Chapter Nineteen
Naivety Play
Gemma scampered down the steps to the lawn and opened the door to the studio with as much caution as she had when she’d found Matt on the floor. Her heart pounded. What did or didn’t he know?
The control room was empty, and she eyed the mixing console with fascination. How on earth did anyone know what to move and when?
Matt wasn’t in the studio either, and she scooted over to the door of the small room where she’d found him on the floor.
She tapped the door and opened it.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
Matt looked up from the old leather armchair, shoehorned into the corner beside the window. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’
He closed his laptop with a snap and held it to his chest.
‘You said you were busy with music stuff.’
‘I said I was busy.’
Gemma folded her arms across her chest. ‘What’s going on, Matt? There’s been an announcement on the radio about the tour.’
The figure in the chair stilled, face pale as ever in the winter light filtering through the window.
‘So? It’s hardly a secret.’
With a huff of breath, Gemma leaned against the whitewashed stone wall, then straightened up quickly. God, it was cold!
‘Not that! The fact that one of the members is no longer participating, but the other three will tour as planned. I assume you know it’s you who’s not going?’
Matt’s mouth pressed into a firm line as he turned to stare out of the window. Gemma remained where she was, and her patience was soon rewarded. Getting to his feet, Matt placed the laptop on a small table.
‘Come with me,’ he muttered.
He squeezed past Gemma, who remained where she was, trying – hard – not to inhale his yummy aftershave.
‘You coming?’ Matt’s head popped back round the doorframe and Gemma whirled round.
‘Yes! Of course.’
Hopefully she was about to get some answers.
Matt disappeared upstairs and Gemma threw a log on the burner and gave the embers a stir. Folding her arms, she walked over to the circular window and gazed out over the creek, her mind whirling with anticipation.
‘Here.’
Matt came through the door to the hall, something in his hand, and he walked over to the kitchen to lean against the long countertop, so Gemma followed him.
For a moment they merely looked at each other, and Gemma silently cautioned her heart and breathing to behave. Those gorgeous hazel eyes may be holding hers in a frankly unreadable gaze, and his attention might be fully on her, but it didn’t give her body organs licence to throw a party.
She started when Matt – eyes still on her – slid a piece of paper across the counter.
‘I didn’t realise I’d left the second page in the envelope. You may as well read the first.’
Staring at the sheet in front of her, Gemma drew in a steadying breath. She’d wanted to know, but… ‘Are you sure?’
‘Read it.’
Fine.
She picked up the sheet and leaned back against the counter, while Matt walked over to stare out of the kitchen window. He’d left a square envelope on the counter, but Gemma ignored it for now. The note was brief and to the point, the paper identical to the page she’d found in the recycling – a small sheet like something torn out of a notebook and written in the same, all-caps style. It repeated a claim, allegedly made on a call between the writer and Matt, that he’d had an affair with someone called Claire and enclosed was the proof he’d asked for. The language was scathing and whoever wrote it had been pretty angry.
Raising her head, she addressed Matt’s back. ‘Who’s it from?’
‘Harry.’ Matt swung round, then elucidated. ‘You remember? The lead singer. Claire’s his wife, though she was his fiancée at the time the note says I cheated with her.’
Gemma’s attention returned to the words on the page. ‘This isn’t what was talked about on the announcement. Is it true?’
Matt shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘If you’re asking that, you clearly think I’m capable of it.’
‘I’m not judging you, Matt. Having a fling with someone’s else’s fiancée is pretty underhand but it’s not a crime and far from unheard of. Besides, why would it all be your fault? Isn’t she culpable too?’
‘I knew you’d think me capable. People believe anything they read.’ Matt strode over to the coffee machine. ‘I need caffeine.’
Gemma’s stomach clenched as she scanned the words again. She didn’t believe it. At least, she didn’t want to, but that was life, wasn’t it? People fell in and out of love, had affairs. The fact it was wrong or sad didn’t make it any less a truth.
‘Damnit!’
She looked up to see Matt sweeping coffee beans into his hand.
‘Here, let me.’ Tossing the piece of paper onto the counter, Gemma set the machine going.
Matt had gone over to his favourite chair, where he now sat huddled like a disgruntled bird on a telegraph wire debating which country to migrate to.
Gemma handed him a mug, then fetched what was left of the Jus-Rol cinnamon swirls she’d made from another of the ‘bake at home’ packs, along with the second envelope.
Matt took the mug from her, but warily eyed her pastry offering.
‘What the hell happened to those?’
‘Nothing! They came up beautifully. Well, aside from the icing sugar thing.’
She placed the plate of swirls on the coffee table and returned to retrieve the envelope.
‘What’s in here?’
‘What do you think? The alleged evidence. Photos.’
‘May I?’
Matt held her gaze for a moment. ‘Feel free. There’s nothing too salacious.’
Part intrigued and part dreading what she might see, Gemma withdrew three photos. The first one was obviously a younger Matt, laughing with an attractive blonde in what looked like a bar setting. The next was of a dark-haired man in what looked like Matt’s trademark leather jacket and white tee combination, his face buried in the same woman’s neck. She had her head thrown back, eyes closed, the corners of her mouth upturned.
Gemma placed them on the table, conscious Matt continued to observe her.
She eyed the third with caution, but it looked a little grainy. It was of a naked couple on a sofa in what looked like a studio, though there wasn’t much to see, with the man sprawled on top of the woman. It appeared to be the same person, her long blonde hair splayed out across a cushion. Only the back of the man could be seen, naked up to where the photo cut off, which was just above the butt cheeks.
‘How would anyone have managed to take a photo like that?’ Gemma looked up at Matt. ‘You’d think the couple would have noticed.’
‘I think it’s from a security camera, judging by the angle.’
Returning the photos to the envelope, Gemma picked up a swirl and took a bite, chewing slowly.
‘Where did the images come from? Do you know?’
‘I recall the first one, but it wasn’t only me and Claire. There was a group of us in Edinburgh. We’d had a gig and all went out afterwards. We were in a booth in some bar.’
‘So it’s been cropped.’
‘Probably. It could have come from anyone’s phone. Harry was sitting on her other side, if I think on it. He was always right there, by her side. A bit possessive, really.’
‘They don’t prove anything, though. Or am I being naive? It’s definitely Claire in all three?’
‘That’s definitely her in the first two. Harder to tell in the one on the sofa. Rumour is, she and Harry are taking a break since he found out about the cheating. She claimed it was with me. For the record, it wasn’t.’
‘When was the one in the bar?’
‘About twelve or thirteen years ago. Not long before we went our separate ways. I don’t know about the other two, because I swear it’s not me.’
‘And Harry’s only now found out something went on?’
‘Supposedly. He called me, that day you came here to check out the place, then followed up with that.’ He gestured at the note and photos. ‘I went up to London to see him, but he wasn’t home, or not answering the door. He’s blocked me on all socials and messengers. Our manager tried to intervene, but Harry refused to discuss it beyond saying it was him or me.’ Matt’s expression darkened. ‘The band can’t tour without the lead singer.’
‘And the guitarist?’
‘I’m easily replaceable, but they’ll probably get a session musician.’ Matt drew in a deep breath and picked up his coffee again.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Gemma took another morsel of swirl. Should she ask? Well, he could ignore her if he didn’t want to say. ‘Has this hit you financially?’
‘I wasn’t doing it for the money.’ Matt drained his mug. ‘I’m free now to focus on songwriting. Good riddance to the bloody tour, never wanted to be part of it in the first place.’
A strange look came over his face, almost culpable, and Gemma leaned forward.
‘So why did you agree to it?’
Matt didn’t answer, instead getting to his feet and picking up the note and envelope of photos. ‘I’d best call Anna, in case she’s heard.’
He turned for the door, but Gemma leapt out of her seat and stayed him with her hand.
‘Matt. Why did you agree to do the tour?’
He remained facing away from her, his arm rigid under her touch, and Gemma removed her hand.
‘I can’t tell you.’ With that, he strode from the room, and Gemma turned back to her seat, picking up her mug again and cradling it in her hands.
‘Can’t, Matt, or won’t?’ she said to the log burner, and, although it crackled merrily back, it had no answer.