Intrusion: A Novel (19 page)

Where were the words? What could she say?
I feel inarticulate. Unnecessary. Lost.

“You came. You made an effort, even though you’re obviously very hurt and upset. If you want to leave, Kat, then do. Please. Go home, rest. Have one of those long, scented baths you used to love. I won’t be offended. Honestly. Not at all.”

“I can’t leave. Scott will be furious if I try to drag him away now.”

“So don’t drag him. I have my car and driver here. He’s hanging around, waiting to drive Luca back to the hotel. My driver can easily take you home and come back for Luca. It would be simple.”

“Oh no. I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be—”

“Of course you can do it. This evening will be all business from now on. Why should you be bored and unhappy? You’re an adult, Kat. Make your own choices. Plead a headache.”

With that, Sarah strode back out to the patio.

“Kat has a bad headache and so the car will take her home,” she said to the group. “Luca, you won’t need it for a while, will you?”

“Of course not.” He stood up at once, looking concerned. “I am sorry.”

Scott also got to his feet. He walked over to his wife, took her arm, began to lead her away from the group.

“I’ll drive you. Just wait a little longer, Kat. Please. We’re almost done.”

“No. No. I’m just going to take a painkiller, go to bed. You stay. Finish whatever you have to do.”

He looked at her, uncertain.

“Please,” she said.

The driver appeared only moments later, and Scott and Sarah walked with Kat to the car.

“I won’t be long,” Scott said.

Sarah hugged her briefly.

“Feel better,” she said. “It breaks my heart to see you like this.”

In the back of the car, Kat turned to look out the window. Scott and Sarah stood together, watched the car until it reached the end of the drive, waved, and then began to walk back to the others at the patio table.

As the car waited to enter traffic on the busy Pacific Coast Highway, Kat turned once again to look back. She could see directly on to the softly lit patio: the Italian with the white shark smile and cold, assessing eyes was talking, laughing, his arms gesticulating. Glenda, next to him, leaned toward him, like a flower to the sun. Scott and Sarah, joining them, both smiling, pulled out chairs and sat together on the opposite side of the table. A happy foursome, enjoying time together on a winter night in California.

TWENTY-ONE

A
s the driver pulled into the driveway of her home, parking on the apron in front of the garage, Kat stared at the house for a moment, baffled. The drive from Sarah’s villa had been a blur of lights, a timeless fog. She had no memory of it. She recalled only
What now?
playing in her head like a mantra and the image of Scott across the table, laughing. A stranger.

The house felt cold. Scott’s coffee cup was in the sink; a square of crumbs indicated that he had buttered his toast on the countertop without using a plate. The peanut butter lid was at an angle. Kat noted these small domestic details in an oddly detached way, as if this house, this kitchen, this snacking husband, were all unknown to her.

A blinking light on the telephone indicated that someone, mostly likely her sister, had called. Kat lifted the receiver and then replaced it hard. She didn’t want to talk to Maggie. Nor to anyone else. What could she say? She felt a sudden, violent claustrophobia, as if a trap were closing over her head. Fearing another panic attack, she sat down on the kitchen chair, pushing her feet to the floor, trying to find balance. The room seemed to spin and then settled.

And so, what now?

She took a long bath, got into bed, listening all the time for Scott’s car. He would not be too late, surely? They had already begun to talk of contracts and agreements. How long could it take, this business chatter? When, an hour later, he had not returned, she felt the anger surge, a fast snapping in her head. Who knows what he was doing back there, in that luxury home by an infinity pool.

She recalled clearly the image of Scott rejoining the group on the pretty patio, the ocean view behind him, smiling as he pulled out a chair for Sarah. But who could blame him for preferring the company of a beautiful woman, a suave European, and a charming young associate to that of a wife who could no longer function in the world? With these thoughts, Kat felt the anger abate, the return of a hollow emptiness, and knew that it was not simply a case of bridging a gap—that the space between them was huge, a crater, unbridgeable.

Sarah was right. She needed to get away. Get away from the California sun. The light was too bright, too harsh. It dried everything. She wanted to walk, alone, in the shade, through cool, green, English lanes. Feel the rain on her face; listen to it tapping against the windows. She would like to spend time in solitude, so she could think clearly. And decide on the best way to live her leftover life. Decide, perhaps, if she wanted to live it at all. It was her decision. Hers alone. And one that must be made peacefully, away from everyone. She did not have to tell Scott exactly where she was going. She would say she was visiting Maggie. She did not have to tell Maggie the real reason for her visit, either. She had two bottles of pills saved now, hidden in her underwear drawer. And she had the key to the cottage in her purse.

She pretended sleep when, a long time later, Scott returned home, stumbling a little in the bedroom. He undressed quickly, edged into the far side of the bed. She could smell chlorine. He had been swimming, then, in that luxury pool. She allowed the surge of pain and then squeezed her eyes shut. She would be gone tomorrow. She could think about it all then.

When Scott returned from work in the late afternoon the following day, Kat had her flight booked, a suitcase half packed on the bed, the saved bottles of sleeping pills tucked into an inside pocket.

At the sound of the car pulling up, she turned from the closet, a sweater in her hands, and hurried to the window to watch Scott come into the house. He stood for a moment and then straightened his back before walking up the path. She moved slowly downstairs to greet him.

As he entered the kitchen and came toward her, his face was already creased with concern.

“How are you?” he asked. “Do you feel okay now?”

“Okay? Of course I’m not okay. I feel like—I don’t know what I feel like.”

Like Eliot’s ragged claws, scuttling across the seabed. She shook the half-remembered quote from her mind.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I’m really sorry. That fight. I was—”

“Forget it. It’s over now.”

“And to be so late home last night. I’m sorry. I tried to leave. I kept trying, but—”

“So why didn’t you? Why didn’t you leave?”

“They couldn’t agree on the final clause. Sarah being stubborn. Bianchi, too.”

“So you decided to go skinny-dipping instead?” Kat asked, impassive.

“No. Of course not. Sarah thought that we were all getting foggy, that we needed a dip in the pool, and she produced swimsuits. The others were keen. It was idiotic, really. I swam for about two minutes and then got right out and got dressed. I thought,
Fuck this,
and picked up my jacket and car keys and said good night, but Sarah wanted me to check one paragraph in the documents and Bianchi came over to talk. Stood there, dripping, in his miniature Speedo. I said I had to leave—I was worried about you. He said he understood.”

“Oh, I bet he understood,” Kat said.

“No. I think he meant it. Anyway, he said we could finalize the agreement in the morning. He’d come to my office. So I got out of there and came home. You were asleep.”

“Did he? Come to your office this morning and finalize it?”

“Yeah, he did. Amazing.”

She turned away.

“Good. Anyway, do you want a glass of wine?” she asked. “Or a scotch?”

“Wine is fine.”

He was watching her carefully. He knew her too well. He was waiting for her to say whatever was on her mind. She poured the wine, handed it to him, and then spoke in a rush.

“I want to go to England for a little while, Scott. For a break.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe later in the year we can visit, and go on to France, too, and—”

“No. I mean now.”

He shook his head.

“I could maybe do it in a month or so, but I can’t go now,” he said. “I’ve got a merger coming up and a whole load of—”

“You don’t have to come with me. It’s a break I need.”

“You want to go alone?”

“Yes.”

“That won’t help, Kat. It just won’t.”

“But that’s what I want to do.”

His eyes met hers; the pain in them clutched at her heart for a second.

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Yes.”

“You belong here with me, Kat,” he said. “Not in England. Look, I’m sorry you’re so upset.”

“Upset? Is that what I am?”

“Well, disappointed, hurt, whatever.” He stopped, looked at her, frowning. “You really think a trip will help?”

He looked so anxious that, for a few seconds, Kat came close to changing her mind, but the need for solitude reaffirmed itself and she nodded.

“Yes. I think so,” she said. “It might help both of us. You can work late if you need to. Work all night if you want. You won’t have to worry about me waiting here. We have different ways of dealing with things, Scott. Work helps you. That’s fine. Really. But right now, you can’t help me. And I don’t think I can help you much. I’ve got to find some way of my own.”

He scrutinized her face, considering this.

“You must do whatever you need to do, Kat,” he said.

TWENTY-TWO

M
aggie, wrapped in a thick woolen coat, her face solemn, waited at Heathrow Airport.

“Are you okay, darling?” she asked, hugging her sister. “Such a surprise, your call.”

“Sorry,” Kat said. “Should have given you more notice.”

“Oh no. No. I’m really happy to see you.”

Kat had said nothing to Maggie about visiting Sarah’s cottage and was already dreading that conversation. Maggie would be confused by such a plan. And likely be angry, too.

“Scott called,” Maggie said in the airport parking lot as she started up her car. “He said to call him. He didn’t seem too sure how long you would be staying.”

“Well, that’s because I’m not too sure myself.”

“You didn’t tell him how long?” Maggie asked. “Did you talk about it?”

“We did talk,” said Kat. “A bit.”

“Is there a problem with Scott?” Maggie asked a minute or two later.

“Not with Scott,” Kat said. “With me.”

“He told me about your adoption plans,” Maggie said. “I know it’s a disappointment, darling, but it really is for the best that you don’t—”

The best?

“Maggie, please,” Kat said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine. Fine,” Maggie said, giving her sister a sidelong glance. “You look tired, Kat. A long bath and a warm bed, how does that sound?”

Kat smiled at her sister.

“Perfect,” she said.

Maggie and Paul’s house, a Victorian brick structure, was set back from the road and surrounded by lawn and old oaks. Paul waited in the doorway and hugged Kat with the gruff affection he had always shown her. He was tall, thin, unchanged over the years; the absentminded academic look had stayed with him. Peering over his glasses, he inspected her and nodded.

“Not quite the pitiful creature your sister has been expecting,” he said. “But in need of some fresh air, certainly.”

“In need of a drink is what you mean,” said Kat.

“Indeed,” he said. “What will you have?”

Later, in the pitch-black of the bedroom, Kat lay sleepless. She felt calmer now, felt a kind of relief. She didn’t have to pretend anything for Scott’s sake. Once she was away from Maggie and Paul, alone in the cottage, she need not pretend anything for anyone, or even talk to anyone at all.

She turned restlessly in the bed and looked out the window. As dawn approached, the tree branches came into focus, charcoal etched against the sky. How to tell Maggie that she intended to go to Sussex for a visit? How to explain the cottage? Maggie would hit the ceiling, of course.

Maggie was fiddling with a brand-new cappuccino machine in her sleek modern kitchen when Kat, sipping her breakfast orange juice, finally found the courage to speak about her plans.

“I thought I’d go to Sussex for a few days,” Kat began.

“That’ll be a nice break. I’ll come,” Maggie said, tapping out the coffee. “We can stay at the Old Ship. Remember that time we all stayed there?”

“No. You don’t have to come, Mags. I know you’re busy.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I can take a couple of days off.”

Kat took a breath.

“I might go down first, meet up with you later. I’ve a key to the old cottage near Wystandean.”

Maggie turned around, the little metal jug in her hand. The machine hissed behind her.

“What old cottage?”

“The old gatehouse. Sarah’s cottage. She gave me a key.”

Maggie regarded her sister, a small frown furrowing her forehead.

“How could she just give you a key?”

“It was when we were at her Malibu place.”

“You actually went to that woman’s house?”

“She’s Scott’s client, Maggie,” Kat said.

“So what? Come on, Kat!”

Kat heard something in her sister’s voice that she had not heard for many years. Even when Maggie was a child, anger had brought her close to tears.

“Why would she want you to go to her cottage?” Maggie asked.

“She said it helped her, was healing. After her husband died. I used to go there before, years ago. It’s a beautiful place.”

“And this is not a beautiful place?” Maggie asked.

Maggie turned back to the machine. Her shoulders were rigid and she gave a hard sigh. Kat regretted mentioning the Sussex cottage so soon.

“Maggie, please.”

Maggie turned to face her. She was hurt, obviously, that her sister was leaving, but there was something else in her expression, and Kat realized, with a shock, that it was fear.

“Whenever Sarah Cherrington gives something, she wants something back,” Maggie said. “You know that, Kat. I can’t imagine why she would lend you her cottage. Unless she’s going to borrow something of yours.”

“She’s just trying to help.”

“She does not ever try to help. She manipulates. She controls.”

“She thought I would want to be alone. To think about things. She’s right.”

“Alone?”
Maggie cried. “You don’t need to be alone. That’s the last bloody thing you need. You need people around you, people who care about you. She’s bloody insane, is what she is. And so are you, Kat. So are you.”

Maggie’s voice broke, and she turned quickly and walked out of the kitchen. Kat followed.

“Mags, please. I’ll just spend a day or two down there. Walk on the beach, on the Downs.”

“You can walk here.”

“Look, later on you can visit me there if you like. We can hike.”

“I wouldn’t set foot in that woman’s house. Remember what she did to Sven? To my wedding? And remember what she called me, the night before I got married?
A lumpen great cow,
that’s what. At three in the morning on my wedding day. Remember?”

Kat remembered arriving in Rugby after stumbling upon Sarah and Sven. Maggie had been in their bedroom, hanging up her wedding gown. She had turned, excited, and taken one look at Kat’s tearstained face before fear crossed her own.

“Oh my God, what’s happened? Tell me. Tell me.”

“Sarah Cherrington and Sven—” was all Kat could say.

Maggie stared at her, disbelieving.

“No. Not Sven.”

“I just saw them. I don’t think he’ll be here tomorrow, Maggie. He won’t be best man. I don’t think he’ll come.”

Maggie rushed to her sister, held her shoulders.

“I didn’t think he even liked her,” said Kat, crying hard.

“Oh shit. We should kill that bitch.”

“It takes two, Maggie. Sven was . . . touching her.”

“We should still kill her.”

Sarah had arrived at their home at three in the morning, throwing stones at the bedroom window. Kat, in a restless sleep, had woken to find Maggie already up.

“That Sarah person is actually here,” Maggie said, pulling on her robe. “Right outside our bloody house. I’ll deal with her.”

“Maggie, just ignore her.”

“
Ignore her?
Are you barmy, Kat? She’ll wake the whole house. You want Dad to go down there? Jesus. She should be put away. You stay here.”

Maggie hurried downstairs. Kat heard their murmuring voices, and curious, frightened, she pressed hard against the window and listened. She could hear Sarah sobbing.

“I just want to say sorry to Kat, that’s all. Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re drunk,” said Maggie. “Who’s in the car? Is Sven with you? Where is he?”

Kat peered out at this. Sven wasn’t with Sarah, surely? But it was Dick Hawkinson, a friend from university; she recognized his old VW, the bearded face looking out.

“A friend. He drove me. I just want to tell Kat—” Sarah began.

Maggie interrupted her at once. Her voice, still quiet, sounded hoarse with anger.

“Get yourself out of here now, Sarah-bloody-Cherrington,” she said. “Or I will kill you with my own bare hands. And if I see you again near my home or my sister, I will punch that pretty little face of yours. You are an evil witch. An evil, bad person, and you bring pain to people wherever you go.”

Sarah had backed away up the path, staring, amazed, at Maggie. The shy, blushing Watt sister, the quiet one, had turned into a demon of fury.

“And don’t you dare turn up tomorrow,” snapped Maggie. “I don’t want you at my wedding.”

Sarah had recovered enough to turn at this, and her voice rang clear and loud.

“I’ve no intention of coming to your wedding,” she said. “Why would I want to? To see a lumpen great cow like you in a white wedding dress? You’re a fucking joke.”

Sarah said nothing more. She climbed unsteadily into the VW, and they drove away.

“Maggie, it’s the cottage I want to see,” Kat said now. “And walk the Downs, and along the beach. Sarah won’t be there. She doesn’t even know I’m in England.”

Maggie shook her head.

“You are going alone to a cottage in the middle of nowhere, and you think it makes sense? The way you feel right now?”

“Yes,” said Kat.

“You’ll give me the address?”

“I’m not sure of the actual address,” Kat said. “I know where the cottage is, though. I remember. I’ll call you when I know the address. And maybe in a couple of days, you could come?”

Maggie, her face troubled, studied her sister.

“Mags, I love you—you know that,” Kat said. “If anybody has helped me, it’s you. But I just want to hike and think. And remember.”

“Remember?” Maggie said. She was still unsure, but this was emotional territory she did not understand, grief she had never experienced, and Kat saw confusion in her sister’s face.

“Yes.”

“For God’s sake, Kat,” said Maggie, sighing. “I wish you wouldn’t. I think it’s bloody stupid. But damn—be bloody stupid. I can’t stop you.”

Kat moved forward to hug her sister, but there was still so much unspoken and she felt as if a chasm had opened between them. Maggie, too soon, turned away from her and returned to the kitchen.