by Mary Malone
Ed pulled himself up in the chair, the blanket slipping from his knees.
Beth stooped to retrieve it, fixing it around him.
He grasped her hand tightly, his grip strong despite his frailty. “Beth, I want you to promise you’ll keep an eye on Carl? Make him laugh, see he’s happy. For me?”
Beth swallowed hard, her hand still in the firm grip of his sinewy fingers. I can’t make that promise, she thought. Not when I know I won’t keep it. Do I lie to him? Or lie to myself? She recognised vulnerability in his face. She hadn’t witnessed that before.
“Ed,” she began, “Carl’s a big boy. I’m not sure he needs protecting.”
“Before you came along, he was even more reckless. You’ve been a stabilising influence.”
“How boring does that make me sound?” she commented good-humouredly, wondering if he’d be quite so complimentary if he knew Carl’s recklessness had lost him everything.
“Please. I need to know somebody’s watching out for him – at least for a while after I’m gone.”
This is crazy, Beth thought, overcome with a fresh bout of irritation. Carl is older than I am, yet Ed’s treating him as though he were a small child who needed childcare. He certainly acts like one, she couldn’t help thinking. Out of nowhere, Summer’s words came back to her. I need to live my life too, she thought.
“Ed, Carl’s not as defenceless as you think. You’re his priority at the moment. He’ll continue to be here for you. But he will be okay in time . . . after . . . I mean. Have no fear.”
Ed leaned back against the multiple pillows on his chair. “There are things you don’t know about our upbringing, our parents.”
Oh believe me, Beth grimaced inside, there are things you don’t know about your parents’ legacy either. And never will if Carl has his way. He’s not the innocent little brother you’d like him to be. Tempted as she was to blurt out her husband’s shortcomings, she maintained her reserve. There’s nothing to be gained, not even for me, she thought.
“I’m trying to make a small return on the house at the moment,” she told him instead, giving him something new to focus his attention on and happy to discuss it with an experienced businessman.
“Yeah? Tell me more. Carl never said.”
“It’s only at teething stage so far,” she explained, “but I’ve had quite a few enquiries.” She noticed how this news relaxed him. Pity Carl didn’t meet it with similar enthusiasm.
“What is it you’re up to exactly? Renting a portion of the house?”
There hadn’t been time to show Ed the place they’d bought, his deteriorating health in such an aggravated state at that time, though Carl had shown him photos and videos and described their original plans for the old place to distract him from his own concerns.
“Too much work required on the house for that option, Ed. It wouldn’t pass a Health and Safety inspection the way it is now. No, it’s a bit more creative than that. I’m, I mean we’re trying to utilise the grounds, seeing as we can’t sell them as a separate entity.” She proceeded to fill him in on the ideas Charlotte had given her, explained the progress they’d made since, enjoying his input and going as far as jotting a few things as a reminder on her phone so she wouldn’t forget.
“You’re good at this. Business decisions come second nature to you,” she said, wishing things could be different. Her brother-in-law had always been waiting in the wings to offer support, Carl’s biggest mistake being that he’d neither listened nor accepted his help.
“Years of restructuring to try and keep up with changing trends,” Ed replied. “The fashion industry is one of the cruellest sectors – dog eat dog.”
Beth nodded. “Always need to be a step ahead, I guess?”
Ed sighed. “It can be tough trying to keep going when every door you knock on is banged firmly in your face.”
“Tell me about it! And the pressure from the banks isn’t helping.”
Ed winced as a sharp stab of pain coursed through his body.
She jumped to her feet. “Are you okay? Will I call a nurse?”
But he shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’ll pass in a while.”
She remained standing. “Perhaps I’ve tired you out. I should leave.”
“Oh no, please don’t. Stay another while. I’ll just rest my eyes a few moments.” He gestured for her to sit.
Beth waited patiently. It wasn’t as if she had anything else pressing on her time. Catching up with her father could wait until the following day if necessary. No rush. Neither of them was going anywhere.
Watching Ed closely, she noticed his facial muscles twitch, the way he clenched and unclenched his fists – obviously still suffering. Taking a tissue from his bedside locker, she mopped the perspiration from his brow. “Water?”
He nodded, conserving what little energy he had left.
She held the glass to his lips and tilted it to make it easier for him to drink, concerned that her visit was wearing him out. “I’m leaving in a few minutes, Ed. You need proper rest.”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “One more question?”
She placed the glass back on the locker and sat down. Not another question I can’t answer, she thought.
“Why is Carl holding on to the vineyard when it’s obvious the proceeds could make such a difference to you both now? He should sell it.”
She stared ahead, avoiding his eye. If she ever wanted an opportunity to hurt Carl, Ed had presented it to her now on a plate. “Eh, have you discussed it with him?”
It took great effort but he leaned forward in the chair and forced her to meet his eye. “It’s nothing whatsoever to do with me. You’re his wife. What’s his is yours. At least that’s my understanding of how marriages work.”
Not ours, Beth thought silently.
Ed mistook her silence for politeness. “I took my share from our parents long before their death. I ploughed every cent into setting up my business . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment, obviously thinking of the damage that business had suffered recently.
“Carl . . .” she began, opening and closing her mouth as she tried to think of something to say. How could she tell him that Carl had gambled heavily, lost to the croupier, chased his losses until finally he’d lost a viable South of France vineyard?
“I think I know what you’re going to say,” Ed interrupted. “Carl wants to help me.”
“Of course he does.” She nodded a little too enthusiastically. It was partly true. He did want to help his brother – but he wasn’t in a position to do so financially.
“I’ve noticed the worry and strain in his eyes. He’s protecting me from the truth, doesn’t believe he can tell me what’s wrong because I’m ill.”
That’s for sure, Beth thought. Protecting himself too. Has been for quite some time now and will continue to do so. “He cares a lot for you, Ed,” she said eventually, the lengthening pause adding to her discomfort.
“I understand that.”
Beth wished Carl could be sincere and responsible like Ed. Perhaps they’d have a chance of survival then. Maybe they could even get past the loss of their baby.
But she knew she wasn’t totally blameless. A voice inside her head reminded her of the heady excitement she’d felt when they’d met first. His unpredictability had made her heart thump in her chest. He’d helped her lose inhibitions, had encouraged her to push beyond boundaries of fear, joining him as they flaunted danger and mostly won. Remembering the excitement he’d exuded, she realised that he hadn’t changed with maturity. He was still the same wild young man he’d always been. But life had changed her. The days of playing with fire were long gone – plenty of smouldering ashes left behind along with a hefty bill in tow.
“I care for him too . . . for both of you.”
“And I for you,” she said, swallowing the lump that stuck in her throat.
Beth was transported back to the first time she’d met Ed, reminded of his strong physique, his charcoal hair sleek
ed back from his tanned face, a red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, brightening his dark clothing. Ed had personified haute couture, his sense of style appearing effortless, the warmth in his eyes diffusing any fear she’d had of meeting him.
“The vineyard?” Ed’s energy was fading.
Beth didn’t answer. She didn’t want to lie. Neither did she want to tell the truth and risk the shock shortening his life even further.
“Don’t feel bad . . .” He stopped to catch his breath, bringing a hand to his mouth and running his finger over his lips. “Carl’s covering the cost of my case against that oaf in Lyon.”
She sat up straight in her chair. “He is?” Her voice broke, stress rising inside her. Carl had already been injecting money they didn’t have, attempting to maintain the utilities in Ed’s design centre in Paris. Her father obviously hadn’t divulged his interest to Ed or the details of his arrangement with Carl, obviously protecting the other man from further humiliation.
Her brother-in-law frowned. “If you have an objection . . . ?”
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. At this rate, even with Polly’s inheritance if Seth manages to force it through, we’ll still be bankrupt!
He visibly relaxed – almost to the point of sleeping. His eyes were closed, his breathing faint.
Could I slip out now without answering any more of his questions, she wondered? But seeing his lips move once more changed her mind.
His voice was little more than a whisper, his eyes still closed.
Beth strained to hear.
“The business, my good name, is my only legacy. I spent years building it, working perilously . . . around the clock at times . . . lost everything else.”
“Don’t wear yourself out, Ed. You don’t have to explain.”
“But I do!”
“I understand how much it means to you –” On closer inspection, she noticed tears on his cheeks.
“I sacrificed far too much for my designs, struggled to continue improving, expecting everything – and everyone – to wait silently in the wings.”
Beth didn’t comment.
“You and Carl – something’s wrong. What is it?”
Beth stood up and went to the window, trailing a finger along the window frame. The sky was darkening, a deluge on the way in her estimation. She turned back to face Ed, remaining where she was, not wanting him scrutinising her too closely as she responded to his last question.
“Responsibility – or lack of,” she told him. “We both know it’s not one of Carl’s strong points.”
“He’ll get there,” Ed defended his brother.
Beth kept her hands behind her back and gripped the window sill. “We lost a baby,” she admitted, without divulging any further detail. “We’ve found it impossible to move beyond it.”
Ed nodded slowly. “Now that makes more sense. I sensed something serious wedged between you. The loss of a child must be excruciating. Why hasn’t Carl told me this?”
Beth’s grip on the sill tightened. “He’s not one for sharing his feelings like you.”
“Counselling?”
“No.” She steeled against the hurt.
“Still grieving?”
She moved back to sit opposite him, the pain in her eyes an unspoken response.
He caught her hands in his. The strength in his grip surprised her.
“I lost my one true love, took his patience for granted and expected him to wait forever,” he said. “When my designs were copied, it tore through my heart, ripping it open, like a seamstress unstitching one of my favourite garments. It was as if my whole life – joy and suffering – had been for nothing, as though I’d never existed, a wasted effort.” He was gasping by now. “It pains me to watch Carl going down the same route, taking you for granted. He doesn’t understand the value he has in both hands. He won’t appreciate it until it’s gone.”
Beth exhaled, disagreeing with the illusion he had about his younger brother. What she and Carl had wasn’t based on a solid foundation. It lacked substance. They’d fallen at every hurdle, losing their baby the most detrimental of their disasters.
“I’m not sure there’s any love left between us,” she admitted eventually. “I’m not sure it existed in the first place. Lust without a doubt. Excitement too. But not the depth of love required to overcome life’s cruellest blows. We struggled as two individuals, anguish dividing us as a couple.”
Ed licked his lips and spoke again, the effort it took to continue obvious. “Carl is still fighting the past, and not only his immediate past. He needs to stop battling against his upbringing, the rigidity we experienced as young boys. Insist he sells the vineyard. The proceeds will go a long way in meeting your debt here. And my sculpture collection is worth a bit too . . . although it’s probably a specialised market . . .”
Oh, he’s let the vineyard go a long time ago, Beth thought, remembering how it had slipped through his fingers like butter sliding off piping hot toast. But what sculpture collection? It was the first she’d heard of it.
“Your collection – I thought everything had been reinvested back into your business?”
He shook his head. “Saved it by the skin of my teeth.”
“Carl never mentioned this. Where is it now? Are you sure it’s safe?”
“In storage in Paris.” He closed his eyes again, his voice little more than a whisper.
“I’ll call again soon, Ed. I promise,” she said with a smile, fixing the blanket around his knees again.
“What will become of him without you?” His words came out in a rush.
A vivid image of Carl strolling down the long avenue, a bag slung over his shoulder as he set out on his new life flashed in front of Beth’s eyes. “He’ll make his own decisions and, knowing Carl, he will land on his feet. You’ll see . . .”
“But I won’t see!” Ed’s voice shook with emotion. “He’ll be alone, without an anchor, living an aimless life.”
Beth closed her eyes a moment, guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders. Putting up face and assuming a happy marriage was a thing of yesterday as far as she was concerned. And Ed was no fool. Reassurance would be kinder.
She planted a kiss on his forehead. “Carl’s stronger and more resilient than you think.”
Ed shook his head, unconvinced. “He’ll self-destruct on his own.”
Beth laid her hands flat on his knees and looked directly at him, speaking candidly and meaning every word. “We’re draining the life from each other, Ed. Neither of us have anything to give back. We’ll be better apart. Perhaps, with a bit of distance, we will find a way to remain friends. Stranger things have happened. But more than anything we need to flourish as individuals.”
Closing his eyes, he nodded his head, accepting her explanation. He had tried. There was nothing else he could do. It was up to the young couple now to do what they felt was best.
“But you will stay with him until I’m gone – help him through the funeral arrangements? Otherwise God knows what he’ll do with my remains!”
“I’d be happy to, Ed. You can rely on that.”
He gave a weak smile. “And my ashes – you know what to do?”
“I do.”
Leaving the hospice, spirits strangely higher than when she’d arrived, Beth inhaled the fresh air as she stepped into the sharp breeze, a marked contrast to the stifling building she’d left behind. Whether it brings disappointments or surprises, I’ve a chance of a future, she thought, turning the key and letting the jeep’s engine roar to life before moving smoothly along the passageway. Left for Goleen and right to visit her parents’ home in Ballydehob. Choosing to make peace with her father, she increased the radio volume and veered right as she went through the gate. Rehearsing in her mind what she would say to him, the road ahead seemed brighter than it had in a very long time.
Chapter 36
Frank drove around aimlessly, his heart heavy, his head reeling. Ed’s deterioration since his last visit w
as stark, forcing Frank to appreciate how important it was to him to die with his reputation intact. And also minimising the timescale he had left to work on forcing Carl out of the country. He’d follow up with his acquaintances again, try and get them to appreciate the urgency of his request. He pulled into the car park of Bantry’s Westlodge Hotel.
He rubbed his chest with the heel of his hand. “Damn indigestion,” he muttered, deciding he’d pop into the bar and order a bowl of soup once he’d finished his calls. It’d save him making something when he got home. Marian, no doubt, would be continuing her Ice Queen act, the luxury of a dinner being handed to him a very slim chance. He began to make his calls.
Leaving Mags until last, he dialled her number, expecting it to go straight to voicemail like all his previous attempts. To his surprise, she answered on the second ring, her voice huskier than he remembered, little resemblance to the sweet flirtatious tone she’d had years before.
“Mags?”
“I’m sorry?”
He recognised her hesitancy. It had obviously been a while since her name had been shortened.