I touched his arm in a kind of apology and he patted my hand.
‘Good-night, Emily.’ He turned up his collar and hurried to the gate, where, in our headlong rush, we had left the car. Last night we’d stood on the beach in a magic world. Even this evening he had asked me, albeit jokingly, to marry him. And how had I repaid him? By refusing to kiss him and running straight into Matthew’s arms. No wonder he was hurt.
I went back into the hall, where Matthew was talking to the firemen. I was about to go upstairs but Mrs Johnson beckoned to me from the kitchen.
‘I’ve made some hot soup for the men, miss. Would you like a cup?’
‘Oh I would, Mrs Johnson!’ I moved into the kitchen, and saw that a door which I’d thought belonged to a cupboard stood open, revealing Mrs Johnson’s bedroom. I could see the bed with its with covers flung hastily back.
She ladled me out some soup and I carried it to the kitchen table. It seemed in another world that Matthew and I had sat there the night before. The soup scalded my throat and brought tears to my eyes.
‘Could have been burned in our beds!’ Mrs Johnson was exclaiming, bustling about in her blue dressing-gown. ‘Sound asleep, I was, till I head the master rushing down the passage.’
She set the bowls on a tray, put a plate of bread beside them and moved to the door. I opened it for her. In a moment she was back and sitting down opposite me with her own bowl.
‘Such a fuss as you never did see! Not only the burning but water! Water everywhere! Lord knows how we’ll ever get that room straight again. And poor Mr Haig’s book, all gone up in smoke!’
‘It’s terrible,’ I said, my teeth rattling against the spoon. There were muddy footsteps all over the usually shining floor, where the men had been tramping in and out. A bucket stood by the sink, a reminder of Matthew’s own efforts before the arrival of the Brigade.
‘How did it start?’ I wondered aloud.
‘That’s for them to find out.’ She jerked her head towards the door. ‘They seem to think something was smouldering in the waste-paper basket. I’m always telling Mr Haig to use his ash-tray and not fling them matches among all that paper.’
Only this morning I’d seen him do just that. If only we’d known – if only I’d made sure the match was out. It must have smouldered slowly for hours. Then perhaps an extra strong gust of wind would make an additional draught from the window. And the desk was so near.
‘You’d best be off to bed, Miss Emily, ’tis past one o’clock. It’s a mercy Miss Tamworth and the liddle lass didn’t waken – they being upstairs and away from it all.’
I levered myself to my feet. Every bone in my body ached with exhaustion but my brain was unobligingly alert. ‘Thanks for the soup, Mrs Johnson – it was just what I needed.’
I went up the stairs like an old woman, pulling myself along by the banisters. I would have liked a bath, but was afraid of disturbing someone. I lit the gas-fire and huddled over it to undress.
Two deaths and a fire in the course of one book, Matthew had said. And my friends in London had been concerned that I would find Cornwall dull! I was ready for bed but too restless to climb in, and went instead to the window. At last the rain was easing. Beneath me the front door opened and shut, there was the sound of voices. Then the firemen moved into the path and walked round the corner to the engine. It spluttered into life, reversed into the wide driveway, and moved slowly down the path and out of the gate. The lights from below which were illuminating the garden went out one by one. I heard Matthew’s dragging footsteps come up the stairs and go along the landing to his room.
I drew the curtains and tidied away the things that lay on the dressing-table, picking up the completed notebook I’d put there that morning, and dropping it into the drawer on top of the others. Then I stiffened, staring down at the eight or nine notebooks which lay there. I had it – almost the complete book – safe and unharmed! I’d kept the pads as souvenirs of my months as Matthew’s secretary.
Without pausing to consider the propriety of it, I rushed out of the room and down the corridor to Matthew. I knocked on the door, trembling with excitement. There was a pause in the movements inside the room. I knocked again. The door opened and Matthew stood looking at me.
‘Matthew – I’ve got the notebooks! I’d forgotten all about them! My shorthand notes! Almost the whole novel!’
I’m not sure that he heard me. He said something – probably my name – and then, though neither of us seemed to move, I was in his arms and he was kissing me with fiercely controlled violence, yet this time not at all as though he would rather have been hitting me. It was all I had longed for, dreamed about, and thought impossible.
I clung to him as though I were drowning – and beneath the urgency of his kisses, Mike’s voice whispered in my head: Then she saw his face, watching, waiting for her to drown!
He must have sensed my withdrawal, because he raised his head, looking questioning down at me – as he’d looked at Linda?
I had to know! I couldn’t go on wondering about him any longer.
‘Mike said –’ I began involuntarily, and then, aware of the enormity of the question I was about to ask, could go no further.
His eyes changed and his arms dropped away. ‘What did Mike say?’
For another long minute our gaze held.
Then mine fell, and I helplessly shook my head.
‘Go to bed, Emily,’ he said.
I nodded and crept back along the corridor, clutching my dressing-gown round me. As I reached my room I heard his door close.
‘You little fool!’ I said aloud. ‘You stupid little fool!’ And I knew then that whatever he’d done, I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. Which was hardly the impression I’d just given him.
Tomorrow, I thought wearily as I climbed into bed. It’ll be all right tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I awoke to find Mrs Johnson standing over me with a breakfast tray. ‘Wake up, miss, ’tis halfpast ten!’
I sat up hastily. ‘But –’
‘Mr Haig gave orders you be left to sleep. There’ll be no writing done today.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Slowly memory returned. ‘Is – is he up?’
‘Lord love you, yes, miss. Up with the lark this morning, he was – hardly worth going to bed at all, as I did tell him. Said he’s trying to sort out how much can be salvaged.’
And how much, I wondered, could be salvaged of last night’s intimacy?
‘I’ll be down to help as soon as I’m dressed.’
‘Very good, miss.’
I sat back against the bedhead drinking my coffee, and the memory of Matthew’s kisses washed over me with hot sweetness. Damn Mike, and the doubts he had sown in my mind.
When I went downstairs, I found that the library had been closed off while a team of forensic scientists sifted painstakingly through the most damaged articles to find the cause of the fire.
Matthew was in the sitting-room, and the room looked like a rehabilitation centre. He’d spread a layer of newspaper over the carpet, and on this were laid various piles of singed papers. There was an overpowering smell of carbon. My own desk, virtually unscathed, had been carried through, and now stood against the side window. Matthew was leaning over it as I came in, sorting through a sheaf of blackened papers.
He straightened. ‘Ah, good morning. I’m glad you had a good sleep.’ His eyes met mine steadily. ‘I must apologise for last night, Emily. I’m sure you’ll appreciate that by that stage I hardly knew what I was doing.’
I drew in my breath sharply.
Also ...’ a wry little smile touched his mouth – ‘you looked very fetching in your night attire!’
My face burned, but I was incapable of making any comment.
‘So now we can both forget it,’ he finished briskly. ‘I wonder if you’d give me a hand with these papers? As you know, I kept other documents in the desk as well. I hope the insurance policies at least are reasonably in
tact.’
I moved stiffly towards him. So much for all those castles in the air. It was, after all, a very plausible explanation: exhausted and dispirited, his home damaged and, as he thought, the work of several months lost, he had suddenly learned that, after all, the book was safe. His reaction was simply the reverse of shooting the bearer of bad news.
Now, he was being eminently fair and letting me know straight away that it had meant nothing. One couldn’t, after all, let tinpot little typists – the phrase echoed in my mind, throbbing with an earlier hurt – get the wrong idea.
But the way he’d looked at me ...
I reached out shaking hands to take the sheaf he was holding. As our fingers touched, I felt his swift recoil. Did he think I’d done it deliberately? I didn’t care what he thought. Blindly, mechanically, I started to sort through the wreckage.
It was a job that required great patience and infinite care. Some sheets were transparently thin, and crumbled at a touch like disintegrating butterflies. They reminded me of Linda’s letter, red-veined in the kitchen fire.
Hastily dismissing the thought, I began with the most badly damaged. Those papers which were beyond recovery, I dropped in the waste-paper basket. Next, I moved on to the singed sheets, some of which had a corner missing or parts scorched into illegibility. These papers would have been in the left-hand set of drawers, farthest from the source of the fire, and fortunately the insurance policies were among them.
‘Here they are,’ I said dully. I made no move to hand them to him.
‘Oh, well done.’ Matthew picked them up and leafed through them. ‘Thank goodness for that, at least. By the way, did I dream it, or have you really got all your notebooks?’
‘I’ve got them.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ He waited for a comment but I’d none to offer, and, mistaking my silence, he went on, ‘Still, I can’t expect you to type it all again. Perhaps we could send –’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said. After all, it was my job, wasn’t it?
* * *
I hardly saw Matthew during the next few days, and for that I was thankful. It gave me time to collect the tattered shreds of my dignity. Also, I’d plenty to do, for, as I’d told him, virtually the whole book was there waiting to be transcribed again, with only the first two chapters, which Linda had worked on, missing.
But that transcription was for the most part automatic, leaving me at the mercy of my thoughts. They were not pleasant company; on that traumatic evening, after hurting Mike more than I’d realised, I had twice thrown myself into Matthew’s arms, making a complete fool of myself, and no amount of wishing could alter either fact.
Matthew at least hadn’t been hurt by my behaviour. In fact, after our brief exchange the next morning, he’d had the relieved air of someone who has managed to extricate himself with the least possible unpleasantness from an embarrassing and distasteful situation.
Mike, on the other hand, had been since my arrival a good friend and an attractive, amusing companion. It wasn’t his fault that I was stupid and wayward enough to fall for Matthew. I spent hours worrying about how I could make it up to him and at least restore the status quo, but no answer presented itself.
Meanwhile, Matthew was sorting out the insurance and supervising the reinstatement of the library. After the forensic team and the assessors, the decorators moved in, and the insidious smell of paint hung in the air. The fire was found to have started in the waste-paper basket, as I’d suspected. I had myself seen Matthew toss still-burning matches into it; I was pretty sure he never would again.
Gradually, as things began to fall into place, he spent more time with me and our relationship teetered back to what could pass for normal. In all that time I had not heard from Mike, nor found any excuse for approaching him myself. But the theories he had so convincingly put forward on our drive to Trevenna haunted my thoughts waking and sleeping. I would sit watching Matthew bent over his work, and imagine those strong, capable hands holding Linda’s head under water or tampering with Kate’s car. It was too bizarre to believe, and yet ... The little thrill of fear eased my battered heart, even if it didn’t change one iota the force of my love for him.
‘It’s the Chapelcombe Show on Saturday,’ he said one day. ‘Is Mike taking you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
He looked at me sharply. ‘Have you two had a row?’
‘No,’ I said, stonily.
‘It seems a long time since you were out together.’
I hadn’t, in fact, been out of the house at all for the last eight days. The weather had been stormy with gale winds, and I had not bothered to make the effort. However, there were now some things I needed, so that afternoon I caught the two-fifteen bus down to the town.
The breeze was still strong, and beyond the shelter of the headland the white-topped waves reared and foamed, hurtling against the base of the cliffs in a fountain of angry spray. The dull thunder of their self-destruction filled the afternoon.
The wind caught me as I left the bus, billowing the skirt of my coat and whipping my hair blindingly across my face. I stood for a moment, my hands deep in my pockets, breathing in the rich salt air with something like exaltation. Above me, the clouds raced dizzily over the pale sky and swarms of leaves, torn ruthlessly from the trees, eddied and swirled in their graceful descent to the pavement.
I walked slowly down into the town, savouring my freedom after being shut in too long with the smell of burnt paper and new paint. Here, the scents were very different, for the wind found its way into the various shops and ferreted out their odours, filling the street with a host of different fragrances – coffee, cheese, soaps, and newly baked bread.
Keeping my eyes on the pavement, I amused myself by identifying by my nose alone the shop I was passing: a strong, smoky smell of kippers, the scent of polish and new leather, the rich opulence of cigars ...
It was pure chance that I happened to glance into the tobacconist’s at the exact moment that Mike, pocketing his change, was turning from the counter. He halted abruptly. So did I. Then he came out of the shop and joined me on the pavement.
He said tonelessly, ‘Hello, Emily.’
He was wearing blue dungarees and high boots, spattered with mud. It was the first time I had seen him in his working clothes.
He gestured down at them apologetically. ‘I’ve just delivered some livestock at the station. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone.’
I was surprised how glad I was to see him. Although the constraint of our last meeting had been overshadowed by my feelings for Matthew, it had contributed to my general unhappiness, and I didn’t want to lose a chance of putting it right. Even if I couldn’t love him, we could surely still be friends.
‘Have you time for a cup of tea?’ I asked tentatively.
‘I couldn’t – not in these clothes. Anyway, I really must get back – we’re getting things ready for the Show.’
‘Oh yes, the Show.’
He looked at me oddly and seemed to hesitate. ‘Did I by any chance offer to take you?’
I thought back to that day on the beach. At that stage, an invitation had not seemed necessary.
‘No,’ I said steadily, ‘you didn’t.’
He said suddenly, ‘Are you really in love with Matthew?’
The directness of it took my breath away, but I managed to say, reasonably calmly, ‘Let’s leave Matthew out of it, shall we? That’s purely a working relationship.’
‘Which doesn’t answer my question. Oh well, never mind. I’ve missed you, Emily.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’
He seemed suddenly to make up his mind, and the sullen look left his mouth. ‘Would you like to come to the Show?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘It’s held in a field not far from the farm. They’re putting up the marquees now – I hope they won’t all blow down before Saturday.’
‘There’s no point in your trailing over to collect me then; you’ll have
plenty to do without that. Suppose I call for you instead?’
‘That would be a help, if you don’t mind.’
‘What time?’
‘Well, it goes on all day, of course, but since someone has to be at the farm, the men usually go along in the morning, and when they get back I go myself.’
‘Shall I come after lunch then? About two?’
‘That’d be fine.’ He smiled, but his eyes were still reserved. He hadn’t quite forgiven me. ‘See you, then.’
I nodded. ‘Goodbye, Mike.’
He went up the road and crossed to the station, where the great lorry was waiting to be driven home. I watched him for a moment then, remembering my shopping-list, turned into the draper’s. A partial truce, anyway. I didn’t want him to love me, but I very much hoped he still liked me.
The next morning there was a letter from Gilbert. It was to let me know that he had to go to Scotland on business and would not be able to come down as he’d hoped. He trusted all was well and would contact me as soon as he got back, so we could fix a definite plan. Dear Gil, it was as well he didn’t know the state I was in.
As I seated myself at my desk, Matthew looked up from the table he was using pending the delivery of his new desk. About the Show,’ he said abruptly. ‘It would be a shame to miss it. It finishes with everyone doing the Floral Dance down the hill into Chapelcombe.’
‘Oh I met Mike yesterday,’ I said airily. ‘He’s taking me after all.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ He pushed some papers out of his way with sudden impatience. ‘Come over here, will you, and witness my signature on this thing.’
I went over and leaned on the table, watching him sign his full name. ‘ “Charles”,’ I commented. ‘Does that run in the family?’
He handed me his pen and switched the paper round to face me. ‘Not that I know of. Why?’
‘Just that it’s one of Mike’s names, too.’ I signed my own.
‘Mike’s? No, his isn’t Charles – it’s something Scottish, after his father.’
‘Oh? I thought he said –’ And it was then that my eye fell on the book lying on the table. ‘Is that Peter Bullock’s latest novel? I’ve still not managed to get hold of it. May I –’ I reached out for it, then recoiled as Matthew snatched it out of my hand.
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