she needed money. She hadn’t thought of that when she’d left London, and although she’d used her credit card to hire the car she hadn’t considered using a cash machine until she’d been forced to stop for petrol. Then she’d realised that to do so would alert the authorities to her current whereabouts and she’d used most of her cash for the fill-up.
Working for Matt Seton would have solved all her problems, she thought regretfully. But she should have known that any legitimate employer would want the kind of personal details that she couldn’t supply. Not to mention references, she remembered wearily. And who could blame him for that?
She knew the most sensible thing would be to leave now, before she said or did something to betray herself. Before she got in too deep, she acknowledged tensely. Last night there’d been times when she’d almost forgotten the events that had brought her here, when she’d begun to relax and enjoy herself. Did that make her a bad person? she wondered. Was the fact that for the first time in years she’d been able to be herself without fear of retribution a cause for self-disgust?
Max would have thought so. Max would have been incensed at her behaviour. He didn’t like children and he’d have accused her of using Rosie to get to Matt. He’d have said that allowing the little girl to paint her nails had just been a way of attracting Matt’s attention. Max had been insanely jealous, as she knew to her cost, and he’d have turned an innocent game into something ugly.
Yet had it been so innocent? she fretted uneasily. Perhaps she was the provocative little tease that Max had always accused her of being. It was certainly true that she’d been acutely aware of Matt Seton ever since he’d emerged from his Range Rover the day before. In spite of her apprehension she’d recognised him at once for what he was: a disturbingly attractive man who she had soon realised was nothing like Max.
Thank God!
She didn’t know how she had been so sure of that. It wasn’t as if she was a terrifically good judge of character. She’d married Max Bradbury, hadn’t she? Her lips twisted. She’d thought he was a good man. Because he was so much older than she was, she’d trusted him. She’d actually believed that his promise to take her away from what he’d convinced her was a boring existence had been inspired by love and not by an unnatural desire for possession. Instead, he’d turned her life into a nightmare, and even now he was still controlling her from the grave.
She shuddered. What was she doing, thinking about Matt Seton when it was because of her that her husband was lying cold on some mortuary slab? She could imagine how Matt would feel about her when he found out who she really was. However reluctant he’d been to offer her his hospitality up to this point would be as nothing compared to his revulsion when he discovered the truth. She was a murderess—well, she’d be convicted of manslaughter at the very least, she amended. He wouldn’t want someone like her associating with his daughter.
And as for anything else…She gave a bitter smile. There were no men in a women’s prison.
She moved away from the door, wincing as once again her hip reminded her of its presence. If only her car was operational, she thought fiercely. She really believed she might have made her getaway while Matt was out. It wasn’t fair to involve him in her troubles. And if the police ever discovered that he’d allowed her to stay here he might be charged with harbouring a wanted criminal.
But he didn’t know who she was, she assured herself, disliking that word ‘criminal’ again. Although she guessed it was only a matter of time before he found out. Max’s death was bound to make news eventually. And, although she hadn’t seen a television since she’d arrived, he was bound to have a set somewhere.
She walked restlessly to the windows. It was such a beautiful morning, she thought. She longed to get out of the house and escape her anxieties in the simple delight of feeling the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. Who knew how much longer she’d be free to enjoy such simple pleasures? Oughtn’t she to make the most of it while she had the chance?
Despite being reluctant to meet Mrs Webb again, she opened her door and stepped out onto the landing. A railed gallery overlooked the main entrance and she saw to her relief that there was no sign of the housekeeper in the hall below.
Matt hadn’t used this door the day before, but, having descended the stairs on tiptoe, Sara prayed it wouldn’t present any problems now. She was unutterably relieved when the key turned and the handle yielded to her touch. Stepping outside, into the sunshine, she took a deep breath of the salt-laden air.
She heard the dogs barking as she walked across the forecourt. Their hearing was obviously sharper than Mrs Webb’s, and Sara hoped the housekeeper would be too busy quieting them to notice her slipping out of the gates.
She wanted to go down to the beach if she could, but, remembering the steepness of the path they’d used the afternoon before, she guessed that was the only means of access. It meant circling the house again, but luckily the track beyond the gates led onto the cliffs without having to re-enter the property.
All the same, she was glad when she started down the path and the cliff face hid her descent from view. It wasn’t that she was afraid of being seen, she assured herself. She wasn’t a prisoner yet, for heaven’s sake. She just needed a little time alone to think about what she was going to do next.
She must have walked at least a quarter of a mile along the beach when she heard someone calling her name.
She had been enjoying the unaccustomed freedom. The breeze was warmer today, and she could smell the sea. The damp sand had been totally untouched when she’d started along the shoreline, and she knew her footprints would soon be washed away by the incoming tide.
Hearing her name, however, she expelled a sigh and stopped. She didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. Only Matt Seton knew she was staying here; only he was likely to come after her.
Stifling her resentment, she turned. As if he couldn’t have allowed her to finish her walk in peace, she was thinking half irritably. For heaven’s sake, he wasn’t her keeper.
The sight that met her startled eyes caused her to quickly revise her opinion, however. Matt was still some distance away, but between them lapped a rapidly expanding stretch of water that successfully trapped her between the incoming tide and the cliffs. Fairly deep water, too, she saw, trying not to panic. It had already covered the rocks that formed a sort of breakwater at the foot of the headland.
As she watched, she saw Matt break into a run, splashing into the water that divided them with grim determination. ‘Stay where you are,’ he yelled, wading towards her, and Sara stood there, dry-mouthed, as he closed the space between them. The water came up to his thighs, she saw, soaking his jeans and plastering them to the powerful muscles of his legs. Despite the sunshine, she felt sure the water must be icy. It was far too early in the day for the sun to have gained any strength.
She watched his approach anxiously, wondering what she would have done if he hadn’t appeared. She could keep herself afloat, but she wasn’t a strong swimmer. If Max were here, he’d tell her how stupid she was.
Matt reached her without too much difficulty and she looked up at him with apologetic eyes. ‘I should have told Mrs Webb where I was going, shouldn’t I?’ she began, before he could say a word. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted a walk. I had no idea—’
Her voice trailed away and Matt expelled a resigned sigh. ‘Yeah, well, let’s get you back before we start the inquest, shall we?’ he suggested flatly. ‘Here: there’s no point in both of us getting soaked to the skin. I’ll carry you.’
‘Oh,
