Alone Beneath The Heaven

by Bradshaw, Rita

  ‘I don’t remember.’ His voice was offhand and matter-of-fact, but there was something in his attitude that made Sarah feel uncomfortable, and then, as Rodney almost thrust his brother’s wife from him, he turned fully to her. ‘Come and sit down, Sarah.’

  The plushly upholstered dark wood dining chairs were grouped round a table ablaze with crystal and silver, and as he said, ‘Here, we’ll sit here, shall we,’ and pulled out a seat for her, she said, ‘I think there are name cards.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘On the table, there are name cards where everyone is supposed to sit.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ It was soft but with a wealth of feeling, and for a moment she thought he was going to sit down anyway and ignore the place settings, but then he said, his voice attempting jocularity, ‘Well, well, a new version of hunt the thimble. This is the first time we’ve been so formal on Christmas Day.’

  She knew, even before it was confirmed, that she would be seated at the opposite end of the table from Rodney, and she also had a good idea where their hostess was sitting when Vanessa cried in the next instant, her voice shrill and laughing, ‘Find your seats, everyone, find your seats. We’re all mixed up, I don’t want anyone sitting next to their partners, nothing so boring as that, it’s Christmas.’ And then Vanessa looked at her, and held the look for some moments, her pale pearly-blue eyes with their thick, darkened lashes opaque and cold.

  Richard’s wife didn’t want her here. Sarah felt the prickly feeling that comes with being in the wrong place at the wrong time freeze her face. But why? What had she done? But then Rodney had found her place and pulled out her chair for her, and everyone was being seated. Sarah found she was sandwiched between a large portly man on her right, and an even larger man on her left, both of whom, after a perfunctory word of greeting to her, talked the relative merits of their respective clubs for the whole of lunch.

  As the meal progressed, she was conscious that all the merriment was at the far end of the table, and also that the food wasn’t up to Hilda’s standard; in fact, it was disappointingly bland, although she felt ungrateful and not a little guilty for thinking so.

  She was also hot and sticky. The heating was of the hothouse variety and was making her head ache slightly, added to which a strange feeling of deflation was making her want to run away and hide.

  She had been so elated that morning, when she had looked at herself in the full-length mirror in her room and hardly recognized the tall elegant woman staring back at her. She had thought . . . Oh, she didn’t know what she had thought. She bit down on her lip hard, then raised her gaze from her plate to the end of the table where another burst of laughter had erupted. Even Rodney was smiling, and as she watched, she saw Vanessa turn to him, one hand moving to tap his arm lightly as though in answer to something he had just said.

  She didn’t belong here, but he did. Suddenly the new clothes and hairdo meant nothing and she felt herself shrink down to child size again. She wished she was at Maggie’s at this precise moment, oh, she did. Maggie was real, Florrie was real, but these people . . . She should never have come.

  And it was as this thought reverberated in her head that Rodney looked straight at her, as though his eyes had been drawn by her thoughts. All right? It was mouthed, not spoken out loud, but for the life of her she couldn’t respond with the requisite smile and nod he would expect, merely moving her head stiffly as she mouthed back, Yes thank you, and then lowered her gaze to her plate, attacking the soggy Brussels sprouts determinedly.

  He could sit there and laugh and talk with Vanessa all day for all she cared, it didn’t bother her in the least. He was just like the rest of them, he was, and she had thought he was so different. Well, she’d show him, and them. Her head came up and her shoulders straightened. She was as good as this lot any day.

  It was this frame of mind that drove her, once the meal had finished, to walk swiftly out of the room ahead of the others, who had all risen at Vanessa’s announcement that coffee would be served in the drawing room, and into the downstairs cloakroom. She needed a few minutes to compose herself after that terrible meal and get her thoughts in order, and she couldn’t do that whilst making small talk.

  She sat in there for a few minutes, willing the cool, calm girl who had so impressed Lady Harris at the interview into play, and then smoothed her hair in the fashionable gilt mirror before splashing a little cold water over her wrists. She looked fine, just fine. Not as bang up-to-date as Vanessa maybe, and her shoes weren’t Italian leather by some designer or other as she had heard Vanessa informing another woman guest hers were, but she was dressed well. And now she had to get out there and continue to act the part until she could leave. Oh, Rodney . . . The thought came from nowhere and with it a weakening desire to weep, and she quickly thrust it away. No, no, none of that. He had invited her here today because he felt sorry for her. She had to face that and live with it. He’d always felt sorry for her. Her stomach muscles clenched and she looked into the mirror again, into her deep blue eyes that were trying to tell her something.

  She loved him.

  It was there in her face and she couldn’t deny it. She loved him. Oh no, how could she have been so stupid? How could she, how could she, how could she? She shut her eyes tightly, breathing in and out slowly for some moments before she opened them again and looked at the girl in the glass. ‘All right, so you love him,’ she whispered quietly. ‘And he doesn’t love you, he’ll never love you, so you get on with it, right? You don’t snivel and whine, you get on with it.’ And part of getting on with it was getting through the rest of this nightmare day.

  She partly opened the cloakroom door, pausing and taking a deep breath in preparation for what lay ahead, and it was as she stood like that, able to see out but without really being visible herself, that she saw Vanessa dart across the hall and push someone, who must have been standing within the open doorway of the dining room, into the room, shutting the door after her.

  Sarah couldn’t have explained the gut instinct which prompted her to walk across to the dining room, and as she paused outside the door she could hear a man and woman’s low tones, before Rodney’s voice, sharp now with annoyance, said, ‘Open the damn door, Vanessa.’ More murmuring and then, ‘I’m not discussing this with you now or at any other time, and what was the reason for putting her between Miles and John at lunch, incidentally? I should think she was bored out of her mind.’ Vanessa’s softer tones again, and then Rodney’s voice saying, ‘Only because she is too well-mannered to show boredom, that’s all.’

  They were discussing her. Sarah felt such a burst of indignation she didn’t stop to think before she rapped smartly on the door, opening it a moment later to see Rodney and Vanessa standing just within the room.

  ‘There you are.’ Rodney stepped forward, speaking as though he had been searching for her all day, and taking her arm said, ‘There’s coffee in the drawing room.’

  Sarah didn’t answer him beyond an inclination of her head, but she turned her gaze on Vanessa’s watching face and said, ‘Thank you for a lovely lunch, Mrs Mallard’ without smiling.

  ‘Oh please, call me Vanessa.’

  The paleness of the light blue eyes accentuated their piercing quality and made it difficult to hold Vanessa’s gaze, but Sarah managed it, and it was the other woman who looked away first, saying, ‘Come along then, let’s go through, shall we? I know how Rodney loves his coffee after a meal.’ She tapped Rodney’s arm in much the same way she had at lunch, but now there was no smile on his face.

  He totally ignored Vanessa, and it was noticeable that he didn’t allow his sister-in-law to precede them from the room as he took Sarah’s elbow and ushered her out into the hall. Sarah was very conscious of Vanessa just behind them as they stepped into the buzzing drawing room, and when someone called out, ‘Oh, Vee, there you are, are you game for charades?’ and she heard Rodney groan, she said as naturally as she could, ‘You don’t like charades?’

  �
��How can anyone like charades?’ And then, as the noise and laughter swelled, he said, ‘It’s unbearably warm in here. How about if we take our coffee into the garden? It’s fine out, and quite mild, and there’s a sheltered spot down by the rose arbour which catches any sun that’s around.’

  She hesitated. ‘They won’t mind?’

  ‘Good grief, no.’

  There was nothing she would like better than to escape Vanessa’s hawk-like gaze for a while, and so she said, ‘All right, if you’re sure it’s not rude.’

  ‘Trust me.’ He grinned at her, and she forced a smile back, which faded as she watched him cross the room for their coffee. How could she have ever thought for a minute he would be interested in someone like her? He was so handsome, so in command, so . . . so everything. But she hadn’t, not really . . . had she? Oh, she didn’t know what she’d thought any more. She turned abruptly, walking over to the large wide french windows and staring out over the neatly laid-out grounds, her body tight. What on earth had possessed her to fall in love with someone so completely out of her reach as Rodney Mallard? But then, she hadn’t chosen it. Love didn’t conform to any neat tidy social pattern, that was the trouble. And in a way, she’d always loved him, but her love had changed, grown up, become adult-to-adult instead of child-to-adult. Her thoughts emphasized their age difference and again she shut her eyes tight for a moment, before opening them and staring blankly ahead. He was an experienced man of the world, he’d done things, seen things she could only dream of. Why, why would a man like that ever look twice at a raw young thing like her? Well, he wouldn’t, that was the truth of it.

  She was still standing there looking out into the garden when Rodney started to make his way back with their coffee, and he found himself caught by the picture she made as she stood framed against the shining glass, the light gold velvet curtains either side of the windows the same colour as her hair. She was stunning. He glanced briefly round the room before his gaze returned to Sarah. Absolutely stunning, and she’d got something none of these other women had - poise, natural dignity, call it what you will; it was there.

  His gaze travelled down the back of her head, lingering on a wayward curl that had escaped the elaborately upswept waves as he came within a foot of her, and then past the slender shoulders and tiny waist to the long long legs encased in fine stockings. He felt something quicken inside him, and immediately the brake came on.

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned as he reached her side, taking her coffee with a smile.

  ‘I think we’ll drink the coffee in here and then go for a stroll once we’ve finished,’ Rodney said with a wry grimace at the coffee already half filling the saucers. ‘I’m not very good at walking and carrying.’

  ‘It’s a good job you’re a doctor and not a waiter.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘I don’t know if some of my patients would agree with that statement.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they would.’ She was finding it physically painful to look into his face and keep her own from expressing how she felt, and she drank the coffee quickly, leaving Rodney only halfway through his when she left the room to fetch her coat from an upstairs bedroom which had been designated for the lady guests’ use.

  The wife of one of the men she had been sitting next to at lunch was fixing her hair in the dressing-table mirror when Sarah entered the bedroom, and she turned on the little stool and smiled as Sarah walked across to the bed where the coats were all lying. ‘Hallo, I’m Elizabeth Redfern, Miles’s wife. We were introduced but I expect you’ve forgotten everyone’s names. You’re a friend of Rodney’s, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sarah smiled back. The middle-aged face was curious but not unkind.

  ‘It’s so nice to see Rodney enjoying himself. He really doesn’t socialize much, you know. Of course he’s devoted to his work, but then you’d know that.’ The heavily made-up eyes were magpie bright. ‘Absolutely dedicated.’

  The conversation continued along the same lines for some moments before the other woman said, ‘Did I hear you say before lunch that you are a volunteer at St Anne’s? Such a worthwhile use of your time, my dear.’ She nodded approvingly. ‘There are a group of us from the Women’s Institute that do the same sort of thing. I can see why Rodney was drawn to you; one needs to have the same motivation as one’s partner, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, but it’s not like that—’

  But the stout matron was in full flow. ‘Miles and I always felt Vanessa and Rodney were wise to call it off, it really wouldn’t have worked, you know. And of course dear Richard is devoted to her, quite devoted.’

  Call it off? She wanted to ask more, but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘And there’s never been any animosity between the three of them, Miles and I have always admired them for that. Of course, when Richard married Vanessa, Rodney was his best man. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ Sarah took a deep breath. ‘Did . . . did they see each other for long?’ She hoped the fairly ambiguous question would draw out more facts without her having to be too specific.

  ‘Rodney and Vanessa, you mean?’ At Sarah’s nod, Elizabeth wrinkled her brow before she realized what she was doing, and quickly smoothed the lines again. ‘I’m not sure, some months I think, before they got engaged, but it’s Richard whom Miles has always been friendly with, so I don’t know too much about Rodney. The engagement only lasted two months, I do know that, and then by the end of the same year Richard was walking down the aisle with her.’ She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘It caused quite a stir at the time, you know, but Miles thought it was a great hoot.’

  A great hoot.

  ‘And of course it’s all worked out wonderfully well, although poor dear Richard has had his share of tragedy, hasn’t he? That awful war . . .’

  Another guest walked in at that moment, and after a bright nod and smile, Elizabeth turned her attention to the new-comer, who, it appeared, was one of her bridge partners.

  They had been engaged? Rodney and Vanessa had been engaged? Sarah’s head was spinning as she found her coat and walked down the stairs in a daze. Who had ended it, and why? Well, it must have been Vanessa of course - she had married Richard within months, it seemed. Had the lovely blonde been engaged to Rodney, met his brother, and then realized she’d made a mistake? Or had they had a quarrel, or . . . She continued blindly down the stairs, her head teeming with a hundred variations on a theme. Did Rodney still have some feeling for her? She stopped dead in the hall, the rise and fall of conversation from the drawing room sounding like a swarm of bees. Vanessa was beautiful, cultured, elegant . . . and she was part of his world.

  She stared at the closed door and then reached for the curving brass handle. The day wasn’t turning out quite as she had expected, all things considered.

  The gardens surrounding the house were extensive, and laid out in a formal pattern of flowerbeds and rectangles of lawn, interspersed with neat circles of bushes and strategically placed young trees. The air was indeed mild, unlike the day before, and it was more reminiscent of an early spring day than late December as Rodney and Sarah strolled down to the little rose arbour at the perimeter of the grounds.

  Sarah was finding conversation difficult - her newly acknowledged feelings made her tongue-tied and uncomfortable - and it was after Rodney had enquired as to the security procedures at the house that she blurted out the events of the night before. Rodney’s response had shattered the calm of the December day, and sent a host of twittering sparrows zooming into the sky, as he’d bellowed, ‘He did what?’

  She hadn’t expected such a dramatic reaction, but as the full story had come out, she became aware he was genuinely very upset.

  ‘And you just went to bed?’ He was staring at her as though she had come from another planet. ‘You didn’t phone anyone? Maggie, Lady Harris, the police - me?’

  ‘Well, nothing actually happened.’

  ‘Nothing actually happened.’ He repeated her word
s slowly. ‘I don’t believe you just said that. At the very least you should have reported the incident to someone in authority at the local police station. What if he had come back?’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  Rodney continued staring at her a moment longer before he said, ‘Sarah—’ And then stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath.

  ‘It’s all right, really.’

  ‘It’s far from all right.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘First Peggy and now this. The man wants locking away. Now, there is no way you are staying there alone tonight, and Lady Harris needs to be informed without delay. Are you going to do that, or do you want me to?’

  They had reached the little rose arbour, which had been cut into a semi-circle in the lawn the path was bordering, and as they sat by unspoken mutual consent on the small slatted wooden seat enclosed on three sides by trellis, Sarah found she was staring at him. She wasn’t quite sure if she should be feeling so thrilled at his concern, and to hide her emotion she lowered her head as she said, ‘I had intended to call Fenwick over the next day or two.’