Falling for You (5 page)

“I didn't know whether we'd see you again,” said Kerr. “Come on through to my office.”

“But—”

“Seriously.” He took the coolers from her and put them on the floor next to the reception desk. “We need to talk.”

Heart in her mouth, Maddy followed him down the corridor and into his office. The desk, she noticed, was strewn with papers and three empty coffee cups. Not naturally tidy herself, Maddy was heartened by the sight of another person's chaos. Overorganized people automatically made her feel nervous and defensive.

“Coffee?”

“Um, no thanks.”

“OK.” He paused, sat down opposite her in his swivel chair, picked up a pen, and began to tap it against the edge of the desk, probably because there wasn't any space to tap it on the surface. Maddy was further reassured by the pen, so few people seemed to own them these days. Computer-only offices gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Kerr was looking on edge, hardly surprisingly under the circumstances. To get the conversational ball rolling, she said, “I wasn't going to come back. I talked to my boss about it—her name's Juliet—and she said it was up to me, but she didn't see why your staff should be deprived of brilliant sandwiches because of something that has nothing to do with them.”

Kerr considered this, then nodded. “We should have brought the coolers in with us. They'll be out there helping themselves to all the best ones.”

“That's OK. You'll love the maggot and cress baguette.” Maddy stopped and laced her fingers together; she was joking and she shouldn't be. It was inappropriate. Nerves were getting the better of her. Anyway, who was she trying to kid? If she didn't find him so attractive, she wouldn't have dreamed of coming back. Putting the blame on Juliet was nothing more than a barefaced lie and she should be ashamed of herself.

The thing was, did Kerr know that?

He looked at her. “Why don't you sit down?”

Relieved, Maddy sat.

“I'm so sorry about your sister.” Kerr came straight to the point. “There isn't a day goes by when I don't think about what happened. I don't blame your parents for reacting the way they did. How is your mother, by the way?”

“She's fine. Very well.” They were finally talking about it; Maddy resolved not to cry. “She wouldn't be fine if she knew I was here, talking to you.”

“Even though it happened eleven years ago? And it wasn't actually anything to do with me?”

“Sixty years wouldn't be long enough for Marcella. You're a McKinnon and that's all that matters. As far as she's concerned, you're all beneath contempt.”

Kerr paused, digesting this statement. “But I wasn't even in the country when it happened. I was in the French Alps—”

“Nobody ever apologized,” Maddy blurted out. “That's what she could never get over. Your family lived three miles away. OK, we may not have moved in the same social circles, but we knew who you were, and you knew us by sight. Then the accident happened and your family didn't even have the decency to say sorry. No message, no letter, nothing. As if we weren't even worth apologizing to. That's what Mum's never been able to get over. Well,” she amended, “that and…something else that was said.”

Sitting very still, Kerr McKinnon said, “Which was?”

“Apparently your mother was heard outside the court saying it wasn't as if April had been normal.”

The room was silent.

Finally Kerr spoke.

“I did apologize.”

Maddy shook her head. “Nobody did. That's what made Marcella so mad.”

“OK, listen. Before the trial, my brother's lawyers stressed that none of us should make any attempt to contact your family. That was their number one rule. But after the trial, when Den had been sentenced, I
did
apologize, to your father.” Kerr waited. “At least, I tried to. He didn't want to hear it. I came over to your house one morning when I knew you and your brother would be at school. I wanted to see Marcella as well, but she wasn't there. I did my best to tell your father how sorry we all were, but he wouldn't let me get more than a few words out. Basically he told me to clear off out of his sight and never come near him or his family again. I thought he was going to punch me. I'd gone there to try to make things better and all I did was make things worse. So I did what he wanted me to do and left.” Shaking his head, Kerr said, “And he never even told anyone I'd been there.”

“Never. Not a word.” Maddy wondered if she was being gullible here. Could Kerr McKinnon be spinning her a sob story?

Catching the look in her eyes, he said flatly, “You don't believe me? It's the truth. Ask your father.”

Maddy stared at him. “I can't.”

“Look, it was eleven years ago. I'm not expecting him to forgive me for being a McKinnon, but he could at least admit that I went to your house that day and did my best to apologize for what happened.”

“He couldn't,” said Maddy. “He's dead.”

Now it was Kerr's turn to look at her in dismay.

“God. I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Clearly.”

“When did that happen?”

“Six years ago. He had a heart attack.” Maddy blinked hard. “He was only forty-four. I don't know, life doesn't seem fair sometimes, does it? We didn't have any warning. Poor Marcella, as if she hadn't already had enough to cope with.”

“Not only Marcella,” Kerr said gently.

“She's amazing. I don't know how she does it. We're so lucky to have her.”

“She's lucky to have you.”

Maddy swallowed the lump in her throat. Sympathy was the last thing she needed. “Anyway, Mum's fine now. Three years ago she started seeing this new chap who'd just moved into the village. His name's Vincenzo d'Agostini, he's a master carpenter, and we all really like him. They live together now in his house on Holly Hill, and he's only thirty-eight, so we call him ‘the boy toy.' We keep dropping hints about wedding bells, but Mum says it's more fun living in sin.”

For the first time that morning, Kerr smiled.

“Well, good for them. I'm glad she's happy. And how about your brother, where's he living now?”

Maddy began to relax. “Oh, still in Ashcombe. Jake has a seven-year-old daughter—”

“Jesus.
Seven?
”

“Yes, well, it wasn't exactly planned. He and Nadine were both seventeen. She didn't want the baby, but Marcella persuaded her to go through with the pregnancy. Actually, she paid her not to have an abortion. After Sophie was born, Nadine handed her over to Jake and took off. Jake was granted sole custody. Mum helps out, of course, but he's brilliant with her. To be honest, I never thought he'd manage it. I expected him to get bored after a couple of months, like he did with his LEGO space station when he was eight. But it's been seven years now, and he hasn't gotten bored yet.”

“And you're in Ashcombe as well. Whereabouts?”

“With Jake and Sophie. We're still in our old house. Marcella's the only one who's moved out.”

“Snow Cottage,” said Kerr, remembering the name.

“The three of us,” said Maddy with a wry smile. “Not the most conventional of setups, but then our family never did specialize in being run-of-the-mill. Anyhow, it works for us. We're happy.”

“Good,” said Kerr, and he sounded as if he meant it.

“How about you? Your family, I mean.” She felt obliged to ask but was curious too. Following the trial, Den had gone to prison. Kerr had returned to complete his university degree, then taken a job in London. Meanwhile their mother Pauline had retreated, alone, to the secluded family home midway between Ashcombe and Bath. Pauline McKinnon was rumored to have become an eccentric recluse—though Maddy had always wondered how, if she was such a recluse, anyone could possibly know she was eccentric.

“My family?” Kerr sighed. “Haven't done as well as yours, I'm afraid. When Den was released, he moved to Australia. He wasn't happy, couldn't settle, drifted from job to job and from woman to woman…we lost touch over five years ago. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing now. And as for my mother, well, she's an alcoholic, incapable of looking after herself. I've hired maybe a dozen housekeeper-companions over the years, but they never stay more than a few months. Last Christmas I had to arrange for her to go into a home. That's why I moved back to Bath. I'm going to need to sell the house to pay the nursing home fees. According to the doctors, she shouldn't even still be alive, but apparently she has the constitution of an ox.” He paused. “Needless to say, she's not happy either. Maybe your mother will be pleased to hear it.”

Maddy automatically opened her mouth to defend Marcella, then shut it again. He was probably right.
OK, be honest—he is right.
How many times had Marcella vehemently declared that she hoped the McKinnons would burn in hell?

Whereas it was, in truth, just terribly,
terribly
sad. Pauline McKinnon had been through the mill and had declined into alcoholism as a result. She too had been widowed when her children were young, losing her Scottish architect husband to a brain hemorrhage. And now her house had to be sold to pay her nursing home fees. She wasn't to blame for what had happened. The accident had been a tragedy affecting more than just one family. And Kerr—Maddy truly believed him now—
had
attempted to apologize to her father…

“I'd better be getting on.” She rose to her feet, realizing how long they'd been closeted in his office. “My other customers will be getting restless.”

“But you'll carry on coming here,” said Kerr. When she hesitated, he added, “I won't always be around. I'm away in London a lot of the time, dealing with clients.”

Was that meant to be an incentive? Maddy nodded, already feeling oddly bereft at the thought of not seeing him while he was in London. “I'll carry on.”

Another flicker of a smile. “Maybe when I get back, we could go out to dinner one evening. If you wanted to.”

He was looking at her, gauging her reaction. Maddy wondered if he had the remotest idea how she was feeling right now.

If you wanted to.

Oh, she wanted to, all right. But wanting something and actually doing it were two entirely different things. She pictured Marcella's reaction upon discovering that she'd had a civilized conversation with a McKinnon, let alone a dinner date.

Put it this way: there'd be no roof left on Snow Cottage.

“Thanks.” Maddy hesitated. “But that might be a bit…”

Kerr raised his hands in acknowledgment. “OK. I know. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Oh, before you go, there's one other thing that's been puzzling me.”

Lovely. Something embarrassing, I hope.
“What's that?”

“On Saturday night you didn't recognize me. On Monday morning you did. I mean, I know it was dark in the yard, but it wasn't that dark.”

Phew. Only semiembarrassing. What a relief.

“Vanity,” said Maddy. “I'd lost one of my contacts and couldn't bear to wear my glasses.”

“So that's what you're wearing now? Contact lenses? I can't see them at all,” Kerr marveled, moving closer.

“Actually, that's the general idea.” Maddy obligingly tilted her head, allowing him to peer into her eyes. There was that aftershave again, and the giveaway fluttering action in the pit of her stomach. OK, surely ten seconds was enough…

Shifting her gaze, she saw that Kerr hadn't been studying her lenses at all. He was looking at her. As their eyes met, the wing-flapping of the hummingbirds in her stomach intensified. Was he going to kiss her? He wanted to, that much was for sure. And she wanted him to, and he knew she wanted him to…

It was easy, Maddy discovered, to break the spell. All you had to do was imagine Marcella bursting into the office.

Maddy took a step back and gave Kerr McKinnon a look of reproach.

“Sorry.” His smile rueful, he pushed his hair back with his fingers and shook his head. “Cheap trick.”

“Very cheap trick.”

“I couldn't help myself.”

“Just picture my mother with a gun in her hands.”

“Right. That's very helpful. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” said Maddy, realizing as she let herself out of the room that they were doing it again—making jokes about something that really wasn't a joking matter.

It was midday on Thursday and Kate was still in bed, buried under the duvet because in all honesty what was the point of getting up?

But she wasn't asleep, which was hardly surprising considering the racket going on downstairs. Her mother had visitors, judging by the snatches of laughter, the doors slamming, and the click-clacking of high heels across the parquet flooring in the hall.

Finally she heard Estelle climb the staircase and call out something muffled.

Kate groaned and rolled over onto her back, wincing as the sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window and into her eyes. But trying to ignore her mother was pointless; when she wanted a reaction, she was as persistent as a political interviewer.

As the bedroom door swung open, Kate said wearily, “You've got a what?”

“A surprise! Darling, come on! Just slip some clothes on and come down to the kitchen. You'll love it, I promise.”

Kate doubted it.

“Who's downstairs?” She had successfully avoided Marcella Harvey so far, by the simple expedient of staying in bed until midafternoon.

“No one.”

“I heard noise. And voices.”

Looking suspiciously smug, Estelle said, “Oh, that was Barbara Kendall. She's gone now. Come along, sweetheart. I can't wait to show you!”

Grumpily, Kate crawled out of bed and pulled on a gray T-shirt and baggy jogging pants. At least if the house was empty, she needn't bother with makeup.

Triumphantly, her mother flung open the door to the kitchen. Presented with not one but two unwelcome sights, Kate took a step back and said, “Oh, good grief, what's
that
?”

The thing straining toward her was dark brown, snuffly, and grossly overweight. Its claws scrabbled against the quarry-tiled floor while its stubby tail—like half an old discarded sausage—juddered with excitement. Sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, hanging on to its leash, was Maddy Harvey's mother.

“Isn't he wonderful?” cried Estelle. “His name's Norris!”

Norris the bulldog. “He's gross,” Kate declared. “And I thought you said there was no one here.” She avoided looking at Marcella as she said it but was acutely aware of the bright glare of sunlight on her own unmade-up face.

“Darling, I just meant that Barbara had gone. Marcella isn't a visitor. She's part of the family.”

Family indeed. Kate bit her tongue. Now she knew her mother was officially losing it.

“Hello, Kate, it's been a long time,” Marcella said easily. Raising herself from her chair, she said, “Now, why don't I take a good look at you, then that'll be the awkwardness put behind us.”

“Good idea,” said Estelle. “I'll take Norris, shall I?”

Take Norris and drown him in a bucket preferably
, thought Kate, scarcely able to believe that she was standing there like a statue in a bloody art gallery, allowing Marcella Harvey to walk around her, studying her face from all angles. How Estelle could possibly think this was a good idea was beyond her. The woman was hired to clean their house, for crying out loud.

“Well,” Marcella said finally, “I haven't run screaming from the room. It's only a bit of scarring when all's said and done.”

Only a bit of scarring. Kate could have slapped her.

“You were lucky not to lose that eye,” Marcella observed. Catching the mutinous look on Kate's face, she smiled and said, “OK, I know, there's nothing more annoying than being told to count your blessings. But all I'm saying is, it doesn't change who you are.”

Of course it does, you stupid old witch. It changes
everything.

“Not unless you let it change you,” Marcella went on, “and it'd be a real shame if you did that. You're still a pretty girl, you know.” Kate flinched as Marcella reached out and gently stroked her face, first one side, then the other. “Anyone who can't see that isn't worth bothering with.”

Appalled, Kate realized that quite suddenly she was on the verge of tears. Marcella's gentle fingers and matter-of-fact tone had gotten to her. She was talking absolute rubbish, of course, but at least it made a change from the endless sympathy.

She wondered if Maddy had told Marcella about the incident in the pub and guessed that she hadn't. Marcella's loyalty to her own family was legendary. Giving herself a mental shake, Kate said, “So what's the dog doing here anyway?”

“He's Barbara's dog,” Estelle proudly explained. “She rang me yesterday in a terrible state. They're all off to Australia in a few days and they'd arranged for Norris to be looked after by a neighbor, but the neighbor's broken her hip and all the boarding kennels are booked up, so I said why didn't we have him here with us?”

Kate could think of lots of reasons, not least that Norris was diabolically ugly, as fat as a pig, and—on the current evidence—a champion drooler. If there was a national saliva shortage, they could donate Norris to the cause.

“It's only for six weeks,” Estelle chattered on, “and he's such a dear. He has a lovely nature. You'll be able to take him for lots of long walks, darling… It'll do both of you the world of good. To be honest, Barbara spoils him rotten and he doesn't get nearly enough exercise. I thought we could put him on a bit of a diet while he's with us, work out a fitness regime—”

“I don't need to lose weight.” Kate was stung by her mother's comment that it would do her the world of good.

“Darling, I know you don't. But you can't spend all your time in bed. You should be out in the fresh air, and taking Norris for a walk would be such a nice way of meeting people.”

“I don't want to meet people.”

“But you must! Sweetheart, you're twenty-six,” Estelle pleaded. “You can't hide away like a hermit. Anyway, it was Marcella's idea, and I think she's absolutely right. Since they got Bean, they can't imagine life without her. And Norris is here now. We can't kick him out into the street, can we?” Bending down and cupping Norris's lugubrious face in her hands, she cooed, “Eh? Of course we wouldn't do that, because you're beautiful, aren't you?”

The world had gone mad. Her mother had never shown the remotest interest in dogs before, and now look at her, crawling around on the floor, making goo-goo noises like some besotted new mother.

Is this what happens when you hit menopause?

“Well, I'd better make a start on those windows,” said Marcella.

About bloody time too.
But Kate couldn't help covertly watching as Marcella crossed to the utility room, took a yellow bucket out from under the sink, and began to fill it with water and a dash of detergent. She was wearing lime-green cotton capri pants, a raspberry-pink shirt knotted at the waist, and orange flip-flops. Her skin was the color of chocolate malt balls, her black hair tied back with a glittery pink scrunchie. Marcella had to be in her early forties, but she possessed an enviable figure. As she vigorously swirled the Fairy Liquid around in the water, her high bottom jiggled like a twenty-five-year-old's. And her waist was tiny, Kate noted. Unlike Estelle, who had been letting herself go lately and could do with losing some weight.

“Don't drink it, you daft animal,” Marcella gently chided as Norris investigated the contents of the bucket with snuffly, snorty interest. That was something else about Marcella: she had a beguiling voice, warm and husky, with that hint of a Newcastle accent betraying her upbringing on Tyneside.

“He's thirsty. I'll get him a bowl of water,” said Estelle. “And we're going to need some cans of food for him. Sweetheart, why don't you have a shower and get dressed? Then you could pop down to the shop and pick some up.”

Kate sighed. This whole charade was nothing more than a conspiracy to get her out of the house.

“Can't you do it?”

“I have to hold the ladder while Marcella's doing the high-up bits. Otherwise she might fall off.” Estelle grinned. “And then who'd clean the windows?”

Shooting a look of hatred at Norris, Kate moved toward the door.

“Actually, could you do me a favor?” asked Marcella. “When you see Jake, tell him to take the lamb chops out of the freezer. If he spreads them out on a plate, they'll defrost in a couple of hours. And remind him that Sophie has to be at the village hall by five o'clock for Charlotte's birthday party.”

Could the day get any worse? Kate gritted her teeth. The very last thing she needed was to be forced to speak to Maddy Harvey's brother. With barely concealed irritation she said, “Why don't you just ring him?”

“Because to get to the store, you have to go right past Jake's workshop. It's sunny, so he'll be sitting outside. Anyway,” Marcella concluded with a dazzling smile, “why add to your parents' phone bill when it's not necessary?”

Oh, for crying out loud
, thought Kate, increasingly tempted to literally cry out loud.
My father's a multimillionaire, a phone call costs less than ten
pence
, what are you
talking
about, woman?

But Marcella, armed with her brimming bucket and a whole host of window-cleaning paraphernalia, had already left the room.

* * *

Of course, Marcella had more than likely done it on purpose.

This thought struck Kate as she made her way down Gypsy Lane with Norris ambling along at her heels. It was by this time one o'clock. Showering, washing her hair, dressing, then carefully applying enough makeup to minimize the horror of the scarred side of her face had taken fifty minutes. The irony of this ritual didn't escape her. Once upon a time, she had been a strikingly attractive girl and makeup had made her breathtakingly gorgeous. These days it was a tool necessary to prevent small children from screaming with fright at the sight of her.

So long as it didn't melt in this heat.

Thinking dark thoughts about Marcella, Kate rounded a bend and was brought up by the sight of the flowers on the verge opposite, a sudden profusion of poppies, oxeye daisies, and dog roses marking the spot where April Harvey had been killed. Marcella had planted them herself, shortly after the accident. Each time she walked up the lane to Dauncey House, she passed them and was reminded afresh of April's death.

Although flowers or no flowers, she was hardly likely to forget it.

Kate paused to gaze at the flowers, remembering April with her funny, wobbly gait, slurred speech, and lopsided smile. To her shame, she also remembered the way she and her friends from Ridgelow Hall had made fun of April whenever they saw her, mimicking her mannerisms and comical way of speaking. At least, they had when the rest of April's family wasn't around. Anyone caught making fun of her would have been swiftly and efficiently dealt with by either Maddy or Jake.

It was deeply embarrassing to recall now, but she had been young at the time. Making fun of people because they weren't perfect was what children did. It had never occurred to her that one day she might not be perfect herself.

Bored with waiting, Norris strained at his leash. Slowly Kate made her way on down the dappled, tree-lined lane. As they rounded the final bend, where Gypsy Lane joined the town's broader Main Street, she saw Snow Cottage ahead of her on the right and beyond it the row of craft shops and galleries set back from the road, where metalworkers and artists and ceramicists produced and displayed their wares for visiting tourists.

And there was Jake Harvey, as Marcella had predicted, sitting outside his own workshop, chatting animatedly to an old woman while she examined one of his bespoke caskets.

Stripped to the waist in a pair of white jeans, Jake looked like something out of a Coke ad. Deeply tanned, shiny muscled, with overlong hair streaked by the sun into fifty shades of blond, he was the archetypal bad boy at school, the one your mother always warned you not to get involved with. Not that Kate had ever been tempted herself: during her teenage years, she and her friends had spent their time lusting after boarding-school-educated boys with names like Henry and Tristram.

Reluctantly she approached the workshop, aware that her stomach was jumping with trepidation. God, all this hassle for the sake of ten pence.