Artistic License (21 page)

She was crying again.

Her eyes met his through a blurry haze and he summoned a crooked, awful smile and touched his knuckles to her cheek.

“Wake up Melissa,” he said quietly. “Tell her what happened tonight, in as much detail as you can, and get her to go to the police station with you tomorrow. Contact your parents. Don’t keep any of this to yourself. I know you’re a private person, but in cases like this, talking lances the wound.” His lips touched hers in the lightest, most fleeting of kisses. “And call me when you’re ready.”

He walked her to the door, waited until he heard the snick of the locks, and then drove away without a further word.

Sophy stood in the hallway with her aching head leaning against the door, listening to the sound of Melissa’s late night TV show in the living room, and cried.

Chapter Ten

There were certain times in a woman’s life when she needed only one thing: her mother. And if she was lucky, she had one like Sophy’s.

Marion listened in appalled silence to her account of the night’s events. They were sitting outside the Cheesery, the morning sun basking down and casting a sense of complete unreality over what she was saying. It seemed impossible that anything so terrifying and ugly could have occurred under a sky that could produce such a cloudless blue, in a world where bees hummed in lavender and birds sang in fruit trees.

She had not spent the night alone after all, but wedged into the couch with a horrified, equally teary Melissa and a reassuringly self-absorbed Jeeves. When dawn had touched the sky, she had borrowed her cousin’s battered Mazda and followed Mick’s advice, driving directly to her parents. By the time she had arrived at Silver Leigh, the sun was high and bright and her nerves were relatively composed, but Marion had still taken one look at her face, marched her out of the store and plunked her down a bench to demand the full story.

She told her mother everything. Well. Not
everything
. The details about Samantha Hollister and any specifics surrounding Mick’s family were not her story to tell – and revelations about stupendous sex seemed a bit of an over-share. When she came to a shaky halt, Marion let out a long breath.

“Have you been to the police station today?” she asked, her hand repetitively smoothing the fall of Sophy’s hair over her shoulder, as if she was reassuring herself of her daughter’s safe presence.

“I have to see the sergeant this afternoon. Melissa’s coming with me.” Sophy’s mouth twisted a little. “Mick thought someone should come with me.”

Marion touched her cheek.

“He’s a very good man, Sophy.”

She swallowed.

“I know he is, Mum.” She bit hard on her lip. “He was so hurt last night. And I just let him leave. I
made
him leave.”

“Honey, you’d had a terrible shock. I don’t think anyone, least all of Mick, would hold anything that you said or didn’t say last night against you. It was hardly the time for confidences.” Her mother took Sophy’s hand and held it between both of hers. She hesitated, considering her words before she spoke. “Soph,” she said, “I’ve never wanted you to feel that you have to be other than what you are or that to be shy and more reserved is some sort of character flaw that needs to be overcome. You know I’ve always found it infuriating when people hold up extroverted, outgoing behaviour as a yardstick to emulate, when that personality type is no more or less valid than one more introverted.”

Sophy nodded. From her first day at kindergarten, when she had clung to the corners of the room, too shy to mingle with the other children, her mother had impressed upon her the difference between pushing herself as much as was comfortable and feeling that she needed to apologise for herself.

“You’ve been the light of my life since the day you were born,” Marion went on whimsically, smiling at her. “I know you better than almost anyone else in the world – and yet I suspect there will always be parts of you that I couldn’t begin to fathom. And I don’t begrudge that. I actually appreciate that. Just because you love someone, it doesn’t mean that they’re entitled to know everything about you, or vice versa.”

“Mum…” Sophy shifted uncomfortably, and her mother’s grip tightened around her fingers.

“There’s a huge difference, Sophy, between
sharing
yourself with another person and subjugating your personality and your free will to theirs. There are men out there, of course there are, who demand and manipulate women into that sort of imbalanced relationship, but I highly doubt that Mick is one of them. If he were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’ve always been an excellent judge of character.” Marion gave her hand a small shake. “I understand your concerns, Soph, and at any rate, any kind of life-altering change is always scary, no matter who you are. But I think you might be over-thinking this a bit. It’s not the Dark Ages, honey. You aren’t
literally
going to be leg-shackled to anyone. Making a commitment doesn’t mean that you’ll never get time to yourself or you’ll lose part of yourself. You don’t have to give up everything when you share your life with someone. You make allowances; you make compromises. But what you get back in return should make it worthwhile. If it seems like a sacrifice, if it doesn’t seem worth it – only
then
should you not be in that relationship. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Sophy murmured, and Marion dropped her hands to cup her face.

“You’ve always been such a
happy
girl,” she said, “and that’s the greatest blessing that a parent could ask for. I think this is just a chance for further happiness, Sophy. You’re my loving, giving, beautiful daughter. You’ll know if it’s right.”

“People always say stuff like that,” Sophy burst out. “But what if it’s not right? What if you make a horrible mistake and people get hurt?”

“Well, you
will
make mistakes. And people will get hurt. Unfortunately, that’s life. But that doesn’t automatically negate all the good stuff. And it doesn’t mean that you should make some sort of pre-emptive strike against taking the risk in the first place.”

Sophy let out a sigh, examining the toes of her shoes as they scuffed in the gravel.

“You’re a wise woman, Ma,” she said lightly after a moment.

“I think so,” agreed Marion serenely.

“Did you get that last bit from Oprah?”

“
Cosmopolitan.
”

Sophy laughed.

“Is it really cowardly if I don’t go back to my job at the bar?” she asked, sobering. She had been going back and forth on the options all morning.

“No,” said Marion firmly. “The “get back on the horse” mentality has limitations and I never liked that you worked there in the first place. Your commissions are going quite well, aren’t they?”

“I get a decent amount, but not quite enough to cover expenses.”

“That should change when you win the sculpture competition.”

Sophy smiled despite herself.

“Mum, I haven’t even entered yet.”

“I have faith.”

“You said that when Mrs. Bell made me enter the science competition at high school.”

“And it was equally true then.”

“I came last.”

“But I’m sure you did your best.” Marion ignored her snort and went on, “You can pick up some extra shifts here if you need to. I think you have more of an affinity for cheese than nightclubs anyway.”

“What a depressing epitaph for a twenty-four-year-old woman.”

***

She had brunch with her parents at the vineyard before she returned to central Queenstown, managing with some difficulty to dissuade her dad from coming back with her to storm the police cells. Deep in thought, she went straight to where she could always best sort out her conflicting emotions: the studio. Someone had opened the blinds in her workroom and she unpegged the windows as well, sliding on her protective breathing mask before she uncovered Hades and picked up her chisel.

She had almost finished his face, was down to the more intricate details around the eyes and nose. As she worked, etching as delicately and precisely as she would were she applying cosmetics or surgical stitches to live human flesh, she considered her mother’s words.

The part about not over-thinking everything resonated especially deeply. Sophy had always had a tendency to think forward and worry about the future, rather than focusing on the present. Many of her reservations about a serious involvement with Mick were still based on hypothetical concerns, rather than the actual relationship and the actual man that she had.

The man that she wanted.

Because he was wrong: she did want him badly. She couldn’t entirely shift her…not precisely
doubts
. ‘Qualms’ was a better word. She had qualms. But the alternative was starting to look pretty bleak. She
had
been happy in the past, before she had met him; but she had been considerably happier still these past few weeks. With the odd glaring exception and not one of those incidents could be blamed on Mick, whatever she had thought last night in a breaking point of stress.

She didn’t know what was going to happen, couldn’t control it to an extent, and she was just going to have to accept that fact if she didn’t want to lose Mick or hurt someone that she loved. He had gone out on a limb for her and she had stayed safely in her retreat. He deserved better.

She was reaching for her phone when a quiet knock sounded on the door and she looked up, startled.

Dale stood in the doorway, his hands pushed deep into his jeans pockets, his hair windswept and his eyes anxious. He looked almost like a little boy, a blend of nervousness and defiance, as if he’d been caught in front of a broken window with a cricket bat in his hand. It was a far cry from his usual confident swagger.

“Hi, Soph,” he said, and wet his lips with his tongue. “Um – can I come in for a minute? Is that okay?”

***

“Good. Cheers for that, Bill.”

Sean snapped his phone closed and turned to Mick, who was negotiating the mess of impatient traffic and jay-walking tourists at a roundabout.

“Bill Cooper does have a connection to someone in the Queenstown force. He’s going to put out some feelers today, see what he can find out about the previous assaults.”

Mick nodded, unsmiling.

“And you’re just going to give your statement to the detective in charge of the case like a good, disinterested citizen, are you?” Sean asked obligingly, shooting him a look. “No attempts to check on the status of the investigation? No temptation to throw a little weight around?”

“There’s a temptation to throw a lot more than that around,” Mick said flatly. “The bastard should be down on his knees in gratitude for those iron bars.”

He looked at his knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel, wondering if his hands would still be shaking if he lifted them free. Last night had been an unwelcome return to a state of helpless rage that he hadn’t experienced for over a decade. Sophy had made a deliberately light-hearted, unconvincing remark about wishing he’d tossed her assailant into a pool table. He was only grateful now that it hadn’t been his hand that was closest to the broken bottles in that moment of red. The intensity of his fear for her had rocked him sideways. And unfortunately it had influenced his behaviour during the remainder of the night.

He had no desire to retract the sentiment behind his declaration and near ultimatum to her in the car; it had been true in every word. He damn well did regret the criminally bad timing. She had been in no state for anything close to that sort of scene. Christ, she’d been all but falling out the door in her haste to get away from him. A sudden instinct that he was on the precipice of losing her completely had resulted in his acting like a bloody fool. Every gut instinct had urged him to go to her this morning, but he was putting her first for once. She needed privacy; she would come to him when she was ready.

God, he hoped so.

“We’re playing this completely by the book. I don’t want that trash getting off on a technicality,” he said to Sean as he reversed into a park near the police station. “His lawyer isn’t going to have the chance to play a coercion and influence card.”

“Hmm.” Sean looked equally grim. He had been a godsend when Mick had arrived back at the hotel close to the midnight, after an unsuccessful attempt to walk off the edge of his anger around the lake. A battery of deliberate insults and catcalls had provoked Mick down to the gym, where they had lifted weights and engaged in unfriendly athletic competition until the exhausted early hours of the morning. All things considered, it had been a much healthier remedy for excess adrenalin than hitting a bottle of whisky or stewing over it all night. “Pity. Because I’m equally open to paying a short visit to the holding cells myself while you bat your eyelashes and flash a little leg at the coppers on duty.”