The house was quiet. Freddy had stumbled up to bed nearly an hour ago and in the peace that followed in the wake of the music, the house had settled gently to a slumbering silence. If I had not been desperately thirsty I would have stayed hidden away in my room, but telling myself that Matthew was bound to be asleep, I braved slipping soundlessly down the stairs and out into the light.
He wasn’t, of course. He was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me.
I walked past without even a glance. “I just wanted some water.”
The chair creaked as he stood up and then quiet footfalls recorded his progress around the table until they came to a stop somewhere behind. There was a pause while I fiddled about with a glass but then, in the silence that followed, I heard him give a little sigh.
He spoke with concentrated patience. “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”
Defeated, I set the glass down somewhere quite without thought and turned to face him. Nothing could have made me brave enough to meet his eyes so instead I fixed my gaze feebly on a spot on the floor. Putting my hands behind me on the counter for its meagre support, I steeled myself to meet the final stage of a terrible evening.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said weakly.
“Oh, come on.” His voice was rough and exasperated and I looked at him then. I think my heart broke, he looked so remote. I looked down to the floor again.
“I thought you were protecting Freddy just now but you weren’t, were you? Don’t shut me out. Not this time, please. You keep doing this – and I think it is high time you started being honest with me.”
I still couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I heard another suppressed intake of breath and then, “Right. Let me help you get started. Did Langton do that?”
Instinctively, my hand flashed across to cover the bruise. I had removed my bracelet earlier and the marks were clear against my icy skin. I said stupidly, unthinkingly, “No, of course not. You did. Out in the snow. When I found you.”
No reply. Then, abruptly, in the wake of an even more formidable silence, the words burst out in a helpless rush. “I didn’t want to it to happen like that. You have to believe me. It’s not what it looked like, it really isn’t! Please don’t be angry. He was being strange so I got him to dance with Sophie Green – I used to catch the bus to school with her, and…oh, that doesn’t matter – only John upset her and then I spoke to the Inspector and then we came home only he was drunk, and he was angry and ranting about his father and … and other things. Then when we got back he kissed me. He kissed me, I didn’t kiss him, I really didn’t. I didn’t want to. So I told him about the horse to make him stop and then I … No, please don’t say you don’t believe me! If you’ll just listen, I …”
He made an impatient gesture that silenced me and jerked my attention up to his face. His eyes were black. “You’re not listening to me. I know what I saw.”
I waited for the words that would finish me.
They came in a voice that was held low and steady in spite of the wearied undertone of long suppressed impatience, “My dear, I very nearly marched out there and hit him. In fact I should have done, and if you had stayed in that car with him for a second longer, I most certainly would have, hunted-man be damned.” A grimace. “Believe me, I was halfway through the door as it was, and only the knowledge of what it would cost you if I exposed what you’ve done for me held my temper in check even that much.”
His words had fixed my eyes upon his face only I couldn’t quite grasp his meaning. His eyes were still dark and he was frowning a little in that controlled unreadable way of his and I bit my lip, feeling every kind of misery as he gazed at me steadily, seemingly waiting for me to make a reply.
Then, suddenly, his expression transformed and he gave a very exasperated reproof of “Eleanor!” and took a sharp step towards me.
Looking back, I think he had intended to enfold me in his arms. But there must have been some caution still lurking at the back of his mind of the uncertainty of his right and so instead he froze, his hand hovering in mid-air somewhere near my cheek and his eyes watchful in softly delivered enquiry.
There was a brief numbing moment of stupidity as I stared at him blankly. But then, gradually, my tired mind stumbled back into life and I began to make some sense of the words he had spoken.
Oh.
He gave a gentle smile then and very slowly as if he was afraid the moment might break and I might flinch away from him, he lifted his hand. His touch lightly grazed my cheek.
“You thought I wouldn’t believe you?” I couldn’t have moved even if I had wanted to and I stared up at him, breath and heartbeat stilled to silence as his fingers caught at a strand of hair to delicately lift it aside. Seemingly concentrated on this little act of tidiness, he lightly said, “My darling girl … really?”
I think I managed a faint shake of my head and my heart rushed to piece itself back together again as he stepped a little closer. Then his gaze touched upon my lips and if my pulse had stopped before now it raced with terrifying urgency as he tentatively and very gently leaned a little nearer.
After a very long time he pulled away. His hand was warm against my cheek and his eyes were smiling down at me. Feeling suddenly very giddy indeed, I found a wobbly little smile of my own, and with a brief close of his eyes he stepped in again, gathered me into his arms and kissed me.