'If that was the case, no, of course not, but it's no excuse for leaping into bed with him.'
'What exactly are you trying to insinuate Rebecca?'
Rebecca tossed the plait over her shoulder, and it lay down the length of her back like a second spine. 'There might have been more to it than you realise, Megs. You know how devious men like that can be and I know how blind you can be.'
'Men like what?'
'Your usual type; needy pathetic sorts. They know which buttons to press to get what they want from you and I bet he pushed all yours didn't he? He saw the anniversary as the ideal opportunity to make a move on you knowing full well you wouldn't be able to stay away.'
Megan was appalled at her sister's accusation. 'You're talking rubbish, Becks, absolute claptrap.'
They both sat in silence for the time it took to take two breaths. Suddenly Rebecca grabbed Megan by the wrist. The hold was forceful and uncomfortable, and with eyes firmly held on her sister's face, she said:
'Meg, I need to ask you a serious question now and I want you to tell me the truth. Did Mackie force himself on you? Did he…assault you? Rape you? Is that why you are so keen to defend him?'
'What?!' Megan sat bolt upright and yanked her hand free of Rebecca's grasp, suddenly finding her sister's touch repulsive. Shocked to the core, she couldn't believe those words could have come from her own sister's mouth. 'What sort of person do you think he is - some kind of monster? How could you even think such a thing, let alone say it?'
'I'm sorry, Megs. I had to ask.'
'No you didn't! If you knew him at all you would know he wasn't capable of such a thing.'
'All men are capable, Megs. It's just a matter of doing it…and getting away with it.'
'Don't say another word, Becks.'
'It's only because I care about you Meg. I honestly do. You may be older than me, but you still need someone to watch out for you.'
'He didn't do anything. If you must know, it was me. I started it. I didn't want him to be lonely…'
'…and so you took him to bed like a lost teddy bear?'
'Why do you have to be so cruel, Becks?'
'And what thought, if any, did you give to me during all this…palaver?'
'You! Why would I think about you? I can't see how it can be any of your business?'
'How about considering how I was going to feel on Monday morning when I did the laundry; when I handled the fine linen sheets that graced the bed on which my sister fucked my boss.' Megan said nothing. 'I thought not.'
Rebecca stood up quickly, knocking her chair backwards. It clattered noisily on the floor as she stormed from the room, the sound of her running up the stairs, was closely followed by the muted slamming of her bedroom door.
Megan folded her arms on the table and rested her now throbbing head on them. And there she stayed for half an hour or more, mulling over the previous night with Nat and what could have been going through his mind when she left him alone in his study that morning. She had agonised over whether or not she had done the right thing by leaving him at all, but he had made it quite clear he didn't want her there.
From the open fronted larder cupboard, she took a packet of chocolate biscuits. They been a reliable comforter in times of distress since childhood, and by the time Rebecca returned to the kitchen, more than half were already gone.
Rebecca said nothing as she picked up the dropped chair and set the kettle to boil again to make fresh tea.
'I'm sorry I flew off the handle like that. It came as a bit of a shock to find out you've just spent the night screwing my employer,' she said, rinsing the teacups at the sink.
'It really has nothing to do with you,' Megan said as she wetted her finger and dabbed at fallen biscuit crumbs.
'It has everything to do with me. I'll not be able to look him in the eye now without feeling some sort of shame or embarrassment. Tell me to fuck off if you want, but I'm going to stick my oar in and make a guess at how this story went. It has a horribly familiar ring to it, so feel free to stop me if you've heard any of it before. He came to you with tears in his eyes, feeling all sad and lonely. He pitched you a tale of woe about how he couldn't go on like this any more, life wasn't worth living yada yada, and when he cried and hinted that he might harm himself if he was left alone, you jumped right into bed with him to save him from himself. Am I right?'
Megan could only stare at the scrubbed wooden tabletop as the sound of Rebecca hitting the metaphorical nail squarely on its head echoed in her mind. The same thing had happened throughout her adult life, over and over and over again in a seemingly perpetual cycle of want, need, comfort and rejection. Yet this time, it was different. 'This is different,' she said.
'How? You hardly know him well enough to make that judgement.'
'I know him well enough, and he's not like the others. He's….' She struggled to come up with the right description; lonely, desperately unhappy, needy? They were accurate, but all sounded so trite.
Rebecca filled in the missing words. 'He's a man. They're all the same.'
'That's a very jaundiced and unfair assessment, Becks. Just because you had a bad experience doesn't mean they are all tarred with the same brush.'
Rebecca's mouth twisted with bitter rancour. 'You want to call what happened to me a bad experience? You think finding out a week before your wedding that the man of your dreams, the man you're pregnant by, is already married, was a bad experience?'
'No...'
'And losing the baby because of the strain and shock,was that also a bad experience?'
'Becca, please...I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I know you've had it rough in the past, but it was a long time ago, and none of it is Nat's fault.'
'Men are men the world over.'
'Even Paul? He's a man.'
'Leave Paul out of this.'
'You said yourself you really don't know that much about Nat, so you are in no position to judge him so harshly.'
'I know enough to know that blokes like him use women like you, Megs. You know it too.'
Megan shook her head emphatically. 'No, Becks, you are absolutely, totally wrong about him. And even if you were right, I don't regret a single minute of it. It was the best I've ever had, ever. No-one else even came close, and nothing you can say can cheapen it.'
The kettle whistled. Rebecca stuffed the rest of her biscuit into her mouth as she got up to make fresh tea. She re-took her seat, held her mug in both hands and blew on the tea to cool it. For over a minute, the women didn't speak, nor did they look at one another. Finally, she said:
'Describe yesterday to me?'
Megan frowned quizzically. 'What? Why?'
'I want to get the full picture.'
Reluctantly Megan detailed the day's events from the first silent phone call, through finding Nat drunk and unconscious on the study floor, to how upset he was because of the anniversary, and how she stayed with him until after midnight before retiring to the guest room.
'How many times have you slept with him?' Rebecca asked.
'Just the once.'
'Where? Did he take you to his bed?'
'No. We stayed in the guest room. Why?'
'Because his bed was her bed - Joanna's. He never uses his own bed. To him it would be like violating a sacred altar.'
'But it was my choice,' said Megan. 'I invited him in.'
'After he came calling on some pretext or other.'
'Yes. He brought me a toothbrush.'
'Uh-huh.'
Megan began to feel distinctly unsettled. It was as if Rebecca had witnessed the whole scene. 'What are you trying to say, Rebecca? Are you suggesting he was so devious he staged the whole thing in order to trick me into bed?'
'It's possible.'
'No, no way, he wouldn't do that, not to me.'
'Why not?'
Megan sipped at her tea and considered the evidence - the silent phone calls she couldn't resist investigating; her conveniently missing shoe preventing her
from leaving; him bringing her a toothbrush of all things in the middle of the night. He had become emotional, helped along by the drink, certainly, but it had been genuine, she was sure of it. And her lost shoe? That wasn't sinister. Of course he didn't take it. She must have kicked it away by accident. It was her own carelessness. He wouldn't be so malicious.
'No,' she said determinedly. 'You've got it all wrong. He called me, yes, but how could he have known for sure I would come?'
'An educated guess from past behaviour. You nursed him when he was sick. You stayed with him when he had his loopy session on the stairs...'
'And when I got there, he was intoxicated almost to a coma. I thought he was dead. If I hadn't been there when he was sick, he could have died on the study floor, choking on his own vomit. No one would deliberately risk doing that to themselves not knowing for sure if they would be found. I won't believe it.'
'You can believe it or not, it won't change the facts. And it won't come to anything you know. He's still too hung up on his dead wife's memory to let her go. You are wasting your time. Walk away from it before you get in too deep.'
'It's too late for that.'
'What...?' Rebecca's face then creased into stunned realisation. 'Oh my God, no! Please, Meg, don't tell me you've fallen for him. Not him.' Megan's silence was all the confirmation she needed. 'No, Megs. No! You can't! As sure as eggs is eggs, he'll break your heart. You've got to walk away, now.'
'I can't, Becks. I won't. You really don't understand. If you had seen him like I have, he's so…so dreadfully lost. And you know how important it is not to be lost.'
'Does he love you?
'Probably not, but I don't care whether he does or not.' She was lying to herself. She did care. She cared very much.
'Then what is the point?' said Rebecca. 'Unrequited love is the ultimate waste of time and energy. You'd be better off taking up knitting. At least you would have something to show for it at the end.'
Megan stood and tucked her chair under the table. 'I don't want to talk about this any more, Becks. I'm going to have a lie down. It was a long night and I didn't get a lot of sleep.'
The conversation came to an abrupt end, and this time, it was Rebecca's turn to be left alone.
Chapter 24
He knew she had gone. He felt her presence in the house simply fade away, and his heart sank. The clock on the mantle chimed eight times.
She'll be home now. She should be here…with me. I should have asked her to stay. Why couldn't I ask her to stay?
He forced himself out of his chair and up the stairs where he showered and dressed.
As he crossed the landing to return downstairs, he glanced through the open door of the guest room at the unmade bed with its duvet thrown back and its untidily rumpled sheet.
She hasn't made the bed,' he thought. And why the hell should she? She doesn't work here any more.
He went into the room, straightened out the cover and sat on it. Beside him lay the robe Megan had worn. He picked it up and put it to his face. He inhaled and filled his head with the smell of soap and her rose-scented moisturiser. The cherished perfume stirred his memory of the previous night. He could recall every breathtaking moment and he felt a tight, griping pain in his stomach; a physical manifestation of desire and regret. Clutching the robe he lay down with his head on her pillow, and with thoughts of her dwelling on his mind, he closed his eyes. It took next to no time before he was lost to exhausted sleep.
He woke sometime after one o'clock. The groggy headache that often accompanied too deep a sleep conspired with the remnants of his hangover to punish him.
Wending his way downstairs, he went into the kitchen and found the aspirins, swallowing two with a glass of water. He opened the fridge and perused the shelves for something to eat. Nothing appealed; he wasn't hungry. He turned on the radio to break the suffocating silence of a lonely Sunday afternoon, allowing it to chunner away in the background.
Through the kitchen window, he watched the birds coming to the feeding table Megan had persuaded him to buy. There was no food for the poor creatures and they quickly flew away, disappointed and hungry. She might not be here to feed them but that was no reason for them to starve.
Scouting around, he found a few stale biscuits and a crust from a loaf of bread. He crumbled them up and took them out to the table.
When he retreated inside, the birds returned and ate greedily. He smiled to himself as he recalled how much she enjoyed watching them squabbling over the titbits, how they made her smile with their antics. How he missed her smile. How he missed her just being there.
She had been out of his employ for only two weeks before he had called her in a drunken haze. He didn't know how he had managed it, and at the time, he hadn't even been aware he'd done it. He had only known she was there when he had come round from sleeping it off and seen her coat draped over his office chair, and her discarded shoes.
All he knew for certain about yesterday was that she had made sure he was safe, cleaned up after him, comforted him in his distress and stayed with him until the wretched day was over.
She made sure he was alright. As usual she had put him before herself. And then she took him to her bed, and how wonderful, how terrifying and how glorious it had been. He felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach. He had to call her even if it was only to hear her voice. Picking up the telephone he pressed all but the final number.
What am I going to say to her, he thought, his finger hovering over the last digit. He tried a few lines out loud, rejecting each one in turn.
'Thank you for staying with me…' No, ridiculously inadequate.
'I'm sorry…' She'd never believe it.
'Don't leave me, I need you…' That couldn't be more pathetic if it tried.
'That was a great shag. How about another?' The very coarseness of the thought made him cringe.
And finally, the truth, 'I love you, Meg. Come back and take care of me.'
'Oh, God…' He groaned his frustration, and hung up. Nothing he could think of would do. However long it took, he wouldn't call her again until he could be sure of exactly what he wanted to say.
Sitting at his desk he opened his laptop, looking for something to divert his attention and pass the time. He would check his emails and his bank balance. To do that, he needed his flash drive. He patted his shirt pocket. It wasn't there. 'It must be in the desk.'
His hand went to his pocket for his keyring before he remembered. 'Fruit bowl.'
Retrieving his keys from the kitchen, he opened the small drawer at his desk. He took out the flash drive and inserted it into the laptop. He was about to close the drawer when he noticed something missing. It took no more than a second to realise the gun cabinet key box was gone.
He dug his hand into the drawer and felt around. He pulled it right out to the limit of its runners and rummaged through the contents. The box wasn't there.
A momentary panic overtook him and he dashed over to the cabinet to check the lock. It hadn't been tampered with.
'Where the hell is it? What have I done with it?' He turned out every drawer of his desk, his jacket and coat pockets and his briefcase, all to no avail. He had no idea where the box could be, least of all that it was safely nestled in Megan's handbag at Rose Cottage, just over a mile away.
'It'll turn up,' he assured himself. 'You were off your head with drink and you've just mislaid it. It's here somewhere, keep looking.'
Monday morning arrived with a thick, steel-grey mist hugging the ground. It blocked out the sun and every view was obscured. None of the tree-covered hills surrounding the village could be seen. Nat, standing at his bedroom window, could not even see down the driveway to his front gates. It appeared as if the rest of the world, outside immediate sight, had simply been rubbed out. It matched exactly how he felt.
He went downstairs. He had foregone his breakfast; he hadn't taken morning coffee either. Now Megan was no longer there to share it with him, he didn't see the point. Rebecca
wouldn't sit and chat and waste time with him even if he asked her.
Needing something to salve the unpleasant gnawing in his belly, he went to the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of milk from the fridge.
As he drank from the beaker, he became mindful of Rebecca watching him through the open doorway to the laundry. She had paused in her ironing of one of his shirts, and on her face she carried an expression of cool contempt.
She doesn't look happy, he thought. She must know Megan was here on Saturday night. What has she been saying to her? Whatever it was, it couldn't have been anything good…if looks could kill, I'd be six feet under already…
Despite feeling as if he had just crawled out from under a rotten log, he attempted to inject a note of pleasantry into his greeting. 'Good morning, Rebecca.'
Her eyes flickered over him and he detected the slightest wrinkling of her freckled nose as she took in his appearance - bare footed and unshaven, with his hair awry, and his shirttails hanging loose over ill fitting torn jeans - an unkempt shambles of a man.
'Everything okay?' he asked.
Her reply was icy. 'Fine.'
'Anything you need?'
'No thank you.'
He took a sip from the milk before approaching the doorway and edging through it. Rebecca's cold grey eyes followed his every move and he felt distinctly uncomfortable under her unwavering, accusatory gaze.
'I've…erm…lost something,' he said with a nervous smile. 'A metal box with some keys in it, about this big.' He made a shape with his hand. 'Would you keep an eye out for it? I'm not sure where I lost it; it could be anywhere…if you wouldn't mind…please.'
'Yes, Mr Mackie,' she said, her face deadpan, her tone, frigid. His eye was attracted by the slight movement of her hand as it tightened around the handle of the iron.
'Thank you,' he said graciously, and smiled again. She didn't return it.
Not keen to give his housekeeper the opportunity to embed the hot, hard metal of the steam iron in the back of his head, he reversed through the doorway before turning his back on her. He was hardly clear of the door before it slammed shut behind him, so hard the draught snatched at his shirt.
Saving Nathaniel Page 19