to rush things. Tamping down his desire, his urgent need to know her fully, wasn’t easy, but he was determined to do this the right way for Chloe. Nothing had ever felt this special. Being with Chloe made his world a better place. He wanted her, needed her. But it was too soon to tell her. He had to be sure of her feelings for him and where she saw this going before he made a public commitment. What scared him was that Chloe might never be ready to consider love, marriage and for ever.
He paced the small rented flat. In a week or so he would have to vacate it, make long-term plans about work and living arrangements. He glanced at his watch again. Was Chloe home yet? Should he ring her? He dragged his fingers through his hair, caught in an agony of indecision yet knowing the next move had to be hers.
Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2 Page 61