along the galleried landing, but Sara went into her own room and closed the door behind her. Then, sinking down onto the side of the bed, she allowed her body to sag with relief. Exhaustion rounded her shoulders and she allowed her wrists to fall loosely between her knees.
Had he believed her? Or did he suspect that there was more to her conduct than a simple stiffness in her spine? No doubt he had a computer. He’d need one for his writing. Was he even now combing the Internet for any story that might match her unconvincing explanation?
She looked for her watch and then remembered that she’d taken it off before lunch. It was broken anyway, so it wouldn’t have been any good to her. Besides, she knew it was nearly five o’clock. She’d seen a clock in the kitchen. Almost a whole day had passed since she’d left the apartment. She’d been a widow for almost twenty-four hours. She shivered. Oh, God, what was she going to do?
The effort required in taking a bath wasn’t particularly appealing now, but she guessed the hot water might soothe her aches and pains. Somehow she had to get through the next fifteen hours without breaking down. When Matt left to take Rosie to school the following morning she’d ask him to give her a lift into Saviour’s Bay. With a bit of luck her car might be repaired by lunchtime, and then she’d be free to move on.
But where?
And what if Matt wouldn’t let her go?
But she wouldn’t think like that, she told herself severely. He couldn’t keep her here by force and, despite what he’d said before, she didn’t think he’d report her to the authorities. Not without knowing who she was. He wasn’t that kind of man. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
The corner bath filled quickly. She found some pine-scented bath gel in a glass cabinet over the sink and added a squeeze of fragrance to the water. Steam rose, warm and scented, into her nostrils, and she felt a twinge of anticipation at the prospect of feeling clean again. One day at a time, Sara, she told herself encouragingly. She had to believe that she’d get through this.
It was hard to hold on to that thought when she took off her clothes, however. With the removal of her dress it was impossible to avoid the many bruises and contusions colouring her pale skin. She looked as if she’d been in a fist fight, she mused bitterly, and of course she had. But there had only ever been one real contender.
Yet Max was dead and she was alive…
The incredible truth couldn’t be denied and she sagged weakly against the basin. She hadn’t meant for him to die, she insisted painfully. But who was going to believe her now?
For so long she’d accepted that her hands were tied, that there was nothing she could do to change things. Even without the threats Max had made against her mother, she’d known he would never let her go. He’d told her so many times. And she’d believed him. God knew, she’d had every reason to believe his threats before.
So what had happened last night? How had the victim suddenly become the hunted? She’d had no notion that anything different was about to happen. She’d been too busy defending herself to anticipate that help might come from a totally unexpected source.
She swallowed the sickly feeling that surged into her throat at the memory. She saw Max raising his hand towards her, saw herself falling against the corner table on the landing of their duplex apartment. Even now her hip throbbed in memory of the agonising pain that had stunned her at the impact. She remembered rolling herself into a ball, arms curled over her head in mute acceptance of the boot that would surely follow—but it hadn’t happened. Instead, Max had lost his balance. He’d tripped, swearing as he’d stumbled over her crumpled body, and, unable to save himself, had fallen headlong down the stairs.
Another wave of nausea gripped her. It had been an accident, she assured herself now, as she’d assured herself then. If she’d rolled against his legs, if she’d caused him to lose his balance, it hadn’t been deliberate. If he hadn’t hit her, if he hadn’t caused her to fall across the head of the stairs, she wouldn’t have provided an obstacle. She’d never dreamt that he might trip over her; that he’d break his neck as he fell.
But it had happened. She could hear Max’s voice in her ears, hear the frantic cries he’d made as he’d tried desperately to save himself. He hadn’t given up without a struggle. She’d heard the scratching of his fingernails against the banister, the creaking of the wood beneath his weight. And then the awful thudding sound as his body pitched forward, no longer aggressive, out of his control.
An accident.
She sucked in a breath. That was what it had been. When she’d scurried down the stairs to where he was lying in the foyer of the apartment she’d had no other thought in her mind than to assure him she was sorry, so sorry, for what had happened.
But he’d been lying still, so very still, and she’d guessed at once that it was hopeless. She’d attempted to revive him. She’d even put her trembling mouth over his cold one and tried to breathe air into his lungs. He hadn’t responded. That was when she’d called the emergency services. That was when she’d known she had to get away.
She’d realised how it would look to a stranger. Realised that she was virtually admitting her guilt. But it was no good. No one was going to believe it was just an accident. Men like Max, men who were fit and strong, didn’t just fall down a flight of stairs without provocation. And if they arrested her, if they examined her and saw what he’d had done to her. Well, she was afraid her battered body would prove her guilt.
She expelled the breath she had hardly been aware she was holding, and then almost jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on the bathroom door.
Immediately she sprang to brace a shoulder against the panels, terrified that whoever it was out there was going to open the door and see her naked flesh. She suspected that Matt Seton was still curious about her. And if he glimpsed—
But she stifled the thought, saying instead, ‘What do you want?’ in a voice that sounded annoyingly tremulous even to her.
‘You okay?’
It was Matt, and unreasonable irritation gripped her. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘No reason, I guess. Except that you’ve been in there for over half an hour and I haven’t heard a sound since the water stopped running,’ he replied mildly. ‘I wondered if you’d fallen asleep? That can be dangerous, you know.’
She gulped. ‘Are you spying on me?’
‘Hardly.’ His tone had hardened, and she couldn’t honestly blame him. He’d been concerned, that was all. Something she wasn’t used to. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘supper will be ready in about an hour, so don’t hurry. You’ve got plenty of time.’
Sara pressed her hot cheek against the wood. ‘Thanks.’
‘No sweat.’ The harshness had left his voice. ‘Just don’t drown yourself, okay?’
Her lips quivered. ‘Okay.’
‘Good.’
She heard him leaving the bedroom, heard the outer door slam behind him, and breathed a little more easily again. But she couldn’t help the frisson of pleasure she felt at the knowledge that he’d been worried about her. It was so long since anyone had cared about her in that way. Hugo had treated her with affection, it was true, but she’d always known that in any real confrontation he would always
