Where the Flowers Used to Grow [Mattheo Riddle]

Chapter 23

June 2003

The manor was huge. She remembered it from their time in Dorset. Most mornings when she'd gone swimming she'd see it, sitting solitary atop a cliff to the west. A she walked through the foyer and her eyes traced the ivy pouring in through the giant hole in the ceiling she realised that he had taken it from someone, just as he'd taken so many of her homes. Mattheo escorted her to her bedroom, followed by a couple dozen cloaked men until she watched him slowly close the door, trapping her alone with him. She looked around the room, it was covered in gold-plated decorations. Her fingers trailed along the ornate four-post bed frame, her touch gliding along the intricacy of the carved leaves. She looked down to see the embroidered silk sheets, her eyes widening at the selection of flowers perfectly stitched.

"Recognise them?" Mattheo grinned, slowly walking towards her. "They're all the ones I could remember you saying were your favourite in your garden." She leaned over slightly, the softness under her fingertips taking her breath away for a moment. She hadn't touched anything that smooth in her whole life, but what really took her breath away was the wooden trunk sitting besides the large wardrobe, her father's trunk, her secret library. He placed himself behind her, his hands aching to reach out, to grab her, to push her on the bed, but he refrained.

"Everything in this room was made specifically for you." He whispered proudly. She slowly lifted herself away from the silk, turning around to see him standing so close to her. As her eyes grazed over this body to look up at him she noticed how his hands were balled up into fists, how dry his lips had become with his deep breathing. As her eyes met his she smiled.

"You really never knew me at all, did you?" His eyebrows stiffened as she gently began to laugh. "I've lived by my own two hands for five years, Mattheo." She patted his chest before sidling past him. "I don't give a fuck about your fancy duvet cover." She grabbed the door handle, opening it to reveal robed men scuttling away from eavesdropping. She walked out of the room casually, the men shooting Mattheo looks as she strode out the front door, her body silhouetting against the light of the rising Sun. Mattheo raised his hands, ordering for all to drop their wands as he followed in her footsteps. He watched as she leaned against a tree, wondering what she was thinking about as she looked out over the wide spread of sea atop the cliff's edge.

"I come here every evening." The sound of his voice made her shudder, making her submerge the deep desperation for a moment alone despite having hungered so long for company. "I'd look out at the water, and I'd wonder where on this damned planet you were hiding. I'd imagine you in a small cottage by the sea some days, or sometimes it was a wooden house in the highest tree." Each step he took towards her brought his words closer to her ears, to the prickles on her skin. "Some days I'd imagine you were dead." He stopped next to her, the side of his arm rubbing against hers.

"I pictured you dead all the time." Florence whispered, her heartbeat growing louder. Mattheo laughed.

"I'm sure you did, Flora. But, the difference is I never hoped you were dead. I only thought about it because it was easier than the other possibilities." She turned to look up at him, but he kept his stare out over the edge of the cliff.

"You'd rather I was dead than have to think of me with another man?" She watched as he grinned.

"Of course." He took a step forward towards the edge. "It would be unholy." Florence's eyes widened.

"Unholy? Bloody hell, Mattheo." She shook her head. "I think killing innocent people is slightly more unholy than infidelity, especially when one partner has hid from the other for five years." He turned to look at her framed by the glorious sea behind him, and she was filled with the urge to run at him. She could take them both down, hurtling together to their end. It seemed glorious, but too easy. She no longer trusted anything that was easy.