sure – an impression which was quickly allayed when Matthew Lawford climbed out.
He was wearing a dark suit in some sort of soft suede, and his tie was very black against his white shirt. The thick brown hair lay smoothly against his head, and his thick lashes hid the expression in his eyes. There were lines beside his mouth which she didn’t think had been there yesterday, and a feathering of anticipation slid along her spine.
“Hello, Darrell,” he greeted her quietly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“For me?” Darrell glanced all round her, as though she couldn’t believe he was addressing her, but the road was almost deserted. Then she looked into the car, and it was empty, too. Hot colour ran up her cheeks. “I – I don’t understand.” Or did she? “Why are you waiting for me?”
Matthew swung open the passenger side door. “Get inside,” he directed. “I have to talk to you.”
Darrell didn’t know what to say. All her emotions clamoured for her to do as he asked, but cold logic kept her standing on the pavement. “Whatever it is – whatever it is you have to say to me, can’t – can’t it be said here?” she stammered.
His eyes were narrowed. “What’s the matter, Darrell? Don’t you trust me?” he enquired, his voice acquiring an edge of coldness.
Darrell felt terrible. “It’s not that. Oh – oh, very well.”
With many misgivings, she climbed into the front of the car and he slammed her door before walking round to slide in beside her. He closed his door, but he did not immediately start the engine, and she tensed.
“It’s about Susan – Susan and Frank,” he told her steadily. “I gather you haven’t heard the news today?”
“The news? What news?”
Darrell was hopelessly confused, but something in his tone stirred a ripple of cold premonition inside her.
Matthew sighed. “There’s been a crash, Darrell,” he replied tonelessly. “Late last night. But it was early this morning before we got the news …”
“News?” Darrell stared at him blankly. Then: “You can’t mean – you don’t mean – the plane –”
Matthew looked down at his hand resting lightly on the wheel. “Susan and Frank are dead, Darrell –”
“Oh, no!”
“– they were killed instantly, I think. There were no survivors.”
“Oh, no!” Darrell moved her head disbelievingly from side to side. “It can’t be true. It mustn’t be true!”
“But it is true, Darrell. I assure you.” Matthew drew a steadying breath. “How do you think the family feel? How do you think my mother feels? My father …” He shook his head. “Well, he’s getting good and drunk, but my mother …” He paused. “Will you come?”
Darrell nodded, pressing trembling hands to her cheeks, feeling the prick of tears behind her lids. Matthew looked at her, as though to assure himself that she was all right, and that direct stare was the undoing of her. Unable to prevent herself, she burst into tears, feeling the salty drops wetting her hands as they streamed unheeded down her cheeks. It had all been too much – the tension over the wedding and Celine’s outburst, her own troubled feelings towards Matthew, and now this … Poor Susan! Poor Frank! Not even their wedding night had been spared them …
With an exclamation, Matthew reached for her, pulling her against him, putting his arms around her and pressing her face against his chest. He had unbuttoned his jacket and his shirt was smooth and silky against her cheek. Beneath its softness she could feel the hardness of muscle, smell the shaving lotion he wore, inhale the clean fragrance of his skin. His heart was beating steadily in her ears, and his strength was something she badly needed just at this moment. But alongside this feeling were other feelings, and it was the knowledge of their presence even in these moments of stress which forced her to draw back from him and search blindly for a tissue.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not normally so emotional. It was just a such a – such a terrible – shock!”
“I know,” Matthew nodded, buttoning his jacket again as he turned to the wheel. His voice was strangely taut as he commented: “It’s better to cry if you can. Releases tension, isn’t that what they say?”
Darrell dried her eyes. “I suppose so. Could we – that is – I’d rather not go – like this.” She indicated her uniform selfconsciously.
Matthew started the engine and swung the powerful car away from the kerb. “Just direct me to where you live,” he answered. “I’ll wait while you change.”
When they reached the flats, Darrell turned to him. “I – will you come in?” she invited awkwardly.
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
Darrell hesitated a moment and then shook her head. “No, please – come in.”
Matthew made a gesture of acquiescence and as she fumbled her way out of the door at her side, he climbed out easily and locked the car.
The cream emulsioned walls of the apartment building had never seemed more drab, the stair treads bare and worn in the centre. Darrell led the way upstairs on unsteady legs, finding her key and inserting it in the lock.
Matthew stood in the centre of the living room looking about him with what she felt sure must be feigned interest. He had never been here while Susan was living in the flat, and now that she was dead … Dead! She still couldn’t believe it.
“I won’t be a minute,” she said, flinging her handbag on to a chair and indicating the couch. “Won’t you sit down? I’m afraid I don’t have anything alcoholic I can offer you, but there’s coffee …”
“Thank you.” Matthew was polite. “But I don’t want anything. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”
Darrell left him sitting on the couch and entered her bedroom. As she took off her uniform she surreptitiously examined her face in the dressing table mirror. She looked pale, much paler than usual, and there were blotches round her eyes where she had been crying. What a mess! What must he think of her? She sighed, shaking her head impatiently. Don’t do getting the wrong ideas about this, she told herself severely. It had been kind of him to come and break the news, but that was all.
She dressed in a plain navy skirt and a cream blouse, brushing her hair out of the severe chignon she wore for working, and securing it behind her ears with two combs. Cold water had removed almost all traces of grief, and a careful use of a moisturising foundation cream erased the rest. She didn’t bother with any other make-up, she seldom wore a lot anyway, and the result was still very pale, but composed.
Matthew rose to his feet as she re-entered the lounge, a dark blue suede coat over her arm. His eyes flickered over her briefly, and then he said: “You’re ready?”
Darrell nodded.
“Have you eaten?”
Darrell frowned. “Why – no. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not feeling much like eating anyway.”
Matthew thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. “You must eat something. As a nurse you should know that.”
Darrell glanced round helplessly. “It’s all right – really.”
Matthew regarded her for another unblinking moment, then he shrugged. “Come along, then.”
It was amazing how quickly one could reach Windsor Street if one did not have to rely on buses, Darrell thought bleakly, trying to put the picture of Susan and Frank’s mangled bodies out of her mind. One could by-pass the town centre completely, taking the direct route on the ring road. There were plenty of cars about on this warm summer evening and it seemed incredible that for most of these people another plane crash would arouse nothing more than an exclamation of