Death be Not Proud (18 page)

The conspicuous tension went with her. I exhaled quietly and turned to my sister as I introduced her, and she swung the baby onto a hip, extricating a hand. “And this is Archie,” I added. Archie held a strip of peeled cucumber in one fist which he attempted to fit into his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at Matthew. As she held out her hand, Archie chose that moment to lunge forward. Quicker than a whip, Matthew caught the baby in mid-air as he plummeted towards the floor.

“Here you go, young man,” he said, handing him back to his shaken mother, who clasped his squirming, protesting body close to hers. She gazed at Matthew with undisguised awe.

“Thanks.”

“Not at all,” he said and broke into one of his melting smiles. Beth hadn't been exposed to him before, and she flushed a deep red. I would have been outrageously jealous had it been any other woman but my sister. My married sister. My happily married sister who was eight years older than me.

“Thanks so
much
,” she said again, weakly, finding it necessary to concentrate on wiping Archie's chin free of dribble. Matthew turned to the twins. Alex viewed him warily from around the edge of the sofa. Flora still lay on her
back, a dark-brown plastic horse with a black mane forgotten in one hand.

“Hello, you must be Flora,” he addressed her. The only time I could remember telling him about the twins was weeks ago, and in passing. Perhaps with long life came a good memory. He tilted his head on one side so he could see her better.

The little girl frowned at him. “Are you from the television?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach. Matthew looked at her, puzzled by the context.

“No, he's from America, bubblehead,” her brother observed from his vantage point. I had forgotten Matthew would sound American to everyone else; I could hear only the English undertones.

“Quite so. And you must be Alex.” Matthew curved around and matched my nephew's rather serious expression. Alex nodded cautiously, backing away.

“I understand you are a collector of coins.” He crouched down so as to be almost level with the boy's dark head. Alex stopped retreating and raised his chin, his initial shyness waning.

“And military mem'rabilia – especially arrowheads. I've found arrowheads
and
a piece of armour. Daddy took me to Losecoat Field; there was a battle there in 1470.”

“That's very impressive,” Matthew commented.

“And he took me,” Flora butted in, now on her knees and wriggling until close to Matthew's elbow. “And
I
found a piece of horse harness – it was from a warhorse, you know, the piece that goes here.” And she illustrated by clamping her pink finger crosswise in her mouth.

“The bit?” Matthew asked. Flora nodded earnestly.

“Daddy's taking us again this holiday – he said he would – and Grandpa says there was a de Eresby there and he got his head chopped off by the king. King… king…” Alex turned to
me for help, looking vexed as the name evaded him.

“Edward the Fourth,” I whispered.

“Edward the Fourth,” he repeated gravely, as if he had remembered it himself. “And Emma said she's going to go too, didn't you, Emma?” Alex challenged me to deny it.

“Did you indeed?” Matthew looked at me, trying not to laugh.

“I might have said that I would think about it.”

Flora fixed me firmly with her most teacherly expression – the one she normally reserved for Alex when she thought he was getting beyond himself.

“Yes, you did, Emma, I r'member. But you can come too,” she said, beaming up at Matthew. “I can show you where I found the bit, if you like.”

Beth gave her a hushing look. “I'm sure Dr Lynes has better things to do than walk around that pile of mud, Flora.”

Flora's face fell and Beth flustered as she realized she had overstepped the mark.

“There's nothing I would have liked better,” Matthew said, chucking the little girl under the chin so she smiled again.

“So you will come? And Emma too?” Alex said eagerly, his thin little face animated as he looked between us both.

Matthew shook his head slowly. “I'm sorry, I can't this time. I'm flying back to the States tomorrow and I'm taking your aunt with me. Maybe next time.”

I barely disguised an involuntary gasp with a cough. The twins started to plead, their joint wheedling rising in a familiar drone. Matthew dropped his voice so the children stopped moaning and had to lean forward to hear him.

“I used to beg my father to take me to a battlefield when I was about your age, and do you know what I found?” The twins shook their heads in unison, eyes round. “A long sword,
about…” he narrowed his eyes as he looked at the twins, “… as long as you are, Alex.”

My nephew jumped to his feet. “This big!” he put his hand on top of his head.

“Indeed – just as big as you, with a broad cross hilt about here…” he drew a bar across Alex's collarbone, “… and a well-weighted pommel. Do you know what that is?” The children shook their heads again. “That's the handle. And this was a fine hand-and-a-half sword, so whoever it belonged to would have been very sorry to lose it.”

I realized with a start that he must be referring to the same battlefield, only he would have walked it nearly 400 years before the children were born.

“Whose was it? Whose was it?” Flora bounced up and down on her knees, making the Imari bowl on the fragile side table shake worryingly.

“Well, my father thought that it must have belonged to at least a knight, if not a lord, and he dropped it during the battle.”

Alex grabbed Matthew's arm. “Did he try to escape?”

“I think he must have done. He wouldn't have thrown his sword away casually, so he either dropped it, or…” He let the question hang between them.

“Or he was
killed
!” Alex whispered, fascinated.

Beth inched forward to listen, despite herself. “Do you still have this sword?”

Matthew untangled himself from the children and stood up, ruffling Flora's hair as she tried to hang on to him.

“I do – it's at home.” He looked fleetingly at me, before being distracted by Flora riding the toy horse up his back. He caught her under the arms and swung her up as easily as he had held Archie, and she squealed with delight.

“That is a
mi
-ghty fine steed you have there, young lady,” he drawled in a perfect Midwest accent. “What's his name?”

Flora started telling him and Beth took the opportunity to pull me to one side by my sleeve.

“Where on earth did you find
him
?” she hissed. “He's downright gorgeous and he's great with kids. No,” she corrected herself, “he's not so much gorgeous – though he is, mind you – he's
compelling
.”

“Yes, and he's mine,” I retorted, pulling a face at her, but liking her description of him all the same.

“Doesn't have an older brother by any chance, does he?” she said, peering around me. The three of them were engaged in discussing the finer points of the plastic horse and possibly horse armour at the other side of the room.

“No, he's unique,” I said wryly.

She shook her head in mock wonder. “What's wrong with him, then?”

“There's nothing wrong with him,” I said abruptly, and she picked up on it immediately, raising her eyebrows in questioning surprise.

“I didn't say there was, Em. That's the point – he seems almost too perfect.” I opened my mouth to reply but she went on rapidly before I had a chance. “So you're going back with him tomorrow? You'll miss Christmas. Golly, what will Mum and Dad say to that?”

“So it seems.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn't know, did you? You mean you didn't discuss it first? He
assumed
you would go? And you
agree
? That's a first!” She guffawed and Archie put a wet fist of fingers to her mouth. “Bleagh, thanks Arch.” She blew a raspberry at him and he laughed. “I can't say I blame you, though; I can quite see what all the fuss was about.”

“What fuss?”

“Ah,” she grimaced, “I forgot, I shouldn't say anything.”

“Well, it's a bit late now; spit it out, Beth, and keep your voice down, because he also has excellent hearing.”

On the other side of the room, Matthew raised an eyebrow. Beth missed it as she observed her children trying to use him as a climbing frame.

“Mum said he has Grandpa's hair colour,” she reflected, seemingly oblivious to my growing impatience. I plucked her sleeve to recapture her attention.

“Beth!”

“What? Oh, yes. It's nothing really, it's just that when you came back and you were… well, you know… down in the dumps.”

“That's one way of putting it, I suppose. Yes, I know, they asked Mike Taylor to have a little chat with me to see if I could be considered a basket case.” I watched Matthew carefully and saw the slight frown cross his brow, confirming he could hear every word we said. I raised my voice to make doubly sure he could hear me.

“And you know he concluded I was nothing of the sort, don't you?”

Alex was demonstrating something that involved tying Flora's Barbie up in a part-used ball of knitting wool.

“Ye-es,” Beth hesitated.

“But?”

“But…” she glanced first at me, then at the little group by the window, and lowered her voice. “He did think you might need
watching
.” I must have been particularly vacant. “Oh, c'mon, Em, do I have to spell it out? That's why Mum asked me to come over this morning. She's been worried about you; you've been all over the place lately. Mike Taylor thought
you might be suicidal.”

“Shh!” I hissed, but too late; Matthew's head whipped round and he looked directly at me.

Blow, that's opened a can of worms!

“Beth, that's nonsense! I'm obviously nothing of the sort. Shows he should stick to his own branch of medicine.”

I tried to sound derisive, but Matthew disengaged himself from the children and started to walk towards us purposefully.

“Thanks, Beth,” I muttered.

“Oops,” she said as she saw Matthew's expression, but he stopped short as Dad appeared at the door from the dining room, looking incongruous in one of Nanna's frilly aprons, tied tightly and straining around his middle.

“Lunch is ready, if you would like to come through. I forgot to put the carrots on – sorry it's a bit later than scheduled.”

He was trying extra hard to be convivial and Beth saw her opportunity to escape, taking him by the arm and calling to the children.

“Let's see if Mum needs anything doing. Come on, you two, wash hands, it's lunch time.” She glanced over her shoulder at me as the children scrambled past to get to the door first. I made to follow.

“Suicidal?” Matthew held me back with an iron grip, his eyes as dark as the sky. I craned up and kissed him lightly on his tight lips.

“Don't be daft; parental over-reaction. Of course I was miserable – what do you think I'd be if I wasn't with you? But suicidal? Don't go thinking you're that great.”

He loosened his grip slightly, but concern still channelled his forehead. “Anyway, you're here now, so none of it matters any more – does it, Matthew?”

He searched my face for clues. “And you haven't asked me whether I want to go back with you tomorrow; I might not, you know.”

At that his face relaxed, and he tucked his arm around my waist, kissing my neck.

“‘Compelling' and ‘gorgeous',” he reminded me, his breath tickling my ear as his mouth found the sensitive skin below it, sending little shivers of pleasure down my arms.

“All right, you win. You're not bad-looking for your age, I suppose, but don't let it go to your head. And behave yourself.”

With a quick final kiss, he sketched an apologetic look that might have been more effective had he meant it.

“I'll try to, but I might need frequent reminding – I'm a very slow learner.”

“But I'm an excellent teacher,” I pointed out, to which he responded with an impious grin.

 

Outside, the wind rattled the windows, driving snow against the fragile glass. Archie fussed in his high chair, squirming against the reins holding him in place. Flora offered him another tree of broccoli and he grabbed it, squishing it on his tray as if it were a personal affront, and rubbed his eyes. I sat as close to Matthew as decently possible. He kept up an even flow of conversation with my father who had already consumed two glasses of Burgundy while regaling him with tales of his early days building Bailey Bridges with the Royal Engineers. I sneaked peeks whenever I could, in between snatches of conversation with Beth and Mum about Archie's teeth and Alex's latest obsession.

Flora stayed unusually quiet throughout most of lunch. Her horse grazed on the vegetables at the side of her plate,
riderless for the moment, while she dabbed small pieces of chicken in her gravy, chewing absent-mindedly. Archie made a grab for Flora's horse but she held it safely out of reach of his sticky fingers. He picked up his beaker instead and, leaning sideways, held it out and watched it drop to the floor. His mouth turned down at the corners.

“Archie, you did that on purpose!” Flora scolded. He turned his big eyes on her and his chin began to wobble. Beth sighed; she had barely eaten in between interruptions from the baby, who became increasingly fractious. She undid the straps on his high chair and began to lift him out at an awkward angle. I held out my arms.

“Let me take him, Beth – you finish your lunch. Come on, Archie; give your mother a break, huh?” He scowled at me but didn't complain. I walked over to the French window with him in my arms, and listened to the conversations as we watched the spiralling snow fall onto the grey flags of the courtyard.