Accidental Engagement

by Green, Cally

  ‘Oh, no.’ Anna shook her head firmly.

  Mark’s eyebrows rose, as though he was surprised at her rejection of the idea, as though he had expected her to leap at any excuse to stay.

  ‘I can’t do that,’ she explained. ‘If I’ve made commitments then I must keep them.’

  ‘Mark, back me up on this,’ said Emmy, turning to him appealingly.

  ‘There’s no point,’ snorted Claire, before he could reply. She turned to Anna, explaining by saying, ‘Unless you can remember what your engagements were, you won’t be able to keep them anyway.’

  ‘No, that’s true.’ She frowned, but it was no good. She could not remember anything about any concerts. ‘But presumably I must have some form of appointment book,’ she said. ‘The details should be in there.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing one,’ said Emmy. She had unpacked Anna’s case, a kindly act that had spared Anna the physically painful task of doing it herself, but hadn’t come across any kind of diary or appointment book. ‘But perhaps it was in your handbag.’

  ‘That sounds likely. Has there been any news about it from the garage yet?’ asked Anna. The sooner they could free her handbag from the mangled glove compartment the better she would be pleased.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Emmy. ‘And even when there is, I shouldn’t put too much hope in it being intact. The passenger side of the car was a wreck.’

  Anna felt her spirits sink at the thought of the damage to her car, and of the expense of repairing it - if it could be repaired, something she would not know until the garage had had time to do a full assessment. But then she forced herself to focus on the positive side of the situation. Her car might be mangled but she was not. And if her handbag turned out to be damaged or, as seemed likely, mulched, then at least she was amongst friends, so that, for the time being at least, she did not absolutely need it.

  ‘Do you remember, Mark?’ asked Emmy. ‘Does Anna have any concerts lined up for the next few days?’

  ‘No.’ Mark answered his aunt’s question with narrowed eyes, watching Anna even though it was to Emmy he was speaking. ‘She hasn’t got anything lined up until the end of next week.’

  The words were innocent enough, but even so Anna had the feeling that he was probing her, trying to get her to reveal some secret. Although what it might be she could not guess.

  His attitude was puzzling, and it served to make her feel more uncertain and unsure of herself.

  Emmy frowned. ‘The end of next week. I’m not sure that’s long enough for you to get over —’

  ‘A week will be fine,’ said Anna. ‘Dr Arnold said there was no serious damage —’

  ‘He didn’t know about your memory loss,’ put in Emmy.

  ‘But a concert may be just what I need to bring it back. Once I’m doing what I always do I’ll have plenty of reminders of what my life’s usually like.’

  ‘There’s something in that,’ said Claire. ‘It’s not surprising you can’t remember much here. After all, there’s nothing here - except Mark - for you to remember.’

  Anna looked at Mark, and saw that he was looking at her curiously again, as if he did not know quite what to make of her.

  She gave him an enquiring look, but instead of answering her unspoken question he merely gave an ironic smile and lifted his glass in a toast.

  The gesture was one she did not understand. She had no way of knowing he was telling her that he had accepted the situation; that he had decided to let her stay at Little Brook until he himself left at the end of the following week - provided she kept to what he saw as her side of the bargain and resumed her “tour” without a murmur once her time was up.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Emmy doubtfully, still concerned about Anna returning to the concert platform before she had recovered her health.

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Anna decisively.

  ‘Then that’s settled,’ said Claire. ‘Whilst you’re in town, you can choose some new outfits,’ she said to Anna. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you haven’t brought enough for a long stay.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Mark. ‘If you’re going to stay for a while then you might as well look decent —’

  ‘ — instead of like something the cat dragged in,’ she finished for him with a smile.

  He ran his eyes over her, making her feel suddenly hot. ‘No,’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘With those big, dark eyes you could never look quite like that.’

  She gave a smile in return. The tension around the table had lessened, and Mark had obviously relaxed. He was a complex man, she suspected, and, with her memory gone, there was a lot about him she had to relearn. But instead of being dismayed at the idea, she found herself looking forward to it. She would be able to fall in love with him all over again . . .

  Chapter Three

  The sun streamed in through the curtains, waking Anna early the following morning.

  She looked at the clock on her bedside table. Six o’clock. Too early to get up, but she was wide awake and too restless to stay in bed. She slipped out from under the light duvet and padded across the room, taking her candlewick dressing-gown from the back of the door and throwing it cloak-like around her shoulders. She looked around the room, noting the beautiful light oak furniture: the wardrobe, on top of which Emmy had kindly put her suitcase so that it was out of the way; the chest of drawers, with its silver rose bowl and pretty lamp; the bed, with its floral duvet and its intricately-carved headboard; and her battered holdall, which was pushed against the wall. She wished her handbag had been there too. Some small personal items, and a photograph, perhaps, would have been comforting, and might have helped her regain her memory; particularly as Mark, when asked, had told her he had never met her family. She frowned. There had been something odd about his expression as he’d said it. But still, there was no point worrying about what she didn’t have. It made far more sense to concentrate on what she did have.

  She went over to the holdall and stood for a moment before deciding to unzip it. She knew that it contained piano music, but for some reason the flash of memory she had had about music had been painful. Was it because she had not been good enough? Was that why she had come to Little Brook? Because she had made a mess of a concert? She frowned. It was possible, but somehow it didn’t seem to touch any nerves.

  She knelt down beside the holdall and reached out her hand to the zip. She hesitated for another minute and then pulled the tag. The canvas peeled back to reveal a copy of Chopin’s Nocturnes. A tune floated through her head. Number seven. She picked up the book and turned to Nocturne number seven. Yes, the notes matched the tune she had heard in her head.

  So I can still read music, she thought, as she laid the Nocturnes aside and took out the next book. She remembered its blue cover, a shade of deep sky blue. It was Debussy’s Suite bergamasque. She had a sudden vision of herself sitting at a piano, playing Clair de Lune. Strains of music, beautiful and ethereal, accompanied the vision. Whatever else she had forgotten, this part of her memory seemed untouched.

  She put the Debussy down on top of the Chopin and felt her heart suddenly miss a beat. The brown cover of the next piece of music looked threatening. She read the title, Für Elise, and began to panic. Her heart was pounding and a sweat was breaking out all over her body. What was it? What was it about that piece of music that -? Suddenly she didn’t want to know. She pushed the music back into the holdall, her hands trembling so much that she found it difficult to pull the zip.

  She pushed the holdall away from her, but she could still see it so she pushed it behind the curtains. She was behaving irrationally, she knew, but she couldn’t bear to see it, or even to think about it. Trembling, she went into the en-suite bathroom and ran herself a glass of water, and then climbed back into bed. She sipped the water slowly, pulling the covers up around herself. Despite the fact that she was sweating she felt cold.

  What was she doing here? she wondered, feeling vulnerable and afraid. Why had she come to Little Brook?
What had driven her to fly from wherever she had been? Because she suddenly realised with utmost certainty that she had been flying.

  Would she ever remember what had happened to her?

  And would she be able to bear it if she did?

  ‘Which would you like to do first?’ asked Mark.

  The sun was shining, a cool breeze was blowing, and, having eaten a hearty breakfast of freshly-squeezed orange juice, bacon and egg, and a couple of buttery croissants, Anna felt ready to take on the world. Her earlier fears seemed like nothing more than a nightmare, and she pushed her concerns about her memory loss aside, determined to enjoy the day.

  ‘Sightseeing,’ she replied, as the silver Porsche pulled into the city centre.

  Mark, casually dressed in cream trousers and a linen shirt, looked surprised, but didn’t argue.

  ‘Sightseeing it is.’

  ‘Starting with the castle.’ Now that she was in Nottingham, she meant to make the most of it. Although her recent memories had disappeared, there was nothing wrong with the rest of her memory, and she had no difficulty in remembering the story of Robin Hood. Or in remembering the many films.

  ‘It won’t be what you’re expecting,' Mark warned her, seeming to read her thoughts. ‘It doesn’t look anything like it does in all the films. The old castle was destroyed after the Civil War and the new one doesn’t look like a castle. Despite its name, it’s really nothing more than a mansion.’

  ‘Never mind,’ replied Anna, in a mood to be pleased with anything and everything, ‘Let’s go and see it anyway. Is it used for anything, or is it just a tourist attraction?’ she continued as he guided her towards the rocky outcrop on which it stood, to the south of the city.

  ‘It’s been turned into a museum and art gallery,’ he said. ‘We can go and have a look inside if you like, rather than just looking at the building - that is, if you can bear such a long delay before we go shopping!’

  With pleasure, Anna realised that he was teasing her. After the undercurrents and tensions of the evening before she had not known what to expect from him, and had been apprehensive about spending the day alone with him. But he had obviously put his bad mood aside and was being the perfect companion. ‘I think I can just about survive!’

  They made their way up to the castle, which occupied a commanding position overlooking the edge of the city. ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ she said in surprise as the castle came clearly into view. It was a good thing he had warned her, because it was not the medieval fortress she had been expecting, with crenellations and arrow slits, but was instead a squat, rectangular building with neat windows arranged symmetrically along each side.

  ‘Do you still want to go in?’

  ‘We might as well, now we’re here,’ she said. ‘What do they keep inside?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

  ‘You never see what’s on your own doorstep,’ said Anna with a smile. ‘It may not be a castle, but it’s an impressive building all the same,’ she continued as they went inside, ‘and it was probably a lot more comfortable than a castle.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m sure. Living in a castle must have been terribly draughty. But life was different then. Hard and brutal. I expect the Sheriff saw no cause to complain.’

  Anna shivered.

  ‘Cold?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  She didn’t say any more. But she had had another flash of memory, stirred by the word “brutal”. Now why had that word moved her? she wondered. And, more alarmingly, why had it made her afraid?

  ‘Shall we go on?’

  She nodded, and they made a tour of the museum, finally emerging into the sunshine.

  ‘Disappointed?’ he asked her, noticing that she had become subdued. He moved up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her as she stood looking out over the city. She leaned against him, feeling the hardness of his muscles and smelling his after shave, beneath which was a masculine scent all his own; a scent which stirred a deep-down longing that made her rub her head against his chest.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, in answer to his question. ‘How could I be?’

  With his arms around her, she felt she could never be disappointed about anything.

  She felt his body stirring and she turned, her arms going instinctively round his neck, but he took hold of her hands and pulled them away. She had the impression he was deliberately damping the electricity that was in danger of creating an uncontrollable energy between them.

  ‘Time to see the statue. And then we’ll have lunch before hitting the shops,’ he said.

  She nodded, ready to fall in with his plans. The day was becoming more enjoyable than she had ever dared hope, and she was happy to relinquish the decision-making - at least for the next few hours.

  The statue was not far from the castle, and Anna couldn’t resist popping into the Lace Centre just opposite, feeling a sense of history as she handled the beautiful lace in the quaint medieval building. And then it was off for lunch.

  The meal turned out to be delicious. They ate at an out-of-the-way restaurant where Mark was obviously well known. Deep-fried mushrooms for Anna were followed by chicken in a cream and brandy sauce, whilst for Mark there was grilled whitebait followed by medallions of pork. Then both of them plumped for the profiteroles, which swam in a richly delicious chocolate sauce and positively oozed with the thickest and richest of creams.

  ‘I feel like I’ll never move again,’ said Anna as she finished the last mouthful and reluctantly put down her spoon.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Mark with a lift of one eyebrow. ‘Because then you’ll miss all the boutiques.’

  A coffee set her firmly on her feet again, and the real fun began. Nottingham was a shopper’s paradise! It didn’t take her long to realise that she would never have the energy to see all that it had to offer, and so she was happy to go along with Mark’s suggestion that they concentrate on the small, exclusive shops in the pretty arcades rather than going to the two large shopping centres - the Victoria Centre and the Broad Marsh Centre - which dominated the city, top and bottom. But it was only when they were about to enter the first boutique that Anna began to feel uncomfortable with Mark’s assumption that he would be buying her a new wardrobe of clothes.

  ‘Do you usually do this?’ she asked him hesitantly, as they were about to go inside.

  He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Buy things for me, I mean.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ he asked with an irony she didn’t understand. ‘I am your fiancé after all.’

  ‘But it doesn’t necessarily follow.’ She looked worried. ‘It’s just that somehow this feels all wrong, you see.’

  ‘It may feel wrong to you, but it doesn’t feel wrong to me. I want to see you in something chic.’

  Before she could make any further protest he propelled her inside.

  She hesitated for a moment by the racks of clothes and then smiled. Why not? she asked herself. Mark was her fiancé. It made sense that he would want her to wear something decent when she was with him. If his friends saw his fiancé in an old viscose skirt and baggy T shirt they wouldn’t be impressed! And whilst impressing Mark’s friends wasn’t important to her, she didn’t want to let him down.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked the assistant, a sensible-looking middle-aged woman, coming forward to welcome them.

  ‘Just looking at the moment, thanks,’ Anna replied. A comment that might have lowered the assistant’s hopes, had not Mark settled himself onto one of the chairs provided with the air of one who evidently expected to be there for some time.

  The clothes were fashionable and stylish. Anna let go of her doubts and gave in to the joy of shopping. She took out first one dress and then another, comparing them with a range of skirts in every conceivable length, to say nothing of an array of shirts and tops.

  ‘I think I’ll try these,’ she said, having narrowed her choice down to a beautifully lined cream sun-dress in a heavy, soft cotton;
a tailored day dress in green crêpe-de-chine; two skirts - one flared, in linen, and one straight, in a beautiful lightweight wool - and a handful of tops.

  The assistant showed her into the fitting room, and she tried on the sun dress first. She couldn’t believe the difference it made to her. It brought out the creaminess of her fine complexion, and the scattered flowers gave it a light and summery feel. She was about to change into the next dress when she realised she ought to show Mark. She hesitated. For some reason it didn’t seem second nature to show it to him, but that was easily explained. Presumably they were not in the habit of shopping together - which, if she was often away on tour, was not surprising. She pulled back the curtain of the cubicle and stepped out onto the shop floor, but as he turned towards her she felt suddenly shy. There was such a look in his eye - admiration, mixed with an unmistakable desire - that she felt suddenly conscious of herself, as though she was aware of every inch of her body, and every square inch of her skin. It was as though she was standing undressed before him - not surprisingly, as the sleeveless dress, with its cutaway bodice, revealed far more of her than her old and shabby outfit had done.

  ‘We’ll take it,’ he said to the shop assistant; who, on seeing the admiration in his eyes, was already looking forward to many further sales.

  Anna smiled, pleased he liked the dress, and returned to the cubicle, emerging a few minutes later in the natural linen skirt with toning top. Having shown him the two skirts she asked him, ‘Which do you think I ought to get?’

  ‘Both.’

  She laughed. ‘Mark! You’re spoiling me.’

  His eyes crinkled. ‘I know,’ he said, finding her enthusiasm catching, in marked contrast to the bored attitude of spoilt women who had managed to drag him round the shops on a few - very few - previous occasions.

  The sales assistant took the skirts out of her hands, complete with the tops, and took them to the desk.