by Clare Chase
‘It wasn’t. I just didn’t want him to think I was shocked, or that I’d been standing there staring at them or something. Oh hell. He asked me to tell him about anything that struck me as peculiar. Now he’ll assume I’ve been holding out on him.’
She laughed, which set my teeth on edge. ‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t. He only asked you to mention anything out of the ordinary. He’ll just presume you regarded their presence as completely normal, and that you habitually surround yourself with nude portraits too.’
‘Oh hell,’ I said again and took a deep breath. So he’d think I was both nosy and a perv. ‘What made him worried about me, anyway? Now the locks have been changed things should be safe enough.’
‘Oh yes, sure, it wasn’t that. It was just Damien Newbold’s reaction when he told him about Maggie Cook.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh no, didn’t he tell you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, wracking my brains. ‘Nothing that would make him worry about me, anyway. But you’re going tell me, Stephanie. I won’t sleep for wondering otherwise.’
She sighed.
‘I mean it, Steph. The last thing I need right now is more mystery.’
‘Well, it was something and nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. Nate always does notice every detail. He just mentioned that Damien seemed very interested in your reaction to finding Maggie Cook standing there. He said,’ she paused, ‘well, he said it was as though he enjoyed listening to the answer.’
Chapter Eight
I had more important things to think about than my landlord and his stupid games.
After I’d showered on Monday morning I made myself consider the future. Damien Newbold’s absence was open-ended. If, as I suspected, he’d just gone off for a few days for his own entertainment, then he could decide to come home any time. I was booked for ten days initially, but there was nothing to stop him going back on that. At first, I’d been too numb to consider making plans, but I knew I couldn’t put it off much longer if I wanted to keep a roof over my head.
Unless I went back to Saxwell St Andrew, of course. I still hadn’t read Luke’s letter.
Without really concentrating I went all the way up to the attic and opened one of the Velux windows. Out across the Common I could see boats on the river: students grabbing the chance of an early morning practice before the next lot of races.
Above me, swifts issued their high-pitched calls as they swept across the mackerel sky. A cool breeze blew round my shoulders, ruffling my shower-damp hair.
Yes, I would have to talk to Luke, engage, sooner or later.
I shut the window and fished in my jeans pocket for his letter. I couldn’t stop my hand shaking as I slid a thumb under the seal. I knew what to expect from the heavyweight ivory envelope. The message he’d sent was on one single sheet of the copperplate headed paper he’d bought in celebration of our tenth anniversary together at Bookman’s Cottage. I remembered how I’d felt when he’d given me the box of stationery. It had been such a short time ago but a world away from where we were now. As I began to read, a tear fell down onto the paper.
Dear Ruby
If I could only convey to you how sorry I am. I’ve just made the most stupid mistake of my life and I want to do my best to explain how it happened.
Though Daisy Buchanan’s only seventeen, she’s anything but innocent.
It was true that she was singularly ill-suited to the name of Daisy, with its connotations of dewy freshness. Nonetheless, she was still a child as far as I was concerned. Not old enough to drink in a pub or see an eighteen film for freak’s sake.
The first time she showed an interest in me was when you were away in Dorset in March.
When, by my reckoning, she would still have been sixteen.
She came and knocked at our door, saying her father wanted to borrow one of your weirder gardening implements – which was apparently true – but by the time we got round the back I could see the reason she’d offered to come and do the asking. You can believe me when I say I made it very clear that the whole thing was totally unsuitable.
What did he want? Congratulations?
When you went away this most recent time she came round saying her parents were out, but that one of the taps had come off their bath, and the water was rushing everywhere.
Everywhere. Presumably mainly into the bath in fact, which was quite a good place for it.
And please would I see if I could fix it. I honestly didn’t see what else I could do. It would have been churlish to leave her to it. I went and found their stopcock,
If only that had done what it said on the tin …
turned the water off and managed to get the tap back on. Daisy had been getting ready to have a bath and was standing behind me in a dressing gown when I finished the job.
God. How much detail was he going to go into? Did he think this was helping? Did he expect me to call him and say, well yes, I do see that faced with her in only a dressing gown you could hardly leave without shagging her senseless? Otherwise it would obviously have been churlish, which would never do.
She made a dead set at me, telling me her parents wouldn’t be back for ages, and who was to know but us? Then she let her dressing gown fall open and said she’d fancied me for months.
Of course I shouldn’t have gone for it. If you’d been there at home I certainly wouldn’t have.
How touchingly loyal.
But it suddenly seemed to me that you’d been away a lot lately. And, of course, sex between us has changed. It hasn’t been the joyful old scramble for the bedroom it used to be, has it? Ever since we started trying for a baby it’s become a case of where are we in the month, and is it better at this time of day or at that, and will this time be the one?
Being presented with totally uncomplicated sex, from someone who simply wanted the pleasure of a stolen half hour, was incredibly tempting.
I don’t want you to think I was off on some macho trip, introducing a lovely young virgin to the experiences of womanhood. Daisy told me from the outset that she’d first had sex when she was fourteen, and she certainly seemed very experienced.
That was why I thought it would be harmless.
I couldn’t carry on reading the rest. Uncomplicated sex. How was having sex with the teenage daughter of a neighbour uncomplicated? I was willing to bet it had seemed bloody complicated when Daisy’s mother had walked in on them. And did he think the fact that she’d already had a bit of fun with a few other teenagers meant it didn’t matter throwing his thirty-one year old self into the ring? Didn’t he see there was a difference?
And yet his end conclusion had been that she was tempting, and since sex with me had become a chore, he thought he might as well go for it. At seventeen she was probably more energetic than I was. And to cap it all, he’d made the point that I was away too often, in a letter that he’d tried to pass off as an apology.
And the bastard had done all of this when I was in the middle of producing a book on men, women and the midlife crisis.
Even after what had happened, it was really me that he blamed. And if I went back, I’d have the pleasure of seeing Daisy wafting around with low-cut tops and belt-sized skirts, glancing at Luke under her eyelashes.
Except we’d never be able to stay in Saxwell St Andrew after what had happened. He’d burnt our boats there. It would be some other town or village, and the temptation would be some other nubile, young thing.
It was stupid, but I cried harder over the letter than I had when I’d first found out. It made it so horribly apparent that a future together would never work. The thought of the wasted years we’d had … Images of the past skimmed through my mind: me jumping down off a wall in a ball dress into Luke’s outstretched arms; us both snorting with laughter, huddled up in our tiny tent, listening to a couple next door having noisy sex; hiding behind the sofa together in Saxwell, when his awful Uncle Basil had turned up on the doorstep unannounced.
And then the memory of returning home after my last work trip: seeing the neighbours looking at me oddly as I stood on the doorstep, rummaging for my keys. And lastly, Luke’s face as he’d told me what had happened, and how, overnight, we’d become the talk of the village.
When I’d cried until my head was thudding I got up, dragged myself downstairs and went into the back garden. I needed some time to let everything sink in, and then I would write back to Luke and arrange to meet and talk. But I knew after reading the letter that I could never go back.
The thought set me off again, and I went to the shed, still shuddering with misery. The sky was louring as I got busy with a trowel, removing the weeds from the various pots. Then I used a knife to poke out more from between the paving stones. The wind – quite bracing now – had a strangely soothing effect, as though it was blasting away everything but the nature that surrounded me. Perhaps I could keep up the feeling of being in a bubble, and shut the bad stuff out.
After I’d made a decent job of the garden weeds I remembered I’d never finished the ones along the bottom of the wall, outside in Midsummer Passage. I nipped into the house to check my face in the cloakroom mirror and splashed my eyes with cold water. I looked as though I’d been up all night, but you couldn’t necessarily tell I’d been crying now.
Out in the passageway I planned to work my way along from the front end of the house towards the back, and then along the garden wall. I was halfway through when I heard the door to Oswald House open again. It was the girl, Emily, coming down the steps.
Chapter Nine
She smiled hesitantly at me. ‘You’re the house-sitter?’
I nodded and waved a muddy hand in greeting. ‘Ruby. And I gather from Fi that you’re Emily?’
She nodded. ‘Emily Amos.’ And then she walked across the lane towards me and I unbent and stood up. ‘Did Fi explain about me?’
‘She said you were her housemate.’
‘And I know you saw Paul Mathewson.’
‘That’s right.’ I hesitated. ‘She told me he’s one of the tutors at your college.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Fi admitted she told you he’s been helping me through a rough patch.’
I leant back against the wall. ‘He seems nice.’
She nodded, running a hand through her long, dark hair, and suddenly I saw her afresh. Her blue dress was figure-hugging, showing off her petite, curvy outline. A familiar physical type. The feeling of knowing what was coming next was eerie. ‘Your trouble was with Damien Newbold?’
She looked at me and then lowered her eyes and nodded. God, so it wasn’t just Luke who ran after younger women. Okay, so Emily wasn’t quite as young as Daisy, but it was all familiar territory.
And in spite of being at least a year older, since she was already at university, Emily looked a lot more vulnerable than Daisy did. There were huge dark rings under her eyes and she seemed hollow, as though someone had dug all the life out of her. It must be playing havoc with her studies, let alone her life in general. Standing there I suddenly felt a surge of rage against Damien Newbold. How dare he go about mucking up people’s lives like this?
I took a deep breath. ‘Has it been helping, seeing Paul Mathewson?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s very nice, and I can tell he really does care, but somehow that almost makes it worse.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I suppose you really need someone who’s completely detached and totally calm. I don’t mean I want someone uncaring,’ she paused for moment, ‘but someone who can listen without getting upset along with me. Do you see what I mean? When I tell him what I’m feeling I can see the sympathy in his eyes, and that makes it harder.’
I nodded. ‘I suppose a professional counsellor would have more training in listening without getting involved.’
She gave me a look. ‘I can tell you’ve been talking to Fi. She thinks I should see someone officially, but I can’t bear to. And Paul Mathewson is kind.’ She looked up at me then, her eyes pleading. ‘What would really make a difference is to see Damien and get things straight. Only he’s cut himself off.’
A dusty, black cat wove its way between us, rubbing its back against my legs. Even fickle animals were more reliably affectionate than men, if my experience to date was anything to go by. I wondered how I could possibly convince her Damien Newbold wasn’t worth it.
‘He’ll be back,’ I said, mentally adding, unfortunately.
‘You see, what happened between us …’ She paused.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
She rubbed her forehead as though it ached. ‘I won’t go into details, but the thing is, I just went way over the top at the wrong moment.’ She was still looking away from me. ‘I think he does have feelings for me, but I’d got the impression they’d moved on further than they really had. And meanwhile I’d – well – basically, I’d fallen in love with him. Sounds pretty stupid and old-fashioned.’
‘Nothing wrong with falling in love per se, but maybe Damien Newbold’s not—’
She cut across me. ‘He has another girlfriend you see. Nearer to him in age.’
I was willing to bet he had several more on top of that too, probably of all ages.
‘Anyway, it was stupid of me, but I didn’t realise how involved they still were. He’d given me the impression … Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter. And then I found out it was all very much still on. And I went a bit nuts. I behaved like a toddler, not a nineteen-year-old. And now the girlfriend – Maggie – has been in touch with me, telling lies, getting abusive, that kind of thing.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s all rather horrible.’
I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. ‘Emily, it sounds to me as though you have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s Damien Newbold who ought to be doing the apologising. He’s a heck of a lot older than you are, and he ought to know better.’
She was looking at me again now. ‘That’s Paul Mathewson’s opinion too. He doesn’t say so, because he’s remembered that he’s not meant to pass judgement, but I know it’s what he thinks.’
Go Paul.
She began to pace up and down along the lane. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but, you see, neither of you was there, and you don’t understand.’
I couldn’t think of a neat way to answer that one. ‘You’re right, of course, that I don’t know anything about your particular case,’ I said. ‘And I don’t want to interfere. It’s just that having lived in Damien Newbold’s place for a few days, I do get the impression he has quite a lot to do with several different women.’
She frowned.
‘I’d hate you to get hurt – more so than you already are, I mean,’ I said, trying to rescue the situation. ‘I just wish there was something I could do to help.’
Her expression loosened again and her shoulders relaxed. ‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking that perhaps there might be. That was really why I came to talk to you.’
Hell. What was coming?
‘I wondered whether you might possibly be able to get a message to Damien for me.’
I could see her taking in my expression.
‘I know you think it’s a bad idea, but if we can just get together to talk I’ll be able to keep calm this time. And then, even if it’s all over – or if there never was anything and it’s all in my head – at least I’ll know where I am. That’s what’s going to make me feel better.’
I wasn’t at all sure that that was true. I’d seen Emily’s kind of obsessive love before; remembered it from my own teenage years, in fact. Anything would feed it. If Damien Newbold gave her the slightest reason to hope, she’d be in even deeper than she was already.
‘I’m afraid I’m only the house-sitter,’ I said, using my get-out-of-jail-free card. ‘We don’t get given information on where the house owner’s staying.’ Which was true, as far as it went. I tried not to think of the address book, sitting in the study. ‘My boss would know,’ I added, ‘but he’d never
be allowed to give the information out without permission.’
‘But he could at least forward a letter.’ The pitch of Emily’s voice rose slightly.
I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure he’d be on your side too, but he’d never be able to agree to that, under the circumstances.’
She stood there for a moment, and I could tell she was trying to think of another solution.
‘I really am sorry,’ I said, meaning I was sorry for her situation. I wasn’t sorry about refusing to put her in touch with an egotistical womaniser.
It took her a moment to answer. ‘What? Oh yes, I know. I do understand. Anyway,’ she lifted her head and put her shoulders back, ‘I’m pretty sure he hasn’t gone far.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I called his work. The woman on reception told me he was away from the office, but only after I’d given her my name. I didn’t believe her. It was like listening to someone who’s been given a script to perform but hasn’t learnt it by heart. Do you know when he’s due back here?’
I shook my head. ‘My understanding is it’s open-ended.’
She nodded. ‘Well, I think I’ll go crazy if I just have to wait on him.’ Her eyes were intense. ‘I’m going to find out where he is.’
As she walked back up the steps of Oswald House the first raindrops, thick and heavy, smacked down on the tarmac, the water mingling with the summer dust.
I spent a lot of the following twenty-four hours wondering what could be done for someone like Emily. From memory, it was usually the arrival of some replacement love interest that wiped away the pain of that sort of infatuation. That, and the support of a good friend, or a mother. Fi had clearly already tried and, from what she had said, the mother was a dead loss.
For myself, I was now feeling almost aggressively dry eyed, as though reading Luke’s letter the previous day had somehow switched off hope, leaving me feeling deadened, yet more certain now of the planning I would need to do for the future.
When I’d had enough of cleaning, I decided to set off into town for an hour. I’d yet to take advantage of the rule that said I could actually be gone for three, but this stipulation hadn’t been revoked – in spite of Maggie’s little visit – and I was really desperate for a change of scene. I could maybe find an estate agent or two, and start thinking about my options.