by Lorna Cook
She recognised the road she was on as being fairly near the turn-off towards Tyneham. She pulled into traffic sitting behind a tractor and took the slow pace as an opportunity to think about Veronica. They’d asked Guy’s gran and she’d been extremely cagey about the letters. She’d been fairly cagey about everything, really. If they did want to find out what really happened to the frightened-looking woman in the photograph, asking Anna was probably a dead end. The only route that remained was the guide at Tyneham, Reg. He’d grown up in the village and might remember the Standishes. But they’d made idiots of themselves when they’d seen him earlier on and he seemed like a grumpy sort.
Melissa edged the car forward. If she carried on, she’d soon reach the A road to take her very slowly back towards the motorways and London. If she hung a left, she’d find herself back at Tyneham again.
While she sat in the near standstill of traffic, she thought about her dad. About how it had been such a while since she’d spoken to him. After everything that had passed between her mum and dad, Melissa just struggled to be as close to him as she was to her mother. Both of her parents were so much happier now, apart, than they’d ever been together. Her dad’s new wife was lovely, always sending Melissa a birthday present and inviting her to Christmas celebrations. She kept Melissa’s dad in check where he needed it and his behaviour had mellowed with age. Perhaps he’d learned the error of his ways and was making amends in his second marriage? There was a small part of Melissa that wished her parents had been able to work it all out. But the decades of contempt, rather than love, had put paid to any chance of that happening. No, Melissa thought. They were better off in their new relationships.
The farm traffic carried on round the bend and the turning came upon her. It was now or never. Melissa looked at it longingly and then, after only the quickest of hesitations, wound the steering wheel and turned left onto the track.
She would quickly go to Tyneham. Just to see if she could extract any background information from Reg, who, in all likelihood, was probably a child at the time and knew nothing anyway. And then she was definitely going back home, back to normality and to forget all about her terrible holiday in Dorset, her crap ex-boyfriend and Veronica Standish.
CHAPTER 15
Tyneham, December 1943
Veronica followed Freddie at a distance after they left the beach hut and entered the house through the front door. Freddie was in the entrance hall. He had draped his coat over the back of one of the studded wingback leather armchairs; his hands held out in front of him towards the roaring log fire that was failing to warm the ice-cold entrance hall.
He turned and beamed as Veronica appeared. She returned his smile. Resisting the urge to run to his arms and embrace him, she started undoing her coat and moved towards his to collect it and hang it up. Neither of them spoke. The happiness shone from their eyes. As she approached him, she glanced around at the empty hall, worrying where Bertie might be.
From within his office, Bertie slammed the telephone down and Veronica jumped. Seconds later, he appeared in the front hall, glaring at her. He walked towards the fireplace and stood next to his brother. Bertie flicked open his silver lighter and matching cigarette case. He put a cigarette to his mouth and then lazily picked a piece of loose tobacco from his tongue and flicked it onto the hall floor. He looked at her through narrowed eyes.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he asked, turning at the last second to look at Freddie.
‘Me?’ Freddie questioned. ‘Walking, saying goodbye. I’m not sure when I’ll be back here next.’
‘You told me you’d be leaving, but yet here you still are,’ Bertie said slowly, opening his arms wide to indicate his brother’s ongoing presence.
‘I’m feeling sentimental. I thought I’d stay until the end,’ Freddie said, taking a cigarette from his silver case and flicking open his lighter. Veronica could see Freddie’s jaw clench, but his pleasant smile remained fixed.
‘All this leaving together business is turning out to be a nightmare,’ Bertie said. ‘We should have just gone. Damn the villagers. Damn solidarity. We’ve left it to the last minute. The removal company assures me they’ll be here on the day, first thing, to pack up the beds and the last pieces of furniture. But if they’re late and miss it …’ Bertie trailed off.
Still holding Freddie’s coat, Veronica listened from the far side of the entrance hall.
‘God only knows why we have left it so late to finish here,’ Bertie continued in clipped tones. ‘The guns still need to be packed.’ Bertie glanced around the hall, surveying items that should have been boxed up and sent on the moment the requisition order came through. ‘Why are all the books still on the library shelves? The packing crates have been here for weeks.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘You need to get on with it, Veronica.’
Bertie turned and left, slamming the door to his study behind him. Freddie’s gaze followed his brother and then, when the door closed, he flicked his glance towards Veronica and his expression softened. She nodded. It was just a matter of time now.
Veronica climbed the stairs, unlocked her door and heard a rustling noise over her shoulder as she did so. Panic rose in her chest as she felt Bertie’s presence loom. But she spun around and saw only Anna padding across the landing towards her. She exhaled a sigh of relief and both women entered Veronica’s room.
Anna looked at Veronica questioningly.
‘We’re leaving together.’ Veronica clasped Anna’s hands and beamed with happiness. ‘Freddie and I. He loves me. He never stopped.’
‘The way he’s been looking at you, it’s no surprise.’
Veronica’s face fell. ‘Is it obvious? Do you think Bertie knows? Oh God, if he finds out before we have a chance to leave—’
‘It isn’t long now. Just be careful,’ Anna said. ‘Now, tell me what you have planned and how I can help.’
During dinner, Veronica was careful not to even so much as glance at Freddie. The overwhelming happiness threatened to explode from within her, but it was tinged with worry. She felt that somehow Bertie would know, would realise what was going on in his own house. His wife and his brother. And then all hell would break loose.
Whenever Freddie spoke to her, she answered him as joylessly as possible, hoping her one-word answers would throw Bertie off any scent he may be picking up. She must keep Freddie at arm’s reach until they left. It was imperative, if they were to leave without a hitch.
Bertie poured glass after glass of wine, offering none to anyone and keeping the bottle within his reach. Veronica watched with shame as he leaned his head on his hand, his elbow slipping suddenly off the edge of the polished mahogany dining table. The table could easily seat thirty and the three of them were bunched together at one end.
Bertie lurched and eyed her angrily as if she was responsible for his embarrassment. He suddenly rose and walked towards the door. ‘Goodnight,’ he said over his shoulder.
Freddie looked towards the doorway as he and Veronica listened to the slow rhythmic thud of Bertie climbing the stairs. ‘It’s not what he says that scares me,’ Freddie said in a low voice as he reached to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘It’s more what he doesn’t say that I find the most sinister.’
Veronica glanced towards the door, making sure Bertie really had gone.
‘Want to share this glass with me?’ Freddie said, moving his chair closer to hers.
She shook her head. ‘You have it.’ After a few seconds, she continued, ‘I’m sorry I’m being distant, but I must when Bertie’s around. Anna said she could tell that you loved me, Freddie. What if Bertie can see it too? I’m worried. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you because of me.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ he soothed, reaching out to touch her cheek. ‘And nothing’s going to happen to you either. We’re leaving, together. I’d be gone from here right this moment if we weren’t stuck out in the middle of the countryside without transport. We’ll never make it thro
ugh the valley in the dead of night in the blackout. We need to plan things. We need to find a way to leave. Unseen.’ He leaned towards her and kissed her.
She wanted to savour his kiss, but instead she pulled away, glanced towards the door in fear, then gave him an apologetic look. ‘Not in the house. We can’t. William will help us leave. Anna will tell him. He was going to help me the last time.’
‘The last time? You’ve tried to leave before?’
Veronica nodded, but offered no explanation.
‘Come on,’ he said, downing his wine. ‘I’ll walk you to your room.’
At her door, she resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss him, pull him towards her and take him in her arms, into her bed. What if Bertie saw? What if he was listening from his room?
Freddie smiled down at her. ‘Goodnight, Veronica.’ He backed away from her with a reluctant expression on his face and walked towards his own bedroom.
It was a strange kind of tapping, gentle at first and then slightly louder. Veronica wasn’t sure if it was part of a dream in which she was far away from Tyneham or reality. After a while, she realised the tapping was on her door. A slow tap, then nothing and then it resumed again. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed while it continued.
Slowly, she tiptoed to the door, hugging herself against the bitter cold. It was dark and the fire had died out.
‘Who is it?’ It wasn’t Bertie’s usual hammering.
‘Me,’ a soft voice said.
Veronica smiled. Freddie. ‘Go back to bed,’ she whispered in return.
‘Come on, quickly. It’s absolutely freezing out here.’
‘Have you any idea what time it is?’ She laughed as she fumbled for the key and clunked it in the lock. As she opened it, in the darkness of the blackout, she smiled up at the shadowed face of the man she loved. Except, Veronica realised with horror, that it wasn’t the man she loved at all as Bertie came in to focus.
‘I thought if I tried a softer approach you might let me in.’ Bertie had a triumphant smile on his face and he shoved her back into the room.
Veronica stumbled and then backed away when she found her feet. Fear shot through her. Bertie closed the door and stood against it, barring her exit.
She scanned the room for some kind of weapon, anything at all. Her eyes fell on the fireside tools. The poker. Bertie followed her gaze and gave a cruel laugh.
‘Veronica,’ he said, grabbing her and filling her face with alcoholic fumes. ‘I’m your husband. I have a right.’
He started to undo his trousers and, as he looked down, fumbling with his belt, she broke into a run. But he was equally as fast, having realised the move she was making. He grabbed her from behind, hooked an arm around her waist and snatched at her raised hand. She wasn’t quite pinned, but neither was she free. She fought with every muscle to throw him off, but he pulled her leg out from underneath her. Veronica fell to the floor, landing on her elbow. She screamed as loudly as possible and clawed at him, feeling the flesh of his neck hook underneath her fingernails.
‘You bitch,’ he yelled as she fought against him, kicking and screaming, scratching and crying, and desperately hoping that by some kind of miracle she could wound him enough to stun him and free herself.
Suddenly the door burst open and Veronica felt Bertie wrenched from her. In the darkness, she heard knuckles connect with flesh as Bertie was punched hard in the face. Bertie flew towards her, his head lurched backwards and blood spattered across the room. Specks of blood landed on Veronica’s face and silk nightdress as her husband landed against the end of the ornate four-poster. He crumpled to a silent heap on the rug.
Still on the floor, Veronica backed away across the room, breathless and shocked, frightened and angry with herself for having opened the door so easily to Bertie. Had he really been trying a new approach? Or had he bargained on her believing it was Freddie? Did that mean he knew?
Freddie walked out of the darkness and fell to his knees in front of her, hanging his head. He said her name quietly. Veronica pushed her hair away from her face, now wet with tears, and inched towards Freddie to hold him.
‘I thought he was you,’ she said.
‘Dear God, he’s a monster.’ Freddie’s face was anguished.
Veronica curled into him and stared at Bertie’s misshapen form. She wanted to bury herself into Freddie’s chest, but she was reluctant to close her eyes ever again.
Fighting her emotions, Veronica took charge. ‘Let’s move him. Take him back to bed. I want him out of my room.’
Freddie looked up at her as she rose. ‘And then what?’
She fought down tears. ‘I don’t know.’
He nodded and exhaled loudly before rising to his feet and hauling his brother over his shoulder. ‘Don’t open the door again. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. I won’t come to your room. For any reason. Understand?’
‘Yes. Freddie, he said he hoped I’d open the door if he adopted a softer tone. He’s never done that before. That’s why I thought he was you,’ she finished in a whisper, glancing at Bertie for any signs of movement.
‘Do you think he knows?’ Freddie asked, his eyes were wide and his tone strained under Bertie’s weight.
‘Possibly. But how could he?’
Freddie deposited Bertie on his bed for the second time in two nights. ‘Do you think he’s all right? I hit him rather hard.’
‘Do you care?’ Veronica asked. ‘Because I don’t. Not anymore. He’s driven any love I thought I ever had for him away. All I have now is hate.’
‘I hate him too.’ Freddie closed Bertie’s door. ‘But he’s still my brother. Oh Veronica, how have you coped with this for so long?’
‘The worst is over,’ she said.
She had no idea that the worst was yet to come.
CHAPTER 16
Freddie hardly slept. He listened all night long for signs of Bertie leaving his room to cause havoc. Checking his watch at six o’clock in the morning, he heard the maids Anna and Rebecca moving around, getting ready to light the fires.
Freddie walked down the corridor, tying his dressing gown tighter around his waist as he traversed the few feet to Bertie’s room. He was ready to confront his brother, ready to accuse him of being the worst kind of man, ready to fight him if need be. Freddie may tire easily since he’d been shot, but he knew he could fight Bertie if forced. He deserved punishment. He deserved to live in fear of Freddie from this moment on. But for the sake of Veronica and her safety, Freddie would ride out the storm of Bertie’s madness for a day or two longer. After all, Veronica had suffered it for years. As he opened the door and saw his brother’s sleeping form on the bed, reason took hold. He and Veronica had twenty-four hours left and then they’d be gone. Freddie stood seething, boring holes into his brother with his eyes. But still Bertie slept on. Freddie swore under his breath, turned and left.
Washed, dressed, tired and hungry, Freddie glanced into Bertie’s room an hour later and saw that his brother was gone. The bedding was thrown aside and the wardrobe doors left open, unwanted clothes for the day discarded on the floor for the maids to pick up. He heard movement from downstairs and braced himself to confront Bertie. He hadn’t decided what he was going to say. Instead, he found Anna laying out the breakfast things in silver dishes.
‘Where is everyone?’ Freddie enquired.
‘Sir Albert has already breakfasted,’ she told him. ‘Lady Veronica isn’t yet down.’
‘Where is my brother now?’
‘I believe he’s collecting the final rents from the tenant farmers and should be back soon,’ Anna replied. ‘And then, this afternoon, there are the last of the photographs being taken of all the villagers outside their homes before the departure. The Historical Society has organised it. Sir Albert will be here for that, if not before.’
‘I see,’ Freddie said, helping himself to breakfast. Real eggs. From real country chickens. What a treat. Not like the powdered nonsense he was forced to eat with alarming reg
ularity. But even so, they tasted like lead in his mouth.
He sat waiting for Veronica, tapping his fingers nervously on the table. When she didn’t appear for breakfast, he went looking for Anna. He found her in the kitchen, washing up at the large sink. She didn’t notice him enter. Instead, an older lady looked back at him curiously as he stood in the doorway.
‘Yes?’ the new cook asked, staring at him. ‘Sir,’ she added as an obviously reluctant afterthought.
Freddie looked around at the kitchen, unchanged since his boyhood. The scrubbed wooden table where he’d helped the previous cook, Mrs B, make biscuits was still there. The simple copper pans were still hanging in their usual racks around the wall. He smiled. Some things never changed. Except Cook. His beloved Mrs B had long gone. Packed up at the start of the war and gone to her sister in Poole. Now there was this officious-looking dragon.
‘I just need Anna for a few moments,’ Freddie requested. ‘If I may?’
Anna turned, wiped her hands on a cloth at the side of the old butler sink and left the kitchen. Cook eyed them both suspiciously as they stepped out into the hallway.
Some distance from the door, Freddie whispered, ‘I promised Veronica I wouldn’t go to her room. Will you tell her I’ve gone for a walk? She’ll know where I’ll be.’
Freddie left the house, pulling his coat on as he went.
Armed with a breakfast tray for Veronica, Anna knocked at the door and declared herself loudly.
‘Freddie’s gone out, but says you know where to look for him.’ Anna laid the tray on the dressing table and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Here, eat this before you go. It’s the photograph this afternoon. The Historical Society, remember?’