‘Ma’am. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘It’s my fault,’ she says. ‘I was rushing. I fancied a walk around the garden. A little fresh air . . .’ She trails off.
‘Very good.’
She hesitates. ‘I’ve been wanting to thank you,’ she says, ‘for your help . . . when I was . . . when I was . . .’ she sticks with Charles’s pretence, ‘taken ill.’
Bentham, who usually can’t look anyone in the eye, lifts his head and stares at her. His lips part, as if he is about to say something, but then they close again and he gives her one of his curt nods and stands aside, allowing her to pass through the door and out into the bright day.
Concerned that she has been observed leaving the house, she delays for a few minutes, hovering near the walled garden, as if in appreciation of the roses flowering spectacularly along the border. When she considers it safe, she hurries down the lawn and drops down into the wildflower meadow. She is at the stile when she hears the church clock ringing out twelve chimes. She quickens her pace, pushing on through the shaded woods.
All these days she has been stuck in her room, her injuries too painful to hide, too excruciating for her to make the walk into the woods, she has listened for the sound of Jack leaving the house at a quarter to twelve. Every day he has committed to their plan like clockwork and every day she has suffered the torture of knowing that as he makes for the woods, putting his faith once more in her, she remains trapped in bed, absent and unreachable, a bird with her wings brutally clipped, as their final days together slip away – too fast – like sand through a timer. As she retraces the steps they took together all those weeks ago with the sparrowhawk in the hatbox, she can’t help fearing that today will be the day he has given up on her.
She tells herself that if this is the case, if the clearing is deserted, it will be for the best. For truly, what can be gained by this final encounter? What can they possibly bring each other but pain at the knowledge they cannot be together? She cannot abandon Albie and leave him motherless once more. And she cannot leave Helena and risk her sister losing the stability of The Cedars and the care she so desperately needs. But even knowing this, Lillian can’t stop herself. Every moment she thinks she has convinced herself to turn back, her feet tread resolutely on, carrying her deeper into the woods.
As she steps out from the trees into the open space, a wave of relief rushes over her to see him sitting there on the wooden log, his back to her and a forlorn pile of cigarette ends stacked up beside him. Jack is here and her heart momentarily sings at the sight of him.
She hesitates on the edge of the clearing, wanting to capture the moment and lock it away somewhere safe. Jack Fincher, waiting for her. One last time. She watches as he picks at the bark on the trunk, the light filtering through the branches and playing on his skin, catching in his hair. She takes another step forward and a twig cracks beneath her foot.
‘You came,’ he says, turning at the sound, standing so suddenly that his cigarettes and lighter fall to the ground. He seems to be afraid to move; afraid to startle her; afraid, perhaps, that if he does she will vanish as suddenly as she appeared.
She nods and glances around the clearing before her gaze comes to rest on his face again. ‘Hello.’
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asks.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I was worried. They said you had a summer flu.’
The days they have spent apart – not speaking, not touching – have created a new reserve between them. Lillian feels uncertainty hovering where once there was only desire. ‘Yes,’ she says, hating herself for lying to him.
‘You look pale.’
She nods. She wants to go to him but she holds herself back, unsure of him and how he will respond; unsure whether she will be able to keep her nerve if she draws too close. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.’
‘I came every day.’
They stand motionless for a moment; then Jack is closing the distance between them, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms. She tries to resist, holding herself stiff and unyielding; but the scent of him, the familiarity of his skin, is intoxicating.
‘This is agony, Lillian. You have to come away with me. I’ve never been so certain of anything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’
She can’t help herself. At his words, she softens and, feeling her respond, he pulls her to him more forcefully, wrapping her in his arms, embracing her tightly until she gasps at the pressure against her bruised ribs.
‘What is it?’ He holds her at arm’s length, studying her face. ‘What’s wrong?’
She shakes her head and a single tear runs down her cheek. The pain of her bruised ribs is nothing compared to the tight ache in her chest. ‘I can’t leave him, Jack.’
Jack stares at her, disbelief written on his face. ‘You’re choosing him?’
‘He’s my husband. For better or worse. I don’t have a choice.’
‘Of course you have a choice. You can tell him the truth. Tell him that you’ve fallen in love with someone else.’
He reaches out to caress her cheek but she flinches and steps back. ‘Don’t.’
‘What? What is it, Lillian? Don’t you love me?’
He looks so confused, so hurt, but she cannot open up to him. If she lets him through her defences she will never be able to say goodbye. She shakes her head.
He looks dumbfounded. ‘I love you. You told me you loved me, too.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Yes it is. I’ve told Charles that I’ll open the room for him tomorrow. We’re out of time. Pack a bag – take only what you need. Write a note for Albie. Tell him that we’ll be in touch when we’re settled. He can come and visit. But we have to leave . . . as soon as Charles has seen the room.’
Jack softens, seeing the look in her eyes. ‘I know you’re scared. I know what it is I’m asking of you,’ says Jack, not unkindly. ‘But he’ll survive. In these modern times people do divorce. The scandal will blow over.’
‘And what about you?’ she asks softly. ‘What kind of a future will you have with me by your side? What kind of damage will I do to your reputation? Charles won’t roll over and let us go. He’s a proud man. He’ll try to ruin you.’
‘I’m not Charles, Lillian. I don’t care about reputation or scandal. I only care about you.’ Jack shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand. There’s more to this than Charles and my career, isn’t there? What is it?’
‘It’s Albie,’ she says. ‘I love him as if he were my own. You know that I will never have another child and I can’t abandon him. I can’t leave him here with Charles, motherless. Not again. I made him a promise.’
‘Albie’s hardly a baby. He’s away at school in term time and he’ll leave home himself at some point.’
‘Not for years. And in the meantime, if I’m not here he’ll be . . . he’ll be . . .’
‘He’ll be what?’
A swirl of fear and shame stops her from telling him. She bites her lip and seeing her distress, he tries to draw her into his arms again, but she pulls away.
‘I know better than most what it feels like to lose your family. I can’t do that to him again.’
‘Will he be more upset than you? Than me?’ Jack runs his hands through his hair in frustration.
‘There’s Helena, too.’ Lillian looks up at Jack, holding his gaze for the first time. ‘You’ve seen her. You know I can’t leave her.’
‘She’s well cared for at The Cedars.’
‘Yes, she is. Thanks to Charles.’ She gives a bitter laugh. ‘Do you think he would continue to pay her bills if I left him and ran away into the night with you?’
‘All these people to care for . . . but what about you? Don’t you deserve a little happiness?’
‘You are my happiness,’ she says, quietly. ‘This summer with you has been my greatest joy. But I cannot leave. Surely you understand.’
‘I don’t understa
nd, Lillian. I can’t. We could have a good life together. I would paint and you would be my Muse. You’d be free to do whatever you choose. Don’t you see, you owe it to yourself to leave with me?’
‘This life you’re imagining . . . these pictures you create,’ she shakes her head in frustration, ‘. . . they aren’t real, Jack. They’re a fantasy – an illusion – so far removed from my reality and responsibilities.’
Jack swallows hard. The fight seems to leave him. ‘So what are you saying, Lillian? That we are the illusion? That you want me to leave without you? That it’s over?’
She hangs her head, unable to look at him, a catalogue of faces flashing before her – all the faces that she loves: Albie. Helena. Jack. She thinks of Evelyn Oberon, the painted woman in the portrait, and the promise she made to her as much as to Albie to love and protect her boy. She thinks of her sister and her own caged existence, trapped in her poor, damaged body. Why does she have to choose like this? The pain is unbearable. Her heart feels as if it might split in two. ‘Yes. It’s over,’ she says at last, the words barely a whisper.
Jack reels backwards. ‘So that’s it?’
She takes a breath, then nods.
‘You realise I’ll be gone the day after tomorrow?’
She nods again, another tear sliding down her cheek.
Jack looks about the clearing, bewildered. ‘I don’t understand. I thought this meant something to you. I thought I meant something to you.’
‘You did.’
‘Did? Past tense.’ Jack folds his arms across his chest. ‘So what was this to you, Lillian? A summer fling? A little light relief from your dull life?’ He shakes his head. ‘I thought this was . . . special.’
‘It was,’ she says, unable to bear his anger. ‘It is.’
‘Though not special enough for you to give up all of this?’ He indicates the estate with an airy wave of his hands. ‘I can’t offer you the lifestyle you’re accustomed to? I was just a fun distraction?’ His words are loaded with bitter disappointment.
‘No! You were never just that.’
‘Then what? I wish you would explain because I’m having a very hard job reconciling the woman I spent the summer making love to, to this cold . . . ghost standing before me.’
Lillian bites her tongue, holding back the words she wishes she could say to him.
Jack throws up his hands. ‘What can I say to convince you to put yourself – to put us – first? What can I do? Tell me,’ he implores.
Lillian stares at Jack, her heart thudding in her chest, but no words will come. There is nothing she can tell him.
Jack waits a beat then, in the face of her silence, he turns and begins to walk away across the clearing, towards the well-beaten path through the woods.
Lillian watches him leave. From somewhere high above her head a single yellow beech leaf falls from the canopy, drifting to the forest floor. She watches it settle at her feet, sees Jack walking away through the trees, and knows that it is too much to see him go. It is too much to know that their summer together is over; that he will leave believing she has chosen Charles and a lavish existence at Cloudesley over an honest, loving life with him. She can feel her heart throwing out its invisible lifeline, trying to reel him back in. ‘Jack,’ she calls. ‘Jack, wait.’
He is moving with such determination that she isn’t sure he will stop, but after a moment’s hesitation, he does, halting at the edge of the clearing, his figure caught in a splinter of yellow light. She runs towards him, closer and closer, and when he turns she hurls herself into his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmurs, over and over again, her body pressed up against his.
He reaches down and takes her face in his hands, kisses her full on the mouth, tastes her tears.
She is shaking. ‘I’m so sorry.’
A sound of cracking wood comes from the undergrowth behind them. They spin around just in time to see a grey squirrel darting up the trunk of a beech tree. Lillian puts her hand to her thudding heart.
‘God. I’m so sick of all this hiding and pretence. Just come with me.’ He pulls her closer, murmuring in her ear. ‘Just say yes. I depend on you too, you know.’ He runs his hands down her body and circles her waist, pulling her close, his body pressing up against her own. She tries to supress it, but she can’t help wincing again at the pressure, a low moan escaping her lips.
‘What is it?’ he asks, looking at her in concern. ‘Are you hurt?’
She shakes her head, but Jack, sensing her lie, reaches out and tugs the edge of her blouse from the waistband of her skirt.
She pulls back, ripping the fabric from his fingers, but not quickly enough.
‘What on earth?’
She knows what he has seen and feels a terrible shame rising up within her. Lillian retreats another step and begins to hurriedly tuck her blouse back into her skirt. ‘It’s – it’s nothing.’
‘Lillian, that is not nothing.’ He stares at her, uncomprehending, then pulls her towards him. ‘Let me see.’
Gently, Jack unfastens the lower buttons on her blouse and peels the fabric back to reveal the mottled yellow-green bruises spread across her ribs. She averts her gaze, unable to bear the look on his face. ‘What is this?’ he asks. ‘How did this happen?’
She can’t meet his eye.
‘Is this why you’ve been hiding in your room? It wasn’t flu, was it?’
She doesn’t say anything.
‘How did this happen?’ Jack swallows. ‘Was it Charles? Did he find out about us?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, he doesn’t know.’
‘But it was Charles?’
Her silence tells him everything he needs to know.
‘Why?’
Lillian can’t look at him. ‘The dinner party. I embarrassed him . . . He gets angry sometimes.’
‘Angry enough to hurt you?’ Jack studies her with disbelief. ‘My God, Lillian. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What could you do?’
‘How often does this happen?’
Lillian bites her lip but doesn’t answer.
Jack runs his hands through his hair. ‘You can’t stay here. You have to leave him. Even if you won’t come with me, you cannot stay here.’
‘I can’t leave Albie. I can’t leave him alone with Charles.’
Jack stares at her. ‘He hurts the boy, too?’
‘If I’m here I can protect him. That’s why I must stay.’
Jack shakes his head. ‘How can I have lived here all summer and not seen the truth staring me in the face? Lillian, your husband is a monster. You must leave with me. I won’t let you stay and suffer here a moment longer.’
‘It’s not your decision, Jack. I’ve thought long and hard about this, but I know I have to stay. I made promises . . . promises I must keep.’
‘No.’ Jack is insistent. He is pacing around her, thinking it through. ‘You leave with me the day after tomorrow. We get ourselves settled and then we send for the boy. He can stay with us.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘It is.’
She shakes her head. ‘Charles would never allow it. Albie is his son. No court would allow it. You know how he has the police and the politicians in his pocket. Doctor May covered up the loss of our baby.’
‘Charles did that to you, too?’
When Lillian doesn’t answer Jack wrings his hands and glances furiously back in the direction of the house. ‘I should march up there and . . . and . . .’
Lillian sighs. ‘Please don’t talk like that.’ She can’t bear to hear such anger from Jack – kind, gentle, loving Jack. ‘You cannot do or say anything about this,’ she says. ‘You will only make things worse for Albie and me. Helena’s care . . . he could take everything away. It all hangs in the balance. Promise me.’
‘I can’t leave you here with him. He’s dangerous.’
‘He’s complicated, damaged . . . but I can take care of myself.’
Jack throws her a look. ‘I
t doesn’t appear that way to me.’
‘Please,’ she implores, grabbing both his hands, ‘before you do anything in haste, think of Albie and Helena.’
‘So you’d sacrifice yourself, for them?’
Lillian holds Jack’s gaze. ‘I love them.’
He looks as though he is going to say something else, and then shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand you, Lillian. I’m offering you a way out. The door is open. Why won’t you step through?’
‘I can’t.’
‘What if I made you? What if I went to Charles now and told him everything? What if I gave you no choice?’
She eyes him warily. ‘Then you’d be no better than my bully of a husband.’
Jack’s shoulders slump. He looks down at the ground. When he eventually looks up again, she can see the sadness and resignation apparent on his face, but something else too – the spark of a fire – anger burning like an ember in the dark circles of his eyes. ‘These poor, damaged souls you are staying to protect. Don’t you see that if you remain here, you’ll end up as damaged as them?’
‘I’m all they have,’ she says, her voice pure anguish. ‘Don’t make me choose.’
‘I love you, Lillian. How can I let you go?’
She is the first to look away. ‘All the things you love about me – that make me who I am – are the reasons why I must stay.’ She swallows. ‘You have to let me go.’
‘I can’t bear this,’ he says, wringing his hands, the anguish written all over his face. He moves towards her, as if he will embrace her, then turns away with a groan. ‘I can’t stay here. I have to go.’ He storms away through the trees and Lillian stands at the edge of the clearing, waiting until she can no longer hear his footsteps.
Chapter 24
Lillian sits in her armchair in the drawing room, a crocheted blanket laid over her knees as she looks out onto the overgrown garden and listens to the distant wheeze of Maggie’s car engine turning over on the drive. It coughs and splutters like an old man. She stares at the unruly hydrangeas and the unclipped hedgerows; she tries to concentrate on the flowers, their pale pink overblown heads as soft and puffy as marshmallows; but the sound of the car plunges in and hooks round a fragment lodged deep in her memory, drawing it up to the surface.
The Peacock Summer Page 27