Hot Pursuit (17 page)

Sara squeezed her hand. ‘I'm all right, honestly,' she said, though she was becoming more and more convinced that Max must have played a part in her mother's collapse. ‘It's you I'm worried about. Why didn't you tell me you'd been feeling un-well?'

Her mother moved her head from side to side on the pillow. ‘Because I hadn't been,' she said simply. ‘When you—when you disappeared that evening I was worried, of course. But then Max said you were staying with a schoolfriend, and I suppose I accepted that. He—he had always been so—so kind to me, as you know, and I actually felt sorry for him because he seemed so—so alone.'

Sara nodded, sure she knew what was coming next. She had been the victim of Max's frustrations too many times not to see a pattern here.

‘Did—did he do this?' she asked huskily, her free hand brushing her mother's cheek, but Mrs Fielding only grasped both her hands in a surprisingly strong grip and held on.

‘Listen to me,' she said fiercely, her eyes glancing towards the door, as if she was half afraid they were going to be interrupted before she could finish what she had to say. ‘Sophie Bradbury came to see me, Sara. Sophie Bradbury. What do you think about that?'

Sara blinked. ‘Who?'

‘Sophie Bradbury,' said her mother again. ‘Well, I don't know what she calls herself these days. But that doesn't matter. You know who she is, don't you?'

‘Do I?' Sara was taken aback. ‘I don't think so.' She frowned, thinking. ‘The only Sophie Bradbury I've heard of is Max's first wife. But she's dead.'

‘She's not.' Mrs Fielding delivered her news triumphantly. ‘She's alive. That's what I'm saying. She came to see me last week.'

Sara's legs gave way, and she grabbed the nearby chair and sank weakly into it. ‘Sophie?' She said the name again, as if she couldn't quite believe it. ‘Sophie's alive?'

‘Very much so.' Her mother nodded vigorously, making the IVF bottle attached to her arm shake alarmingly. ‘She lives in the United States these days, but she's been staying with her mother in Bournemouth for the past three weeks.'

Sara was stunned. ‘But Max thinks she's dead,' she protested.

‘Does he?' The old lady was beginning to look weary now. The excitement of seeing her daughter again was taking its toll, and Sara wondered if she should allow her to go on. ‘It may have suited him to believe it. Anyway, when Sophie learned you were missing she was afraid he might have done something terrible to you.'

Sara felt slightly sick. ‘Oh, Mum—' She was finding it difficult to take all this in. ‘But Max had my letter—'

‘Never mind the letter,' said Mrs Fielding weakly. ‘What matters is Sophie told me what he was like, what he'd done to her. She was frightened of him, as I'm sure you are. Why, she even had to fake her own death to get away from him.'

Sara could hardly believe it. And now was not the time to remind her mother that she had never believed her before. ‘So where is she?' she asked. ‘How can we get in touch with her?'

Her mother made a careless gesture. ‘I don't know,' she said, and Sara's spirits took a dive.

‘You don't know?' she exclaimed. ‘Then how do you know she wasn't lying? She could have made the whole thing up. She could be anyone. Some people will do anything to draw attention to themselves.'

‘She had photographs.' Mrs Fielding seemed curiously unfazed by her reaction. ‘They were of their wedding. Hers and Max's. She got them from her mother to show me, to prove she was telling the truth.'

Sara shook her head. ‘I don't know, Mum…'

‘Well, I believe her,' replied her mother staunchly. ‘I believe she has no reason to lie. I also think she'd be prepared to make a statement confirming Max's cruelty. Particularly now you've turned up safe and well.'

She paused then, looking somewhat anxiously at her daughter. ‘You are safe and well, aren't you, my dear? I must say, you do look better than you did before you went away. What
did Max say when he saw you? I'm surprised he let you come and see me on your own.'

‘Max doesn't know I'm here,' said Sara flatly. ‘It was Mrs Taylor—your neighbour—who told me you'd been ill. She also told me Max was with you when you had your attack. Are you too tired to tell me what he was doing at your apartment?'

The old lady sighed. ‘He was hoping I'd heard from you, of course,' she said. Then, ‘But that doesn't matter. Let's just say I realise now what a blind fool I've been all these years.'

Sara groaned. ‘Max hit you?' she asked, appalled, but Mrs Fielding was shaking her head again.

‘No, he didn't go as far as that, but he did threaten me.' She gave a rueful little smile. ‘It was when I told him that I knew Sophie was alive that he became quite unpleasant. He accused me of being a parasite, of living on his charity all these years. I'll admit he frightened me a little. But I don't know if I can honestly blame him for my attack.'

Sara was horrified. ‘Oh, Mum,' she said helplessly, wishing she'd been there to defend the old lady herself. But then another thought struck her. ‘Do you really think he knew Sophie was alive?'

‘I think it's possible,' said her mother slowly. ‘He didn't seem as shocked as I expected he would be at the news. But I don't think he found out until after he'd married you. The fact that he was already married again must have been a strong deterrent to exposing the truth.'

‘Yes.' Sara was still incredulous.

‘Sophie is here because she wants a divorce, and after all this time, she knows she can get one fairly easily. It may not be necessary, of course. I'm not sure what happens in these circumstances.'

‘Lucky Sophie.' Sara couldn't help feeling envious. She wished Max was out of her life, too. She wished she was free to be with Matt again.

But her mother wasn't finished.

‘You know what this means,' she persisted, tiring rapidly now, but determined to finish what she had to say. ‘When Max married you he was still married to Sophie. Maybe your mar
riage isn't legal. You could be a free woman, Sara. And no one would be more relieved about that than me.'

 

It was early evening when Sara arrived at the apartment in Knightsbridge that she and Max had shared for the past three years.

She hadn't left the hospital until about half an hour ago. Although her mother had been exhausted after her revelations, and had slept for most of the afternoon, Sara had wanted to stay until she woke up again.

The nurse had suggested she should go home and come back again later, when her mother was rested, but Sara had declined. She'd wanted to be there when her mother opened her eyes again. She'd wanted to reassure her that she was there and all was well.

Perhaps part of it was that Sara had wanted to put off returning to the apartment. Despite what her mother had told her, she couldn't believe Max would let her go without a fight. If he threatened her or her mother she would tell him she'd use what she knew against him, she told herself firmly. But Max was an unknown quantity. How far would he go to protect his reputation?

She wondered if Hugo knew about Sophie. She didn't think so. Max's brother might be many things—weak being one of them—but she didn't believe he was a liar. Yet, as far as his brother's character was concerned, he did have a blind spot. Without it, surely he'd have seen what was going on.

There were no lights showing in the apartment, but that didn't mean anything. It was still daylight and Sara glanced at her wrist, realised she didn't have a watch, and shuddered in spite of herself. She couldn't help remembering how her watch had come to be broken. The idea that Max might be reasonable was just too unbelievable to be true.

Perhaps she should wait until tomorrow morning, she thought doubtfully. Although it was still fairly early, night was coming, and everything seemed different after dark. But she recognised that for what it was: a pathetic attempt to put off the inevitable. She had to speak to Max; she had to collect her belongings.
She had to prove to herself, and him, that she was not going to be bullied any more.

Yeah, right.

The trouble was, she didn't believe it.

Oh, she believed what Sophie had told her mother. But what of it? The idea that Max might allow her to live her own life again seemed just as remote as ever.

It would never happen, she thought dully. He was never going to let her go. Already she could feel the chains of his possession closing about her.

She had to make it happen, she told herself desperately. She'd been afraid of him for far too long. Whatever it took, whatever he did to her, she had to stand up to him. She had to break the chains once and for all.

The doorman looked taken aback when he admitted her. ‘Mrs Bradbury,' he said, politely enough, but she knew he was assessing her appearance with a critical eye. She knew she looked pale and harassed, and his attitude didn't help things. The man gave a smirk. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you again.'

‘Thank you, Patrick.'

Sara determined not to let him intimidate her. This was not the man she had once been friendly with. He was long gone, despatched by Max, she was sure, and this man had taken his place. He was always polite, but Sara had always had the feeling that he was Max's ally. She was certain she could expect no sympathy from him.

Now, tugging on her braid, she asked, ‘Is Mr Bradbury in?'

‘I believe so, Mrs Bradbury,' Patrick replied, pressing the button to summon the lift for her. ‘He'll be delighted to see you, I'm sure.'

‘I'm sure.' Sara's voice was tight. She walked into the lift. ‘Thanks.'

Patrick drew back as the doors closed, and as if that was the signal for Sara's nerve to give out on her she sank against the panelled wall of the lift in mute panic. Weakness, like a debilitating blanket, enveloped her, and she had to steel herself not to stop the lift and send it down again.

Only the thought of facing the doorman's smug expression
kept her from doing so. She was committed now. Forcing her legs to support her, she straightened, watching the indicator light moving through the floors. Three, four, five, six… At seven, it stopped, and she stepped out onto royal-blue broadloom that was inches thick. She was here. Back in the place she had never wanted to see again.

Max's was the only apartment on this floor and the one above. Sara would have preferred a house, with a garden, but her opinion hadn't been invited. Max had said he preferred the privacy afforded by having no immediate neighbours, and in the beginning she'd assumed it was only a temporary arrangement anyway.

How wrong she'd been.

She was approaching the double panelled doors when they opened. She should have known that Patrick wouldn't have been able to resist warning Max of her arrival. His excuse, had he needed one, would be that he'd known Mr Bradbury was anxious to know she was safe and well. He'd primed her welcoming committee, even if it was a committee of only one.

Panic flared again as Max stepped into the hallway and the concealed lighting that ran along the tops of the walls illuminated his smiling face. She wasn't fooled by his apparent pleasure at seeing her. She knew, as he did, that the doorman would be watching their reunion avidly on the CCTV cameras.

‘Victoria,' he exclaimed, as she paused to gather her composure, and before she could guess his intentions he had covered the space between them and was enfolding her in his arms. ‘My dear Victoria, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.'

Sara's first reaction was to try and get away from him, but experience had taught her it was wiser not to fight. Even so, she was aware that he was squeezing her far more tightly than was necessary. Crushing her ribs, making it difficult for her to drag any air into her lungs.

‘Please…' she got out at last, and, as if he hadn't been aware of her discomfort, Max released her to lay a possessive arm across her shoulders.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, his eyes glinting with cold malevolence. ‘Was I hurting you? Well—' he urged her towards the door
and into the apartment ‘—put it down to my delight at seeing you again, Victoria.'

As soon as they were through the door Sara struggled free of him, however. Without Patrick's unseen eyes monitoring her every move she felt more prepared to defend herself. She had to defend herself, she told herself grimly. If Max hurt her, this would be the last time he had the chance.

So why did that sound so hollow?

Max closed the doors behind him. The click they made caused a shiver of apprehension to feather her spine but she tried not to show her fear.

Max was looking at her with an expression of satisfaction he didn't try to disguise. ‘Victoria,' he said at last, the breath he took expanding the buttonholes on his waistcoat. ‘How good of you to grace me with your presence. I must admit, I was beginning to have my doubts about you. But whatever are you wearing? And your hair… My dear, you look like a refugee. Still, I'm happy to see you've come to your senses at last.'

‘I haven't—' Sara broke off, licking her dry lips. Then, stepping back into the elegant drawing room behind her, she added, ‘I haven't come to my senses, Max. Or at least, I have. That is, I'm not staying. I'm leaving you, Max. I've seen my mother and I know about Sophie. About how she faked her own death to get away from you. You can't stop me—'

‘Hey…' Max came away from the door, spreading his hands in a gesture that on anyone else would have looked conciliatory. Following her into the drawing room, he assumed an expression of mild indignation. ‘Have I said I'm going to try and stop you, Victoria? Just because your mother's been filling your head with lies doesn't mean we can't sort things out. The woman's senile, for heaven's sake. You must know that. I was half afraid she was going to accuse me of assaulting her!'