Accidental Engagement (4 page)

‘I should go in the morning, if I were you,’ said Emmy as she helped herself to
more cream. ‘
It won’t be so busy then. And don’t keep Anna out too long,’ she said to Mark. ‘She’s looking a lot better today, but she still needs to take it easy, you know. And talking of taking it easy,’ she said, turning to Anna, ‘I really don’t think you should go back to performing straight away. You ought to cancel your engagements for the summer, dear, and stay here with us until you’ve had time to recover.’

‘Oh, no.’ Anna shook her head firmly.

Mark’s eyebrows rose, as though he was surprised at her
rejection of the idea,
as though he had expected her to leap at any excuse to stay.

‘I can’t do that,’ she explained. ‘If
I’ve made commitments then I must keep them.’

‘Mark,
back me up on this,’ said Emmy, turning to him appealingly.

‘There’s no point,’ snorted Claire, before he could reply. She turned to Anna, explaining by saying, ‘Unless you can remember what your engagements were, you won’t be able to keep them anyway.’

‘No, that’s true.’ She frowned, but it was no good. She could not remember anything about any concerts. ‘But presumably I must have some form of appointment book,’ she said. ‘The details should be in there.’

‘I don’t remember seeing one,’ said Emmy. She had unpacked Anna’s case, a kindly act that had spared Anna the physically painful task of doing it herself, but hadn’t come across any kind
of diary or appointment book. ‘
But perhaps it was in your handbag.’

‘
That sounds likely. Has there been any news about it from the garage yet?’ asked Anna. The sooner they could free her handbag from the mangled glove compartment the better she would be pleased.

‘Not yet,’ said Emmy. ‘And even when there is, I shouldn’t put too much hope in it being intact. The passenger side of the car was a wreck.’

Anna felt her spirits sink at the thought of the damage to her car, and of the expense of repairi
ng it - if it could be repaired,
something she would not know until the garage had had time to do a full assessment. But then she forced herself to focus on the positive side of the situation. Her car might be mangled but she was not. And if her handbag turned out to be damaged or, as seemed likely, mulched, then at least she was amongst friends, so that, for the time being at least, she did not absolutely need it.

‘Do you remember, Mark?’ asked Emmy. ‘Does Anna have any concerts lined up for the next few days?’

‘No.’ Mark answered his aunt’s question with narrowed eyes, watching Anna even though it was to Emmy he was speaking. ‘She hasn’t got anything lined up until the end of next week.’

The words were innocent enough, but even so Anna had the
feeling that he was probing her,
trying to get her to reveal some secret. Although what it might be she could not guess.

His attitude was puzzling, and it served to make her feel more uncertain and unsure of herself.

Emmy frowned. ‘The end of next week. I’m not sure that’s long enough for you to get over
—
’

‘A week will be fine,’ said Anna. ‘Dr Arnold said there was no serious damage
—
’

‘He didn’t know about your memory loss,’ put in Emmy.

‘But a concert may be just what I need to bring it back. Once I’m doing what I always do I’ll have plenty of reminders of what my life’s usually like.’

‘There’s something in that,’ said Claire. ‘It’s not surprising you can’t remember much here. After all, there’s nothing here - except Mark - for you to remember.’

Anna looked at Mark, and saw that he was
looking at her curiously again,
as if he did not know quite what to make of her.

She gave him an enquiring look, but instead of answering her unspoken question he merely gave an ironic smile and lifted his glass in a toast.

The gesture was one she did not understand. She had no way of knowing he was telling her that he had accepted the situation;
that he had decided to let her stay at Little Brook until he himself left at the end of the following week - provided she kept to what he saw as her side of the bargain and resumed her “tour” without a murmur once her time was up.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Emmy doubtfully, still concerned about Anna returning to the concert platform before she had recovered her health.

‘Quite sure,’ said Anna decisively.

‘Then that’s settled,’ said Claire. ‘Whilst you’re in town, you can choose some new outfits,’ she said to Anna. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you haven’t brought enough for a long stay.’

‘Good idea,’ agreed Mark. ‘If you’re going to stay for a while then you might as well look decent
—
’

‘ —
instead of like something the cat dragged in,’ she finished for him with a smile.

He ran his eyes over her, making her feel suddenly hot. ‘No,’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘With those big, dark eyes you co
uld never look quite like that.’

She gave a smile in return. The tension around the table had lessened, and Mark had obviously relaxed. He was a complex man, she suspected, and, with her memory gone, there was a lot about him she had to relearn. But instead of being dismayed at the idea, she found herself looking forward to it. She would be able to fall in love with him all over again . . .

The sun streamed in through the curtains
,
waking Anna
early the following morning
.

She looked at the
clock on her bedside table.
Six o’clock
. Too early to get up, but she was wide awake and too restless to stay in bed. She slipped out from under the light duvet and padded across the room, taking her candlewick dressing-gown from the back of the door and throwing it cloak-like around her shoulders. She looked around the room, noting th
e beautiful light oak furniture:
the wardrobe, on top of which Emmy had kindly put her suitcase so that it was out of the way; the chest of drawers, with its silver rose bowl and pretty lamp; the bed, with its floral duvet and its intricately-carved headboard; and her battered holdall, which was pushed against the wall. She wished her handbag had been there too. Some small personal items, and a photograph, perhaps, would have been comforting, and might have helped her regain her memory; particularly as Mark, when asked, had told her he had never met her family. She frowned. There had been something odd about his expression as he’d said it. But still, there was no point worrying about what she
didn’t
have. It made far more sense
to concentrate on what she
did
have
.

She went over to the holdall and stood for a moment before deciding to unzip it. She knew that it contained piano music, but for some reason the flash of memory she had had about music had been painful. Was it because she had not been good enough?
Was that why she had come to Little Brook? Because she had made a mess of a concert? She frowned. It was possible, but somehow it didn’t seem to touch any nerves.

She knelt down beside the holdall and reached out her hand to the zip. She hesitated for another minute and then pulled the tag. The canvas peeled back to reveal a copy of Chopin’s
Nocturnes
. A tune floated through her head. Number seven. She picked up the book and turned to Nocturne number seven. Yes, the notes matched the tune she had heard in her head.

So I can still read music
, she thought, as she laid the
Nocturnes
aside and took out the next book. She remembered its blue cover, a shade of deep sky blue. It was Debussy’s
Suite bergamasque
. She had a sudden vision of herself sitting at a piano, playing
Clair de Lune.
Strains of music, beautiful and ethereal, accompanied the vision. Whatever else she had forgotten, this part
of her memory seemed untouched.

She put the Debussy down on top of the Chopin and felt her heart suddenly miss a beat. The brown cover of the next piece of music looked threatening. She read the title,
Für Elise
, and began to panic. Her heart was pounding and a sweat was breaking out all over her body. What was it? What was it about that piece of music that -? Suddenly she didn’t want to know. She pushed the music back into the holdall, her hands trembling so much that she foun
d it difficult to pull the zip.

She pushed the holdall away from her, but she could still see it so she pushed it behind the curtains. She was behaving irrationally, she knew, but she couldn’t bear to see it, or even to think about it. Trembling, she went into the en-suite bathroom and ran herself a glass of water, and then climbed back into bed. She sipped the water slowly, pulling the covers up around herself. Despite the fact that she was sweating she felt cold.

What was she doing here? she wondered, feeling vulnerable and afraid. Why had she come to Little Brook? What had driven her to fly from wherever she had been?
Because she suddenly realised with utmost certainty that she
had
been flying.

Would she ever remember what had happened to her?

And would she be able to bear it if she did?

‘Which would you like to do first?’ asked Mark.

The sun was shining, a cool breeze was blowing, and, having eaten a hearty breakfast of freshly-squeezed orange juice, bacon and egg, and a couple of buttery croissants, Anna felt ready to take on the world. Her earlier fears seemed like nothing more than a nightmare, and she pushed her concerns about her memory loss aside, determined to enjoy the day.

‘Sightseeing,’ she replied, as the silver Porsche pulled into the city centre.

Mark, casually dressed in
cream trousers and a linen shirt, looked surprised, but didn’t argue.

‘Sightseeing it is.’

‘Starting with the castle.’ Now that she was in
Nottingham
, she meant to make the most of it. Although her recent memories had disappeared, there was nothing wrong with the rest of her memory, and she had no difficulty in remembering the story of Robin Hood. Or in remembering the many films.

‘It won’t be what you’re expecting,' Mark warned her, seeming to read her thoughts. ‘It doesn’t look anything like it does in all the films. The old castle was destroyed after the Civil War and the new one doesn’t look like a castle. Despite its name,
it’s really nothing more than a mansion.’

‘Never mind,’ replied Anna, in a mood to be pleased with anything and everything, ‘Let’s go and see it anyway. Is it used for anything, or is it just a tourist attraction?’ she continued as he guided her towards the rocky outcrop on which it stood, to the south of the city.

‘It’s been turned into a museum and art gallery,’ he said. ‘We can go and have a look inside if you like, rather than just looking at the building - that is, if you can bear such a long delay before we go shopping!’

With pleasure, Anna realised that he was teasing her. After the undercurrents and tensions of the evening before she had not known what to expect from him, and had been apprehensive about spending the day alone with him. But he had obviously put his bad mood aside and was being the perfect companion. ‘I think I can just about survive!’

They made their way up to the castle, which occupied a commanding position overlooking the edge of the city. ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ she said in surprise as the castle came clearly into view. It was a good thing he had warned her, because it was not the medieval fortress she had been expecting, with crenellations and arrow slits, but was instead a squat, rectangular building with neat windows arranged symmetrically along each side.

‘Do you still want to go in?’

‘We might as well, now we’re here,’ she said. ‘What do they keep inside?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

‘You never see what’s on your own doorstep,’ said Anna with a smile. ‘It may not be a castle, but it’s an impressive building all the same,’ she continued as they went inside, ‘and it was probably a lot more comfortable than a castle.’

He laughed. ‘I’m sure. Living in a castle must have been terribly draughty. But life was different then. Hard and brutal. I expect the Sheriff saw no cause to complain.’

Anna shivered.

‘Cold?’ he asked.

‘No.’

She didn’t say any more. But she had had another flash of memory, stirred by the word “brutal”. Now why had that word moved her? she wondered. And, more alarmingly, why had it made her afraid?

‘Shall we go on?’

She nodded, and they made a tour of the museum, finally emerging into the sunshine.

‘Disappointed?’ he asked her, noticing that she had become subdued. He moved up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her as she stood looking out over the city. She leaned against him, feeling the hardness of his muscles and smelling his after shave, beneath which was a masculine scent all his own; a scent which stirred a deep-down longing that made her rub her head against his chest.