Hot Pursuit (15 page)

‘It's not what you want right now,' he said, getting to his feet and leaving her feeling strangely bereft. ‘You'd better get dressed,' he added, picking up her clothes from the floor and dropping them in her lap. ‘It will be light soon.'

‘Matt!'

But he had turned away and, suddenly intensely aware of her nakedness, Sara hurriedly dressed again. Then, when the cord on the sweat pants was securely tied, she said tightly, ‘Am I supposed to thank you, or what?'

‘No!' He swung round, his face contorted with an emotion
she couldn't understand. Then, harshly, ‘You are still planning on going back to London, aren't you?'

Sara was shocked. ‘I—I have to—'

‘That's what I thought.' Matt was laconic. And then, almost defiantly, ‘I should tell you that it was I who arranged for your letter to be made public. I'd hate you to find out some other way.'

Her brows drew together. ‘You?' She was confused.

‘Yes, me,' he said flatly. ‘I couldn't risk Bradbury keeping it quiet and maybe setting the police to search for you. I got a friend of mine at the
Chronicle
to deliver your letter himself.'

Sara tried to think. She remembered being surprised at Max's generosity, but now she realised that he'd had no choice.

‘You were probably right,' she said at last, hardly capable of thinking at all at the moment. ‘Well, at least I'm forearmed.'

Matt stared at her. ‘You don't have to go back to him,' he stated harshly.

‘I do,' she said. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Not half as sorry as me,' he told her contemptuously. ‘You're a fool, Sara, but not as big a fool as me for getting involved with you.'

I
T WAS
after eight o'clock in the evening when Matt heard someone at the door.

It was the dogs who warned him first. They'd started barking as soon as the car had turned into the private road that led up to the house, and by the time it pulled into the driveway they were frantic. Matt was torn between the desire to go and quieten them—before they woke Rosie—and seeing who it was.

He had no idea who might be calling at this time of the evening. He didn't get too many visitors at all, and his parents were away in Italy at the moment, enjoying a tour of the wine country.

It could be Emma, of course. Since Sara had left, she'd become almost too friendly for his liking. She seemed to see the other woman's departure as an opportunity for her to prove how helpful she could be, and, despite his protests, she'd insisted on collecting Rosie from school at least three times this week. But he didn't think it was Emma. He'd been distinctly short with her on the phone that afternoon.

His own moods swung from enforced cheerfulness, for Rosie's sake, to total despair when he was on his own. It was a week since Rob Marco had returned to London, taking Sara with him, and nothing seemed to make any sense any more.

The morning she'd left was engraved in his memory. She hadn't come downstairs at all until after he'd taken Rosie to school. When he'd returned she'd been sitting in the kitchen with Rob and the housekeeper, already wearing the voile dress and high heels she'd arrived in.

It was obvious she'd wanted to save his daughter any more distress than necessary. But that hadn't prevented him from feeling sick to his stomach that she'd meant what she'd said when she'd insisted she had to leave.

However, Rob's presence had prevented him from saying
anything stupid. Besides, he'd had the feeling that he'd already burnt his boats as far as she was concerned. She had no idea how he really felt about her leaving. And even thinking about what she might have to deal with when she got back to her husband had torn him apart.

He'd managed to hide his feelings until after the taxi taking her and Rob to Newcastle Airport had departed. Then, shunning even Mrs Webb's company, he'd locked himself in the study and spent the rest of the day in a morass of self-pity.

Despite its attraction, getting drunk had not been an option. Rosie had still had to be picked up from school that afternoon, and he'd had no desire to ask for Emma's help again.

He'd wanted to keep Sara's leaving to himself. But Emma had turned up at the house a couple of days later on some trumped-up mission and he'd had to tell her. Since then he'd had to fend her off with grim determination.

He supposed he was an ungrateful bastard. Emma meant well, goodness knew, and until Sara had come on the scene their relationship had been moving along quite nicely. Now, however, she seemed to think he was ripe for an affair, and he wondered what she'd seen in his and Sara's association to merit that conclusion.

Rosie had taken a good deal of his patience. She'd been terribly upset when she'd discovered that Sara had left without even saying goodbye. She couldn't understand why someone who'd obviously liked staying there had to leave, and Matt had eventually explained that Sara had a husband and family back in London.

The trouble was, Rosie kept asking about Sara's husband. She'd wanted to know if they had any children and why she couldn't write to her from time to time and tell her how she was getting on.

‘I'm sure she'd like to know, Daddy,' she'd said, just the day before, and, although Matt was fairly sure that was an accurate assessment, there was no way Sara would be able to justify any communication from them.

It was thinking of her, living with her husband again, that was a constant torment. He'd scoured the newspapers daily,
expecting to find some item detailing Sara's return. He'd been sure Max Bradbury would miss no chance to gain a bit of publicity, particularly of a positive nature. And he'd want the world to know that his second wife was safely home again.

Now, however, the dogs' barking was getting the better of him. Deciding that whoever was at the door would have to wait, he strode out of the sitting room and into the kitchen. Opening the back door, he made straight for the dogs' compound. They were instantly reassured by his arrival and, bending, he unlocked the gate and let them out.

He was trying to prevent them from jumping all over him when a man came around the side of the house. He was a large man, with a protruding stomach and an extravagant moustache. Matt wasn't alarmed. He was a big man himself, well able to take care of himself. And, although the other man's appearance was unexpected, he looked more flustered than aggressive.

‘Mr Seton?'

‘Yes.'

Matt had barely given his response when the dogs saw the visitor. Barking joyfully now, they flung themselves upon the newcomer, almost knocking him off his feet.

The man was attempting to push them off when another man appeared. ‘Hugo,' the second man was saying impatiently, ‘what the hell is going on?' Then he saw Matt and his eyes narrowed speculatively for a moment before a disarming smile lifted the corners of his full mouth. ‘I'm so sorry,' he exclaimed, in an entirely different tone. ‘We seem to be causing something of a disturbance.'

Matt faced the two men warily. Even without hearing his brother's name he'd have known Max Bradbury anywhere. Apart from the fact that he'd seen his face on the covers of a dozen magazines and periodicals, the man exhibited a smug self-satisfaction that Matt found both provoking and unpleasant. Visions of Sara's bruised and battered body kept flashing in front of his eyes and he longed to grab Bradbury by the throat and knock that complacent smile off his well-fed face.

It was lucky the dogs chose that moment to transfer their attentions to Max. Barking excitedly, they lunged towards him,
and Matt had to grab them by the scruffs of their necks to hold them back. He was tempted to let them do their worst, but that would achieve nothing, Instead, he bundled them back into their pen, and by the time he straightened he had himself in control again.

‘Can I help you?'

Max Bradbury came forward, bypassing his brother without even a backward glance. ‘Oh, I hope so,' he said warmly, holding out a fleshy hand for Matt to take. ‘I do hope so, Mr Seton. It is Mr Seton—the famous
Matt Seton
—isn't it?' he inserted ingratiatingly before going on. ‘Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Max Bradbury. And this is my brother, Hugo.' He gave a dismissive little shrug. ‘You may have heard the name, but that's not important now. What is important—imperative, in fact—is that I get in touch with my wife. I'm given to understand that Victoria may have been staying with you in the past two weeks.'

Whatever Matt had expected, it wasn't this. Compelled to shake the other man's hand or risk offending him before he knew why he was here, Matt took a second to consider his words. But his mind was buzzing with the apparent news that, as far as Max Bradbury was concerned, Sara was still missing. Had she changed her mind about going back? he wondered, trying to contain his own agitation. Or, dear God, had Bradbury done something to her and coming here was just a ploy to cover his actions.

‘Your wife?' Matt echoed at last, surreptitiously wiping Max Bradbury's sweat from his palm. Then, hoping he didn't sound too concerned, ‘I'm sorry. I don't know any Victoria Bradbury, I'm afraid.'

Max's eyes briefly flashed with an anger he couldn't conceal and Matt was slightly reassured. Sara's husband wasn't acting like a man in control of the situation. But then Max's smile returned as he continued, ‘Perhaps I should have said Sara, Mr Seton. Sara Fielding. Victoria—that is to say, my wife—may be using an alias.' He gave an amazingly convincing chuckle. ‘I'm sure you appreciate the advantages of travelling incognito yourself.'

Matt was hardly listening to him. He was wondering how the hell Bradbury had traced his wife here. He had to have been given some clue to turn up on his doorstep. But who was likely to have helped him? Dammit, he needed time to think.

Rob? He frowned. He couldn't believe his agent would have done it. Rob was many things, but he wasn't a grass. He knew what Matt had said about keeping Sara's whereabouts to himself.

He saw Hugo Bradbury watching him over his brother's shoulder and wondered what he was thinking. He was clearly younger than Max and, if Matt wasn't mistaken, he was also rather obviously gay. He looked as if he wasn't happy with the situation either, and Matt guessed he had come here under duress. Sara had said that her brother-in-law was harmless, but Matt reserved judgement. He'd done little to help her when all was said and done.

‘I'm afraid I can't help you, Mr Bradbury,' Matt said shortly, eager to get on the phone to Rob and clear him of any involvement. He also wanted to know where Sara had gone after they'd reached Heathrow. He hadn't spoken to his agent since he'd put off signing the new contract. He guessed Rob would still be fuming over what he saw as a deliberate endangerment of Matt's career. But the man wasn't vindictive. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Bradbury,' he added. ‘There's no Sara Fielding here either.'

Max's smile thinned. ‘But she has been here, hasn't she?' he persisted, glancing towards the house as if he suspected Sara might be hiding inside. ‘My information was quite specific, Mr Seton. There has been a young woman called Sara staying here, acting as a temporary nanny for your daughter, I believe?'

Matt stifled a curse. ‘Well, yes. That's right,' he agreed at last, knowing there was no point in denying something that seemed to be public knowledge. ‘But her surname wasn't Fielding, Mr Bradbury. It was something else entirely. In any case, she left a week ago.'

Max's nostrils flared. ‘Nevertheless, I would like to speak to her,' he said, his control slipping a little. ‘I've travelled a long way, Mr Seton. Surely you can understand my concern.'

Matt was tempted to tell him exactly what he thought of his
so-called concern. That it was his behaviour that had driven Sara to run away. But then he remembered: as far as the public at large was concerned Sara was staying with a schoolfriend. Wasn't Bradbury being rather reckless in risking exposing that story for a lie?

‘I'd be interested to know why you thought you might find your wife here,' Matt ventured at last, holding the other man's gaze with innocent speculation. ‘Is she missing?'

Max took what Matt realised was a calming breath, and his own anger swelled at the knowledge of how often the man must have used his anger against his wife. He could see the fury in Max's eyes, glistening below the surface of congeniality. Was he wondering how much he needed to say to persuade Matt to tell him what he needed to know?

‘I haven't seen my wife for a couple of weeks,' he conceded at last, ignoring his brother's sudden murmur of disapproval. ‘She's perfectly all right. I had a letter from her assuring me that all was well. But I'm afraid she didn't tell me where exactly she was staying, and in the circumstances I've been left with no choice but to try and find her.'

Matt's brows drew together. ‘In the circumstances?' he prompted. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he needed to know. ‘Is there some—emergency?'

Max scowled. ‘You could say that,' he said, without giving anything away. ‘But it's family business.' He arched an imperious brow. ‘You understand?'

Matt didn't understand, but he didn't see how he could pursue this without arousing Bradbury's suspicions any more than they were aroused already.

‘I admire your persistence,' he lied. There was nothing about Max Bradbury he admired. ‘I can imagine how daunting it must be, combing the whole country for your wife's whereabouts. What made you think she might be in this neck of the woods? Is Northumberland a favourite haunt of hers?'

‘We haven't been combing the country,' put in Hugo unexpectedly, and Matt saw Max Bradbury turn to give his brother a killing look.

But then, as if realising that the statement couldn't be left in
isolation, he muttered, ‘My brother's right. My wife hired a car from a nationwide franchise. It was handed back to an agency in Ellsmoor nearly two weeks ago. Ellsmoor is, as you know, just a short distance from Saviour's Bay.'

Matt blew out a breath. He should have guessed that Bradbury would get around to checking out the car hire firms eventually. All the same, that still didn't explain how he'd found out that Sara had been here. He'd impressed upon the garage in Saviour's Bay, who had returned the car for him, that his name wasn't to be mentioned.

But Bradbury didn't know that.

‘You say the car was handed back to an agency in Ellsmoor?' Matt mused, as if considering the situation. ‘I do hope whoever handed it in hadn't found it abandoned. The tides around here can be treacherous. I've almost been trapped myself a couple of times.'

Max's mouth thinned. ‘I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying, Mr Seton,' he said harshly, and Matt knew he'd caught him on the raw.

‘Oh,' he murmured artlessly, ‘you mean because your first wife drowned in the Solent? I suppose it must be very worrying for you not knowing where—Sara, is it?—is.'

Max looked murderous. ‘If you know where she is, I'd advise you to tell me,' he snapped. ‘I can be a good friend, Mr Seton. But a very bad enemy.'

‘I hope you're not threatening me, Mr Bradbury.' If Matt hadn't been so concerned about Sara he'd almost have said he was enjoying this. ‘As I say, the young lady who was staying here has left, and without leaving a forwarding address. Even if she was who you think she was, I have no idea where she is now.'

Which was nothing but the truth.

Max sucked in his breath. ‘But you must know something,' he exclaimed sharply. ‘Was this woman driving a car? Where did she come from? How did she get about?'