by Rosalie Ash
Victoria took a deep breath, and shrugged, swallowing hard. Inside she was simmering with resentment. The last thing she felt like was planning her 21st birthday party.
‘Thanks. That sounds lovely.’ She managed to say, through gritted teeth.
‘I’ll go on-line and buy loads more outdoor lights,’ Megan said, reaching over to squeeze Victoria’s hand, ‘The bonfire’s growing every day. It’s going to be huge. Cheer up, darling, Jessica can be a bit rude but it had to be said. Think of it like the Mars Venus theory you loved reading, Vic. Matt has finally prowled out of his cave. Now you’ve got to haul yourself up out of your well.’
‘Aren’t you just full of the words of wisdom tonight!’ Jessica teased, standing up to begin clearing the table, ‘Coffee anyone?’
Victoria stood up, pushing her chair back abruptly. She threw her napkin down on the table.
‘Not for me. Thanks for the meal, Jessica. If you two will excuse me, I think I’ll have an early night.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
She spent the whole of Monday working on the nursery website, with the help of their IT company. At the same time, she was watching her phone and emails for any messages from Matt, but there was no communication of any sort.
Typical, she told herself. Typical. Obviously his weekend with the devoted Emma had driven all his good, paternal intentions clean out of his mind for a while. It didn't surprise her. It just proved how right she was not to be taken in by his lethal charm. Even if both her sisters seemed to be fully paid up members of the Matt Larson fan club.
Tuesday brought a welcome distraction from waiting for his next move. It was the start of a two-day country house sale at Mount Cotmayton, in the Cotswolds. The back of the catalogue listed polytunnels, shelving and racking, and other useful bits of equipment that they needed for both the plant nursery and the packaging warehouse. Victoria had agreed to go down to see what she could get cheaply at auction.
The day dawned icy cold but sunny again. She’d arranged for Archie and Elspeth to go to Jessica’s for the night, as Megan couldn’t promise to be around and Elspeth was nervous of spending nights alone at Roundwell. She threw her overnight case into the battered Range Rover, along with the Sothebys' catalogue, and drove off feeling guiltily relieved to be getting away. It was good to be running a family business, but there were definitely times when she felt so hemmed in by well-meaning interference she could hardly breathe.
She cruised through the Warwickshire countryside with a lighter heart. It was impossible not to feel good on a morning like this. The Roundwell she left behind looked magical this morning. The tall deciduous woods surrounding the old stone farmhouse still held on to a tatter of stubborn, glowing autumn leaves, all laced with a hoar frost which sparkled in the sunlight. The gardens still displayed a few late Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums. The bonfire that Megan was overseeing was as high as the walls. In spite of everything she was looking forward to her party. Twenty-one sounded so much more grown up and capable than twenty.
She stopped for lunch at a favourite pub on the brow of a hill, and ate a ploughman's and a chocolate gateau at a window table overlooking the glorious misty sweep of the Cotswold valley below. Then she drove on until she saw the signs marked 'Sale This Day' and finally saw Mount Cotmayton shimmering in distant sunshine, pure symmetry in ancient Cotswold stone. An enormous marquee had been erected on one of its sweeping lawns, and cars were parked everywhere, with a preponderance of Rolls Royces, Porsches and BMWs.
Groups of elegantly clad people strolled around between the marquee and the big house, and Victoria felt glad she had made an effort to dress smartly. She had bought her black coat during that London shopping spree with Jessica. With new soft leather boots, her short clingy grey skirt suit, her hair loosely caught up in a clip, and some carefully applied make-up, she felt almost a match for the glamorous women eyeing catalogues with unlimited credit at their disposal.
She browsed around the Lots out of curiosity. Even though she had come only for the commercial gardening equipment, the treasures of the old house were alluring. Priceless paintings, glossy antique furniture, rooms full of books. She felt a touch of sadness as she strolled round. It was so sad to see big old houses carved up, their owners' possessions auctioned off. That could have been the fate of Roundwell farm, she thought, with a stab of gratitude to her sisters and the Urquhart inheritance. At least her family home had been spared this ignominious fate.
Lost in thought, she was gazing unseeingly at a Gainsborough portrait when she heard a voice behind her.
'This is the one!' It was a woman's voice, warm and confident.
Victoria was about to turn round curiously, to glimpse its owner when another voice answered, a deep, clipped voice which made the prickles rise up on the back of her neck. She slowly turned round to see Matt standing there.
Her heart thudded into reaction. He was wearing chinos, grey T-shirt and black leather jacket, with a silvery woollen scarf knotted at his neck. The dark, hard lines of his face were unsmiling, as he studied the picture in front of him. At his side was Emma Goodman, intimidatingly smart in a black suit, and warm red polo neck, with crimson lips and nails. They were looking at a painting of what appeared to be Captain Hook, from Peter Pan. It was too late to sneak out, Matt had seen her. He looked grim, she thought nervously, as he came towards her, politely introduced the dark-haired woman as his secretary, Emma.
'Hello Victoria,’ Emma shook hands coolly, ‘How lovely to meet you at last. I saw you at the De Lembers reception, but Matt didn’t introduce us. I'm only Matt's part-time secretary now, aren't I?' she added, smiling rather coyly up at him. 'After years of secretarial mollycoddling I don't think he's quite grasped the fact that I'm not at his beck and call from first thing in the morning until late in the evening…’
'Emma, would you go across to the marquee and check what number they're on?' Matt cut in smoothly.
He watched the shapely figure disappear from the room without any particular expression on his face, then he turned back to Victoria, his lidded gaze unnervingly tense.
‘This is a surprise,’ she said lightly. ‘What are the chances of bumping into each other today?’
'Jessica said I'd find you here,' he said without preamble.
'Really? What would we do without Jessica!
'I thought this might be a good place to meet on neutral ground.'
‘And how lucky that you could combine the occasion with business, wasn't it!' she said coldly.
He kept his eyes evenly on hers. 'I have a client who collects Hodge paintings. This one has been valued at a fraction of its true price.' He shrugged, his eyes narrowing slightly. 'Did you enjoy your weekend with Sebastian?'.
'Very much, thanks. Did you enjoy your weekend with Emma?' she countered calmly. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she was determined to hide her agitation.
Matt frowned slightly. 'Emma came to the charity auction with me. That's all.'
She shrugged. 'I don't much care whether you took her to the charity auction or took her to bed,' she said, watching the colour drain from Matt's face with a slight twist of pain inside her.
'Don't you?' he asked bleakly. She didn't answer, and Matt let out his breath on a sharp sigh. 'What were you looking for here? Were you just browsing?'
'I'm looking for some garden nursery equipment,' she answered politely, ‘Polytunnels, greenhouse shelving.'
'Yes, of course. You'll probably have to wait until tomorrow for the auction of the farm and gardening stuff. Did you realise that?'
'I wasn't sure. I imagined that might be the case. I'm staying overnight in Broadway.' She stopped, furious with herself for telling him this, but Matt appeared to know already.
'At the Southleache. Right?'
'Yes, but…'
'I'll see you there at eight,' he said quietly. 'And no running away, Victoria. We've got to talk.'
She was about to protest when Emma reappeared, gliding efficiently
up to join them, with a slightly patronising smile at Victoria.
'Ten to go,' she announced in a low voice, 'and I think I saw Douglas Mindell from Christie's in the crowd, so there might be more competition than you think.'
The slender white hand with the crimson tips lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary on Matt's brown wrist, and Victoria looked away. Images of Matt in evening clothes dancing with the lady in blue returned to twist a knife in her heart.
'Well, I think I'll stroll round and see what I can find,' she said lightly.
'I'll see you tonight,' said Matt, in a voice which brooked no contradiction.
She spent the next hour or so wandering around the estate, incapable of coherent thought. No running away, he had said. She was tempted to check out of the hotel and go back to the farm, just to defy him. If he wanted to communicate with her, why didn’t he use a phone? But if she disappeared back to the farm, he would only follow her there. There was really nowhere she could run to. She would just have to face up to what he had to say, and deal with the humiliation later.
She left the house sale early, and gained the privacy of her hotel room, where she soaked in a bath and then dressed in the simple fitted black wool dress she’d packed for dinner at the hotel. With her hair re-done, she was pacing her room by a quarter to eight, trying to steel herself against the coming confrontation.
When she could stand the tension of waiting no longer, she snatched her clutch bag and opened her door ready to go down to the dining room, and then she gasped in surprise as she found herself face to face with Matt. He looked formidably groomed, in smart black trousers, and a soft grey cashmere sweater and jacket.
'I was just about to knock,' he said briefly. He flicked his gaze down over her black dress and high heels, and then back up to rest intently on her face. She waited for him to say something else, then cleared her throat nervously when he stayed silent.
'Well, as you see, I'm ready. And I haven't run away. Are we going to eat, or stand here in the doorway all night?'
'We’ll eat later,' Matt said, walking coolly past her into the bedroom, and closing the door carefully behind them. 'First, I need to give you some explanations, Victoria. And whether you like it or not, you're going to listen!'
Chapter Twenty-Three
She backed away from him, alarmed by his air of determination. Her brain searched furiously for some kind of escape from whatever explanations Matt clearly felt obliged to give her. She so did not want to hear whatever dutiful future he had mapped out for them, when she suspected that all he really wanted was to be with Emma.
Pride had her blurting out,
‘Before this gets any heavier, Matt, did I mention that Sebastian has asked Archie and me to go to America with him?’
'Really? And what did you say?’ His voice was soft but there was splintered ice in his tone.
'I…I said I’d think about it. It would be a wrench leaving Roundwell, of course,' she plunged on, 'But I'm seriously thinking about it. It all really comes down to what's best for Archie…'
She stopped abruptly, because Matt caught hold of her and pulled her hard against him, the iron rigidity of his muscles telling her how precariously he was controlling his temper.
She stayed quite still, stiff and resisting, but she was aware of his desire, transmitting itself like shock waves between them. The lidded gaze was achingly familiar. She had seen it before, and she knew what it meant. Her throat dried up in fear. Fear of her own weakness.
'What’s best for Archie is being with his mother and his father. There's no way you're going anywhere with Sebastian or with anyone else,' he said harshly, raking his fingers into her hair and discarding the clip which held it up so that it tumbled round her face in wild confusion. 'You belong with me, you and Archie.'
The last words were groaned against her cheek, and then he found her mouth, and his tongue prised her lips apart and drove deeply inside in reckless possession, until it was suddenly no use trying to resist the onslaught.
Hating herself, she still succumbed to the heat flaring inside her and she began to kiss him back, mindlessly, in hungry despair, clutching frantically at his hair and stupidly trying to get closer although they were already moulded tightly together.
'Victoria…' He breathed her name, and with shuddering urgency he lifted her and laid her on the bed, undoing the zipper of her dress and pulling the soft black wool down to her waist, the silver eyes burning with a need which melted her completely, emptying her brain of thought, fanning the flames in her stomach which were threatening to consume her.
'Matt, please…' she whispered shakily. 'Oh God, Matt, don’t make me hate you.'
His hard body was heavy against her, his hands and his lips arousing her to feverish impatience. This time there was no child-monitor shattering the fog of desire. And there was anger, stirred into the potent mix of sexual attraction and torn emotions. She was trembling all over, helpless with need. She knew she should stop him, but when his fingers pushed away the skimpy black lace of her bra she could only shiver in excitement and close her eyes. When he took her breasts in his hands and did whatever magical thing he did to them she was sinking into the dark hot place where only he could take her. She couldn’t stop herself from touching him, finding the warm muscles of his stomach and chest under his sweater, fighting to get rid of the barrier of his jacket and trousers. With the last of their clothes hurled anyhow on the floor, Matt pinned her to the bed with an abruptness that took her breath away.
‘You don’t hate me,’ he said hoarsely, ‘And I don’t hate you. Stop playing your bloody childish games, Victoria’ and he kissed her again, with a deep consuming possessiveness, and then he thrust inside her, hard and urgent, and they clung together in a shuddering explosion of passion.
When it was over, reality came crashing back. She shivered.
‘You just made me hate myself,’ she whispered.
There was a long shattered silence. Then Matt levered himself away and rolled on to his back, still breathing rapidly, his eyes closed as if he were in agony.
Forcing herself to move, she swung her legs down and began to fumble around on the floor for her bra and thong, pulling them on with trembling fingers, dragging her dress back on, hating the tears which threatened to overflow and holding them back furiously.
When she had dressed, she turned back to him.
'You can go back to Emma now,' she said. 'Now you've proved what a great lover you still are!'
Matt slowly levered himself up. He stood up and dragged on boxer shorts and then his trousers.
'I'm sorry. That wasn't premeditated. But when you talk about marrying another man, how do you expect me to react?'
'Congratulate me and wish me luck?' she mocked, 'And who said anything about marriage?'
He stared at her bleakly, raising his hands and then dropping them by his sides. The action sent a ripple of movement through the hard muscles of his arms, chest and abdomen, and she shut her eyes to block out the irresistible appeal of his body.
'I'm sorry. I wish this hadn't happened.'
'Let's just hope I'm not quite as fertile as I was last time.' She loathed herself instantly she had said it, but it was too late to withdraw the words. He flinched, but his eyes didn't waver from her face.
'I'm sorry, because I came here to talk to you, try to explain.'
'I don't want to hear,' she retorted, her voice rising slightly. 'I don't want to know how responsible you feel, how sorry you feel for me, how . . . '
'Stop it! You're talking rubbish!' he said sharply, coming swiftly round the bed and pulling her down to sit beside him. 'Victoria… I came to try to convince you how much I care for you! Christ knows, I didn't mean to rush things like that, make you angry again, screw things up again!'
'I don’t feel angry. I feel…confused. Humiliated,' she said unevenly.
'Then how can I make you understand? I'm not even sure where to begin.'
'Begin where you like,' sh
e suggested tonelessly, 'But you'll be wasting your breath. I understand you better than you think.'
He shook his head slowly. 'No, Victoria. You don't understand me at all. I'm no good at explaining my feelings. But I've never stopped wanting you, ever since that first weekend at the farm.'
'You expect me to believe that?' she exploded incredulously. 'I may be fifteen years younger than you, I may only be a spoilt brat of 20, but I'm not totally brainless.’
‘Who thinks you’re a spoilt brat?’ His mouth twitched slightly.