Too Close to the Sun

by Jess Foley

  ‘Well – yes, I will for a minute. Are you quite sure no one will come in?’

  ‘Positive. Please, trust me. They’re in France.’ He took off his coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa. ‘They’ll be away for ages yet. Months, so I understand.’

  From his bag he took out a notebook and pencil and a tape measure. ‘Now I’ll leave you here while I get busy,’ he said. ‘It won’t take me long to take these few measurements.’

  He went from the room and Grace turned, looking about her. There was a cracked, speckled mirror on the wall opposite, and she saw herself reflected in it, and wondered at the circumstance of her being there. She looked strange, odd in this strange setting, standing there, in a stranger’s house, killing time. She wandered around the room. There was little to see. The old paper on the walls was stained and the marks where pictures had hung were clearly evident. There was a chair next to a rather distressed-looking table. At one time handsome, now the table’s surface was bruised and scarred. On its once flawless, polished surface were rings left by hot or wet vessels, and someone had carved initials and scratched an obscene little drawing. In the centre of the table stood a cracked pot with a dead plant in it. Beside the wide fireplace there was a bureau with a broken top. She moved on, with every step seeming to be more conscious of her presence there. She could not seem to slow the rapid, heavy beating of her heart.

  It seemed to her that she waited in the room a long time, but then at last there came the sound of footsteps in the hall and Kester was coming into the room, rewinding his tape measure.

  ‘All finished,’ he said, turning to the sofa near where Grace had been standing, and then swiftly turning about, with a touch of panic in the move at finding her not there. Seeing her standing by the window his face relaxed into a smile. ‘There you are. I thought you were going to take off your coat.’

  ‘I shall have to go,’ she said. ‘I have to get back.’

  He set down his measure, notepad and pencil on the table, then moved towards her, coming to a stop a yard away. ‘Ah, Grace, I can’t believe it, that you’re here – that I’m with you.’

  She did not move, did not speak.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down a moment.’ He reached out and took her hand in his and turned, drawing her with him. She moved half-reluctantly, her mouth opening to protest, but in the end saying nothing. There was a deep fear in her; it was partly a fear of being disturbed by the owners, and partly a fear of the immediate freedom they faced.

  He led her to the sofa, and there stopped. ‘Oh, Grace,’ he said, ‘I can’t tell you how I –’ and then broke off to add, ‘Please – oh, please take off your coat and hat. You look as if you’re about to take flight.’

  ‘But I can’t stay. I have to go.’

  ‘Not yet. Stay a while to talk. Just for a few minutes. Come on, take off your coat, take off your hat.’

  She did so, setting them on the chair beside the table.

  ‘That’s better. Now come and sit down a minute.’

  She sat on the sofa and he sat down beside her.

  A momentary pause, then he said, ‘The people who own this house, the Clarksons, want me to design a conservatory to go at the back. It’s not a huge job, but it’s one that I’ll enjoy, I think. They want other things done too, nothing really major. There’s talk of a spiral staircase and –’ He broke off. ‘Listen to me rambling on – as if I’m the least interested in such work right now. As if you’re interested either.’ He reached out and took her left hand and began to peel off her glove. When he had done, she took off the other one. He took it from her and laid both gloves down on the seat at his side. ‘Oh, what a thrill it is to see you,’ he breathed.

  ‘Kester …’

  ‘Don’t say anything – not if you’re going to say that you must go.’ He took her hand and kissed her palm, her fingers curling up against the slight roughness of his cheek. ‘I still can’t believe it, that you’re here, with me.’

  He released her hand and his arms came around her, drawing her closer. Bending his head to her, his hand came up and touched beneath her chin, lifting her face to him. His mouth came down upon her own, and she could do nothing, could say nothing that would stop the moment.

  The kiss between them was so long that she became breathless, and broke from him to snatch at the air with a little gasping laugh that was half-joy and half-hysteria. His hand brushed around her back and came to touch on her breast. She drew in her breath, her lips apart, and his mouth again came pressing onto hers. She felt his tongue, warm and sweet against her own tongue, and thought that she could never get enough of his touch. They had kissed before, the thought flashed through her mind, but it had never been like this. In the past they had held back, she realized, on her part in a belief that there was a future, and that they could afford to wait. Now she knew they had no future, and that these stolen minutes must last – perhaps for ever.

  His hands moved lower and when she felt his touch upon her bare skin she made a little moan of protest. He was heedless, however, and when she sighed again it was purely from pleasure and her protestations were stilled.

  They were lying on Kester’s coat which he had spread out on the carpet. She sat up, her petticoats awry and her hair over her face. Her dress lay with her coat and hat. As she put a hand up to her hair she felt his hand on her bare back. She turned and bent to him and kissed him.

  ‘Grace, Grace, Grace,’ he said.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘Oh, Grace, that was the most wonderful thing.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’ She whispered the words in the stillness of the room.

  And it had been wonderful, she thought. She had never imagined that she could have found such joy, such pleasure. This was the act that she participated in with Edward, but it could not be the same. Now it had taken place with Kester, and with love, and it was so different, so very different. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘what it is to love and be loved.’

  He gave a little groan at her words and raised his hands to put them either side of her face and draw her to him to be kissed again. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Oh, Grace, I love you so much. Do you love me?’

  ‘You must know I do.’

  ‘Tell me. Let me hear the words.’

  ‘I love you, Kester. As I’ve never loved any man before.’

  He sighed, a deep sigh of pleasure, then pulled himself up a little so that his back was resting against the sofa. Then drawing Grace towards him he wrapped his arm around her. She murmured, ‘That’s better: I’m a little cold,’ and he took the loose ends of his coat and pulled them over her. ‘I’ll make you warm,’ he said. And warm, content, she nestled in the crook of his arm, her chin against his bare chest.

  ‘I don’t ever want to go back,’ she said.

  ‘That’s what I want too. For you never to have to go back.’

  A little silence, just the sounds of their breathing, then he said, ‘I had no right to talk to you like that the last time we met. I was so shocked – to discover that you were to marry.’

  ‘I know. I couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing.’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it. And that you were to marry Spencer – of all people. But why not? You had every right to try to find happiness wherever you could – for both you and Billy. I certainly couldn’t offer it to you.’ He paused. ‘How is it, Grace?’

  ‘How is what?’

  ‘Your life – your married life. Are you happy?’

  She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. ‘Of course I’m not happy. But I get by. Besides, I made a bargain.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She laid her head back on his chest. ‘And I try to make Edward happy. Whether he is or not, I don’t know. I think it would take a great deal to make him satisified.’

  ‘You don’t love him.’ It was half-question, half-statement.

  ‘No, I don’t love him. I told you, I love you. I’ll never love anyone else but you.’


  Silence between them again, then he said, ‘I have to tell you …’

  ‘What? You have to tell me what?’

  ‘My wife …’

  She sat up now, turning her face to him. ‘What about her? Has she been to see you?’

  ‘She – she’s dead.’

  Her mouth fell open in a silent expression of shock. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what happened.’

  ‘She had been ill, for a long time,’ he said after a moment. ‘I hardly know how to say it, but – it came from a – a disease, from her way of living. She had no resistance to anything at the end. Her heart was so weakened, I understand, and it was this, finally, that took her. I was there when she died. It seemed to me that she had been holding on – until I got there. She spoke to me a little and then went quite swiftly.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Two months ago. I had a letter from her, telling me she was sick. I didn’t go at once as I thought perhaps it was just another of her stories, another of her tales to gain sympathy. It was not. This time it was true. I found her in a dreadful state, lying in a workhouse infirmary.’

  ‘Oh, Kester – I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘There is nothing one can say.’ He shook his head. ‘What a wasted life she had. Totally wasted. And to turn her back on love like that. She could have had so much joy, so much contentment. She strove so hard, never being satisfied, and in the end she had nothing of it. She had nothing to show for a lifetime.’ His voice cracked on the last word and Grace saw tears glistening in his eyes. ‘It’s the waste,’ he said. ‘And how desperately wretched she must have been. All that time. To go through life and never to find anything that could make her happy.’ There was a pause, then he sighed and added, ‘I can’t help but think how ironic it is, now, the situation.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, here am I, free at last to marry you, but you’re married to another.’

  She put a hand to her face, closing her eyes. ‘I can’t bear to think about it. It’s too cruel.’

  ‘Let’s not think about it,’ he said. ‘Let’s not talk about it either.’

  ‘No.’ Then she added in a little burst of passion, ‘These moments have to last me.’

  ‘Grace …’

  ‘They do. They have to last the rest of my life.’ And now she turned her face away. ‘For we can never meet again.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘You know it’s true.’ She closed her eyes and the tears spilled out between her lashes and ran down her cheeks. He wrapped his arms more closely about her and felt her tears against his chest. Bending his head, he kissed her forehead, kissed her mouth and kissed the tears from her cheeks.

  On her return journey she got a hansom from the station. It was almost seven o’clock by the time she got back to Asterleigh. She found herself walking self-consciously into the house, aiming for a sense of casualness that she was far from feeling. In her mind she felt that the afternoon was written all over her, over her face and over her body, written in the fabric of her dress and in her desperately dressed hair. And she greeted Mrs Sandiston – who happened to be passing through the hall – a little too expansively, and could feel her guilt in her smile.

  Up in her dressing room she took off her hat and coat and looked at herself in the glass. She looked just the same. Her dress was unmarked, uncreased; there was no trace that she could see of what had taken place in the drawing room of the strangers’ house. But when she lifted her hands to touch at her hair she could trace the faintest scent that was unfamiliar, and Kester was with her still.

  She had finished changing, when through the open dressing room door, a knock coming from the door to the bedroom was heard. She called out, ‘Come in,’ and saw Billy enter and cross the carpet towards her.

  He stood in the dressing room doorway. ‘I saw you come in. I saw you from the window. You’ve been out so long.’

  ‘Yes, I had some shopping to do, some errands to run, in Redbury.’ It was partly a lie; it was not the whole truth.

  ‘If you’d waited till tomorrow I could have come in with you.’

  ‘I was going in with Mr Spencer. How was school today?’

  ‘It was fine.’ A little pause; he put his head slightly on one side and gave her a sideways glance. ‘You know, Grace, I reckon you’ve changed.’

  A pause from her before she responded, then she gave a light little laugh and said, ‘Changed? Oh, William, what nonsense you talk. Of course I haven’t changed. How have I changed?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Do you mean today?’ she said.

  ‘No, lately.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt a little relief at his words, partly afraid that he might have been able to read upon her face her meeting with Kester.

  ‘No, I haven’t changed,’ she said. ‘It’s your imagination.’

  ‘Yes, you have.’ He thought about it for a moment, then added, ‘I can’t describe it, I can’t explain it. It’s as if you’re not so – so bright as you were. So often you seem – a little sad.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes.’ He moved to her and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I haven’t seen you really happy for a long time. I don’t want you to be sad, Grace.’

  ‘I’m not sad.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Believe me.’

  That night Grace lay in the wide bed, facing the empty space that would tomorrow night be occupied by Edward. She thought of Billy’s words – that she had appeared to him to be unhappy. Happiness … What right had she to expect such a thing? And regardless of right, how could she expect such a thing to come to her? Not now, not ever, not without Kester. Kester was denied her now.

  She turned in the bed, imagining Kester’s arms about her, the sensation of his body upon her own. A long time passed before she slept.

  Chapter Twenty

  Edward returned the following day just after five o’clock. He was tired, and irritable with frustration. Things had not gone well at the mill, and Grace knew that she must watch her step or risk raising his anger.

  At least, however, he had made some progress with regard to the statue. He had met the sculptor, he said, and the man planned to come to the house and look at the piece and then arrange to take it away. Going by what had passed between them, Edward seemed not to think that the restoration would pose any difficulties for the artist.

  They dined early that evening. Edward had several drinks before dinner – Scotch whisky and soda – and during the meal drank liberally of the wine. It would affect him, Grace knew, and not for the better, and she was dismayed but not surprised when later, in the drawing room, he eschewed the coffee that was offered and merely poured himself brandy. His dark mood was all due to the businesses, she told herself, and wondered yet again whether he would ever be content. The way he ran from one endeavour to another, she reflected, he was like a juggler with plates spinning on poles, moving desperately between them to stop them from crashing to the ground.

  A little later, Edward glanced at the clock and murmured, ‘Five past nine. I want to see Rhind before he turns in,’ and got up from his chair and started across the room. Grace wanted to say, ‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’ but knew that such words would be useless. Instead she said, ‘Edward, I’m very tired. I think I shall go to bed soon, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Do as you please,’ he said shortly, and went from the room.

  When he was not back by ten o’clock Grace made her way up to the bedroom and got undressed. Not only did she feel weary, but she felt a headache coming on, and a heaviness at the back of her eyes and nose as if a cold might be developing. She climbed into bed and closed her eyes and lay there waiting for the sounds of Edward’s feet on the landing. For a long time he did not come.

  She had fallen asleep, and Edward’s voice was suddenly there: ‘Are you sleeping? Are you? Are you sleeping?’

  ‘What?’ She came to out of the fog of her sleep. ‘W
hat – what time is it?’

  ‘What time is it? What does it matter what time it is?’

  He had been drinking further, she realized. She pulled herself up a little in the bed, trying to appear more alert, and he came forward and sat on the side of the bed, his back to her. ‘Did you see Rhind?’ she asked, showing an appearance of interest that she did not feel. And quickly he turned so that he could face her:

  ‘What do you care whether I saw Rhind or not? Don’t you concern yourself with Rhind. Not that you’d ever want to, would you?’ He gave a short laugh. His words were a little slurred. ‘I’ll say not. You’d like it if Rhind were sent away, far, far away, and never showed his face around here again, wouldn’t you?’

  She did not answer. He spoke the truth, but she could not admit it.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ he said. ‘Well, I’m afraid it’s not going to happen. I need him around.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘And the truth is – he needs me. So I suppose we suit one another. He’s for ever grateful to me, Rhind is – and I’m glad of that. I trust him implicitly where I’m concerned. And there’s not many one can say that about. Mind you, he hasn’t always been a good boy with other people. But I s’pose you know about that, don’t you?’

  He would be answered, she realized, and she said, ‘Mrs Spencer mentioned something once. She said you helped him out of a difficult situation.’

  ‘Oh, is that what she said?’ He nodded. ‘Well, she was right. I suppose you could say that being accused of arson was a somewhat difficult situation. Anyway, I got him out of it and he’s never forgotten it. Sometimes his loyalty gets a bit – a bit too much in a way, but he’s here now – and he’s not going away, my dear.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, why this antipathy towards him? After all, he’s only trying to protect my interests. Is that such a bad thing?’