Passionate Protectors? Page 17

  Matt sighed. ‘All right. Yes, it does.’ He paused. ‘She did get on the plane with you, didn’t she?’

  ‘And hardly spoke the whole way,’ agreed Rob drily. ‘That is one close-mouthed lady, Matt. I’m not used to women blanking me for the best part of three hours. You know that.’

  ‘My heart bleeds.’ Matt gnawed at his lower lip. ‘So what happened when you got to Heathrow?’

  Rob hesitated. ‘What is this, Matt? An inquisition? Do I take it she hasn’t written and thanked you for taking her in. You did take her in, didn’t you, pal? That nanny business was just so much hot air.’

  Matt expelled a wry breath. ‘Just answer the question, Rob. Did you give her a lift into town?’

  Rob sighed. ‘No way, man. I didn’t even get the chance to offer. As soon as we cleared the Arrivals hall she took off running. I didn’t see her again. I guess she got a cab into town.’

  Matt swore. He’d more or less expected that. ‘And you didn’t tell anyone who she was or where she’d been?’

  ‘No.’ Rob sounded put out. ‘I said I wouldn’t and I haven’t. Why? Have you had a visit from her husband? From what I hear, that sounds like the way he works.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  SARA stood at the window of the bed and breakfast where she was staying in Paddington and wondered for the umpteenth time what she was going to do.

  It was a week since she’d left Saviour’s Bay—since she’d left Matt—and her decision was getting harder to make, not easier.

  At first she’d checked into the small lodging house because the idea of going back to Max immediately after what she’d shared with Matt had been too painful to consider. She’d felt no shame. She might have been unfaithful to Max in word and deed, but Matt had made sure that she returned to her husband as unsullied as when she’d left him.

  Which was a contradiction in itself, she thought bitterly. But Max couldn’t actually accuse her of sleeping with another man. Well, he could accuse her of it, if that was what he believed, but she could answer honestly that she hadn’t.

  So why did she have such a feeling of loss because Matt hadn’t made love to her with his body? Why was she becoming more and more depressed because she knew she might never see Matt again? She’d always known that they had no future. She’d left him in no doubt of what she ultimately intended to do. So why was she regretting it now, when it was over? When it was far too late to have a change of heart?

  Of course, where her heart was concerned there’d been no change. Almost from the first moment she’d set eyes on Matt she’d known he was going to mean something in her life. She had no logical explanation. She’d just known he was a man she could trust.

  She supposed she wasn’t typical of most women in her situation. After years of being abused by one man, how could she instantly have feelings for another? And, if she did have feelings, how did she know they were genuine? She had so little experience to draw on. So much in her life she wanted to forget.

  She didn’t know why she was so certain she loved him, but she was. It certainly wasn’t because Matt had encouraged her to feel that way. On the contrary, most of the time he’d kept a safe distance between them. What affection she’d had had mostly been from Rosie.

  Yet, for all that, she’d known he wasn’t indifferent to her. The awareness between them, that had begun that first morning, had grown almost without any encouragement from them. It had started even before he’d seen what Max had done to her. And when he’d tended her bruises and touched her with his lips…

  Sara trembled. Was she exaggerating what had happened between them? She didn’t think so, but it was too late now. Matt had been attracted to her; he had wanted her to leave Max. But that didn’t add up to a lasting commitment. He’d been thinking of her, not himself. He’d wanted her to take control of her life.

  If she dared.

  She frowned now. She knew she’d changed during those days at Seadrift. For the first time in years she’d had the chance to look objectively at her marriage. Without Max’s oppressive presence she’d been able to think for herself again. And what she’d discovered had not been a pretty sight.

  She saw now that it was Max who had robbed her of her confidence. Slowly but surely he’d convinced her that she was to blame for the punishment he’d subjected her to. And, although she’d been weak to believe him, she’d been living under so much pressure she’d had no strength left to fight his cruelty.

  The guilt was his, not hers, she’d realised. Being with Matt had shown her that there was another way. All she’d needed was time to rest, to relax, to find the woman she’d used to be. And being with Matt and Rosie had been the happiest time of her life.

  That was the real reason why she hadn’t returned to the apartment in Knightsbridge. She’d needed time alone, to think about the future, to decide what she was going to do. Max still frightened her, of course. She couldn’t dismiss three years of abuse in only two weeks. But she was prepared to face him again, to show him that the chains he’d bound her with were broken, to make another bid for freedom.

  There was still her mother to think about, of course, and she knew a fleeting sense of despair at the knowledge that she’d get no support from her. But surely if she could show her what Max had done, if she could explain to her why she’d run away…

  She wasn’t hopeful. However determined she’d been in the past, her mother had always been able to get under her defences, to persuade her she was exaggerating Max’s behaviour. She really believed her life would have to be in imminent danger for Mrs Fielding to forfeit her comfortable lifestyle. As far as her mother was concerned she was lucky to live in such luxury.

  Still, she had to try. This was her last chance, and if she let Max take control of her again she very likely would die—of heartbreak, if nothing else…

  St Jude’s Hospital was in Euston Road.

  If Sara hadn’t been so concerned, the incongruity of its title might have amused her. But when she burst through the doors she was already running on adrenalin and little else.

  The idea that she’d been hiding out in Paddington while her mother had been fighting for her life just a comparatively short distance away had horrified her. But until she’d gone to her apartment to speak to her she hadn’t even known her mother was ill.

  It was a neighbour who’d put Sara in the picture.

  ‘Mrs Fielding had a heart attack a few nights ago,’ she’d told the stunned young woman sympathetically. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  ‘I—I’ve been away,’ Sara had answered abstractedly, and the woman’s expression had revealed that she’d read the newspapers, too.

  ‘Of course,’ she’d said understandingly, but Sara had had the feeling that she’d put her own interpretation on recent events, as everyone else would have done.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘it was lucky your husband was here when it happened, wasn’t it? It was he who called the ambulance, you know.’

  That was when Sara’s blood had chilled. Max had been visiting her mother? Max never visited her mother. Indeed, Mrs Fielding had often claimed that it was Sara who stopped him from going to see her. But in fact Max himself had nothing but contempt for the older woman. Though it suited him to keep that from her.

  He’d always been repulsively flattering whenever Mrs Fielding had visited her daughter, however. He wasn’t a fool. He’d known that she was an invaluable—if unwitting—ally in his bid to control his wife. And, despite her fears for her mother’s safety, Sara couldn’t believe he’d have hurt her now.

  Even so, her heart was beating unpleasantly fast as she approached the reception desk. Stammering a little, she explained that she was Alicia Fielding’s daughter. She added that she’d been away and had only just discovered that her mother was in the hospital.

  ‘What ward?’ asked the woman dispassionately, and Sara realised belatedly that she had no idea.

  ‘She had a heart attack,’ she said, by way of an answer. ‘I don’t know what
ward she’s in.’

  The woman heaved a resigned sigh and turned to the computer screen beside her. ‘What name did you say?’ she asked, and Sara knew a moment’s panic that her mother’s name might not appear on the screen.

  ‘Fielding,’ she said hastily. ‘Alicia Fielding. She—she had a heart attack.’

  ‘So you said.’ The receptionist was hardly sympathetic. ‘Ah, yes. Here it is.’ She paused. ‘Ward 32. Intensive Care.’

  ‘Intensive Care!’ Sara fairly squeaked the words. ‘Where do I find that?’

  ‘Third floor,’ said the woman. ‘You’ll find the lifts along there.’ She pointed an indifferent finger along the corridor to her right. ‘They’ll probably let you in. The ICU don’t keep regular visiting hours, for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Swallowing convulsively, Sara fairly ran along the corridor the woman had indicated. She was glad now that since returning to London she’d invested her last few pounds in a cheap summer dress and deck shoes. Although she expected her mother to object, she was glad of the flat heels now.

  The lifts were huge things, big enough to take the patient trolleys she’d seen in the A and E department as she’d passed. They moved ponderously, too, and she was biting her lip with impatience by the time she reached the third floor.

  She found the Intensive Care Unit without difficulty. There were only two departments on this floor. The other appeared to be a recovery ward for patients from the ICU. But the receptionist had said her mother was in the former.

  There was a senior nurse on duty, and she looked at Sara curiously when she gave her name. Of course, Sara thought wearily, she’d probably recognised her. And, even if she hadn’t, the name would have given her away.

  ‘Mrs Fielding is holding her own,’ she said, in answer to Sara’s initial enquiry. If she was wondering why Sara hadn’t known about her mother’s illness until now she was professional enough to keep it to herself. ‘She’s in there,’ she added, pointing towards a glass-framed cubicle. ‘You can go in, but please don’t excite her. She’s had a really tough time.’

  Sara hesitated. ‘It was a heart attack?’ she asked awkwardly, and the nurse nodded.

  ‘But you’ll find her face is rather bruised, too, I’m afraid.’ She touched Sara’s arm. ‘It looks much worse than it really is. That’s why I’m warning you. According to her son-in-law—But, of course you must know this,’ she exclaimed, with some embarrassment, breaking off.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ said Sara fiercely, uncaring what Max would think when he found out. ‘As I said before, I didn’t even know my mother was ill.’ She took a breath. ‘Please, do go on with what you were saying. What did my husband tell you?’

  ‘Well…’ The nurse was clearly reluctant to be the bearer of bad news, but she evidently reasoned that Sara was a close relative and deserved to know the truth. ‘According to Mr Bradbury, Mrs Fielding was in the kitchen of her apartment, making a pot of tea, when she collapsed. She hit her face on the sink, I believe. He was most distressed. I tried to tell him that these things happen all the time, but I think he was worried we’d believe he’d done it.’

  The nurse gave an embarrassed little chuckle, but Sara wasn’t laughing. The explanation Max had given sounded so horribly familiar to her. On one occasion—just once—he’d given her a black eye. And spent the next few days telling everyone she’d walked into a door.

  He’d been careful after that. The injuries she’d suffered at his hands had never embarrassed him again. But the idea that he might have attacked her mother was still incredible. Surely even he would never have sunk so low.

  Thanking the nurse, Sara hurried towards the cubicle she’d indicated. Pausing outside, she looked in, her heart beating uncomfortably fast in her chest.

  Her mother was lying amid an impressive array of tubes and computer screens, an IVF bottle suspended beside the railed hospital bed. She looked older than Sara had ever seen her, and the bruises on her face stood out in stark relief against her pallid skin.

  Oh, Mum, she thought achingly, what really happened? As far as she knew, her mother had never had any heart problems in the past. Was it something Max had said that had caused this? Something he had done? Or was she damning the man without a shred of evidence to support her fears?

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed against the swing doors and entered the cubicle. The smell of antiseptic was strong, mingling with the usual odours associated with a hospital ward. The room was warm, too, but not unpleasantly so. The hum of the air-conditioning unit was just one of the many systems running in the room.

  Her mother’s eyes were closed when she entered the cubicle. But as she approached the bed there were definite signs of awareness. The old lady’s lids flickered, before lifting warily, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see who her visitor was.

  Then she saw her daughter and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Sara?’ she said disbelievingly. ‘Oh, Sara, is it really you?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Sara, sniffing back her own tears and bending to take her mother’s limp hand. ‘How—how are you, Mum? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me.’

  Mrs Fielding gazed up at her as if she still couldn’t quite believe her eyes. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, her voice hoarse and unsteady. ‘I—I was so afraid—’

  Sara’s stomach clenched. ‘Mum—’

  ‘I thought you must be dead,’ went on her mother urgently, gripping Sara’s hand. ‘You were missing and I had no idea where you were.’

  ‘But Max had a letter—’

  ‘From you? Yes, so he said. But I’ve never seen any letter, and I had only his word that you’d written it.’

  ‘But it was in the newspaper, too,’ said Sara, wishing she’d been able to tell her mother where she was. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been worried. There was no need.’

  ‘But why did you run away?’ protested Mrs Fielding. ‘What happened that night? I never believed Max’s story. Not when he didn’t appear to know where you were.’

  The old lady was getting agitated, and, bearing in mind what the nurse had said, Sara endeavoured to calm her down. ‘We’d had a row,’ she said gently. ‘One of many, as I’ve said before. I—Max fell down the stairs, and I thought he was badly injured. I called the emergency services, but I was afraid they’d blame me, and I—well, I ran away. Cowardly, huh?’

  ‘Oh, Sara—’

  ‘Never mind that. I’m here now, and the nurse says you’re making good progress,’ Sara added soothingly. She forced a smile. ‘How do you really feel?’

  ‘Forget about me,’ exclaimed her mother dismissively. ‘Sara, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why couldn’t you have shown me what that monster had done to you?’

  ‘Mum, Mum!’ Sara didn’t know where all this was coming from. ‘It doesn’t matter now—’

  ‘It does matter.’ Her mother was looking up at her with tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re alive. I’ve been so—so worried.’

  Sara squeezed her hand. ‘I’m all right, honestly,’ she said, though she was becoming more and more convinced that Max must have played a part in her mother’s collapse. ‘It’s you I’m worried about. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been feeling unwell?’

  Her mother moved her head from side to side on the pillow. ‘Because I hadn’t been,’ she said simply. ‘When you—when you disappeared that evening I was worried, of course. But then Max said you were staying with a schoolfriend, and I suppose I accepted that. He—he had always been so—so kind to me, as you know, and I actually felt sorry for him because he seemed so—so alone.’

  Sara nodded, sure she knew what was coming next. She had been the victim of Max’s frustrations too many times not to see a pattern here.

  ‘Did—did he do this?’ she asked huskily, her free hand brushing her mother’s cheek, but Mrs Fielding only grasped both her hands in a surprisingly strong grip and held on.
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  ‘Listen to me,’ she said fiercely, her eyes glancing towards the door, as if she was half afraid they were going to be interrupted before she could finish what she had to say. ‘Sophie Bradbury came to see me, Sara. Sophie Bradbury. What do you think about that?’

  Sara blinked. ‘Who?’

  ‘Sophie Bradbury,’ said her mother again. ‘Well, I don’t know what she calls herself these days. But that doesn’t matter. You know who she is, don’t you?’

  ‘Do I?’ Sara was taken aback. ‘I don’t think so.’ She frowned, thinking. ‘The only Sophie Bradbury I’ve heard of is Max’s first wife. But she’s dead.’

  ‘She’s not.’ Mrs Fielding delivered her news triumphantly. ‘She’s alive. That’s what I’m saying. She came to see me last week.’

  Sara’s legs gave way, and she grabbed the nearby chair and sank weakly into it. ‘Sophie?’ She said the name again, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘Sophie’s alive?’

  ‘Very much so.’ Her mother nodded vigorously, making the IVF bottle attached to her arm shake alarmingly. ‘She lives in the United States these days, but she’s been staying with her mother in Bournemouth for the past three weeks.’

  Sara was stunned. ‘But Max thinks she’s dead,’ she protested.

  ‘Does he?’ The old lady was beginning to look weary now. The excitement of seeing her daughter again was taking its toll, and Sara wondered if she should allow her to go on. ‘It may have suited him to believe it. Anyway, when Sophie learned you were missing she was afraid he might have done something terrible to you.’

  Sara felt slightly sick. ‘Oh, Mum—’ She was finding it difficult to take all this in. ‘But Max had my letter—’

  ‘Never mind the letter,’ said Mrs Fielding weakly. ‘What matters is Sophie told me what he was like, what he’d done to her. She was frightened of him, as I’m sure you are. Why, she even had to fake her own death to get away from him.’

  Sara could hardly believe it. And now was not the time to remind her mother that she had never believed her before. ‘So where is she?’ she asked. ‘How can we get in touch with her?’