Forbidden Places

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Oh Charlie.’ She sighed, reached up to him, kissed him briefly on the cheek. ‘You really are so hopeless. I think that’s what I first loved—’

  ‘Clarissa! Darling, where are you?’ Jack had come into the hall, had seen Grace standing in the doorway of the morning room, saw Charles and Clarissa inside. Grace swung round, blushing furiously, moved away down the corridor into the cloakroom, hot painful tears stinging her eyes, as much at the humiliation of being caught eavesdropping as what she had heard and seen.

  ‘Sorry, my angel,’ called Clarissa, ‘I’m coming. It’s just that Charles and I had such a lot to talk about. Bye, Charlie darling, and Moo, thank you for tea, and dearest Clifford … Now, where’s Grace? So lovely to have met her—’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Charles. He sounded mildly anxious. ‘I really don’t. Grace! Grace, darling, where are you?’

  ‘I think she’s still in the drawing room,’ said Jack. ‘That’s where I saw her last.’

  Grace, sitting on the lavatory, her head buried in her hands, thought she must repay Jack Compton Brown for his kindness if it was the last thing she did.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said to Charles, emerging from the cloakroom as they all came back into the house. ‘I didn’t realize they were going.’

  ‘That’s all right, darling. You all right? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘Yes. Yes I’m fine. Well – actually, I think I’d like to go home, if you don’t mind, not stay for supper. I’ve got an awful headache. Could I ring my father, get him to fetch me?’

  ‘Darling, I’m so sorry. Look, go and sit down by the fire for a bit, see if it gets better. I’ll get you some aspirin.’

  Florence was still lying on the sofa, her eyes closed; she looked at Grace and sighed. ‘I really wouldn’t recommend this,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Grace, and then, slightly desperately, ‘Clarissa’s very pretty.’

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  ‘Er – she said she expected Charles would have told me all about her. He’s never mentioned her. Are they – are they old friends?’

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Florence. ‘How extraordinary of him. I really can’t believe that. Yes, pretty old, although not exactly friends. He was engaged to her. Oh, over two years ago now. Sorry, Grace, I really thought he’d have said.’

  For the very first time Grace saw genuine friendliness in her eyes. Friendliness and sympathy.

  Chapter 4

  Winter–Spring 1938–1939

  She told Charles she wanted to break off the engagement.

  She sat in his car, outside her parents’ house (aware that the curtains were moving, that her mother was behind them, looking out, not caring), and said quite calmly that if he was going to keep something of that enormity from her, then she couldn’t trust him in anything, anything at all.

  Charles, clearly upset, white-faced, his hands twisting round and round on the steering wheel, kept saying he was sorry, that he had always intended to tell her, that his parents had said that he must, that he should have done before he even proposed to her, but it had just become harder and harder; that it was so long ago now, almost two years, that yes, he had been in love with Clarissa, but it would never have worked, they had both realized it, had agreed mutually to end it, that they had both been upset, but it had been the right decision.

  ‘Anyway, it was two years ago, for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘It’s over, well and truly over. Surely you can’t think I’m still in love with her.’ ‘That’s not the point, Charles,’ said Grace, ‘it’s that you didn’t tell me something so important about yourself. Anyway, you could have told me. I asked you about your past, your other girlfriends, lots of times.’

  ‘I know you did. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I can’t explain why. What more can I say? I certainly didn’t feel in the least about her as I do about you,’ he added, ‘you must believe that.’

  ‘Charles,’ said Grace, ‘I’m beginning to find it difficult to believe anything about you. Anyway, why did you break it off?’

  ‘I told you. It was a joint decision. We just realized it wasn’t going to work.’

  ‘I see. And having made that decision, nobody ever mentioned it again?’

  ‘Of course they did. And my parents were very upset –’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace slowly, ‘I can see they would be. They obviously adored her. Much more suitable.’ Misery, sick jealous misery consumed her; she knew she was making things worse and she couldn’t help it.

  ‘More suitable than what?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Oh Grace, don’t be absurd. Please don’t start that again.’

  ‘Charles, I’m not starting anything. It’s your behaviour that’s finished it.’

  For three days she refused to see him, to speak to him on the phone even. She felt bewildered, humiliated, totally miserable. She didn’t explain to her parents, just said she and Charles had quarrelled and she didn’t want to talk about it.

  Betty was distraught.

  She couldn’t face telling anyone. Part of her misery was in the recognition that Clarissa was exactly the sort of person Charles would have been expected to marry, that she, Grace, was so clearly a second choice. If Clarissa had been plain, or if not plain at least quiet and shy, she could have coped with it better. But a dazzlingly glamorous secret ex-fiancée – her frail self-confidence simply couldn’t cope with it.

  She was just glad she had found out when she did.

  She was sitting in her office one afternoon later in the week when the phone rang.

  ‘Grace? It’s Clifford Bennett, my dear. I’d like to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Grace. ‘Oh, I see. I’m not sure—’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know you’re upset, and I’m not surprised. But Charles is desperately upset too and I thought it might help if I – well, could we meet, do you think? After you’ve finished work? I’m in Shaftesbury today, what about the Grosvenor, they do a splendid tea?’

  ‘Oh – Mr Bennett, I really don’t know.’

  ‘I think it might help,’ he said, ‘might help you understand. Please come.’

  He sounded so genuinely concerned, so kind, that it seemed churlish to refuse.

  ‘All right,’ said Grace. ‘Thank you.’

  Clifford was waiting by the fire in the lounge of the Grosvenor. He got up and kissed her when she came in, told her to sit down, that he had already ordered tea. Grace looked at him rather uncertainly.

  ‘I know this isn’t strictly my business,’ he said, ‘but I’m very fond of you, and I know Charles loves you.’

  ‘Does he know you’re here?’ said Grace. ‘Because—’

  ‘Good Lord, no. But I have had a talk with him. I couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. Not to tell you something as important as this.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace, feeling a great weight lifting from her as she realized he did seem to understand precisely why she was so upset. ‘Um – who told you? That I’d found out? Did Charles?’

  ‘No, Florence told us. She was very upset on your behalf. And cross with Charles.’

  ‘I see,’ said Grace. She found the thought of the whole family being shocked on her behalf, sorry for her, painful rather than comforting.

  ‘Now the thing is,’ said Clifford, ‘he was terribly fond of Clarissa.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace dully. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘And he was desperately upset when it finished.’

  ‘Why was it finished?’ said Grace.

  ‘Oh – nothing sinister, I assure you. They simply decided they weren’t compatible. She’s a town bird, you know, and he likes the country. She’s so very extrovert and he’s quite shy, as you also know. And,’ he added, looking at her carefully, ‘not perhaps quite as mature as he seems. Anyway, they were sensible enough to see it wasn’t going to work. However much in love they were.’

  ‘So they were?’ said Grace.

  ‘Oh they were. It would be silly to te
ll you otherwise. But I can tell you something else. He is very much in love with you too. He needs you. I suspect you see yourself as second best in some way. You’re not.’

  ‘Aren’t I?’ said Grace.

  ‘No, you are not,’ he said firmly, patting her knee. ‘Of course you’re not. Look, here’s the tea. Shall I be mother? Now listen to me,’ he went on, passing her a cup. ‘I see you, and so does Muriel, I might tell you, as a very special young lady. Very special indeed. We are truly delighted about the engagement. And I think you can do a lot for Charles. I really do.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Grace doubtfully. ‘Sometimes it feels all the other way round, as if it’s just him doing a lot for me.’

  ‘Well, that’s very silly of you, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ said Clifford. ‘Very silly. You’ve given Charles a lot of confidence. Clarissa, much as we love her, rather took it away.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Grace. She felt rather silly, suddenly, silly and much happier. She smiled at Clifford. ‘This is very kind of you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, ‘very self-interested. I want you in my family. You’re the best thing that’s happened to it for a long time.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Grace, ‘how funny you should say that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh – nothing,’ she said quickly, ‘it sounds a bit bigheaded.’

  ‘Not at all, your head needs to be a bit bigger. Tell me why it was funny.’

  ‘Well, someone else said it. At your party.’

  ‘Oh really. Who was that?’

  ‘Robert.’

  ‘Ah’, said Clifford. There was a slightly odd note to his voice. Grace looked at him quickly, and caught a shadow of concern on his face; then it was gone. ‘Very perceptive of him,’ he said, ‘very perceptive indeed.’

  ‘How is Florence?’

  ‘Oh, she’s gone back now. Poor darling, she really does feel rotten. She likes you very much too, you know,’ he added. ‘She really does. Now then, I must go. Got a very worried client to see. Thank you for coming to meet me. Whatever you decide, I enjoyed it.’

  Grace stood up and gave him a kiss. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re so kind. A perfect father-in-law. And father too.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said and sighed, and his voice was very sober. ‘I’m very much afraid not.’

  Charles presented Grace with the key to the Mill House ‘as a making-up present’.

  ‘That’s quite a present,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly ours yet. But we have first refusal. The Wetherbys are away, we can go round it.’

  The house was lovely: tall, sunlit rooms, glorious views from every side, and the sound of the millstream always in the background. The kitchen and the main bedroom were on the stream side of the house, and the water flowed beneath the windows; Grace opened the bedroom window, and a duck, drifting past, looked up at her, surprised, almost put out, to see her there. ‘It’s like being on a boat,’ said Grace. ‘I love it.’

  ‘Will you live in it with me, please, Miss Marchant?’

  ‘Yes, Charles, I will. But no more secrets? Anywhere?’

  ‘No more secrets. Anywhere at all. Ever.’ He kissed her. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ he said as they drove away, ‘that house would be dangerous for children. We shall have to fence the stream well off. In due course.’

  ‘Yes, we will,’ said Grace. The mention of children made her feel slightly nervous. She had taken the next day off work for an appointment with the National Birth Control Clinic in Salisbury; she had told everyone she was going to look at things like china and bed linen.

  She was rather impressed with herself at taking the decision to go to the clinic; it had been a conversation with Florence of all unlikely people that had propelled her there.

  ‘For goodness sake,’ Florence had said, lying on the sofa, glassy pale, ‘don’t you go and do this, Grace. Not straight away. Whatever Charles wants. Not a good idea.’

  Her words made Grace realize that she had not really thought properly about, nor had they discussed, whether and indeed how soon she and Charles might want children; the thought of confronting the subject made her feel shy and nervous. She knew that the modern thing to do was for the woman to get contraceptive advice; even her mother had hinted at it (‘Personal advice’ she had called it, blushing furiously), and it really seemed a much better idea than leaving the whole thing to fate, or indeed to Charles: he might even be assuming that was what she was going to do anyway. And so she had looked up the telephone number of the clinic and phoned for an appointment from a public box, so that nobody was likely to overhear her.

  The woman doctor, whose name was Phillips, was rather less cosy than Grace had expected, and after talking to her about her general health, her periods, and the wedding date, also asked her whether she had discussed birth control with her fiancé.

  ‘No,’ said Grace humbly. ‘No I haven’t, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You really should,’ said Dr Phillips. ‘It’s very important. And you certainly can’t afford to be embarrassed about it. Have you talked to him about sexual relations at all?’

  ‘No,’ said Grace blushing. ‘No I haven’t.’

  ‘You really should. Saves a lot of problems later on. Well, possible problems,’ she added, seeing Grace’s alarmed face. ‘It really isn’t a good idea to go into marriage without confronting these things. Are you a virgin?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace.

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘No. No, I’m sure he’s not. He’s well, he’s thirty-two.’

  ‘Doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ said Dr Phillips, smiling slightly grimly at her, ‘although I agree these days it is unlikely. Now then, the most satisfactory method of birth control all round is the Dutch cap. Know about that?’

  ‘No,’ said Grace.

  ‘Well, it’s a device that you wear, internally of course. It’s un detectable in use, doesn’t get in the way of love-making, very discreet indeed, about ninety-five per cent safe, and it means you can take responsibility for the whole thing. Far better than the old way. But you can’t use one when you’re a virgin, so you’ll have to come back and see me after your honeymoon. Unless of course you want a family right away. Which is never something I recommend and certainly not in the state the world’s in at the moment. I expect your fiancé will take care of things on the honeymoon, but you really can’t depend on that, men are notoriously selfish and irresponsible. So I’m going to give you a douche and then –’

  Grace left the clinic armed with a strange-looking rubber contraption, a bit like a small hot-water bottle with a tube attached, a booklet entitled Married Life, several new pieces of knowledge and a determination to talk to Charles about it all.

  Charles was clearly shocked when she broached the subject when they were alone one evening in the room he called his study at the Priory and which was actually a rather untidy second sitting room.

  ‘Darling, what a question,’ he said, struggling to smile, downing a rather large Scotch in one go and pouring another. ‘No, of course I’m not a virgin. Why ever did you think that?’

  ‘Well – I didn’t know,’ said Grace, ‘how could I? But I didn’t think you could be.’

  ‘You were right. Of course.’

  He smiled and took another drink; there was a silence.

  ‘But we’ve never – never even talked about it at all,’ said Grace. ‘I thought perhaps—’

  ‘Grace darling, there isn’t a lot to talk about. I promise you. I love you and respect you. That’s all you need to know. I’m looking forward to our wedding night more than I can tell you. And you don’t have to worry, I shall take care of things.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well I mean,’ – he looked awkward – ‘I’ll see there aren’t any babies. Yet. For a little while anyway. I think that would be best.’

  He didn’t ask her if she thought it would be best.

  ‘I�
��ve seen to it too, Charles.’

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I’ve been to a clinic. A birth-control clinic.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘What a stupid question,’ said Grace, trying to look amused, as if this was a perfectly easy, matter-of-fact conversation. ‘Because it’s important, that’s why.’

  ‘It may be important,’ said Charles, ‘but I don’t think it’s the sort of thing you should be worrying about.’

  ‘Charles, why on earth not?’ said Grace, her courage growing as it always did when he patronized her. ‘Surely it concerns me. You’re not cross, are you?’

  ‘Not cross exactly,’ he said, ‘but a bit taken aback. I would have thought that you would at least have asked me first.’

  ‘Asked you what?’

  ‘Whether I minded you going, of course. It’s very, very personal, this sort of thing—’

  ‘Charles, of course it’s personal. But I don’t see why you wouldn’t want me to—’

  ‘To talk about something so – so intimate to a complete stranger. Of course I don’t want that.’

  He was plainly very upset; Grace put her hand on his arm. He shook it off.

  ‘Charles, please! What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘if you can’t see, there’s no point talking about it. Let’s change the subject.’

  He drove her home shortly after that, kissed her goodnight only very briefly. Grace was totally baffled by the whole incident, but decided she must have wounded his male pride and should apologize for upsetting him. He accepted, but was still clearly not happy for a day or two; he managed finally to laugh it off and say he had simply been rather shocked by her.

  ‘You’re a more modern girl than I thought,’ he said, kissing her, ‘and I’m a bit old-fashioned.’

  The male pride, Grace thought, was evidently horribly easy to wound; she wondered if Clarissa had been the sort of girl to leave birth control to the man. She really rather doubted it.

  Grace left her job at the end of November. She was actually rather reluctant to do so; it seemed quite a long time to May still, and although she could see that supervising the work on the Mill House, getting her wedding dress made (her mother had finally and regretfully abdicated the responsibility in favour of Mrs Humbolt, who made all the local dresses quite beautifully), organizing the bridesmaids, sending out the invitations, receiving the presents and writing the thank-you letters was going keep her fairly busy for five months, she would still, given the choice, have stayed on until Christmas. But both her mother and Muriel had told her it was impossible, and she had given in gracefully. She seemed to be giving in, gracefully or otherwise, a great deal these days.