by Jessie Keane
‘Bathroom’s through there, go and have a nice hot shower.’ Rob was peeling off his jacket. ‘Don’t think about it, Daise. I know it’s sad, but shit happens. He was suffering and now he’s out of it. They both are. Try and think of it like that.’
Daisy went into the bathroom. Rob made his way through to the bedroom and found a robe that one of his girlfriends had left in the closet, in case Daisy needed it.
He went back into the living room and drank down another brandy. Now he could hear sobbing coming from the bathroom, over the background roar of the shower.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
He stood listening to it for a minute. Then he went over to the closed door.
He knocked. ‘Daise? You all right in there?’
‘Fine,’ she said in a tearful voice.
And then it started again – the crying. He hated her crying. He grasped the handle and pushed the door open. Steam billowed around him. The noise of the shower was suddenly louder, and her gasping sobs were louder too.
‘Daise . . .’ he said, going over to the shower cubicle.
And all the while he was thinking, Mate, what the fuck are you doing . . . ?
He opened the door, and there she was. More beautiful than he ever could have guessed at, her skin pinkened by the hot water, her naked body all hot luscious curves and her face a mask of tragedy, her blue, blue eyes reddened by tears.
She saw him there, and froze.
‘Daise . . .’ he murmured.
‘Rob . . .’
‘Jesus, Daise, there’s no way around you, is there?’ he said, and quickly threw off his clothes and stepped under the hot soothing spray with her, pulling her into his arms, pressing his naked body tight against hers, knowing that this was precisely what he had been wanting to do for a long, long time.
‘It’s just so sad,’ she mumbled against his shoulder. ‘That poor man, and that’s my uncle, and I never even knew him. He killed her. That’s so terrible. And they’ve got children, I don’t know them either. And they’re orphans now. It’s . . . horrible.’
‘Daise . . .’ Rob was kissing her hair, burrowing his face into her throat.
‘And the dog!’ Daisy stiffened. ‘Oh God, the dog’s going to starve in there, no one knows he’s shut in the kitchen!’
‘Fuck’s sake, Daise, I’ll phone the RSPCA from a phone box later on, say I’m one of the neighbours and I can hear him barking. Don’t worry.’
Daisy slipped her arms around him, cuddled in close. ‘It was awful,’ she muttered.
‘I know,’ he said, smoothing her hair back from her eyes, kissing her salty cheeks.
‘Oh God, Rob,’ she said, and their mouths met, and that was it. He gave up, gave in. There was nothing else he could do. ‘I’m such a mess,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘I cry at anything, and I’ve got this temper . . .’
‘It’s your hormones, after having the kids. My sister was the same. You can’t help it.’
‘And my breasts leak milk all the time, it’s embarrassing . . .’
Rob took Daisy’s breasts in his hands. He didn’t give a toss whether they leaked or not, they were delicious, fabulous, deeply erotic.
‘They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous,’ he said, and kissed her again, and couldn’t wait a moment longer. He lifted her, slipped his cock easily inside her. Nothing had ever felt so good.
‘Oh God – Rob!’ she cried out as he filled her.
He’d been fighting this for so long, but now he was lost and he didn’t care. He made love to her, right there in the shower. And it was better than he could ever have dreamed it would be.
119
Ruby phoned the London place first, but there was no answer. So she called the other house and told them she was on her way. She wrote a note for Daisy and placed it in their usual spot for messages, on the hall table. As she passed the mirror she saw her strained reflection there and thought back to that day when she took the phone call from Bella, and all that had happened since.
Blood will flow . . .
Maybe this would be an end to it.
She went upstairs and packed the essentials in her small overnight bag and got one of Kit’s boys to drive her to the railway station, where she got the train to Oxford. From there, she took a taxi out to Albemarle House, way out in the Oxfordshire countryside among a vast patchwork of fields and huge stretches of open country.
Finally the house loomed up, very tall, constructed in the sixteenth century, boasting a massive long gallery and a priest’s hole, a knot garden and a ha-ha. The home of Lord and Lady Albermarle.
Vi was expecting her. She opened the front door herself, a broad smile of welcome fixed to her face. She looked the same as always – polished, well groomed, her red bob sleek, her fingernails red, a mist of Devon Violets all around her.
‘Rubes! Well, this is a bit of a surprise. I’d have been back in town next week, you didn’t have to come all this way. What’s happened? Where’s the fire?’ she asked with a laugh. ‘Let me take your coat. An overnight bag! Are you staying in Oxford?’
Ruby nodded.
‘No, you must stay here. No arguments!’
‘I had to speak to you,’ said Ruby, letting Vi take her coat, stepping into the cavernous hallway with its walnut wood panelling and its vast array of hunting trophies.
A myriad of dead deer stared accusingly down at her from the walls. There was no fire in the big stone fireplace today. It felt cold in here, and as usual the place smelled faintly musty. In the winter, it was a freezing house to live in, Vi had told her. Thick cardies and hot water bottles were the order of the day. Good job the aristocracy were tough, she always joked.
‘What, it couldn’t wait?’ asked Vi, leading the way over to the drawing room.
‘It couldn’t wait,’ Ruby confirmed.
They went inside. The drawing room was decked out in damask pink with faded tapestries on the walls. Two hard-backed couches were pulled up in front of the empty fireplace. Vi indicated that Ruby should sit down, and gratefully she did.
‘So!’ said Vi brightly, sitting opposite. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure? You sounded a bit grim on the phone.’
Ruby eyed her friend steadily. ‘I felt a bit grim.’
‘Oh dear. Troubles?’
‘Some, yes.’
‘Come on then, what’s up? That’s what I’m here for.’
That’s what I’m here for. It was so ironic, that statement, that it made Ruby want to laugh. Or cry. She reached into her bag, drew out the record sleeve.
‘What’s this?’ asked Vi, leaning forward, all interest.
‘Here. Have a look,’ said Ruby, and handed it over to her.
Vi kept her face amazingly straight as she looked at the writing on the sleeve: I’m Still in Love with You.
Then she looked up at her dearest, oldest friend, her face puzzled. ‘So? What are you showing me this for?’
‘Because I’d like the truth,’ said Ruby. ‘Also, because that’s your handwriting.’
120
‘What . . . ?’ Vi was looking from the writing on the sleeve to Ruby’s face. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Rubes.’
‘At first I thought it was Betsy’s. You went to the same school as her and me, but you were a couple of years above us. And they were very keen on us all having that uniform super-neat writing in those days, weren’t they? There was a left-handed girl in our class and they used to tie her hand behind her back to force her to write with her other hand. So everyone came out of class with this same neat, well-formed writing. Although I believe that left-handed girl came out with a nervous stutter too. My writing’s similar to yours, to Betsy’s. But not quite the same; my loops are bigger. Yours and Betsy’s are very alike, I think that’s a family thing. That’s what confused me at first. But now I can see it. That’s not Betsy’s writing at all. It’s yours.’
Vi’s smile had vanished. ‘I don’t know—’
‘It is your writing, isn’t it, Vi
?’ asked Ruby, her voice hard.
Vi looked up at Ruby’s face. She swallowed, then nodded.
‘That was in Michael’s record collection.’
‘Rubes . . .’ Vi was shaking her head.
‘You gave it to him.’ Ruby was staring at Vi as if she had never seen her before.
Vi was notorious – and it had always struck Ruby as amusing, a friend’s foible – for chasing men, for being seen out on the town with her young, handsome ‘walkers’ while her elderly husband stayed here on his estate. It didn’t strike her as funny any more.
‘Rubes, please . . .’
‘You gave it to him,’ said Ruby forcefully, cutting across Vi’s feeble words.
Now Vi’s face became set, mutinous. ‘All right. OK. I did give it to him.’
Ruby took a breath. Vi might as well have stabbed her in the heart.
‘Why?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why would you do that?’
Vi’s eyes slipped away from Ruby’s. She shrugged. ‘Michael was . . . well, I found him very attractive. You did, why shouldn’t I? And I suggested to him that he and I . . . well, just a fling, you know? A little bit of fun.’
‘Oh God.’ Ruby stared at Vi’s face. ‘You’re not even his type,’ she said dazedly.
Michael’s taste in women had always been for the dark, the exotic. Like his Italian-born wife Sheila; like Ruby herself. He hadn’t cared for blondes, or redheads.
‘Don’t look at me like that. You’ve no idea what it’s like, married to . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
‘He was with me, Vi.’
‘Weren’t you the lucky one,’ she snapped. Her eyes, still beautiful, emerald green, flashed into Ruby’s. ‘He was absolutely bloody devoted to you, of course.’
‘I thought so,’ said Ruby. She leaned over and snatched the record sleeve back off Vi.
‘It started out as a bit of fun, Ruby,’ said Vi almost pleadingly, spreading her hands as if in supplication. ‘I wish I could tell you that he chased me. That would salve my conscience quite a lot. But the truth? The truth is I pursued him. I had to know: could I get him? I could usually get any man I wanted, but could I get him when he already had you?’
‘You bitch,’ muttered Ruby.
‘You know I’m a bitch. You’ve always known it.’ Vi swallowed and then went on more calmly: ‘But the game soon got serious. I wanted him. I fell in love with him. Michael wasn’t a toy like my usual boys. You’ve seen them: pretty little things, thick as pigshit. But Michael was a man, a real man, he was dangerous and alluring. I wanted him so much. Showered him with gifts – like that.’ She nodded at the record sleeve.
‘Go on,’ said Ruby numbly.
Vi gave an awkward laugh. ‘I suppose you think it’s all a bit sordid, don’t you? I gave him bigger things too. Expensive things.’
‘The Krugerrand ring, inscribed I’m Still in Love with You. That was you too?’
‘Oh, you saw that?’
‘He had it with him on the day he died.’
Vi’s mouth twisted. ‘I’d given it to him a couple of days earlier. And no doubt he would have returned that, too, if he’d had the time. I wonder why he didn’t return the record? Not that it matters, not any more. Because his time ran out, didn’t it.’
Ruby said nothing.
‘He wouldn’t cave in. He sent so many of my gifts back. Rejected them, and me. I became desperate. What can I tell you? I’m a bored, rich woman with too much time on my hands and I started to pursue him like my life depended on it. Then I followed him one night when he was getting into his car. I was wearing a fur coat, nothing underneath it. I was desperate, Ruby. That writing on the record sleeve? That inscription on the ring? It was the absolute truth. I was still in love with him. And . . . I wanted to prove I could have him.’
Ruby’s face looked as if it had turned to stone.
‘And did you?’ she asked.
Vi nodded, biting her lip, eyes downcast. ‘Just that once. One night! And the minute it was over, he said, Enough. Never again. Keep out of my way.’
Ruby was listening, taking it all in. Michael had betrayed her. Thomas had been telling her the truth. Someone had seen Vi, in the priceless blue mink Anthony had given her for their first wedding anniversary, follow Michael to his car.
Just once and under extreme provocation, she thought.
But once was enough. Once was still a betrayal. And with her friend, of all people.
‘You know me, Rubes.’ Now Vi was smiling again, but the smile was sad and tired. ‘Never could follow the rules, could I? Having had a taste, I wanted more. I kept running after him, he kept pushing me away. He really loved you, Rubes. Really and truly. He didn’t want me. He never did. And that’s why he died, in the end. Poor Michael.’
121
Ruby was very still, watching her friend – her friend! – as she talked about Michael’s death.
‘Oh, Rubes, please don’t look at me like that. I adored him. I loved him so much,’ Vi moaned.
Ruby was startled to see that Vi’s eyes were full of tears.
‘And I wanted to know I could still do it, Rubes, do you see? That I still had it, like I had it back at the Windmill all those years ago, that I could call any man to my side with nothing more than a glance . . .’
Ruby felt faintly sick, sitting here looking at Vi now. A woman who had everything in the world, and still wanted that little bit more. Even her friend’s man. Just to prove that she could.
Ruby took a breath. It was cold in here, but she felt hot, almost dizzy with the shock of what Vi was telling her. All the way here she had been hoping, praying, that she’d got it wrong, that she was mistaken. But now she knew she hadn’t, and it killed her. Vi was her best friend in all the world. And she had betrayed her.
‘Was it you that killed him?’ she asked in a breathless whisper. This was crazy, disgusting, and the worst part of all was Michael’s death. Over this.
Vi’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me?’ she almost laughed, but there were tears making tracks down her cheeks now, real tears of grief and remorse. ‘God, no. No! How can you think that?’
‘Violet?’ It was a man’s voice, quavering, uncertain.
They both turned towards the door; they’d been so deep in conversation that they hadn’t heard it open. Now Anthony stood there and as they watched he shuffled into the room and came over to where the two women were sitting.
The last time Ruby had seen him was in the autumn of the previous year when she and Michael had been here for a shooting party that ended in tragedy. In that short space of time, Anthony seemed to have aged even more. His white hair was too long, and stuck out in cowlicks. His face was a network of wrinkles, dried up as an old riverbed. His eyes were anxious. He was wearing an old food-stained waistcoat, red cord trousers, carpet slippers. He was leaning on a stick.
Vi stood up, quickly wiping away her tears as he approached, his eyes first on her and then on Ruby.
‘Darling, what is it?’ he asked, his eyes going back to his wife. ‘You look upset.’
Vi forced a smile. ‘It’s nothing. Just reminiscing. Sad old days, all that.’
Anthony nodded and his eyes went back to Ruby. Now they held some of their old asperity. ‘Can’t have my girl upset, you know,’ he told her.
Ruby felt the words clang around her brain like a bell. Somehow, she managed to summon a smile for him. ‘No. Of course not,’ she said.
Now he was slipping a trembling arm around Vi. Ruby saw the flinch away, saw this little tableau being acted out in front of her; ancient, mouldering Anthony, still protective of his wife – and Vi, repulsed by his touch, still feeling herself young, trying to prove that she could be the eternal Windmill Girl.
‘So long as we all understand that,’ he said, and there was an expression in his eyes that chilled Ruby to the marrow.
She swallowed. ‘We do,’ she said. ‘Of course we do.’
‘Good.’ Anthony lunged in, kissed his wife’s face.
&
nbsp; Doesn’t he see how she strains away from him? wondered Ruby.
Probably he did. And he ignored it.
He gave Ruby a curt nod, then walked to the door, opened it, and was gone.
122
The instant Anthony was out of the room, Vi wiped her cheek where he had kissed her. Her eyes were fixed to the floor.
‘Were you very upset when Michael rejected you?’ asked Ruby into the stone-hard silence of the room.
Vi cast a despairing glance at Ruby’s face. She almost collapsed back into her chair, then buried her face in her hands. ‘Rubes . . .’ she muttered. ‘I’m so sorry, I never wanted this . . .’
‘Were you?’ hissed Ruby, cutting across Vi’s words.
‘I never wanted you to know, I wanted you to let it go. A gang thing – couldn’t you have just accepted that it was a gang thing, left it at that?’
Ruby surged to her feet and stood over Vi. She shrank back. Ruby looked mad enough to hit her.
‘Were you?’ she demanded.
Vi’s eyes were full of fear. Then she nodded. ‘Yes, I was upset. I was devastated. One night wasn’t enough. Not with him. But he was having none of it. He loved you, Ruby, not me, never me.’
Ruby started pacing up and down, her hand over her mouth. She felt like she was going to throw up, or punch Vi in the face. She came back to where Vi sat and looked down at her.
‘Anthony’s very protective of you,’ she said.
Vi nodded, sheet-white.
‘It was him, wasn’t it? It was him who killed Michael, because he’d rejected you, upset you. Anthony was used to your little affairs, all the young men, but this one was different. You cared about this one. It hurt you when Michael pushed you away. What happened, Vi? Did you cry to Anthony about it? Was that how it happened?’
‘Oh Jesus . . .’ sobbed Vi. ‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘Was it Anthony?’ pressed Ruby. She leaned down, grabbed Vi’s arm and shook her, hard. ‘Was it?’
‘No, it—’ Wincing, Vi wrenched her arm free. Her eyes when they met Ruby’s were imploring. ‘Ruby, I’m sorry – you have to believe that. Anthony . . . yes, it’s true. I told Anthony about what happened. I know this must be hard for you to understand, but I often told him about the boys I went with. It amused him. He couldn’t . . . he hasn’t been able to do a damned thing in the bedroom for a long time. And thank God for that, I couldn’t stand him pawing over me. But he liked to hear about my “little adventures” as he called them.’