Her Frozen Heart

by Lulu Taylor

  Tommy looked at the table. ‘I know better than most how awful a mistake like that can be. I want to help him if I can.’

  ‘He has to make his own choices, Tommy, you know that. He’s not compelled into marriage, the way you were. He can’t blame anyone else for this mess. And he still has time to get out of it.’

  ‘Gerry said Barbara has them all under her thumb. I can’t imagine Roger standing up to her.’

  Fred put his hand on hers across the table. ‘If he wants us, we’ll help him. Until he asks, there’s nothing we can do.’

  They ordered their food and talked of anything but what was happening at home. Fred told her about his sister’s life and her friends and the large house they had bought in Spitalfields which would be a community for women who wanted to live independently but with like-minded friends. He made it sound cheerful and free and new.

  ‘I’d like to meet her,’ Tommy said. ‘She sounds very interesting.’

  ‘She’s dying to meet you. I had to hold her back from coming here tonight, she’s so curious. And she told me how I could make moulds for my little circus figures – remember how I was trying to work it all out? She has some sort of rubber substance that I can set around my carvings. Then, when it comes off, I have a very flexible mould for the plaster. When I come back to Kings Harcourt, I’ll finish the mouldings.’

  Tommy was suddenly melancholy. ‘Do you think you’ll come back?’

  ‘I’m sure I will. And so will you. If you don’t want to live in London, take a house in the village. Don’t let Barbara push you out if you want to stay there. And if Gerry is right, your mother may well have a change of heart about dear Barbara.’

  ‘Yes.’ She felt more cheerful. ‘You’re right. I’ll find a way to stay close by. Then I can be there when they need me.’

  The evening was over too soon. At eleven o’clock the last dishes were cleared away and the lights turned off. Over the road, the raucous fun in the pub was reaching its peak. The bell for last orders rang as they went past.

  They strolled up Curzon Street and then up to South Audley Street, where Fred took her in his arms by some railings and kissed her deeply. ‘Tommy,’ he said quietly. ‘I want to be with you all the time. We must live together.’

  ‘I want that too. But you’re homeless and so am I. I have two children to raise . . .’

  ‘I’ll raise them with you. I think your children are marvellous and I’d do my best to be a father to them.’

  ‘I believe you – but it’s such a lot to ask when you have no job, no home . . .’

  ‘We can start again together. We can make a life.’ Fred held her tight and then said, ‘I can see the lights of the Dorchester over there. Shall we see if the bar is still open?’

  At the entrance to the bar, a waiter tried to turn them away, saying that only residents could now buy a drink there, but then someone squealed Tommy’s name and they saw Celia sitting there with a friend.

  ‘Very well, if you’re with Lady Celia,’ the waiter said, letting them pass.

  ‘They always let me in,’ Celia said when Tommy and Fred had joined her. ‘I’m here so often I’m practically a resident. I used to come to their shelter in the raids during the war. My dear, the best people were taking cover here! It was quite a party when we weren’t shaking with fear. This is Amanda Lillington. We escaped from Jonty’s party and came here to blot out the memory. Amanda, this is Tommy Eliott, and . . . ?’ Celia raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Fred Burton Brown,’ Tommy said.

  ‘How do you do,’ Fred said politely. ‘I’ll go and find the waiter, he seems to have disappeared.’

  Celia wanted all the gossip about their night. ‘You were in Shepherd’s Market? How brave! It’s rather colourful, by all accounts. But you were always plucky, Tommy, I’ll give you that. Oh!’ Celia put her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘But Amanda, you know Barbara Hastings, don’t you? You were the one who told me you knew her – that’s right, it’s coming back to me.’

  ‘Yes, I know Barbara Hastings. Not well, but I certainly know her.’ Amanda took a sip from her cocktail. ‘I was out in India for a while, that’s how our paths crossed.’

  ‘Tommy knows her too,’ Celia said confidentially. ‘Very well, as it happens.’

  ‘Not that well. We were at school together.’

  Amanda laughed. ‘I bet you have some stories then, if she was anything like that at school!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tommy asked, wondering where Fred had got to. She tried to spot him through the gloom.

  ‘In India, she was quite the most scandalous Englishwoman there. She had several affairs but the most brazen was with an officer in the army. A major-general. It was talked about everywhere. She seemed to take great pleasure in humiliating the man’s poor wife, and her own husband. She didn’t make any effort to hide what was going on. If anything, she flaunted it. I think she thought something would come of it – but of course it didn’t. And then the war came. She might be unknown here, but those of us who saw her in action know better. She’s an adventuress, always on the prowl for rich men to buy her luxuries. We all felt sorry for her poor husband. I don’t know how he tolerated it.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Tommy said, feeling depressed though not surprised. ‘That is a shame because she’s marrying my brother.’ Fred appeared and said, ‘The waiter’s bringing a jug of Singapore Sling. I thought that sounded all right.’ He sat down at the table.

  Amanda didn’t appear to hear him. ‘Marrying your brother?’ she said to Tommy, disbelievingly. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Yes, she is. They got engaged last week. I should think it will be in The Times before too long.’

  ‘No, she can’t be,’ Amanda said decisively. ‘Because I saw Duncan Hastings just the day before yesterday lunching in Glover’s in Piccadilly. I’m sure it was him. So unless they’re divorced, how can his wife be engaged to marry someone else?’

  ‘We have to tell Roger at once!’ Tommy said urgently, as she and Fred stood on the doorstep of Celia’s flat. Celia had tactfully withdrawn inside to leave them alone to say their goodbyes. ‘I’ll ring home tomorrow and explain that Barbara is a fraud!’

  ‘Wait,’ Fred said, ‘we don’t know for sure that Celia’s friend really did see Duncan Hastings. She might have been mistaken.’

  ‘But she knew him in India!’

  ‘Yes, but why would Barbara allow Roger to propose to her if she has a husband living? She’s not stupid enough to think she wouldn’t be found out at some point. She must already be divorced.’

  Tommy frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. But why pretend to be widowed? Why say her husband was dead, if he might turn up at any moment?’

  ‘Perhaps she thinks it sounds more respectable. But it’s a rum case. I think we need to do some investigating. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find out from my army friends. I’m sure someone will have heard of Duncan Hastings and be able to help me track him down. Meanwhile, don’t alert Barbara to this. If she’s guilty, it’ll give her more time to cover her tracks. And if she’s innocent and we accuse her unjustly, it will make us look much worse than she does.’

  ‘Yes, I see all that. I just want to save Roger any more pain.’

  ‘I know. A day or two more won’t make any difference.’ He kissed her tenderly and she hugged him tightly. ‘I’ll telephone you as soon as I have some news. Sleep tight, my darling.’

  ‘Goodnight, Fred. Sweet dreams.’

  In the morning, Celia said, ‘What a turn-up, Amanda knowing your friend! She sounds quite a piece of work.’

  ‘Yes. She is,’ Tommy said. ‘The worst thing is that I thought I was helping her by taking her in, and she had no compunction about turning me out of my own home.’

  ‘She’s a cuckoo in the nest, chucking out anything that might threaten her security,’ Celia remarked. ‘I know the type. The war seemed to bring out the best in some of us, and the worst in others. Most I know found their best selves. But
I saw some shoddy behaviour and I’m sure you did too.’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, good luck, darling. I hope you get rid of the viper in the bosom.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  ‘How are you settling in?’ Nicholas asked down the line.

  ‘Very well, even if my phone signal is a bit patchy.’

  ‘I don’t think Aunt G has got round to installing a broadband connection yet, I’m afraid,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Any news from Sara?’

  Caitlyn stood at the window on the upper-storey landing, looking out over the fields that stretched towards the village. They glowed with a luminous, almost acid green under the clear blue sky. ‘No. I was expecting something, but there’s been nothing. The movers are doing their thing today and I’m going back to the house to take a look. My neighbour Jen said she hadn’t seen anyone loitering about when I called, so Sara must have given up.’

  ‘She probably knows you’ve moved, and you’re serious about breaking off contact. She’ll have to just accept it. Coco and I are off visiting relations today and tomorrow but shall I come over with her when we’re back?’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ve got Max’s end-of-term prize-giving this week. Then he’ll be on holiday and needing some amusement.’

  ‘Perfect. We’ll look forward to it.’

  Caitlyn drove back to Oxford, anxiety rolling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t wanted to tell Nicholas but she had woken in the night with the sudden realisation that she’d left Patrick’s tablet in the Oxford house when she’d meant to bring it with her. All his other things were there too, but boxed up and sealed, whereas she had hidden the tablet when Sara was hanging around outside, tucking it under the sofa cushion. Not a great hiding place but it was all that occurred to her on the spur of the moment. Now she was worried that the movers would damage it not knowing it was there.

  When she arrived back at the terraced cottage, the van was parked outside and the movers were filling it up with large boxes from upstairs.

  Caitlyn greeted the movers and went straight to the sofa. The tablet was still there, underneath the cushion and, as far as she could tell, unharmed. Relieved, she tucked it into her bag and went to make them all mugs of tea while there were still cups in the kitchen.

  Jen put her head around the kitchen door while Caitlyn was brewing up the tea. ‘Hello! You left in a hurry!’

  ‘Sorry, Jen, we’ve had a bit of trouble that meant I needed to head off before I expected to.’ Caitlyn tossed the teabags into a plastic rubbish sack. ‘I meant to say a proper goodbye.’

  ‘Anything to do with that woman hanging about here?’

  ‘Well . . . yes. A bit. She’s a little over-attentive.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Jen came in. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You could carry some mugs for me if you like.’

  They took the tea out to the movers and then stood on the street, watching them as they expertly emptied the house of Caitlyn’s possessions.

  Jen said, ‘So you’re on the run from a stalker?’

  ‘That’s putting it a bit strongly,’ Caitlyn answered with a laugh. ‘But . . . well, I was glad to have the opportunity to get away. Have you seen her since then?’

  Jen shook her head. ‘No. Not a sign.’

  ‘I was worried she could turn up and just ask the movers where they were taking all the stuff. So I’ve asked the head mover to keep it private just in case.’

  ‘Good idea. I’m sorry you’re going through all of this on top of your husband’s passing. I’m sending out as much good energy as I can.’

  ‘Thanks, Jen.’ Caitlyn smiled. ‘It’s much appreciated.’

  One of the movers came up to her and said, ‘What do you want us to do about the situation in the spare room?’

  ‘Er . . . sorry?’

  Jen said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, love, but come and say goodbye before you go.’

  ‘The spare room,’ said the mover. ‘You want us to box it all up, or what?’

  ‘It’s all boxed up already.’

  ‘No it’s not, love. Come and see.’

  In the spare room, Caitlyn looked around in horror. Patrick’s boxes had been opened, some ripped apart, and his things were scattered everywhere in a storm of papers, files, books and photographs.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said weakly. ‘She’s been here.’

  ‘Sorry?’ asked the mover.

  ‘Nothing. I . . . I’ll pack it up myself. Do you have some spare boxes?’

  She set to work piling the stuff back into the boxes that were still useable, trying to see if anything was missing. It sickened her to think that Sara had somehow got into the house and helped herself to Patrick’s life. All his private possessions seemed soiled by her touch.

  I mustn’t think like that. It will make her more aware of how much of him she didn’t know, and never could. Talking to Geraldine helped me. It’s made me see that I can put a fence around my memories of Patrick and our life and keep them for myself, no matter how hard Sara tries to change or destroy them.

  That was always Sara’s game. Perception. She was always persuading Caitlyn to change her version of events to Sara’s own – whether it had been about Nicholas, or any of her early relationships, or even about situations they had both been in.

  And I let her do it. I let her change my viewpoint. And she’s still trying to do it.

  She picked up the mass of cables and chargers that sat on top of Patrick’s old laptop. Sara had evidently not considered it interesting enough to investigate. But where is his phone?

  She stared about for it, but it was nowhere to be seen, then she began to scrabble through the remaining stuff on the floor, sure it must be here. She had put it back in the box with the other electronics but now there was no doubt about it. It was gone.

  Caitlyn sat back on the floor, tears pricking her eyes. The last thing that Patrick touched, Sara had taken it.

  ‘Just leave us alone!’ she cried out. ‘Patrick’s dead and you can’t have him now . . . and neither can I.’ Then she put her face in her hands and cried.

  Caitlyn went in to say goodbye to Jen before driving off to pick up Max from school on the way back to Kings Harcourt.

  ‘Are you okay? You’ve been crying,’ Jen said, hugging her.

  ‘Yes, I’m okay. But that woman was in the house. She’s taken something of Patrick’s.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jen’s eyes went round. ‘Ah, I see. Was she – excuse me for saying it – a lover of his?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think so. Yes. She was.’

  ‘She’s in a struggle with you, is she?’

  Caitlyn nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Jen took her hand. ‘Listen, love. He was your husband, not hers. Don’t forget it. What did she take?’

  ‘His phone.’

  Jen squeezed her hand. ‘I know that must hurt. But you’ve got what really matters from his life – you’ve got your son, right?’

  Caitlyn nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve got him.’

  ‘There you are. Let her have the phone, it’s a dead thing. Concentrate on what’s alive – you and Max.’

  ‘Thanks, Jen.’ Caitlyn managed a small smile. ‘I’ll try. Goodbye – and thanks.’

  Despite Jen’s words, Caitlyn felt horribly depressed on the drive back. Even Max, happy and full of stories of his afternoon cricket match, couldn’t lift her spirits out of the doldrums. She had begun to feel more hopeful now that they had moved to Kings Harcourt. Geraldine’s words had resonated with her, and the combination of the beautiful, vibrant countryside and the solid, graceful permanency of the house had given her the sense of a new start, or at least, the possibility of one.

  Now Sara had tainted it all again, rifling through Patrick’s life, taking his things. It brought back the rancid bitterness of jealousy and betrayal, and that dragged her spirit down into darkness again.

  Back at the house, she and Max ate on the terrace, and Max talked excit
edly about the prize-giving the following day.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll get a prize because I wasn’t top in the end-of-year exams, but I might get something for cricket, ’cos I got two wickets this afternoon and Mr Reynolds said I’d contributed a lot to the team this term.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, darling, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.’ She smiled at him, happy to see how his attitude to school had been transformed. Then she thought of how Patrick would have loved it, and the same dark bleakness engulfed her again.

  Later, lying wakeful in bed, she got up and collected Patrick’s tablet from her bag, and plugged it in. She switched it on and began to swipe through the screens, thinking of Patrick as she did. She tapped on the folder marked ‘Games’ and up came his backgammon app, and the game of snake. The old-style-computer snake was made of little squares and was curled clunkily on a plain green background, rearing up towards a square apple so that he formed a kind of ‘S’ shape. Caitlyn stared at it. S was now, appropriately, a letter that seemed full of poison, a venomous and destructive letter.

  As she stared at it, she heard Patrick’s voice in her mind. It said: ‘Look for the snake in the grass.’

  The words on the other photograph in his Allegra folder. And here she was, looking at a snake on a green field, making an S shape.

  She gasped.

  It burst into her mind in an instant. She thought of Patrick and the way he liked to control everything. She remembered the odd message in the addendum to his will, the one that granted her access to his online life. He said she would know what to do with whatever it contained. It was such a strange thing to say – that if I needed them, I would know what to do.

  Patrick had laid a trail for her to follow; she could almost hear him scolding her, telling her to open her eyes and see the clues that were in front of her.

  Would he actually leave a picture of Sara on his phone? He was never careless like that.

  She heard his sardonic tones. ‘Poor Mark can’t control her. He doesn’t know how.’

  But Patrick knew how. He always did.

  With a shaking finger, she clicked on the snake game, and it opened. She began to play it, and immediately crashed the snake into the border and the game was over with a score of zero. She started again, clumsily manoeuvring the snake with the arrow keys on the screen, but she couldn’t get the hang of it and crashed the snake at once again.