Flawed (22 page)

‘Oh yes,’ she said softly. ‘That's just what we needed.’

Daniel said nothing more until he saw the coffee doing its job, putting the strength back into her body and her resolve. Then he said, ‘How long has it been like this?’

He didn't have to elaborate: she knew what he meant. She sighed. ‘Oh - a year, maybe more. But it's been coming for longer. We were too successful for our own good. If either of us had been a little less accustomed to getting our own way we'd have made a better job of marriage. We're not good at compromising. At work, if Adam compromises his clients can lose whole chunks of their lives. If I do, the people I think of as my clients can lose their entire lives.

‘When you're used to playing for stakes that high, it's hard to scale down your ideas when you go home. To adjust to the fact that what you do there is utterly insignificant in the grand
scheme of things and yet still important to someone. Do we go to his parents for Christmas or have my mother to us? Who cares? There'll be food on the table, presents under the tree and arguments over the mince-pies whatever we do - and all the time we're doing it, every three seconds someone somewhere in the world is dying because there's nothing on their table at all, and there hasn't been for months. It just makes me feel so helpless. And so angry.’

‘You save lives every day, Marianne,’ Daniel said quietly. ‘You know that. You're one of comparatively few people in the world who do actually make a difference. Noah knows that too. He's intensely proud of what you do. It's why he didn't want to add to your concerns. Why he tried to pretend it didn't matter that he doesn't see enough of either of his parents, and the time he spends with his father is marred by anxiety - wondering what'll set him off this time, whether it'll be just shouting or fists. But it does matter. It matters terribly. Noah's desperate. He came to me because he couldn't think of anyone else. He needs to be protected, whatever that takes.’

‘You think I should leave Adam.’

Daniel thought for a moment. ‘I think you have to put an end to this situation. If the only way you can be sure your husband will never raise his hand to either of you again is to leave him, I think that's a choice that makes itself.’

‘Everyone blames the man…’ she said lamely.

‘Stop right there,’ said Daniel sharply. ‘Don't tell me you ask for it. Don't tell me you provoke him, and Noah provokes him, and he's tired at the end of a busy week and he strikes out without thinking, and you're sure he loves you really. Don't you dare tell me that, Marianne. A family brings
comforts but it also brings responsibilities. The first one, the
very
first one, is that nobody gets hurt. If he can't promise you that and stick to it, then you have to get out. You have to protect yourself and your son. You have to start doing it right now.’

‘I know,’ she mumbled, ‘I know. It's just…it's more complicated than you think. It happens, I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but it happens in a minute. All the rest of the time - all the other minutes that make up our lives - we're good.’

‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘You're not.’

‘Really,’ she insisted. ‘Most of the time we have a good marriage, a good family life. Noah has a good home.’

‘No,’ Daniel said again, forcefully, ‘he hasn't. If he isn't safe from physical assault, nothing else he has is worth a damn. If you aren't safe, all those other minutes when everything seems to be fine are a sham. You're falling for the oldest con in the book - you're letting him get away with doing things no man should even
want
to do just because, when he's finished, he says sorry.

‘I don't know what your husband's problem is. I don't know if he's a decent man with an ungovernable temper, or a vicious man that you and Noah are good at tiptoeing round. But I know what
your
problem is: it's him. You have to put some distance between you - mentally, emotionally and actually - so that when you're ready to talk to him you can do it from a position of strength.’

‘You're talking about moving out,’ she said. ‘Not just staying here tonight. Finding somewhere else to live.’

‘I think you have to. At least for now. If you go back, nothing will change.’

‘No,’ said Marianne Selkirk pensively. ‘Whereas if I walk out…?’

‘Don't think of it as walking out. Think of it as taking control. Take yourself and Noah, and go somewhere the violence can't reach you. Take the time to reassess your priorities. Work out a plan of campaign. Convince yourself that nothing any man can offer you is worth what you've been paying for it.

‘Take some time off work, too. I know it's difficult, but you can't be fighting battles on different fronts. You're good at what you do, Marianne, everyone knows it - no one wants to see you burn out trying to be all things to all people. Just for the moment, forget everyone else and their needs -concentrate on yours and Noah's. Make the time to get to know yourself again, to work out what matters to you and how to get it. Let your friends help you. Get out of that house and you'll realise you don't have to deal with this alone.’

‘You paint an attractive picture, Daniel,’ she whispered.

‘Compared with what you've been putting up with,
anything
would look attractive. Which also means that any improvement to your situation will bring real benefits. Try it. Try living without the tension - without the fear that any argument, any little disagreement, is going to spiral away down to rage and violence. Try it for a week. You won't be prepared to live with that risk ever again.’

‘Live where?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘Anywhere. Rent a place - somewhere quiet where you and Noah can just enjoy one another's company in safety. I know an estate agent. We'll pay him a visit in the morning.’

They wouldn't all fit in the Porsche so Mr Turnbull drove them in his people-carrier. It was navy blue. Edwin Turnbull had always hankered after a red open-topped sports car, but Doreen said a people-carrier was more practical for a man of his age and occupation, and navy blue was a respectable colour. She was right on both counts, but in any event Mr Turnbull tended not to argue with his wife. It was too much like getting amorous - Mr Turnbull was also careful about his language - with a porcupine: the odds were unfavourable.

‘It's only a short-term let,’ he said, checking his records. ‘Six months, with the possibility of another six months after that. The owners are working abroad. Would six months be enough for you?’

‘Plenty,’ nodded Marianne. ‘In fact, I don't want it for six months. I'll take it for two months, and if I want an extension I'll let you know.’

Mr Turnbull wasn't sure. ‘My clients were rather hoping to have it occupied until they were ready to return.’

‘I dare say they were,’ said Marianne with a smile. ‘Unfortunately, people don't always get what they want. It's standing empty now, and the winter isn't over yet. Surely it would be better to have it occupied until the weather warms
up than to leave it empty. But it's up to you, Mr Turnbull. There'll be other cottages to rent on the Three Downs.’

Of course, this was what Marianne Selkirk did every day -what she was world class at doing: negotiating with people who didn't really want to give her what she wanted, and coming out ahead,
and making them feel good about it.
That was the clever part. They didn't have to give her anything. They ended up not only giving her what she wanted but feeling sufficiently positive about the experience that they'd probably give her some more next time she asked.

If Marianne Selkirk was born to be a fundraiser, Edwin Turnbull was born to be an estate agent. He knew two things in the depths of his soul: that anyone who walked through his door was a potential customer, and that letting a potential customer walk through somebody
else's
door was professional suicide. ‘Let me call the owners, Mrs Selkirk. That's a very good point about the weather. And it's not like you're going to trash the place and move on when it needs cleaning.’

Marianne beamed. ‘No, Mr Turnbull, my student days are long gone.’

So were Daniel's, and they hadn't been like that at the time. He coughed politely. ‘There's another point Mrs Selkirk needs you to be clear on, Mr Turnbull.’

‘That's right,’ said Marianne, almost as if she'd forgotten. ‘I don't want to go into detail, it doesn't affect the tenancy, but I'm looking for a bit of peace and quiet. I don't want to broadcast my whereabouts. If someone asks if I've rented a property from you, would you feel comfortable declining to give out this address?’

‘Perfectly comfortable, Mrs Selkirk,’ said Mr Turnbull stoutly. ‘I'd say it's a matter of policy. If you don't want your address giving out, nobody's going to get it from me. Oh.’ He looked at Daniel then, suddenly wary. There was history between them: he knew that events concerning Mr Hood were not always straightforward. ‘Unless it's the police.’

Marianne gave a high, spritish chuckle. Daniel shook his head. ‘It won't be the police. Can I be frank?’ He glanced to Marianne for permission, received it with a dip of her head. ‘Mrs Selkirk has family problems that she needs a little respite from. She may not get that if her family know where she's staying.’

‘I understand,’ said Mr Turnbull soberly. She was wearing long sleeves but there'd been no easy way of disguising her bruised forehead. He'd assumed she really had walked into a patio door - or fallen off a horse, or had a prang in the car, or suffered any of half a dozen little misfortunes that can befall a respectable woman. It had not until now occurred to him that there might be anything sinister about it.

‘Thank you, Mr Turnbull,’ Marianne said with a smile. ‘That's all the reassurance I need.’

And Edwin Turnbull, who was a fool for an attractive woman, blushed until his bald pate shone.

With the paperwork done, Marianne drove Daniel home and collected her belongings and Noah's. ‘I'll go home when Adam's in court and get the rest of what we'll need.’

Daniel nodded. ‘I'll come with you, if you like.’

‘There's no need. I can pick a time when I know he won't be there. Daniel,’ she said, and she took his hand in hers. ‘I'm very grateful for what you've done for us. I'm sure it's been
embarrassing, and maybe worse than that. I don't think Adam knows how intimidating he can be sometimes. Most people would have made disapproving noises and walked away.’

‘That was never an option,’ said Daniel honestly. ‘I'm a teacher. I have an obligation to kids - all kids. From the moment Noah asked for help I was involved, whether or not I wanted to be, whether or not you wanted me to be.’

‘He's a pretty smart boy, isn't he?’ said Marianne, with a pride she didn't even attempt to disguise. ‘A town of sixty thousand souls, and he found the one man who felt like that.’

Daniel shrugged awkwardly. ‘I don't suppose I
am
the only one who feels like that. Other people would have helped him too.’

‘Well, maybe. But then we'd have ended up dealing with policemen and social workers, and any chance we might still have of finding our way through this would have been scuppered. I know you don't think much of my marriage, Daniel, but I do. I think it's worth fighting for. I'm not ready to give up on it. And I don't want to see it smothered by the well-meaning attention of a bunch of heavy-handed professionals. I think you were our only chance of having something worth salvaging at the end. I'm not sure how things'll work out, but I'll always be grateful for your support.’

It was half past eleven before Daniel turned up to work. Brodie had steam coming out of her ears. ‘Where the hell have you
been}
Why weren't you answering your phone?’

‘Sorry - I wasn't at home.’ He'd have explained further if she'd given him the chance.

‘Your
mobile
phone?’

He'd forgotten about it, had to hunt through his pockets. ‘It's turned off.’

I
know
it's turned off,’ snapped Brodie. ‘If you'd take the trouble to learn how to use the thing you'd know it
says
when it's turned off. But Daniel, it's not
supposed
to be turned off. I provided it for you at great expense’ - this was an exaggeration - ‘so I can find you when I need you. So I'm not stuck behind this desk on my own for two hours wondering where the hell you are and what's happened to you.’

‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘I was with Marianne. Mr Turnbull found her a cottage to rent.’

‘She couldn't find the estate agent's on her own?’

He didn't understand her hostility. ‘You know what the situation is. She needs a bit of looking after.’

‘So does this business,’ said Brodie forcefully. ‘Daniel, you don't work for yourself any more. Personal matters get dealt with outside office hours. And if it really can't wait, the least you can do is phone me. I thought Adam Selkirk had got you up a dark alley.’

In a way she was right, although most employers don't talk that way to staff who
aren't
also close personal friends. ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘I'm sorry you were worried. I should have called. Was it a problem? Have I missed something?’

She shook her head, the dark curls shading her eyes. ‘No. It's just…’ The annoyance had evaporated with his apology, leaving something in her voice he couldn't remember hearing before. She sounded forlorn.

Daniel lowered himself onto the sofa on the other side of her desk. His pale astute eyes sought hers. ‘Brodie, what's the matter? This isn't because I'm late for work. What is it about?’

She blew out her cheeks in a dispirited sigh. ‘I don't even know, Daniel. I just wanted you here. I needed you.’ She ran distracted fingers through her hair. ‘I think I'm falling apart. Three months ago I ran this business entirely on my own. Anything that came up, I dealt with. It never occurred to me I needed help.’ She looked down fiercely at her now quite impressive bump. ‘I don't like what this pregnancy's doing to me, Daniel! I don't
like
feeling this pathetic’

Everything Daniel knew about having babies came from books. But then, everything he knew about astro-physics did too. He smiled gently. ‘You're not pathetic. You
are
a bit vulnerable. It's a vulnerable time. Nature needs expectant mothers to be careful. It's how the species survives. You won't go on feeling like this. When the baby comes you'll get back to normal.’