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‘My brother. Peter.’
Now he stopped their progress with a soft grip at her elbow and she didn’t resist as he pulled her back towards the wall. ‘Dead?’
She nodded. ‘A long time ago. It was an accident. He drowned. He was six. I was nearing eight. It happened in Scotland . . . in Argyllshire. We have a place up there where my father used to go for summers. He would fish and hunt in the highlands. We would play by the seaside. I can only vaguely recall it from memories of childhood – fortunately the few recollections I have are vivid and until that terrible day I have only images that are stunningly happy. I can’t forget those days of easy joy but I have never been allowed to visit the area again. I know the region is every bit as beautiful as I remember from what I’ve heard. But Dad refuses to return.’
‘He holds himself accountable, do you mean?’
‘He holds himself, the house, every loch – he blames the sea, all of Scotland in fact, for existing. And so he has effectively shut it out of the world and he’s closed off that time as though it never occurred.’ She paused. ‘He used to call me Kitten and Peter couldn’t pronounce it properly so he called me Kitty, and it stuck. But after that day my dad never called me Kitten again. If you’re around him long enough, you’ll feel how broken he is.’
‘He hides it well.’
‘We all do. My mother is stronger than all of us. I can’t describe her grief fully to you – I think some sort of self-protective measure has buried that too deep for me to access. However, in spite of her losing her precious son, she is the one who rallies my father’s spirits when they get too low. She won’t tolerate maudlin and I know she grieves but she doesn’t show it. My father wears his grief openly . . . well, I suppose I can see it even if a newcomer can’t.’
‘So Minerva has turned all that pain and love onto you.’
She nodded, pressed on, and once again Matthew fell into step. ‘I know I have no right to bleat but there are times when the burden of being an only child feels mighty. I have to be both of us for them. And now my mother in particular wants to see me married, starting a family of my own, somehow helping her to believe that through me Peter lives and the Frobisher blood runs on in new veins.’
‘You can’t blame her.’
‘I don’t. But she loves me so hard sometimes I feel smothered, cornered.’
‘I’d give anything to be loved that much,’ he murmured. She heard it but paid it little heed, believing it to be a predictable response. ‘Let’s walk,’ he continued. ‘Is it this way?’
They arrived at the factory gates, where a column with a clock at its summit proclaimed the time as twenty-nine minutes past eight. She sensed the people scurrying past them were speeding up, not wishing to be late for their shift.
‘Look,’ she began, ‘I’m probably coming across as ungrateful.’
‘Not probably.’
She gave a low growl. ‘I only wish to make my own decisions on matters that affect me.’
Suddenly they were in near silence as all the workers seemed to have arrived and all those leaving had already departed. She could hear only the whistle of the train and the puff of its steam with a few chirrups from birds to punctuate those sounds. A trolley bus rattled by on the other side. And then it was quiet again.
‘If you married me, you could . . . you would make your own decisions.’
‘And how does that work?’
‘I give you my word this minute that I would sign any contract you want and I would put no constraints on you whatsoever, other than that we remain married.’
It was hard not to appear incredulous even though she kept her silence.
He lifted a shoulder. ‘Take my name, be my wife, but you get to make decisions about everything that matters to you – where we live, where you go, how you live, what work you do, the friends you have . . .’
Her jaw visibly slackened. ‘Are you jesting with me?’
He shook his head. ‘Not this time. Let’s just say I am trying to demonstrate how I would never corner you, be suspicious of you, make demands. It works both ways, of course. And it means we shall be the greatest of friends.’
‘This surely has to be the most astonishing marriage proposal any woman has received.’
‘Now, that is naïve. If you don’t think this sort of arrangement happens, then you are deeply sheltered. I admit it’s irregular being organised between the two intended but . . .’ He gave a sideways smile. ‘This is the twentieth century and, what’s more, both parents are going to be delighted, I suspect.’
It was Alex’s turn to put her hands up in a protective way. ‘This is moving too fast.’ She shook her head. ‘It no longer feels amusing or even hypothetical. What’s more, you came here with intent so I know it’s not even playful any more.’
‘You barely know me, nor I you.’
‘Precisely!’
‘Wait,’ he urged. ‘The knowing is irrelevant. In fact, it helps. Although our fathers know each other quite well, actually, and I suspect would both approve as a result.’
