by Unknown
Rachel shook her head. 'No. No, she didn't. But she did ask Uncle Geoff to confirm it, and—and he did.'
'That the baby was only weeks from being due?' Lady Olivia looked aghast. 'I always thought Geoffrey Barnes was a foolish man, but I never thought he would betray his calling.'
'No. No, he didn't.' Rachel struggled to get some order into her words. 'But, you see, Matt hadn't told me about the miscarriage ------- '
'Because it wasn't important.'
'It was to me.' Rachel bent her head. 'Anyway, when— when Uncle Geoff agreed that Barbara had lost a baby, I didn't pursue it. It—it was enough, don't you see? As— as Aunt Maggie knew it would be.'
'That woman!' There was a wealth of dislike in Lady Olivia's voice. 'How your uncle has lived with her all these years, I'll never know.'
Rachel shook her head. 'I have to think --- '
'Yes. Yes, I understand that.' Lady Olivia nodded now, and then, as another thought struck her, she added, 'There is one other point I think you should consider.'
'Yes?' Rachel was wary.
'Well,' said Lady Olivia, with the air of one who has just discovered something everyone else has overlooked, 'you might ask yourself how Barbara could have got pregnant at that point if she herself was using those pills you spoke about.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS dark by the time she reached Rothmere, and the doubts Rachel had been nurturing during the latter part of the journey flourished anew as she turned between the familiar stone gateposts.
Although the roads had not been particularly busy once she had passed the Birmingham interchange, it had been after four o'clock before she could get away, and even then she had had to leave her apartment in some disorder. She had packed one suitcase, only to discover it was filled with shoes and underwear, so that she was obliged to tip everything out on to her bed and start again. But at that time her brain had simply not been functioning on any level beyond the basic one of getting to Matthew, and she guessed that if Lady Olivia had had any idea of the state she was in she would not have agreed to spend the night in London.
Justin had recognised defeat when he saw it, although he had, characteristically, been the one to kindle her misgivings.
'What makes you think Conroy will want you back, after you were so obviously willing to believe the worst of him?' he enquired, voicing thoughts Rachel would have preferred to leave unquestioned. 'After all, it isn't the first time you've walked out on him, is it? You might just find he's not prepared to take you back.'
Of course, he had been right, but at that time she had still been convinced that what she was doing was right. Now she was not so sure, and her hands clenched convulsively around the wheel of her car as she drove rather erratically towards the house.
It was a chilly September evening, and when she stepped out of the car the wind off the lake penetrated the folds of the cape she had wrapped around her. She had not stopped to change, and she was still wearing the dark green velvet suit she had worn to the studios, although now she felt dishevelled, and tired from the journey.
There were few lights visible in the house, and she wondered what she would do if Matthew was not at home. Lady Olivia had assured her that he seldom went out these days, but that was not to say he was a hermit. He could easily have decided to spend the night with some friends after his mother had left for London. Particularly as Lady Olivia had dropped Rosemary off at her daughter's on her way to see Rachel, and had explained that Agnetha had long since returned to Sweden.
Watkins answered her tentative ring, his old eyes widening at the sight of her. 'Why—Mrs Conroy!' he exclaimed, and Rachel managed a warm smile for his uncomplicated welcome.
'This is a pleasant surprise. Does Mr Matthew know you're coming?'
Rachel's smile faltered. 'No. No, he doesn't,' she admitted, glancing anxiously beyond him. 'Um—he is in, isn't he? I—I haven't made a wasted journey?'
'No. No, of course not.' But as Watkins stepped back to let her into the hall, his face mirrored his uncertainty. 'It's just that—well, Mrs Conroy, if he's not expecting you...'
Rachel could guess what he was thinking. If what Lady Olivia had confided was true, Matthew was seldom sober after six o'clock, and poor Watkins would be dreading the prospect of approaching him.
'It's all right,' she said now, patting the old man on the arm.
'You don't have to announce me. Is he in the library?' And at Watkins' nod, 'OK. Just leave it to me. I'll take the responsibility.'
'But Miss Rachel ---- '
Watkins evidently felt it was his duty to warn her what she might find, but Rachel shook her head. 'Don't worry,' she said firmly. 'If he throws me out, you can come and pick up the pieces.' She forced a light laugh. 'Honestly, it'll be all right. Lady Olivia knows I'm here.'
'Does she?'
The voice was harsh, but painfully familiar, and Rachel's brief spurt of humour expired. Although she had not thought she and Watkins were speaking loud enough to be overheard by anyone, Matthew's hearing was apparently sharper than she had thought. While she had been struggling to reassure the butler, he had wrenched open the library door, and now he stood regarding them with wary speculation.
Rachel had thought she was prepared for anything. Ever since her doubts about coming here had begun to plague her, she had played every possible scenario she could think of in her mind. Anger, resentment, bitterness, remorse. Anxious as she was, she had nevertheless believed that she could cope with any situation. She had even steeled herself to face his possible re-jection. But what she had not anticipated was the shock that his appearance would generate. Even four months ago she had not been faced with anything like this.
For Matthew looked ill. There was no other word to describe him, and for the first time she realised why Lady Olivia had been desperate enough to come to London. The old lady had not been exaggerating when she had expressed her fears of losing her son. Looking at him now, Rachel could hardly believe that she had contributed to this change.
He was so thin, she thought worriedly, noticing how his clothes hung on him. There didn't appear to be any flesh on him anywhere, and his face was gaunt and shadowed with beard, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow.
'I said—does she?' he repeated now, supporting himself with one hand against the frame of the library door. 'I wondered where the old girl had gone.' His lips twisted. 'Where is she? I want to tell her exactly what I think of her!'
'Matt...'
Rachel glanced awkwardly at Watkins, but evidently Matthew had no qualms about involving the old butler in the proceedings. 'You can show—Miss Barnes out again, Watkins,'
he stated, ignoring Rachel's tentative greeting. 'And, in future, you'd better ask me before inviting— undesirables into the house.'
'Oh, Mr Matt ------ '
'It's all right, Watkins.' Rachel realised she had to take charge of the situation before it got completely out of hand. 'I can show myself out, if necessary. You go and get on with your supper ---------------------- '
'Don't you tell my staff what to do!' snarled Matthew, swaying a little as he pushed himself away from the door, and Rachel could smell the alcohol on his breath. 'You— get out of here right now. Right now!'
It took some doing, but Rachel turned her back on him and spoke once again to the butler. 'Go on, Watkins,' she directed, giving him an encouraging look. 'And tell Mrs Moffat we'd like some coffee, please. Black coffee. For two.'
'You've got a bloody nerve!' roared Matthew, as Watkins took one look at his employer and then hurried off to do Rachel's bidding. 'Coming here uninvited, giving your orders.
Who the hell do you think you are?'
'I'm the woman who loves you,' said Rachel steadily, nodding towards the lamplit room behind him. 'Now, do we go into the library and talk about it? Or would you rather we conducted our conversation out here, with an uninvited audience?'
Matthew's mouth went slack. 'What did you say?' he muttered. And then, as if convinced he had misund
erstood what she had said, he shook his head a little blankly. 'No,' he added.
'Don't tell me. I don't want to know. I just want you to get out of here. I don't need anybody's pity, least of all yours.'
'It's not pity,' said Rachel quietly. 'Look, can't we just talk about this in private? I have come quite a long way.'
Matthew's mouth hardened. 'No one asked you to.' He scowled. 'I didn't ask you to, anyway.'
'I know that.' Rachel took a steadying breath. 'Please.'
'Please what?'
'Please can we go into the library and talk about this?'
'There's nothing to talk about.' Matthew's hand came up to support himself again as he almost lost his balance, and he rested his forehead on the muscled length of his forearm. 'God, Rachel, haven't you done enough? Did you have to do what the old lady asked you? God knows, you've never done it before.'
Rachel sighed. 'If I'd known you were in this state
'
'Yes? Yes?' He lifted his head sardonically. 'What would you have done? Come rushing back here to console me?' He grimaced. 'Like you did when Rosemary almost broke her neck?'
Rachel shook her head. 'I didn't know about Rosemary's accident ---------------- '
'And you professed to care about her,' he muttered, not listening to what she had to say. 'You know, you had her fooled, just like you fooled me. I really thought we were beginning to get somewhere before I went away. And then what happened? I come back, and find you've gone—just as you did before.' He groaned. 'God, I wanted to kill you!'
'Matt, I didn't know,' she insisted fiercely, and now he did hear her.
'Didn't know? Didn't know what? That I was crazy about you? That I'd always been crazy about you? Of course you did
-------------------- '
He was talking in the past tense, and Rachel felt helpless.
'Rosemary's accident,' she cut in desperately. 'Matt, I didn't know she had had an accident. No one— no one told me.'
Matthew frowned, obviously trying to concentrate on what she was saying. 'You mean—Barnes never wrote and told you?'
'No.'
Matthew looked savage for a moment, but then he lifted his shoulders in an indifferent gesture. 'Oh, well,' he said carelessly,
'it's par for the course, isn't it? It's probably just as well. If you'd come back just then, I probably would have strangled you.'
'Oh, Matt!' Rachel heaved a deep breath. 'I know I've been stupid. I know you have every reason to be angry with me. But I did have my reasons, and if you'd only listen to me I could explain. After all, you didn't try to get in touch with me again, did you? How do you know I didn't think it was because you regretted what you had said?'
Matthew stared at her for a long moment, and then he licked his dry lips. 'I need a drink,' he said, lurching back into the library, and Rachel took the opportunity to follow him. Closing the door behind her, she moved quickly to put herself between him and the tray of bottles on the bureau.
'You don't need a drink,' she declared, resisting the angry aggression in his eyes. 'Don't you see? We have to talk to one another.'
'What about?'
'Us.'
'There is no "us",' he said flatly. 'Not any more.'
'Yes, there is.' Rachel refused to be daunted. 'Unless you're telling me you don't want me any more. Is that what you're saying?' She held her breath. 'Well? Is it?'
He turned away from her then, running unsteady hands through the tangled darkness of his hair, and her heart went out to him. He looked so lost and troubled, and she badly wanted to put her arms around him. But her courage was not that strong, no matter what Lady Olivia had said.
'You wouldn't be here if it weren't for my mother,' he muttered, after a long pause. 'You walked out of here of your own free will. Nothing's changed.'
'Yes, it has.' Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth.
'Didn't you ever ask yourself why I might have gone away?'
Matthew's lips twisted. 'Oh, yes,' he said harshly. 'Yes, I asked myself that. But there was no answer, was there?
I'd told you my side of the story, but evidently it wasn't enough, was it?'
'Yes. Yes, it was.' Rachel took a steadying breath. 'But that wasn't the end of it.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean...' Rachel knew there was no easy way to explain her reasons for seeing her aunt. 'Oh, Matt, I don't know why I did it, but—I went to see Aunt Maggie the afternoon you left for Geneva.'
'So?'
Matthew was unperturbed, and if Rachel had needed any further proof that he was innocent of any deception his attitude would have convinced her. But that didn't make her own task any easier.
'I had to see her,' she said at last. 'I know you may think it was foolish, but I wanted to confront her with her own lies. For so many years, I had believed everything she told me ' She broke off as the irony of that
truth gripped her yet again. 'I was sure that this time I had the upper hand, and I wanted to tell her that, in spite of everything, we were going to get back together.'
'And?'
Matthew's eyes were almost sober now, and Rachel wondered how she could ever have disbelieved him.
'Well,' she said jerkily, 'it didn't work out the way I expected.'
'No?'
'No.' Rachel groaned. 'Oh, Matt, she said—she said Barbara had had a miscarriage------------------ '
'She did.'
'I know that now. But Aunt Maggie said it was the baby she had been carrying when I left Penrith.'
Matthew blinked. 'But I told you, I hadn't touched Barbara before you left for London.'
'I know. I know.' Rachel could feel the hot tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. 'But—don't you see? She said you were the one who had been lying, not her. And—and '
'You believed her.' Matthew's voice was harsh.
Rachel bent her head. 'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Oh, God, I don't know.' Rachel sniffed. 'I suppose I still couldn't believe she had been lying all these years.'
'But you believed I could?'
'No. Yes. Oh, I don't know. I've told you. I didn't know who to believe.'
'Even after I had told you about the pills!'
'I know.' Rachel felt terrible. 'I have no excuse for what I did, and actually your mother pointed out that if they were Barbara's pills then she couldn't possibly have got pregnant, even if ------------------------- '
'Even if I had made love to her?' Matthew finished coldly.
'My God, you have some opinion of me, don't you? Even now.'
'No. No!' Rachel covered her face with her hands. 'You don't understand. So much had happened in so short a time, and I couldn't take it in ------------------------ '
'You couldn't believe me.' Matthew sounded furious now.
'Hell, and you think that by coming here now you can ignore the past?'
Rachel's hands dropped to her throat. 'I—did think that,' she admitted huskily, clutching the frogged fastening of the cape.
'But—perhaps I was wrong ------------------------- '
'You were!' he snarled, stepping closer to her, so that, she could see the raw fury in his face. 'You bloody were,' he added.
'What do you think I am? Some kind of emotional tap, that can be turned on and off at will? Well, it's too late. Much too late. I don't need you, Rachel. I don't need anyone.'
Rachel couldn't take any more. A sob catching in her throat, she brushed past him and almost ran towards the door. She had to get away, she thought despairingly, before she humiliated herself utterly by bursting into tears in front of him. This was not one of the scenarios she had envisaged, and, no matter what Lady Olivia expected of her, she had to get out of there.
His hand embedded in the swirling mass of her hair arrested her, and she almost screamed at the pain he inflicted. 'Wait,' he muttered savagely, pressing his other hand flat against the door, preventing her from opening it, even had she had the strength to do so. 'Wait,' he said again, and n
ow she felt his breath hot against the back of her neck. 'Damn you, Rachel, don't you walk out on me again.'
As his hand in her hair eased its pressure, Rachel turned so that her back was against the door and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. 'I thought that was what you wanted,' she protested, and he uttered a defeated groan.
'Well, it's not,' he said thickly, his tone a mixture of hunger and frustration. 'I was always a fool where you were concerned.
God, Rachel, why did you come here? Was it just because my mother asked you to, or did you really want to see me?'
'I really wanted to see you,' she assured him huskily, as his fingers disentangled themselves from the silky strands that were as reluctant to release him as she was. 'If I'd only never gone to see Aunt Maggie, none of this would have happened. I should have waited. I should have waited until you came back, and we could have gone to see her together.'
Matthew rested his forehead against hers. 'And now?'
She took a trembling breath. 'That's up to you.'
'Is it?' His fingers slid down her neck to the scented hollow of her throat. 'Is it really?' His thumbs probed the sensitive contours of her ears. 'And if I believe you, will you promise not to run out on me again without at least listening to my side of the story?'
'Yes. Oh, yes.' Rachel put up her hands to cover his, shaking her head against the hot tears that refused to be denied.
'Oh, love...'
His voice was hoarse as he lowered his mouth to hers, and she quivered uncontrollably as his warm lips rubbed gently against her yielding flesh. It was so long since he had kissed her, and the memories came flooding back. But, with infinite tenderness, Matthew licked away the treacherous tears that overspilled her eyes, and when his mouth returned to hers again there was a definite urgency to his kiss.
Keeping his mouth on hers, his hands found the lapels of her cape, parting the cloth so that when he rested his body against hers she was able to feel the heat of his lean frame.
'God, I can't believe this,' he muttered, cupping her face in his hands and gazing down at her with eyes that were both dark and pain-filled. 'Are you sure you know what you're doing? I won't let you go away again, you know. If you—if you stay here now, it's for good!'