TheSmallPrint (29 page)

After he’d made the damn cake, he’d have another look to see if he could find the diaries. Maybe it wasn’t too late to produce another false trail. And he needed to think of a way of forcing Catch and Matty out of the house to somewhere safe.

Once Turner had set out every foodstuff he could find on the kitchen table, he memorized them. Lucky for him Matty had bought ingredients to make his birthday cake, otherwise he’d have nothing to use. After five minutes on his laptop, Turner had a recipe. Not all the items he needed, but near enough, though he wished Matty was there to help. Still, how hard could it be?

Ten minutes later the cake was in the oven on a square tray. Well, that had been easy.

Forty minutes later, after a struggle to disable the screeching smoke alarm, he took the cake out of the oven. Maybe not so easy.

Turner heard Catch’s voice in the hall and Matty’s laughter.

“What’s that smell?”Catch called. “Set fire to your socks?”

Turner stared at the very large flat cake and wondered if it could possibly taste better than it looked.

The two of them burst into the kitchen. Matty ran straight into Turner’s arms, a broad smile on her face, and jumped up to kiss him. His heart did a complicated skip for joy to land hard on his stomach. How could he make her leave when that was the last thing he wanted? Turner wrapped his arms around her as she snuggled against him.

“Sleep well?” Matty asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’ve never known anyone who sleeps like you. You looked as though you were dead.”

Turner glanced at Catch and glared as Catch winced. Not easy to guess what had happened.
The idiot.

“So what’s this?” Matty pulled away from him and stood in front of the cake. “It looks like…um…an elephant-sized cookie. Or a manhole cover.”

Turner sagged. She was right.

“Why didn’t you use a cake tin?” Catch asked.

Tin not tray?
“The recipe didn’t say I needed a tin.”

Catch laughed.

“It’s a little overdone.” Turner rapped it with his knuckles.
Ouch.

“Let’s cut it open,” Catch said. “Got a machete handy? Or a chainsaw?”

Matty elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t be mean.”

Turner grabbed a knife from the rack. It bent when he tried to use it. In desperation, he stabbed at the cake. A trickle of sludgy liquid oozed out and ran onto the table. All three of them stared at it.

“You know what it reminds me of?” Catch said eventually. “One of those chocolates you get at Christmas with a rock-hard exterior and something alcoholic inside.”

Turner rammed the whole thing into the bin, including the tray. “Let’s forget this ever happened.”

“You could use the cake I made,” Matty said. “We could cut it into slices and arrange it nicely.”

“Er, no you can’t. I ate it,” Catch mumbled.

Matty glared. “For that you can go and buy another one at the village store. Make sure it has a topping on it.”

“I’m supposed to bake it,” Turner said.

She smiled. “We can make it look as though you did. Then it is sort of making it.”

“Thank you.” Turner pulled her into his arms, licked her lips slowly and then slid his tongue into her mouth. Catch whined. Turner kissed her harder.

“Fine. I’ll get the cake.” Catch slammed the kitchen door closed behind him.

Turner had only intended to kiss her, but his cock suggested otherwise. His hands cupped her butt and rocked her against his erection.
Oh God.
She’d think he was a sex maniac. He forced his mouth away from hers but kept her tight against him.

“Can you skate?” Matty asked.

“Uh?” Where had that come from?

She caressed his back. “Have you been outside? You have an ice rink in your garden. I thought after you’ve judged the cakes we could skate. There are loads of people out there. Everything will be open soon.”

Except he and Catch had somewhere they needed to go. “Yes, I can skate.”
I think.
“No, I haven’t been outside. It sounds like a nightmare. The noise inside the house is bad enough.”

Her face fell and he wished the words back but at least his cock seemed to have given up hope.

“It’s fun,” she whispered. “Let me show you how much.”

“Anything would be fun with you.”

The smile came back and his world righted itself until he remembered again what he and Catch had to do.

“What have you and Catch been up to?” he asked.

“Shopping. And…stuff. Want to see what I bought?”

Trying to distract me?
“Want to define ‘stuff’?”

She took his hand and pulled him into the hall. “I made Catch take a whole load of women’s clothes into the changing room so I could try them on. He sulked about it, so I found a way to cheer him up.”

Turner pulled her back into his arms. “And what was that?”

“Something I already showed you. A little trick with my mouth.”

Turner laughed. “It didn’t occur to him that if you held the clothes, no one could see them?”

“Yes, but too late for that store. Not for the next. I bought underwear in there. While I was trying things on, he went off to buy something and wouldn’t let me see. It’s in there.” She pointed to a black plastic bag and nudged him. “I promised
I
wouldn’t look.”

Turner scooped it up and checked inside.
Oh Christ.
He wrapped it in a tight bundle and put it down again.

Matty stared at him, a worried look on her face. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

She frowned. “Well, it’s obviously something.”

“It’s a present. For you.” Because Turner didn’t think pink was his color or Catch’s. Not even for a butt plug. There were a few other items in there as well. Turner had seen enough to make his cock return to parade ground attention.

He sat on the stairs and surreptitiously tried to adjust his pants around his erection while Matty showed him everything she’d bought. Holding up lacy underwear did
not
help.

“I told Catch I was only borrowing his money. I have plenty. Apart from my savings, this house and its contents became mine after my parents died. Only I don’t know how to get the money from Uncle Bernard. I can’t go into a bank and ask for it.”

Turner presumed this was Bernard Strachan, the man he’d bought Milford Hall from. “Uncle Bernard?”

“My mother’s younger brother. My father was an only child. Uncle Bernard and his wife and their two sons are the only family I have.” She sat on the stairs next to Turner and her shoulders slumped. “And I don’t like any of them.”

“Why not?”

“Aunt Susan has a nasty temper. She was always criticizing Mum’s cooking or the way she dressed. Uncle Bernard has a chip on his shoulder the size of a giant redwood because Mum married so well. Instead of being pleased for her, he was jealous. Nothing is ever good enough for him. He wanted a better car than us, a more exotic holiday, a bigger TV, more of everything.

“My cousins bullied me when I was little, broke my toys and said I’d done it, broke a window and said I’d done it. Dad knew better. They work for their father now. Uncle Bernard’s a financial advisor.” She smiled. “Dad never took his advice. He sometimes pretended to, just to shut him up, but he used to say Bernard’s way of doubling your money was no more effective than folding it in half and sticking it in your back pocket.”

Matty gave a deep sigh. “I didn’t want Uncle Bernard to sell Milford Hall. It’s been in our family for generations, but he couldn’t see me and I couldn’t stop him. He took Mum’s jewelry and Dad’s coin collection. I tried to sneak some items back out of his car, but I only managed to grab a few things before he drove off. When the removal van came, I took out what I wanted to keep, but I was limited by what I could carry. I had to hide everything and then cart it up to the attic after the van left.”

Turner wrapped his hand around hers. Why hadn’t he asked her any of this before? Why hadn’t he
talked
to her before?

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I should have gone for more than the books, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I don’t know. My books are the things I’d want to save.” Turner pressed his face into her hair. “Tell me what happened when you met George.”

“When people started to come and look around the hall, I tried to talk to them. I said the place had dry rot and woodworm and the council planned to build a sewage treatment plant down the road. I wasted my breath. No one could see me or hear me. Until George. He walked in and smiled. Just to check he wasn’t smiling at the fantastic door knobs, I said—your fly is undone—and he looked down and laughed. He got rid of the estate agent, told him he wanted to view the place on his own, and I showed him around. He said it would be perfect for you, that you needed somewhere just like this…just like me.”

Turner swallowed hard. George playing matchmaker?
He didn’t know whether to strangle him or kiss him.

Matty took a deep breath. “I went to the estate agents and found out how much the other interested parties had offered so George could make sure you offered the most.”

Turner had to up his offer three times. Twice he’d done it before the estate agent had even called to tell him he’d been outbid. George had claimed he’d just had a feeling.
Crafty devil.
But then so was Turner. There had been no price he wouldn’t have paid.

“So my uncle sold the hall to you. And finally I’ve realized that he shouldn’t have been able to do that or dispose of the contents unless he owned it. Or rather that Aunt Susan owned it. And I guess that means I must be…dead.” She gulped back a sob.

Turner wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

Matty brushed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t want to be dead. Oh God. That’s it, isn’t it? You were right all along. I’m so determined not to be dead that I’m stuck somewhere in between. But then how come you, Catch and George can see me and no one else can?”

Tears slipped from her eyes and Turner couldn’t stand it. “You’re not dead.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

Matty released a choked laugh. “That’s a change of tune.”

“I
know
you’re not dead,” Turner corrected.

“What do you mean?” She stared at him, her eyes wide.

“I wanted to check first with Catch, but—”

“Check what?” Catch closed the door, locked it and put the key back on the side table along with a plastic bag. “This cake looks vile, by the way. Easy to claim you made it.”

“Matty’s not dead,” Turner said.

“Of course she’s not dead,” Catch snapped.

“I did some checking on the internet.” They didn’t need to know when. “There was an accident several months ago. Matty’s in a hospital. In a coma.”

“Oh God,” she gasped.

Turner held her tighter. Catch sat on the stair below and took her hand.

“In a coma?” Catch repeated.

“What sort of accident?” she asked. “Do I have all arms, my legs?”

“I don’t know,” Turner said.
Shit, I didn’t think of that.

“A coma?” Catch said again.

“But I’m
not
dead. Not yet anyway,” she whispered.

“No, you’re not,” Turner said.

Matty closed her eyes. Maybe she was dreaming all this, lying unconscious in a hospital bed and fantasizing an alternate existence. It was fantastical enough to sound like the truth.

“What are you thinking?” Catch asked.

She swallowed hard but the lump in her throat didn’t move. “That none of this is happening. That what’s real is me lying somewhere hooked up to tubes. That I’ve made you up.”

Catch squeezed her hand. “Feel that? I’m real.”

“These past few days happened, Matty,” Turner said.

“But no one else can see me. How do you explain that?”

She watched Turner and Catch exchange glances and she stiffened.

“Keeping secrets already?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“The reason we can see you is because we’re not what we seem,” Turner said.

Matty had gathered that much. Maybe in this dream world she hadn’t decided what they were yet. Her mind rampaged down a path of spies, assassins, star-crossed lovers—

“I’m a vampire,” Turner said.

Catch cleared his throat. “I’m part vampire, part werewolf.”

“Oh,” Matty said. Neither of those was on her list.

“Is that all you’re going to say? Oh?” Catch asked.

This dream was getting very weird. She looked at Turner. “What’s George then?”

“He’s a doggen. A valet, personal assistant, someone who takes care of my affairs, particularly during the day. In return, he benefits from a longer, more youthful life and some extrasensory perception. Something that obviously allowed him to see you.”

Matty wanted to stamp her foot. Why did she have to make them vampires? Well, and a vampire-werewolf? What the hell was one of those? And how could she make up a word like “doggen”?

“Matty? Are you okay?” Catch asked.

A number of options flashed through her mind and Matty went for the easiest because it would keep her calmer.

Acceptance and not ask them to prove it. For all she knew, her fantasy guys could lift her with one finger and then have a snack.

“I’m fine,” she said.

They stared at her, eyebrows raised.

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t you have any questions?” Turner asked.

“Nope.”

They looked disappointed.

“Oh yes, one,” she said, and they perked up. “Which hospital am I in?”

Moment of perkiness over.

“St. Luke’s. Manchester,” Turner said.

“Right.” She got to her feet. “Let’s sort this cake out before Diana Rolfe batters down the door.”

She grabbed the bag Catch had put on the side table and made for the kitchen, her surreal imagination on her heels.

“I hope you’re not thinking of sneaking off to Manchester,” Catch said.

“Why would I do that if I’m already there?”

Matty took the chocolate cake out of its box and put it in the microwave for thirty seconds. The light-brown frosted topping melted enough for her to be able to rough it up with a fork, and once she’d made the sides untidy, the cake looked homemade. It should fool everyone. Matty put the box in the trash and slid the cake onto a white plate.