by Lulu Taylor
Fred was quiet, waiting for her to speak.
‘I’m sorry, Fred. This is very hard for me. I’ve kept it to myself for so long. Only my mother knew even a hint of it.’
‘You don’t have to say anything.’
‘No.’ She felt his arm tighten around her and took comfort from it. ‘I want to. I need to. It’s been eating me up for years. I thought I’d been brave and coped with it, and made it all go away, but it isn’t true. I’m falling in love with you even though I tried my hardest not to. But we haven’t got a hope if you don’t know the truth from the start. If I don’t tell you now, it’s doomed.’ She laughed shakily. ‘It’s just that I’m afraid of saying it.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘And take your time.’
She lay quietly next to him, gathering her courage, wanting to say it right. At last, in a low voice, she began.
‘Alec and I didn’t fall in love exactly. We got engaged very quickly because . . . well, we had to get married.’ She felt a blush staining her cheeks. ‘I explained to my mother at the time that I didn’t love him but that I was having a baby. I don’t know what I hoped exactly – perhaps that she would tell me that I didn’t have to marry him. I knew there were other ways. I could have gone away for a year to study art or something, and come back when it was all over. I wouldn’t have had Antonia, though, and that’s too awful a thought to contemplate now, so I’m glad I didn’t. But at the time, I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t know if I wanted the baby. But my mother – she was shocked, so horrified. She was . . . disgusted. And she told me so.’ Tommy stopped, remembering that terrible interview. ‘She said that everyone else would be too, if they ever found out. She was never the warmest of mothers, but after that she treated me like a . . . something untouchable. Cheap and sordid. I could feel her scorn and contempt every time she looked at me. It was horrible. So Alec and I were engaged and then married – and I thought after that everything would be all right again, especially when Antonia arrived. She was so beautiful. But it seemed that nothing could wipe away my sin.’ Tommy stopped again and bit her lip. She shot a quick glance at Fred, who was gazing at her earnestly. ‘All right, so now I expect you despise me, don’t you? You probably think I’m the lowest sort of woman.’
‘I don’t think that at all.’
‘Well.’ She looked away, remembering. The night of Lady Rosse’s ball and Alec, the handsome man who, seeing her separated from her party, had introduced himself – a friend of Isabelle, Lady Rosse’s daughter – and offered her a lift home. She’d accepted, and at first it had been rather romantic. When he’d suggested parking his car by Hyde Park so that they could take a moonlit walk to the lake, she’d been enchanted by the suggestion. Giddy on several glasses of champagne, she’d floated in her chiffon dress, a rabbit fur cape keeping her shoulders warm, the reassuring male strength beside her. He said little but laughed at her chatter. And then . . . it had turned very ugly in the shadows beneath the trees. She had gone so suddenly from gaiety and excitement to cold fear and sickening confusion, as Alec had taken her hand in an iron grip, and then grabbed her neck, pulling her to him, ignoring her shocked protests. Each second had stretched out into an endless moment of pain and fear, and the scene had stayed with her ever since, reverberating through the years, endlessly replaying.
Tommy whispered in a small, choked voice, ‘I didn’t want to . . . have a baby. He made me do it. I didn’t even know him then but I thought I was safe with him because he’d been at the ball. It was a dreadful mistake, the worst I ever made. I wasn’t safe after all, not a bit.’ She stopped, unable to go on for a moment, chilled by the memory of that terrible night and what it had started. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I never told anyone before. I didn’t even really explain to Mother, though I think she guessed.’
‘Did he hurt you?’ Fred’s voice was low and gentle.
‘Yes, horribly. Because it wasn’t what I wanted at all.’
Tommy had another flash of recollection: she was pushing at the stiff dinner jacket, shirt buttons pressing hard on her chest, rough grass under her thighs as the stranger hoicked up the light-as-air chiffon; her own pleas and cries and the hurricane of his heavy breathing in her ear.
She gasped, tears stinging her eyes, and shuddered. Fred tightened his arm around her.
‘He said that I’d led him on. But I hadn’t. At least, I hadn’t meant to. He took me home afterwards; I could hardly speak, all I could think about was the shock and pain and how I must have deserved it somehow. I hoped it would all go away and I could forget about it. But then I found out that . . . Antonia was coming. I didn’t know what to do, I thought there was only one way. So I got his address from Isabelle and I wrote to him, and we met for tea.’
‘You were very brave.’
‘It was stupid. I was sick with fear seeing him again, shaking with it. But he was so normal, as though nothing unusual had happened, meeting me in the tea room so beautifully turned out, so handsome and polite. He acted as though we’d been in love and that’s why the baby was coming. It made me think that somehow I’d misunderstood and that perhaps I had wanted him to do it – not wanted, but done as he said, led him on. He said he was happy about the baby and proposed marriage at once. I thought that I didn’t have a choice, I had to say yes. I didn’t have a clue what I was letting myself in for. I thought I’d get used to it, perhaps even grow to love him. But I never could. I could never forget.’
‘You poor thing. Poor girl.’
Tommy was engulfed suddenly by a sadness she rarely let herself feel: a deep sorrow for that eighteen-year-old girl, who had only done what she thought she had to, signing away her life to the man who had destroyed it. ‘My mother was desperately ashamed. Everyone kindly kept quiet about the fact Antonia was so early and so bouncingly healthy but I’m sure it didn’t go unnoticed. Then Harry came along too the year before war broke out.’ Tommy paused, struggling to find the words. ‘We seemed happy enough, I suppose. But no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.’
It had turned out that Alec liked his wife’s resistance. There was nothing he enjoyed more than taking her against her will. Tommy had soon learned that it was easier, gentler, shorter if she acquiesced. To bear her life and the deep hatred she had for her husband, she closed down all her emotions except the love she felt for her children. She could love them in torrents, but for Alec she had nothing but the coldest scorn and loathing. He felt it and it made him worse towards her, as though he could force love and respect into her with cruelty. She had shut up her heart and resolved to survive alone even if she spent her whole life with him. She would endure it for the sake of the children, the precious gifts Alec had given her.
‘If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him myself,’ Fred said, his voice now hard, his eyes set steely.
A warmth rushed through her: he understood. She’d been afraid that he would be repelled by her if he knew the truth. But without hesitation, he was on her side.
Fred said, ‘I thought you must have loved him very much. I thought that was why you kept running away from me. I was blind and yet, I should have guessed. There were no photographs of him, you see. Nothing on display. And when we talked about Venetia and her heartbroken husband, you said that there were other reasons not to be able to look at a picture. I had the sense then that you were telling me something that I couldn’t hear.’
‘I had no idea I was.’ Tommy rubbed her cheek along the wool of his jumper, taking comfort from the warmth below it. ‘The day Alec left for the war, I began to live again. And when he died, I couldn’t tell anyone that I was glad, that I got down on my knees and gave thanks that he would never come back and make me suffer again.’
Tommy remembered the day of the telegram, walking out of the kitchen away from her family. They hadn’t seen her turn her face to the sky and close her eyes, like a prisoner taken from a dungeon and shown sunlight again. She was unshackled. Free. She was reborn.
She went on:
‘I sound like a monster, I know. Of course, I was sorry too, for the children, to have lost their father. He was very good with them in a way he was never able to be with me. But then I thought, well, now they need never learn the truth. He’ll always be that wonderful, half remembered father, a hero who was killed in the war. We look at his photograph and I create a new Alec for them, one they can love and be proud of. The pictures can never talk back and reveal the truth.’
Fred stroked her hair lightly. ‘No wonder you felt you’d had a lucky escape. Any sane person would have felt the same.’
She looked up at him. ‘You don’t think I’m wicked?’
‘Of course not. It makes perfect sense. And you quite sensibly decided never to let anyone close to you again, in case they hurt you the way Alec did.’
‘Yes!’ She was drenched in sweet relief that he understood completely. ‘That’s right. I couldn’t risk it again.’
‘But . . .’ He rested his warm palm on her hair and looked at her seriously. ‘My darling Tommy, will you risk it now? I give you my word that I’ll never hurt you. I’m not like Alec, not a scrap.’
‘I know that. I knew it at once. But I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let any man close to me again.’
‘Can you break that promise?’ he asked with hope in his voice.
‘I think so.’
He took her face in his hands, his expression intense as he stared into her eyes. ‘Tommy, I hope you’ll let me love you. Let me show you that it doesn’t have to be like that.’
‘Yes, please.’ She felt his arms, warm and solid around her, and a new, unknown warmth inside herself. Her heart was beating hard, and she was aware of her skin, her nerve endings, her whole physical self. I thought I was dead. But I’m alive after all. ‘I want you to.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Oxford was full of the sound of bells when Caitlyn woke. It was Sunday morning, the sun was obscured by scudding clouds that quickly turned grey and the air had a chill in it. Jen arrived at the front door, wearing her blue boiler suit and a bright red headscarf.
‘Morning!’ she said. ‘I’ve come for Max.’
‘Have you?’ Caitlyn said, surprised.
‘Didn’t he tell you? He did so well last time, he wanted to come again. We’re going to make coil vases.’
‘Oh. Great, I’m sure he’ll love it. I’ll call him.’
While they were waiting for Max to come down from his room, Jen said, ‘You’ve got a fan or something.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes. Some woman was sitting outside your house last night. In her car. She was there for ages, watching your front door.’
‘Really?’ Caitlyn looked impulsively over to the front window where it was possible to see all the way through the ground floor to the kitchen. ‘How long was she there?’
‘She wasn’t there when I went up to bed. But I saw her again this morning. Bit weird.’
‘Yes,’ Caitlyn said faintly.
‘Do you know anyone who might do that?’
‘I . . . perhaps. I’ll keep an eye out for her.’
‘I should. Max! Get a move on, matey!’
When Max had gone, Caitlyn went straight to the window and looked out, feeling suddenly chilled. There was no sign of Sara or her car. Could Jen have imagined it? That didn’t seem very likely. But neither did the fact that Sara might have sat outside her house for hours on end. Why would she? What did she hope to see?
Her phone chirped and she went to check it. A text had arrived. It was from Sara.
I’m watching you. And I know exactly what you’re doing.
A rush of adrenaline sent the tips of Caitlyn’s fingers prickling as she fired back a text.
Leave me alone.
Another arrived a moment later.
How dare you betray Patrick like this?
Caitlyn gasped with the effrontery of Sara accusing her of betrayal. She obviously thinks Nicholas and I are involved. She switched off her telephone and put it under a sofa cushion so she couldn’t see it, then took some deep breaths to calm herself down. I have to behave naturally. She can’t do anything to hurt me.
After breakfast, she went to the window and looked out. There was no one there, and she told herself she was being paranoid. Sara might be a drama queen but she still had a job to do and a life to run; she couldn’t start spending her entire time spooking Caitlyn.
Nevertheless, she was glad that Max was at Jen’s.
She had relaxed by the time she sat down at her computer to check her emails. There were ten from Sara, all with the subject heading You Never Loved Patrick.
Caitlyn started shaking properly. How had Sara turned the tables like this – accusing Caitlyn of a kind of infidelity? What gives her the right?
She rang Nicholas and told him in a frightened voice what was going on.
‘She’s insane,’ he said frankly. ‘But emails and texts . . . they’re annoying but you can ignore them. I don’t like the fact that she’s watching the house.’
‘I suppose it was her,’ Caitlyn said. ‘But I don’t think she’s there now.’ She got up and went over to the window, then gasped. Sara was standing across the street, staring blankly at the house. She darted back out of view, her heart pounding. ‘Oh my God, she’s there.’
‘Okay. That’s not good.’ Nicholas sounded worried. ‘I’ll come and tell her to get the hell away from you.’
‘What does she want?’ Caitlyn said, panicked. ‘Why doesn’t she leave me alone? She ought to be too ashamed to look me in the face, instead she’s attacking me!’
‘She can’t accept she’s in the wrong. I don’t think she’s ever been able to admit her actions, even to herself. You’ve always given her reassurance that she’s a normal, likeable person. If you desert her, she’ll probably collapse. Does she have many other close friends?’
‘She’s got loads of friends . . .’ Caitlyn broke off, trying to think of Sara’s really close friends. ‘She knows a lot of people, I suppose. But I’m her only real friend.’
Nicholas said firmly, ‘I think you should call the police.’
‘What good would that do? She’s only standing across the road, that’s not a crime.’
‘Harassment is.’
‘Not a few hours’ worth. I don’t see how it would help.’
‘Register it. Just in case.’
Caitlyn sank down against the wall until she was sitting on the floor. ‘I can’t bear it,’ she whispered. ‘I only wanted peace for me and Max. I don’t deserve this.’
Nicholas said, ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m coming to you as soon as my tutorials are over.’
Caitlyn was filled with impotent rage. Every time she looked out of the window, Sara was there, standing across the road by the neighbour’s wall, her hands in the pockets of her light summer mac, her sunglasses on and her face expressionless. At one point, Caitlyn saw a neighbour come out of her house, go up and talk to her briefly, obviously asking if she needed any help, but Sara brushed her off with a few words, so the woman shrugged and went back inside.
Caitlyn fought the impulse to open the door and shout at Sara to go away but she knew that interaction would only make things worse. She had already blocked Sara’s email address so that no more of the messages would pop up in her inbox but confronting Sara would surely feed her resentment and fury.
‘Patrick,’ she said out loud. ‘How could you have had anything to do with her? Did you really love her? Even if you just enjoyed the sex, was it worth it? You always said she was nuts, and you were right.’
In her head, she heard Patrick’s sardonic laugh and the way, coming back from Sara’s drunken dinner parties, he would shake his head and say, ‘She has no limits. I don’t think Mark knows how to keep her in tow. He can’t control her.’
He always seemed to feel sorry for any man Sara got involved with. And yet it occurred to her that Sara was one of the few people whose taste Patrick didn’t criticise. He admired the wa
y she could transform interiors. He was scornful, on the whole, of interior designers, but he made an exception for Sara. She had a quirkiness that meant she could put clashing colours and patterns together to create a brilliant harmony. Her interiors looked stylish and fresh and yet timeless. She never used anything she’d seen in a magazine. ‘Once it’s in print, it’s over,’ she said, although she didn’t mind her own work appearing in glossy design magazines. She yearned, really, to be discovered for a television show and to find a new level of fame. But it hadn’t happened, even though she’d been tested. Caitlyn suspected that, despite Sara’s shimmering photogenic qualities, she would be stiff and affected once the camera was on her, just as she had been so painful to watch when she attempted her flirting.
She wondered what it would have been like if Patrick had married Sara instead of her. Perhaps everything would have been different if it had been Patrick, not Rupert, Sara had chosen that night. But Sara would always have opted for Rupert over Patrick, and even if she hadn’t, he would have become just another in her endless line of conquests, eventually to be rejected with that delicate wrinkle of the nose and the cutting judgement that he was, in the end, rather common. Sara would never have come to terms with Patrick’s Australian family, the strident, suntanned Aileen and the rest of the salt-of-the-earth tribe. She’d have laughed, openly, at them.
Patrick wouldn’t have been able to take that. He was so proud.
Caitlyn could see, suddenly, the constant attraction and repulsion that had existed between Patrick and Sara. They were cut from the same cloth in some ways: both charismatic, attractive, obsessed with appearances and determined to live in the way they deemed the best. Both needed to be the top dog.
It would have been awful, if they’d been fighting each other to be in control.