Sara's Child (7 page)

Catherine closes her eyes tight on the memory then fights to carry on. “When he turned to face me his eyes were crazy looking and he was licking his lips like the dinner bell had rung. At first I froze, just stood there like a statue as he came towards me. Then I heard him, his voice sneering at me, ‘that’s right, little girl, I knew you wanted it, too’, and before I could stop him he pushed me out into the stock room and up against the back wall.” Her breathing is quickening now, and the tears roll freely down her cheeks. “He pushed his hands under my jumper, forcing my bra up and squeezed my breasts so hard I cried out in pain. That seemed to bring me back to my senses and I started to fight back, but he was so strong and I couldn’t get free.”
I couldn’t get free. I couldn’t get free.

Her eyes plead for understanding, needing him to know that she hadn’t wanted any of it to happen. “Then one hand was jammed down my trousers – the button flew off and the zip broke then his fingers were pushing inside me,” she sobs brokenly, and presses a hand to her mouth holding back a scream. She is remembering the nightmare, the fear that what had happened to her mother was going to happen to her.
Mummy, please, I’m so scared. I’m so scared, mummy.

That fear, clearly etched on her face, hurts Logan so deeply he can bear to see it no more. “Enough now!” He pulls her into his arms and rocks her while she weeps. “Shush, darling, don’t cry – he can’t hurt you anymore, I won’t let him!” It is a vow Logan intends to keep; if Catherine hasn’t killed him already he is going to pay Mr Shipley a visit he won’t soon forget.

Eventually Catherine falls into an exhausted sleep. Gathering her up, Logan looks down at the woman in his arms and is amazed that all that courage is bottled up in so slight a body. Before laying her more comfortably on the bed, he raises his arms to place a kiss on her brow. Leaving the sheet where it is, still clutched tight against her, Logan pulls the quilt over Catherine and watches while she sleeps. Only when he is sure she isn’t likely to wake, does he get dressed and go down to see his father.

Chapter Four

Henry is in the kitchen when Catherine goes down stairs. He has a bowl of eggs and milk he is whisking briskly.

“Wow, you really do cook,” Catherine smiles.
Hope he’s not mad that I missed supper
. “I felt sure you’d have a lovely Mrs Mop who cooked and cleaned for you.”

Henry’s grin is a mischievous version of Logan’s, and she warms to him immediately. “Oh I can cook when I want to,” he tells her, wagging the whisk like a pointy finger. “I used to help Ellie in the kitchen. Learned a lot from that woman; she was a dab hand at baking – won countless prizes at the local summer fare.”

He isn’t sad when he speaks of his late wife, Ellie, but he does have a longing in his voice, Catherine realises.
You love her still.

“So you manage this huge house all by yourself?” she asks, somewhat surprised.

Henry laughs a deep growling rumble that makes Catherine laugh too. “Wish I could say I do,” he grins again, “but in all honesty Lakelands is far too big for me now. And my Mrs Mop is Aida Thorpe from the village. She’s a gem, that woman, and no mistake. I wouldn’t be able to stay on here without her help. But that’s our little secret,” he taps a finger to the side of his nose, “wouldn’t do to let her head swell – she’s bossy enough as it is.” His laugh is infectious, and when Logan walks in, he finds them both still laughing.

“Sounds like that was a good joke,” Logan takes in his father and Catherine’s cheery faces, “care to share it?”

Putting a pan back on the range, Henry turns a warm smile on his son. “Come and share some breakfast with us instead, lad.” Heaping scrambled eggs onto three plates Henry tops them off with piles of lean bacon and sliced grilled tomatoes that have Catherine’s mouth salivating.

“If I eat all this I’ll end up the size of a horse.” Her eyes are wide as she picks up her knife and fork then tucks in eagerly. That first mouthful of eggs and bacon almost has her drooling. “Henry…this is amazing.” Turning to Logan, she points her now empty fork at him. “Can you cook like this? ‘Cause I surely can’t.”
Bloody hell, this is fantastic!

Henry laughs at Logan’s stunned face. “Don’t go frightening the lad,” he admonishes Catherine kindly. “Logan never did like the kitchen. He always had his head in a book when he was a nipper.” Oh.

“Sounds a lot like me,” Catherine states, then frowns over at Logan. “So, you were different too, was it hard?” she asks, and he knows immediately what she means.

“No, Catherine, but then I’m not in your league,” he states without a hint of judgement or resentment.
No, you didn’t!
“It wouldn’t have mattered which school you attended, you would always have stood out.”

Henry watches the exchange with interest, noting Logan’s careful tone and Catherine’s stiffening.

“You’ve been checking up on me!”
Yes, you damned well did!
Her cutlery slams down and her chair is pushed back noisily.

He doesn’t move to stand, but Logan looks up at Catherine curiously. “Are you seriously telling me that you didn’t check up on me? Just a little background check?” He smiles when he sees the colour rise in her cheeks. “Thought so. With your computer skills I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you had chapter and verse on me.” Waving his fork, he indicates her chair. “Sit down and finish your breakfast, Catherine,” he encourages. “You won’t get another like it once we get back to Sheriton.”

Pushing her food around her plate, Catherine watches Logan from beneath thick lashes.

So, what did you find, Mr Nosey Git! And when are you going to tell me goodbye. No, perhaps not here – you’ll wait until we get back, then dump me.

Henry can see the situation isn’t going to get any better with him sitting there, so he finishes off his breakfast quickly then takes his dishes over to the sink. Making his excuses, Henry goes out the back door and down the path to his chickens.

Moving over to the filter jug near the stove, Logan holds it up while looking back at Catherine. “Want some?”

She isn’t exactly sulking, but Catherine is brooding about the search Logan has done on her. She nods for the coffee then gathers up the rest of the breakfast pots, scraping them off at the bin then putting them with Henry’s in the sink.

“Let’s take this outside,” Logan suggests, handing Catherine a mug of wonderfully aromatic coffee.
So, this is it.

They make their way round to the front terrace, which looks out towards the lake. The water is sparkling bright blue, reflecting the clear blue sky above it. There are no visual obstructions between the house and the lake, and Catherine has a feeling the expansive garden was planted to frame rather than obscure the view.
But what do I know.

They sit quietly for a while, in the shade of the canopied veranda. “You didn’t kill him, by-the-way.” He can see that Catherine understands him; her head has spun round and her cheeks drained of all colour.
Oh my god!
“I made a few calls last night. You did put him in the hospital; but that was no more than he deserved,” he stated derisively.

“But why no police?” she gasped in shocked amazement
. I’ve been waiting for the police to lock me up, for christ’s sake!
For eight years, she had steered well clear of Granby Street afraid that someone would recognise her and turn her over to the police for murdering Shipley.
I didn’t do it. I’m not a murderer. Oh god!

Logan’s brown eyes darken perceptibly, a dangerous glint in their depths. “The scumbag could hardly report the attack; if the police had spoken to you they would have heard your side of things, not something Shipley would have dared to let happen.” His brow furrows and his eyes narrow, looking past Catherine and across the lake. “Especially as it wasn’t his first time.” He actually growls then, like a predator envisaging it’s pray.
Not his first. Then maybe I really didn’t make it happen. Maybe.

“I’ve hated myself for eight years thinking I’d killed that sack of shit,” Catherine’s fists clench in her lap, “now you tell me I didn’t and I ought to be pleased; but somehow I’m really not!”

His own anger subsides when Logan looks over at Catherine. He can see the hate and disgust plainly in her eyes, but he can also see relief. “You wouldn’t harm a fly if you didn’t have to – it just isn’t in you, Catherine.”

She shakes her head. “It was in me eight years ago; what makes you so sure it isn’t now?”
Even I don’t know that. Won’t ever really know that.

He reaches over to loosen one of her fists so that he can hold her hand. “Because I’ve seen a side of you that no one ever has,” his smile is tender, his chocolate brown eyes melting and soft. “No matter how hard you try to be the cold, hard Colson, you will always be the soft, warm Catherine inside.”

“Don’t be so sure,” her chin lifts defiantly, “I’ve always said Catherine is a sissy name and you just confirmed it!” Her spine stiffens as she bristles. “I am not soft – when I want something I go after it and sod the people who get in my way. I will never be a victim, I will never allow it
!” Never! Never! Never!

But you are, Logan thinks sadly. Whatever is eating away at you is making you a victim every day. To Catherine he says, “Always the little tough nut…,” he smiles and gives her hand a shake, “…willing to take on the biggest, baddest bully in the playground.”
Welcome to my world.

“Of course…,” Catherine frowns up at Logan, stymied, “…but that’s not just me – that’s life. If you show weakness in your business, how long will it take a competitor to start eating into it? It was the same in foster care; if you didn’t stand your ground you lost it, and anything you thought you owned you suddenly didn’t. And it wasn’t just the bully who treated you like scum from then on,” she recalls heatedly, “it was everyone in that place who had witnessed your weakness and prayed on it.”
Never again! No one! Ever!

“I’m sorry.” Logan is only just beginning to understand how hard life has been for Catherine. His childhood had been idyllic. Most of it spent at Lakelands, until he’d boarded at Eton College and then at Oxford University. However, he has never been a stupid man. He has seen the bullies at work, and knows to what Catherine is referring. “I wish I could go back in time and change all those horrid memories for the good ones all children deserve…”

“But you can’t,” Catherine interrupts. “And don’t feel sorry for me, I don’t need it or want it. I am who I am and that’s it – I’m just surprised you even like me, which I suppose you must if you put up with all the trouble that seems comes with me.” A grudging smile is tugging at her lips

I can’t believe you haven’t dumped me. Maybe he doesn’t know everything after all.

He laughs, bringing their joined hands up to his lips. “Well, life certainly hasn’t been boring since you dropped into my life.” He smiles then, loving the pink that has crept into her cheeks. “As I’m sure you already know, I’m thirty-six years old; if I’d wanted boring I could have married one of the many suitable women in my social circle years ago.”
I knew it was too good!
She looks up abruptly, her eyes so brightly blue. “You goose,” he chucks her under her chin, making her smile, “I have no idea what you’ve done to me but I’m enjoying every minute of it.”
Me too. I’m scared of just how much. It can’t last.

Her smile turns wistful, and her heart begins to open to the faint possibility of a little happiness in her tired life. “Could we go for a walk,” she asks shyly, “I’d love to see your lake and the island?”

He stands, pulling Catherine to her feet with him. “We’ve always called it Ellie’s island,” he tells her, draping a companionable arm across her shoulders as hers circles his waist. “My mother fell in love with this place primarily because of the lake and the island at its centre. The house was just a place to live, as far as she was concerned.”

“It sounds so romantic, your dad buying Lakelands just for your mum. He must have loved her very much.” She smiles up at Logan, curious about his mother but not wanting to ask about what might still be a painful subject.

“We both did,” he states, without sadness or grief. “We were lucky to have someone as kind and loving as my mother in our lives. She was a very special lady.” He is looking out to the island now, across a lake that lies smooth as glass. “You see that old shack,” he points at a small wood building that blends into the trees so well that Catherine wouldn’t otherwise have noticed it. She nods, a hand shading her eyes from the bright sun the better to see it. “That’s where my mother painted some of the pictures you’ll see around the house,” he tells her proudly.

“You’re all so talented,” Catherine muses. “My mum worked on the tills at a supermarket during the day, then did a couple of hours cleaning at night. That was for me,” she adds as they sit on the grass near the lake’s edge.

I miss you so much, mum. You would have loved it here.

“Did that bother you?” he asks quietly.

Catherine knows what he means, but no, she has never been ashamed of the work her mum has done. “Never!” she says adamantly. “My mum raised me on her own, worked six days a week plus two hours a night for five nights at the local school.” Catherine turns fiercely proud eyes to Logan. “She did most of that for me so that I didn’t go without. And we never owed a single penny to anyone; she was always firm on that. If we couldn’t afford to pay for it we didn’t have it – that was her philosophy all along, and one I’m proud to live by even now.”
I’m sorry I was such hard work. I love you mum.