by Lorna Cook
‘No. You seem pretty normal to me.’
‘Well, thanks.’ She poured them both wine.
‘Do you have any idea what it is you do want to do?’ Guy asked.
Melissa thought. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘In an idealistic moment, the redundancy has brought me time. I don’t think I want an office job anymore. I’m sure something else will turn up when I least expect it. It has to. Or I’ll be broke very soon.’
She could feel herself getting tipsy and dared a question to change the subject.
‘What’s it really like to be a card-carrying celebrity? Do you get invited to loads of really swanky parties where the champagne flows all night?’
He laughed hard. ‘Yeah, that bit’s not so bad,’ he admitted. ‘But I much prefer to be at home, chilling in front of the TV, or with a good book. Or out on my boat.’
‘Your boat? You’re joking? I don’t remember the last time I was on a boat.’ She looked to one side and considered how different their lives were.
‘I’ll take you out on it if you like.’
‘Oh, that’s not what I … I wasn’t fishing for an invite.’
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Maybe it was the ridiculous amount of wine she’d drunk, but she sensed the mood changing. They summoned the waitress for the bill. Melissa insisted she pay this time even though Guy fought it.
He glanced at his watch and then said, ‘I think we should get some sleep. Tomorrow may or may not be a long day.’
She raised an eyebrow.
He just smiled.
‘What are you—?’ she asked as they left the table.
‘No, don’t ask. It’s a surprise. A good one.’
She giggled a bit and realised the wine was messing with her. She was starting to feel silly.
Guy fetched her bag from the car and then walked her to her room, which was down the hall from his. She opened the door, looked inside and raised her eyebrows at the lovely space. How much was this going to eat into her redundancy package? With the tipsy euphoria of a lovely evening behind her and her disastrous holiday with Liam still fairly fresh in her mind, right now she simply didn’t care how much it was going to cost.
‘I’m really glad you convinced me to stay on a bit,’ she said.
Guy lingered in the doorway and rubbed his shoe on the back of his leg. Melissa sensed something happening. But the gentleman in him had clearly taken over and he backed away from the door.
‘Goodnight, Melissa. Sleep well.’ He turned, and walked slowly to his room.
Melissa closed the door, sat on the edge of her bed and took her sandals off. She stared at the door, wondering if he might come back, wondering what might happen if he did. When a few minutes passed, she realised he was long gone and started undressing for bed, throwing various items of clothing out of her bag and slinging them on the floor while she searched for her pyjamas. She was a bit drunk and a bit annoyed. She realised she’d been hoping for some kind of kiss. She wondered if she was reading the situation entirely incorrectly. Perhaps he wasn’t into her at all. Maybe he was just being nice.
The bed was soft and the Egyptian cotton duvet crinkled noisily when she snuggled under it; exactly the way hotel bedding should be. Before she had the chance to over analyse Guy’s reluctance to kiss her or ‘come in for coffee’, something she hadn’t even had the chance to suggest, Melissa had fallen fast asleep.
CHAPTER 22
Tyneham, December 1943
Later in the day, Veronica and Freddie worked together to pack the hundreds of books occupying the shelves of the library. They avoided looking at each other or touching each other or whispering words of affection in case anyone should be watching them from the doorway. Veronica basked in the glow of having been made love to by Freddie, of having found herself so utterly in love and loved in return. They didn’t have long until they’d be gone together. She could not risk giving the game away now.
She looked out of the library’s latticed windows and saw Bertie towering over a shivering young man in the gravel driveway. It was John, the boy she’d encountered poaching by the cliff steps earlier. There was something about his cowed demeanour that worried Veronica. Behind her, Freddie was helping to pack the last of the books. From the rolling wooden stepladder, he threw down the remaining volumes. Veronica spun around as the leather-bound tomes thudded haphazardly into the crate, then she turned back, held the curtain aside and peered through the gap.
‘What’s got your interest out there?’ Freddie climbed down.
Veronica stood still. ‘I think Bertie must know about John’s poaching. Why John’s come anywhere near the house, I don’t know. I warned him explicitly … Oh the poor, silly boy.’
Bertie stood in the drive with his back to her. John’s face was slack and he was looking intently at the ground. Veronica began to panic for him.
‘What poaching?’ Freddie enquired. ‘Never mind. Do you want me to go outside and rescue the poor fellow?’
John’s head slowly rose and he looked past Bertie and caught Veronica’s eye. He looked desperately at her, widening his eyes as if to beckon her. She would be angering Bertie and she would pay for it, but she had to try to save John.
‘No, I’ll go.’ Veronica summoned her courage. But by the time she stepped out of the front door and felt the crunch of gravel underfoot, John had gone. She stood watching his retreating figure with concern as he ran down the drive at breakneck speed and out of her sight. He had looked like he wanted to speak to her. She stood for a few seconds, wondering if he might turn back.
It was bitterly cold and, as her teeth chattered, Veronica wished she was wearing a coat or at least a thick jumper. She hugged herself as Bertie turned and bore down on her. His teeth were clamped together, giving him a determined look that Veronica knew all too well. Oh God, he’s started drinking already. She began to back away and her heart sank even further as Bertie commanded her to stop.
‘I heard something disgusting today,’ he started. ‘Something absolutely vile.’ He waited for her to speak.
Veronica looked at his eyes, which seemed darker than usual and at his set expression, which unnerved her. She shivered both through cold and fear.
He taunted her. ‘Veronica, Veronica, Veronica. What have you been doing?’
She stopped breathing. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Bertie nodded slowly and his lips curled into a malicious smile. ‘Yes, you do.’
Veronica chewed her nails. Behind them, the dull thud of a horse and cart sounded and a few seconds later animal and driver came in to view. As they turned into the drive, Veronica could see that, alongside the driver, the cart also held a passenger in the form of a middle-aged man. She silently thanked them. Whoever it was had saved her from whatever train of thought Bertie had been taking.
She moved back from Bertie and he grabbed her hand, yanking it from her mouth and clutching it tightly as he pulled her next to him.
‘You don’t get to leave that easily, I’m afraid,’ he said as the cart came to a stop in front of them.
The horse whinnied as the passenger climbed down. The man was wearing a dark brown suit that looked as if it had seen better days during tight clothing rationing. The elbows of his suit were threading. He fumbled with a large press camera; its oversized light proving cumbersome. He started to drop the camera and Veronica rushed forward to help but was pulled back by Bertie.
Veronica went rigid as Bertie’s grasp tightened so hard she could feel the circulation leaving her fingers. She was unable to fake the part of the bright hostess now. A lump formed in her throat as she realised why he was behaving like this: Bertie knew.
The man introduced himself, but Veronica barely heard a word. He was speaking about suitable locations for photographs for the Historical Society archive and was busy gesturing at the various angles of the house. Veronica’s head thudded and as Bertie led the man to his preferred location around the far side of the house, he pulled Veronica along behi
nd him. She stumbled and felt her feet drag. She righted herself and tried to keep pace with Bertie, who was still clutching her hand tightly. Thoughts flew wildly around her head.
Bertie’s hand yanked at her arm. ‘All right, old girl?’ he said with a bright smile that was all for show for their visitor.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I need to lie down. I don’t feel well.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ the photographer said, coming to a sudden stop. ‘Of course you must—’
‘She stays,’ Bertie interrupted and turned to face Veronica. He cocked his head to one side. ‘She stays,’ he repeated with an acid smile.
The photographer was hesitant, but nodded, eyeing Veronica curiously.
‘Here is good enough,’ Bertie said as he led them round to where the rose garden met the gravel walk.
‘I think the light might not be the best—’ the photographer attempted.
‘Here will be fine,’ Bertie commanded. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
‘Of course, Sir Albert,’ the photographer said as he moved towards them. ‘Now, if I may position you both like so.’
Bertie’s hand clutched Veronica’s. She tried to wiggle her fingers free, but it only served to spur Bertie into holding her tighter. He dug his nails into her hand.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she whispered as the photographer resumed his position behind the camera. ‘Please, Bertie.’
But Bertie’s jaw was clenched. She knew she couldn’t reason with him. Not now. She put up with the pain. It would all be over soon.
‘Just bear with me while I make it ready.’ The photographer tapped his camera and began fiddling.
Bertie chose his moment and started speaking quietly, so quietly that the winter wind coasting in from the cove threatened to drown him out.
‘Imagine how I felt when I found out that the very thing you can no longer bear to do with me …’ he started.
Veronica drew in a sharp breath.
Bertie slowly bent his head; his mouth near her ear. Veronica recoiled as his lips brushed her earlobe. Her eyes widened and fear gripped her. She knew what he was going to say. He closed his fist around her hand until she thought her fingers were going to break.
‘… You were caught doing only a few hours ago, with my brother,’ he finished and lifted his head in the direction of the camera.
The light bulb flashed. ‘We’re working perfectly, sir,’ the photographer said. ‘Let’s call that the test picture, shall we?’ He made the camera ready for the next photograph, but Veronica moved away and turned, her hand still held within Bertie’s unfailing grasp. ‘Oh, you appear to have moved Lady …’
‘I think you’re finished,’ Bertie said. It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Veronica or to the photographer.
‘Right. I see,’ the photographer said and began profusely thanking Bertie. ‘The Historical Society will be so pleased—’
‘You’re dismissed,’ Bertie told the photographer, his eyes never leaving Veronica’s frightened face.
The photographer blustered, mumbling his deferential thanks as he packed up his films and equipment. He turned towards the waiting cart and disappeared out of sight around the side of the house.
Bertie let go of Veronica’s hand and she rubbed it to soothe the pain.
‘Bertie, I …’ She clamoured desperately for words that would soothe, but she knew it was too late for lies.
He held his hand up to stop her and silence fell between them. Veronica stood her ground and tried not to show her fear. She tried to make herself taller as Bertie tilted his head to one side.
‘I always suspected you still had feelings for Freddie,’ he said. His voice sounded darker, more menacing than Veronica had ever heard it before.
He began pacing around her slowly as he spoke. She stiffened as his feet crunched on the gravel around her.
‘Even on our wedding day, I could see you looking around for him. How do you think that made me feel?’
The years of hatred mixed in her mind with Freddie’s confession that he had never stopped loving her. She had allowed herself to be fooled by Bertie. There was no room for lies anymore.
‘You forced us apart,’ Veronica cried. ‘You played with us, like we were toys in your sick game.’ Veronica’s eyes met Bertie’s as he rounded on her. ‘Why?’ she cried. ‘Why?’
‘Because I could,’ he replied.
Veronica blinked. It was the most honest thing Bertie had said to her in years. If Veronica could trust Bertie, she’d have placed her head in her hands to cry, but she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Not now. She needed to stay alert to any sudden move he might make. She might be able to outrun Bertie; she’d been fast at games at school. But could she reach Freddie inside the house? Could she get to him in time? She had to try.
‘I always could play with Freddie,’ Bertie confessed. ‘It’s a gift. I’ll admit it got boring, for a while. And then he fell in love with you. And it became interesting again.’ Bertie’s lips formed a curl of a smile. ‘He didn’t seem to need me anymore. Didn’t seem to need my seal of approval. Didn’t seem to have any time for me. My little brother, the reprobate, didn’t want the sanctuary of his big brother. I never cared much for Freddie until then. And I wondered what I could do to change it all back. It was you. You were the problem. But then it dawned on me. Wouldn’t it be fun to play with both of you?’ Bertie paused as if expecting an answer and then continued.
‘I could see he loved you, but could you see that? I didn’t think so. He’d always been too reserved. I saw the way you looked at him though. The light in your eyes. If I killed that light, who knew what might happen. Maybe he’d need me again. And then the most miraculous thing happened.’ Bertie laughed loudly. ‘I honestly didn’t mean for it to.’ A sick kind of mirth flowed through his words and tears of laughter wet the corners of his eyes. ‘You started to fall for me. I don’t know how I did it. It was spectacular. It certainly wasn’t my intention. I didn’t want you. It was far too easy to convince you that Freddie was playing you off with other women. Far too easy. And then I managed to get you alone one too many times, whispering silken words in your ear. And before I knew what was happening, I’d proposed and you’d accepted.
‘Do you know how hard it’s been, keeping something this monumentally satisfying to myself all these years? It’s been very hard, Veronica.’ He stamped his foot with each word that followed to emphasise his point. ‘Very hard indeed.’
Veronica fought the urge to throw up. Her stomach heaved and she put her hand to her mouth. Had she really been that easy to persuade? Bertie had been convincing – so convincing. She realised, sickeningly, that Freddie hadn’t given up on her too easily. She had given up on him.
‘The moment we were married, you hated me,’ Veronica cried. Her eyes met his.
‘No, darling,’ Bertie replied. ‘I hated you long before that. But what I didn’t realise was that I hated Freddie too. I’d like to say he had always been in the way, but he hadn’t. As my younger brother he was simply … there. No more, no less. He was always the quiet one; the boring one. Went off to the beach hut whenever he could to sit alone and read. What a crashing bore. And yet, he was clearly my parents’ favourite. Nothing I could do would ever change that. But maybe, just maybe, if I married first, produced the long-awaited grandchild — the heir … perhaps then I could change their minds about me.
‘As the older child, so much was expected of me. I fulfilled all of their bloody ambitions and did they ever tell me how proud they were? I did far better than him at exams, and then at life. Freddie failed at everything he touched. Except bloody cricket, his one and only love. Until he met you. I thought removing you might liven things up a bit – liven him up a bit. But instead I took you from right under his nose. You slipped straight through his fingers. And he didn’t do a damned thing about it. I thought that was my comeuppance. He didn’t seem to want to play the game. But I was wrong. I got saddled with you, Veroni
ca. That was my punishment.’
Veronica fought tears down.
‘But after a while you rather suited my needs. For all your other foibles, I had a pretty wife to show off in London. And then Freddie buggered off to the war. Oh,’ he said, a look of mock concern on his face, ‘you did know about that, didn’t you?’
Veronica clenched her jaw, balled her fists by her side, and gave Bertie a look that removed any doubt that she hated him.
Bertie’s tone softened, but Veronica didn’t trust it. ‘Your insistence that you thwart my sexual advances was getting boring. And I do so hate to be bored. So I wrote to Freddie, inviting him here to say farewell to the old place.’ Bertie waved in the direction of the house. ‘I didn’t think the requisition was going to go ahead or else I’d never have bothered. Imagine my surprise when he actually turned up. I thought it would be fun, watching your nerves finally shatter under his predictable, lovesick gaze. But then you reciprocated, as I have just found out. I had no idea you had the ability to feel anymore. What I was more surprised about though, Veronica, was finding out the two of you had done that!’
Veronica’s head was foggy and she felt her courage die, replaced with worry and fear as words dripped from his mouth like poison. She glanced around at her escape route back to the house. She needed to warn Freddie, to tell him that Bertie knew. Veronica slowly backed away, inch by inch.