by Lorna Cook
‘Oh, thank God. Thank God,’ Veronica replied, burying her face into Freddie’s chest. She’d never been so happy to see him in all her life. ‘It’s Bertie. He’s … he’s … mad,’ she finished in a whisper.
Freddie grabbed Veronica and moved her behind him.
‘What’s he doing? What are you doing, old chap?’ Freddie called down the hall in a placating voice.
Bertie staggered towards Freddie slowly, his fists raised. But his foot caught on the rug and he stumbled, falling face forward onto the floor. He was still.
Veronica stood clutching Freddie’s wool coat, as if it was a safety blanket, looking out at the scene in front of her. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she moved round Freddie and stepped forward.
‘Good God, he’s out like a light,’ Freddie murmured. ‘I hope he’s all right. What the hell’s he doing all the way up here?’
Anna unbolted her door and appeared, shaking, in her nightdress.
Veronica ran to her. ‘Anna, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right, Lady Veronica.’
‘No, it’s not. He’s never done this before. Has he?’
Anna shook her head. ‘Not this, no.’
‘Then I don’t know why he … I don’t know what he …’ Veronica trailed off.
Freddie unbuttoned his coat and put it around a shaking Anna. ‘Put this on, you’re cold.’
Anna accepted it, nodding; her face grim.
Freddie reached out and took Veronica’s hand within his. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, the two of them, hand in hand. Bertie’s absurd actions in front of Freddie forced Veronica to admit defeat. There was no hiding Bertie’s behaviour now. She felt ashamed, so ashamed, that this was her marriage. This was her husband, on the floor in front of them.
Freddie was mute. He slowly removed his hand from Veronica’s, bent down and with an effort of will picked Bertie up and threw him over his shoulder. ‘Help me get him to bed, will you?’ His voice was strained with the weight of his brother on his shoulder.
Veronica walked behind him, but made little effort to stop Bertie’s head from bashing into the bannisters as Freddie stumbled and staggered his way to Bertie’s bedroom. Anna followed at a slow pace.
After depositing Bertie on his own four-poster, Freddie turned to face the women who had both silently refused to enter Bertie’s room and were standing in the doorway. Veronica was still in her cream silk dress from dinner; her face like thunder. Anna, drowning in Freddie’s coat, looked small and younger than her seventeen years. The two women were holding hands. He looked from one to the other and then sat on the edge of Bertie’s bed with a thump. The move roused Bertie, who stirred and rolled over in his sleep. Both women stepped back, fearful of the consequences of him waking.
‘Veronica, what the hell is going on in this house?’ he asked.
Veronica spoke to Anna, ignoring Freddie’s question. ‘Stay in my room tonight. The door is stronger.’
Anna nodded and walked towards Veronica’s room.
Freddie’s eyes widened. ‘“The door is stronger?” Veronica?’
Veronica closed her eyes. She needed time to think before she told Freddie the truth. But he had resumed scrutinising his brother.
‘That was quite a fall. Do you think he’ll be all right?’ He looked back at Veronica for an answer.
She tried to hold the tears in, but the relentless emotions brought about by Bertie’s violence, the requisition, and her failed departure were too much. Her nerves were fraught and the tears she’d been attempting to hold back poured forth. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs, but it was no use.
Freddie walked towards Veronica and pulled her into his arms. He turned so he was facing Bertie, watching, waiting for any sign of resurgence. Freddie stroked her hair while she cried. The movement felt wonderful, soothing and she allowed herself to rest against him. What must he think of her? How she had fallen from grace. How ridiculous must she look to him now – frightened to death of her own husband, isolated, her maid her only friend. She wanted desperately to know he thought well of her. But she didn’t think well of herself. Not anymore.
Gently he moved back from her, causing a bereft feeling to hit her. He looked into her eyes; his gaze held so much sympathy that Veronica couldn’t bear it. But then Freddie’s expression slowly softened and he reached out and touched her face. She closed her eyes, guiltily relishing his touch. The intimate gesture forced her to involuntarily draw in a sharp breath. She wanted to tell him to stop. It was cruel.
He whispered her name. As she opened her eyes, he moved slowly towards her, dipping his head. His face only a slight distance from her own, he slowly closed the gap and softly kissed her.
Her mind raced and her body surged with electricity. Freddie held her gently as he continued to kiss her, faster, more urgent. She felt the full weight of his passion and she returned it. She had no time to understand why it was happening, only that it was, after all these years. There was no time for happiness; no time for anything at all.
Behind her, Bertie stirred. Veronica sprang back from Freddie and swung round, her eyes wide in fear. But Bertie slept on. What they had just done was so incredibly dangerous. She couldn’t believe it had happened. It must have been sympathy driving Freddie to comfort her. She daren’t hope it was anything else. She daren’t hope it was a flicker of love.
As Bertie snored and rolled over, safely in his slumber, Veronica turned back to Freddie. He was running his hand across his forehead, his expression one of anguish.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have … I’m sorry.’
Veronica touched her lips; they were warm where his lips had pressed against hers, deliciously, familiarly. The love for Freddie that she thought she’d buried came to the fore. She looked at him and mustered the only words she felt able to utter without a lump forming in her throat. ‘Please don’t worry.’ Her voice sounded stiff and not at all like her own.
He looked like hell and stared at the floor, nodding by way of reply as Veronica left the room and went back to her own.
In the morning, Freddie awoke to a blissful, false state. The memory of last night’s awful events hadn’t yet wormed into his mind. But the sedate waking moment was swiftly replaced with a sick feeling. Whatever was happening in this house was wrong. To say he was uneasy would be an understatement. And then there was the kiss. He couldn’t have her. She would never be his again. He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have kissed her. It was spur-of-the-moment and stupid. More than that — as good as it had felt, it was wrong.
After bathing and dressing, he walked down the hall and knocked quietly at Veronica’s door. There was no answer and all sounded quiet within.
He encountered Anna in the dining room.
‘Good morning, sir. Breakfast is warm in the dishes if you’d like something.’ Anna pointed towards the sideboard. He was ravenous, but was more interested in finding Veronica. He wondered if he should go and look for her. But given how he had acted last night she was probably avoiding him.
‘Anna? Are you quite all right?’
‘I’m fine, sir, thank you for asking. I’ve hung your coat up again.’
Freddie shook his head in disbelief. So that was to be the only reference to Bertie’s antics last night.
Freddie helped himself to kedgeree and what passed for coffee these days and sat quietly. He ate nothing and fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup.
Bertie appeared moments later and helped himself to the dishes. ‘I suppose I’m not getting my newspaper in my room,’ he sulked.
Freddie’s eyes were wide and he extended his head forward with shock. ‘After last night?’
‘Bloody servants,’ Bertie uttered.
‘What were you doing last night, Bertie? I arrived to find you scampering about upstairs on the servants’ landing. I know I was drunk, but you were something else entirely.’
Bertie put his cutlery down and looked his brother directly in the eye. Bertie’s eyes were bloodshot and his skin was pale. Freddie retreated a little in his seat.
Anna appeared with a fresh pot of coffee. ‘May I get you anything else?’ she asked, studiously avoiding looking at her employer.
Both men shook their heads and Freddie looked up at Anna to find her staring at him. He looked at her enquiringly and then glanced at his brother to check he wasn’t watching. Anna left the room clutching the empty coffee jug.
Freddie was beyond frustrated and threw his napkin on to the table as he stood. ‘I’m finished.’
‘You’re leaving today, aren’t you?’ Bertie said in a tone that made it clear he wanted his brother gone.
‘I’m not entirely sure yet,’ Freddie said, thinking of the events of last night. Before he left he needed to speak to Veronica. After what he’d done, she would probably want him long gone.
Bertie nodded and looked around frantically. ‘Where’s the bloody newspaper?’
Instead of replying, Freddie simply left the dining room.
Anna was waiting for him in the hallway. Wordlessly, she passed him a small scrap of folded paper and then left.
Freddie glanced behind him to check Bertie hadn’t moved like a wraith to creep up on him. He opened the paper. In Veronica’s handwriting, there were two words: Beach hut.
CHAPTER 13
Veronica could hear crunching on the mix of pebbles and sand and she stood up from the daybed in readiness. She’d been waiting in the beach hut for what felt like hours, but in all probability hadn’t been more than half an hour at most. She steadied herself against the bedpost. She felt sick from the lack of breakfast and sleep, petrified about seeing Freddie in the cold light of day and overwhelmed at how the situation with Bertie had risen to this horrific new state. She wondered what she could have done earlier in their marriage to stop Bertie becoming this bad. What would he have allowed her to do? With every attempt to quell him, his violence had risen.
Veronica had tried every approach under the sun to get Anna to leave, but she’d always refused. ‘We can handle him together. It’s only until we all leave anyway,’ Anna had said.
But this was new. Surely she’d go now.
Veronica knew she had to explain things to Freddie. He had saved them both last night, she was sure of it. In the corridor, Bertie’s attentions had swiftly turned from Anna to Veronica. Perhaps that’s what he had planned all along, luring her from behind her locked door knowing she would go to Anna’s aid? Perhaps he had been tricking them. Veronica narrowed her eyes, wondering how he could have executed a plan like that while staggeringly drunk.
Freddie appeared at the door and Veronica smoothed her skirt down nervously. She wished her heart wasn’t beating so fast. He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his forehead.
‘Oh, Veronica,’ he said.
She couldn’t mention the kiss that shouldn’t have happened. She was too embarrassed by how guilty yet mistakenly hopeful she’d felt. And she didn’t want to embarrass him by mentioning something he’d seemed ashamed and regretful of almost the very moment he’d done it. Instead, she launched into the speech she’d been rehearsing in her head for the best part of the morning.
‘Don’t leave.’ She spoke quickly. ‘I’m begging you not to leave today. Please stay until the end. Please stay. If not for me … you owe me nothing of course … but for Anna. She refuses to leave me and I’m not sure I can protect us both. I can protect myself, I think. I’ve learned how. But Anna, she’s too young.’
Freddie’s face went slack. ‘My worst fears …’ he murmured, but then he looked at her, his eyes questioning, unsure. ‘Bertie tried to get into Anna’s room? But it was a mistake? He didn’t know what he was doing? He can’t have. He’s sitting at the breakfast table as if nothing’s happened.’
Veronica gave a bitter laugh. ‘Of course he is. Freddie, he’s your brother and you don’t want to hear this, but please, please believe me. He’s not normal. Not anymore. He was fine when I married him, I think. Or at least as close to fine as I thought he could be, given that he wasn’t …’
‘Wasn’t …?’ Freddie raised an eyebrow.
‘Wasn’t you,’ Veronica said, ploughing on before she could acknowledge what she’d admitted. ‘But he’s not right. I swear he’s not. He’s been like this for some time.’
‘It’s the requisition order,’ Freddie murmured. ‘It has to be.’
‘It’s not.’ She was forceful. ‘It’s the drink. He’s getting worse. He drinks bottle after bottle of whatever he can, every night. He drinks so much, he can hardly stand and then, on the nights he can stand, he comes for me. Although he can’t … you know … unless I’m scared, and he makes me pay for that.’
Veronica went quiet and Freddie screwed his face up and looked at the bookshelf, clearly trying to work out what she meant.
‘He can’t, what?’ he asked, looking back at her.
Veronica breathed in and out loudly and then whispered, ‘Don’t make me say it.’
His face was still puzzled. And then realisation dawned. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said when he finally understood. He slumped against the door frame and rubbed his hand across his jaw.
Veronica looked at the floor. ‘At first I thought it was me; that I wasn’t enough. Then I thought it was the alcohol. Now I think it’s both. He hates me. He hates me so much, he won’t divorce me. He’d rather keep me, trapped, like a caged animal.’ She fought back tears.
Freddie appeared unable to speak.
‘He’s never been the loving sort, or particularly gentle,’ Veronica continued quietly. ‘He left me alone more often than not until he really started drinking a few months after we got married. It all changed then. He started taking out whatever frustrations were bothering him on me. I took it to begin with. Each time, I thought, he won’t do this again, I’m sure of it. He said he was sorry, at first. And I forgave him. I was sure he would stop. But every time was the same. Until it got worse and he started hurting me. He struggled to … you know … and I realised he needed more and more violent ways. I tried to oblige, until I finally knew that I wasn’t an active participant. When I tried to fight him off, he enjoyed it. My fear. Then I tried to stay silent, thinking that if I didn’t show fear, he’d struggle, but he hit me so hard, I passed out and since then I don’t trust him not to kill me. Now I refuse to unlock the door.’ The tears she’d been holding back fell.
Freddie was silent, his face lost all colour. He looked like the bottom had fallen out of his world. He couldn’t move, couldn’t seem to go to her and comfort her. He was rooted to the threshold.
He groped for the door frame to steady himself. ‘My own brother.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ Veronica wiped tears from her face. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. He’s your brother. I’m sorry. I just need you to promise to stay. For Anna. She won’t leave me. I’ve tried to get rid of her. But she won’t go. If Bertie gets to her, she won’t know how to stop him. She’ll be frightened. She’ll show fear. She won’t know it, but she’ll be giving him all the things he needs to … Oh God.’
It appeared to take all of Freddie’s strength to move his body away from the door frame and walk to Veronica, pulling her towards him. He held her tightly against him and her body weakened, her arms hanging limply by her side.
‘I don’t know what to do.’ His eyes were wide.
‘Please don’t leave,’ she begged.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he promised.
Veronica cried tears of relief into Freddie’s chest. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
‘What happened last night? Why doesn’t he remember anything?’
Veronica wiped her eyes. ‘He remembers. I’m sure of it. It suits him to act relatively normal during the day and to turn into a monster after a few drinks at night. I’ve tried to stop him from drinking,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve paid for it with his fists.’
‘Jesus Christ,�
� he said. ‘I know he always used to like a drink. We both do. But I had no idea he was so out of control.’
Veronica looked up at him, but he was looking over the top of her head to the wooden beach hut wall.
‘Everything will be all right. You know that, don’t you, Veronica?’ Freddie led her to the daybed and they sat down.
Veronica nodded in agreement, although she had no idea how it would ever be all right again. She was so tense, her stomach was aching.
‘Why Anna? Why last night? I’m sorry, I’m struggling to understand all this.’
‘I don’t know. To punish her for being loyal to me? Because she’s young and innocent? Because he knew I’d come running for her? Because he failed to get to me earlier in the day? Because she’s an easy target?’
They were quiet then with nothing but the winter wind whipping around the old beach hut. Freddie clearly couldn’t believe this. He looked as if he was in a nightmare from which he hoped he’d soon awake. They sat back against the painted white wood, rough where it had not been sanded before the paint had been applied.
‘How often …’ His voice sounded strange, strangled. ‘How often does this happen? How often does he …’ He trailed off, swallowing loudly.
Veronica’s voice was quiet. ‘He used to try once or twice a month. Then the rest of the time he wouldn’t even look at me. But it’s more frequent now. Freddie, I thought I was going to die the last time. He was killing me. I was so scared and that was what spurred him on. It’s what’s driven him for months. Getting that reaction from me. It’s his addiction. I can’t take it anymore.’ The more she thought about it, the more despair whirled inside her.
His face was ashen.
‘Why haven’t you just left him, Veronica?’ he asked. ‘Why are you still here?’
She couldn’t tell Freddie; couldn’t admit that the reason she was still here was because he had suddenly arrived, changing her escape plans and forcing her to stay longer in the presence of her violent husband. She looked at Freddie’s face, full of concern and, she wasn’t sure, something else that she couldn’t quite read and knew he’d never forgive himself if she told him.