by C F Dunn
She extracted the tea towel from my hands before I wrung it to death, and looked earnestly into my face. “Emma, you must talk to Matthew; he will know what to do. And even if he does not, Shotter will think that he does. He is a little afraid of him, I think.”
“Shotter’s afraid of Matthew? Are we talking about my Matthew? Why?”
Elena went through to my bedroom and adjusted the strap of her dress. I followed her, but it looked to me as if she struggled to find a way of saying something diplomatically.
“The medical centre and science fac are very important to the college, and Matthew had them built, yes? But Shotter took the er… the… I do not know what it is called.” She looked at me for help.
“Credit?” I suggested.
“Da, he took the credit.” She wandered over to the mirror on my chest of drawers and began fiddling with her hair.
“Yes, that sounds plausible, but you said he is frightened of Matthew; that’s very specific, Elena.” She took a lipstick from her glittery clutch-bag that matched the trim of her dress, and pouted at her reflection. “You look gorgeous; tell me what you meant.”
Lipstick in hand, she spoke to the mirror. “Matias told me that when Sung first came to the college, there was some little… trouble – I do not know what – and he was going to be deported.” I recalled Sung mentioning something about Matthew getting him out of North Korea, but nothing about keeping him in the United States. “Matthew went to see Shotter and persuaded him to let Sung stay.”
“So…?”
“So, Matias says that Shotter is careful around Matthew.”
“That still doesn’t amount to being frightened though, does it?”
“No, but it is perhaps the way Matthew looks, as if he can see right through you, and you do not know what he is thinking.” She reapplied her lip colour as if she had explained everything, snapped it shut, and spun round to face me. “Now,” she declared, “what shall we do with your hair?”
I couldn’t give a fig about my hair, but I did want to know what Matthew had over Shotter, and why the oily Dean should be frightened of him. I wasn’t in the mood for a party. Shotter had managed to get under my skin as effectively as he no doubt intended, and the irritation he set up threatened to spoil my whole evening. What I had to ensure, however, was that I didn’t ruin it for anyone else. “Elena, about what I told you earlier – don’t say anything to Matthew, will you? Nor Matias, either.”
“But you must tell Matthew!” She looked up as a series of raps announced their arrival.
I stopped her as she went to answer the door. “No, I want to deal with this myself. Promise me, Elena, not – a – word.”
Tossing her head and tutting she pulled away. “All right,” she agreed reluctantly, “I will not say anything, but I think you are wrong.”
It wasn’t the first time I had been told that and, no doubt, it wouldn’t be the last. Rightly or wrongly I thought it for the best, so I let my head rule my heart for once, and smiled as Matthew came to collect us, determined to enjoy the evening.
The Barn had been transformed. Every ledge held candles that guttered each time the door opened to let someone through, throwing dancing figures on the white walls. Even the heavy open beams had candles in little glass pots balanced along their length and, wrapped between them, the strings of clear fairy lights from Christmas. Harry finished lighting the last of the candles, swinging from the beam and hanging like a monkey for a second before landing neatly beside us. “Hey, Emma, how are you doing?” Enveloping me in a hug, he almost lifted me from the ground. “Engaged, huh? This is the best news ever; I’m so glad for you guys. And don’t worry about remembering who’s supposed to be related to who; it gets easier after a bit.” A plain silver cross swung on the chain around his neck; he found the artifice as hard as I did, despite what he said.
“Lying, you mean, Harry?”
He grinned. “I’d call it an alternative form of reality.”
Nerves fluttered as the strains of music filtered down the spacious room and the first of the guests drew up outside. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the evening ahead. I turned to Matthew. “Tell me again why you wanted to hold the party here and not somewhere inconspicuous and totally devoid of anything whatsoever to do with the family? I thought we had to keep a low profile. Having a party here is like waving a big flag – with bells on – saying, ‘Here we are, look at us.’”
Matthew’s hands circled my waist as we moved to the music. “Do you remember what I said about the box in the wall and about how one of the best ways of keeping something safe is to make it obvious?” I nodded dubiously, putting my arms around his middle. “Well, here we are, in my parents’ home, throwing an engagement party, surrounded by friends and family. What could be more normal? What do we have to conceal? Hiding away when we should be celebrating would raise more questions, and there are some things we want people to see. Now when we talk about home and family, people will visualize this – we’re giving them the story we want them to believe.”
“But you didn’t before.”
“I didn’t have you before. People accepted me as a bit of a recluse because of my alleged bereavement. I have no such excuse now.” He smiled, his eyes warm, the corners lifting into the tiny crinkles I loved to see. “Come on,” he said, “we have guests to greet.”
By the time a lull formed in the dancing as our guests investigated the tables laden with food, the combined effect of bodies and candles had my skin glowing. Fanning myself with a tablemat while Matthew went to get me a drink, I went to stand by the door, breathing in the night.
“Hello, my dear,” Siggie Gerhard greeted me with a kiss. “This is spectacular.”
She didn’t say whether she meant the building or the party, so I just said, equally ambiguously, “They’ve made a wonderful job of it,” to which she agreed.
“You know, Emma, I was delighted to hear of your engagement. It seems fitting that two of my favourite people should marry. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you. You owe me a chat, and I owe you dinner, remember? No, I don’t suppose you could forget,” she went on as she saw the look on my face. “I was talking with Saul about what happened at Staahl’s trial.”
I ceased fanning. “What about it?”
“The peculiar relationship between Matthew and his sister.” No doubt she saw the instantaneous loss of colour as my face paled. I lifted the mat to fan my cheeks again where spots of heat rose to blaze. “It was very unpleasant for you, wasn’t it? I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Matthew seemed to have been sidetracked by Dawson and his wife and I wanted him to hurry up, yet curiosity burned. “What about their relationship, Siggie?”
“Are you aware that I know Margaret Lynes professionally? For some years now we have attended the same committees. I’m on the board at the local hospital’s psychiatry wing.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Do you need to sit down?” she asked with solicitude.
“No, thanks, I’m just a bit hot.” Dawson was now deep in conversation, while his wife clung to Matthew’s arm.
“Saul and I were saddened to hear of her breakdown,” Siggie went on. “I visited her shortly afterwards.”
“Matthew didn’t say…”
“He wouldn’t have known – no visitors were allowed at the time. I went in my formal capacity as part of the initial assessment. She was quite lucid, you know, but the way she referred to her family intrigued me.” The track changed and a few couples began a slow dance to “It’s a Mad World”. I choked back a laugh and she smiled in surprise.
“Yes, I thought it funny, or rather, odd. She obviously has a deep regard for Matthew, despite what I believe happened in the trial, but it came across more like deference than sibling affection, and this I found strange. And she was articulate yet confused about your relationship with him.” At last, Matthew had managed to detach himself from Dawson. “Margaret was very shaken by the
death of her grandmother, and did you know she had an older sister who died when they were very young?”
Hurry up! I urged Matthew, but Matias waylaid him. Matthew cast an apologetic look in my direction, then frowned as he read my expression.
“Yes, I believe she died in a car crash,” I replied, enunciating clearly. Worry passed over his face as he read my lips.
“It was what we would refer to in the trade as a life event, and it has influenced the way she views relationships ever since. I hope you will believe me when I say that I wouldn’t normally discuss a patient with a third party, but in this case, what she said has a direct bearing on you.” Matthew was making his apologies to Matias.
“On me?”
“Yes, she kept saying that you were taking her grandmother’s place.”
The floor moved beneath my feet. Siggie put out a hand to steady me. “Emma? Are you all right, my dear?”
Matthew’s arm slipped around my waist. “Hello, Siggie. Emma, drink this – it’s warm in here.” He handed me the cold glass and I drank thirstily. The room steadied and I managed a smile.
“Siggie was just telling me that she’s seen Maggie, Matthew.” His arm tautened perceptibly. “She says that Maggie thinks I’m taking her grandmother’s place.” Try as I might to appear unconcerned, my agitated pulse beat unevenly and I felt sure Siggie would detect it. I put my hand nervously to my neck in an unconscious movement, but Matthew captured it and held it within his own.
“I’m afraid my sister is quite unwell. She’s been deeply troubled by our grandmother’s death of course, but it’s more than that. Working with Staahl put an enormous strain on her – she’s been saying some very odd things. I think we have to be looking at a diagnosis of a delusional disorder – possibly cyclothymia, would you say, Siggie?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s on the bi-polar spectrum,” Siggie answered. “A mild form, triggered by a variety of things, and a stressful event can be one of them. It is something I have suggested in my initial report, but it can be difficult to diagnose. I’m relieved I seem to be on the right track.” She regarded him speculatively. “Would you say you have a good relationship with your sister, Matthew?”
“On the whole, given she still grieved for her sister throughout much of her childhood, yes, I think you could say we do. I have a great deal of respect for her.”
“That’s odd,” Siggie said. “That is precisely what she said about you.”
The conversation wandered onto more general topics, allowing the jitters to dissipate into nothing but an unpleasant underlying sensation – a reminder that she had strayed very close to a truth that should have remained hidden. Pat helped by insisting I try each of the dishes displayed before me. The food and her affectionate enthusiasm warmed the cold fear in my tummy and, by the time Elena located me, I had become fully engaged in wedding conversation. Pat spotted an empty dish that needed filling and excused herself.
“Emma, he’s lovely,” Elena mooned in Harry’s direction. He waved genially when he saw us and I waved back. “I had forgotten how gorgeous he is. Doesn’t he look like Matthew?” She finished her wine and looked for another.
“He’s only a boy, Elena, and you’re spoken for. How much have you had to drink?”
“Not much.” She spread the fingers of one hand, tucking her thumb in clumsily. “Gorgeous,” she hiccupped.
“Somebody call my name?” Matias wandered up with another plate of food. Pat’s caterers were obviously going down a treat. Elena pinched a delicate piece of bread-wrapped asparagus from his plate and bit off the end. “He’s, mmm, so lovely,” she hummed.
Snatching the plate from Matias, I pushed them towards the couples slowly rotating around the cleared centre of the floor. “For goodness sake dance with her, Matias, she’s driving me nuts.”
Elena snorted. “Emma’s nuts…” She fell against Matias. “Gorgeous,” she slurred happily.
“I think you are better at this than you give yourself credit for,” a voice said from behind me. “Feeling better?”
“And I think you’ve been listening to other people’s conversations,” I replied, turning to find Matthew leaning against the wall, thumbs hooked in his pockets. He pushed himself away, whirling me into a waltz then slowing to a swaying glide on the outside of the circle of dancers. “I didn’t know you could dance,” I smiled up at him.
“Remind me to show you a more contemporary one when we’re alone.”
“Would that be contemporary to your time, or mine?”
“Mmm, I believe that my time has the edge on romance, but I’ll leave that for you to decide. Talking of romantic assignations, are you still happy for me to arrange our honeymoon?”
“As long as we can go to New Zealand.”
“Where else!” he laughed, swirling us effortlessly through the other couples like water between rocks. One of the boulders rolled into our path. “Excuse me,” Matthew apologized automatically as they bumped shoulders.
“An ‘excuse me’ dance, is it? Well, in that case, I’ll have this one with Emma,” Matias grinned. “Swap?”
Although still inclined to giggle, Elena had sobered considerably. “I love dancing!” she cried as she tottered from her man to mine.
“Behave yourself,” Matias cautioned, obviously thinking along the same lines.
“I will,” said Matthew.
“It wasn’t you I was worried about,” Matias grumbled, as Elena gazed in evident admiration at my fiancé, before they moved away.
“I must say,” he said as he snugly settled his arms around me, “what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. What a fabulous dress – electric blue, would you call it?”
“No, I wouldn’t, and a certain gander will get his goose cooked if Matthew catches you, let alone what Elena will do to you.”
His hold loosened enough to be respectable. “Still a fab dress. Fab party too, don’t you think?”
“You’ve done a grand job between you – thanks.”
“We couldn’t have done it without Matthew’s parents. Great couple – they obviously adore him. I met his brother Daniel as well; had a long chat. They’re a close family, aren’t they? Lucky.” There was a touch of envy in the way he said it.
“Elena told me about your situation, Matias – about your parents not wanting you to marry Elena because she’s Russian. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, the damage done during the war has deep roots. It’s a relief at least now they know we’re engaged. It was hard keeping up an act before and it wasn’t fair on Elena. She deserves my respect, even if my parents aren’t willing to accept her.”
“How’s your mother?”
He grunted. “Alive. What sort of son does that make me that I look forward to my own mother’s death?”
“It’s not her death you’re looking for, Matias, just her acceptance.”
“In my family, we say that old wounds run deep. Do you know what I fear most?” I shook my head. “That I won’t be able to forgive my mother, and she’ll die knowing it. How would that be for a wedding gift for my bride, hey?” He looked to where Elena chatted away to Matthew.
“Elena said that your father is less opposed to the idea. Could you not work on your mother through him?”
He raised a hand in greeting as we passed Sung with a girl I didn’t know. “He’s as crippled by her illness as she is. He can’t think beyond her next dose of medication or hospital appointment, and she’s immovable. Hell’ll freeze over before she gives in.” His face creased into deep ridges and I sensed years of acrimony.
“Perhaps that’s what she wants to do more than anything else.”
He frowned. “What is?”
“Give in. It must be hard to put up so much resistance when you love your child as much as she does you. She must be so frightened; she’s dying and she’s terrified she’ll lose her son as well as her life. I would put a bet on it that all she really wants to do is to be able to say ye
s to you, but she doesn’t know how.” We stood as the other dancers continued around us. I don’t think I had ever seen him so troubled, and his hurt angered me because it seemed unnecessary, and all he wanted to do was the right thing, but he felt thwarted at every turn. “You could just get married,” I said, already knowing his answer. He shook his head, dislodging the woolly waves he had so carefully tamed, and we began dancing again.
“I can’t explain it, Emma, but we have to start our marriage right. If my mother doesn’t approve then we’ll have to wait; otherwise it’s like having a rotten cherry in life’s bowl. You can’t make the fruit whole again and the rot can only spread. So,” he shrugged, “we remove the mouldy fruit before we start to eat.” He didn’t look at all happy about the idea.
“Matias, try again before it’s too late. Go and see her. Be completely honest and tell her how you feel. Give her the chance to make things right between you before she dies, and forgive her for both her sake and yours.”
“You’re probably right,” he said as we slowly covered the floor. “I’ll talk it over with Elena. Where is she, by the way?” I caught sight of Matthew and Elena as people passed between us. They had stopped dancing, and she seemed to be explaining something. Matthew looked worried, then his expression became flint, followed by swift anger as he sought me among the other couples, and met my eyes.
“That’s done it,” I said under my breath, anticipating confrontation as she anxiously followed Matthew across the room towards us. I could cheerfully have throttled her. “You said you wouldn’t say anything,” I accused, ignoring Matthew.
“If you’d told me yourself she wouldn’t have needed to,” he fumed. “What did you think you would achieve by keeping this from me?”
Matias asked, “What’s happening? What’s she done?”
“Snitched,” I growled. “You promised you wouldn’t, Elena.”
She opened her mouth to answer but Matthew intervened. “Don’t take it out on her. She told me because you wouldn’t.”