Her Frozen Heart

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Oh bother, this is impossible.’ She felt stupid playing a game like this, but each time she thought of giving up, she decided to have one more go, and gradually got more used to moving the snake around. Before long, she had scored some points but as the snake grew not just longer but faster, it was tricky to keep on top of the game. Then, completely absorbed in moving the snake around and eating the apples, which disappeared with a satisfying electronic beep, she was thrilled when she had eaten enough apples for a gate to appear at the top of the screen, and she sent the snake off through it, on to the next round.

  As soon as the snake’s tail disappeared, there was a tiny click and a movement in the small round camera eye built into the tablet’s frame.

  Did I just have my picture taken? she thought, surprised.

  Then the screen abruptly changed. The snake game vanished, and she was looking at a new screen and gazing back at her, smiling, was Patrick.

  ‘Ah, Caitlyn,’ he said breezily. ‘Hello! I was wondering when you’d get here.’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  It was hard for Tommy to concentrate on anything other than what they had learned about Barbara, but she knew that, as Fred had advised, patience was their best course. Fred promised that he was making enquiries as quickly as he could.

  ‘I’m meeting a friend in the Army and Navy Club this afternoon. I hope he’ll be able to help me.’

  They met in the Ritz bar afterwards, and he told her that his friend had been very helpful. ‘A pal of his knows Duncan Hastings. He was a prisoner of war – and presumed dead for a spell. But then he was reported alive, and was sent home in the autumn of last year.’

  Tommy said excitedly, ‘Perhaps he was in touch with her then. And that’s why she went to ground, moving from friend’s house to friend’s house. Duncan Hastings might not know Veronica. He certainly didn’t know me. How would he track her down, if she doesn’t want to be found?’

  ‘We could be charitable and assume that she doesn’t know he’s alive,’ Fred said. ‘It’s risky to get engaged to a man with a husband still living. But we’ll find out what we want to know tomorrow. I’m meeting him at the Reform for tea.’

  ‘Let me come,’ she begged.

  ‘I suppose it can’t hurt,’ Fred said thoughtfully. ‘All right. Meet me outside at a quarter to four and we can be ready for him.’

  Tommy had barely slept when she arrived at the Reform Club in Pall Mall the next day. Fred was waiting outside for her, smoking under a street lamp, and greeted her with a kiss as she came up.

  ‘Hello, darling. Well, here we are. In a few minutes we ought to know everything we need to about Barbara Hastings.’

  He took her inside and the porter directed them up the staircase to the upper landing that ran around the great inner courtyard. Tea tables were positioned all around the square so that those sitting at them could look over and get a view of the splendid mosaics of the ground floor.

  A waiter came to take their order for tea, and then they waited. Tommy took a cigarette from Fred and smoked nervously, looking up every time anyone appeared on the landing.

  ‘What time is he due?’ she asked fretfully.

  ‘Any moment now,’ Fred said. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be here.’

  A few minutes later, Tommy saw a man emerge from the mouth of the staircase at the far side of the landing. He was tall and disconcertingly thin, with the shadow of a tan on his skin despite the lack of sunshine outside, and dressed in a shabby demob suit and a thin overcoat. He spotted them at once, and made his way over, ignoring the few single men with their newspapers and air of concentration.

  ‘How do you do,’ he said as he reached them. ‘Duncan Hastings.’ He held out his hand to Fred, who stood up and took it.

  ‘Fred Burton Brown. And this is Mrs Eliott.’

  ‘How do you do.’ Hastings nodded politely and then took off his hat and sat down at the chair indicated by Fred. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Did Bowles tell you anything about why I wanted to see you?’ Fred asked. He looked grave and businesslike as he took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Smoke?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Hastings took one and let Fred offer him a light. He said, ‘My doctor wouldn’t be happy about this. He says my lungs are shot. I told him it was all that kept me going during the years in my holiday camp, and if that meant I lost a year or two, it was damn well worth it, considering I didn’t expect to get out at all.’ He glanced at Tommy. ‘Excuse my language, Mrs Eliott.’

  ‘That’s perfectly all right,’ Tommy said. She reached for a cigarette as well, hoping that her hands weren’t shaking too obviously. Fred leaned over to light it. ‘You must have had a bad time of it.’

  ‘Pretty much.’ Hastings took a long drag of his cigarette and said, ‘Ah, here comes your tea.’

  The waiter set out the tea things and brought a cup for Hastings. He passed the bill silently to Fred, who shut a note into the red leather folder and gave it back to him with a nod. When the waiter had left, Fred turned his attention to Hastings.

  ‘We want to ask you about your wife.’

  Hastings looked surprised for a moment and then collected his cool demeanour. ‘I see. Know where she is, do you?’

  ‘Perhaps. More to the point, do you know where she is?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ Hastings said. ‘She’s being very clever about keeping herself and my daughter hidden. I’m getting information through a solicitor, that’s all. But I don’t know where to find her.’

  Tommy felt a rush of elation. So Barbara did know that her husband was alive. ‘I take it your marriage is not a success, Mr Hastings? If you’ll forgive the personal question.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hastings looked at her with a small smile. ‘I have the impression you know Barbara. In that case you’ll be aware that she’s a cool customer with a strong instinct for self-preservation. She’s damned attractive too, and can make a man feel he’s just about the best there is. That’s what she did for me, and I fell for it. But in the end, it was all just a big pretence. She made a fool out of me more than once, and I took it, not just for her but for the child.’ He gave Tommy a sudden swift, almost pleading look. ‘Have you seen Molly? Do you know if she’s all right?’

  ‘She’s perfectly fine,’ Tommy said softly, feeling sorry for him. ‘She’s a sweet little thing, with lovely manners. We all like her a great deal.’

  ‘I’d love to see her,’ Hastings said wistfully. ‘But I never worried too much – I knew Barbara would look after her. She’s good that way.’

  ‘What contact have you had with your wife, Mr Hastings?’ asked Fred.

  ‘Not much. I tried to find her but with no success. I put the word out among our old pals that I was looking for her. Old Lazarus, you know, back from the dead. I hoped she might be pleased but I was rudely awoken from that little dream quickly. The word must have got back. I told people that any correspondence should go to me at my old club – not a grand place like this, a little place north of Bloomsbury, more of a boarding house really. That’s where the letters started to come. She wanted a divorce. But we would have to do it secretly. She would move to a town in the north where no one knew her, establish residency and divorce me there, so long as I’d provide evidence of infidelity. I said, that’s all very well, but asked her why, and sent the reply back to the lawyer she appointed.’

  ‘And what did she say?’ asked Fred. He sipped his tea and watched Hastings intently over the top of his teacup.

  ‘Answer came there none,’ replied Hastings with a laugh. ‘Not right away at least. Then I got a very short, sharp reply. “How much?” or words to that effect. I wondered how Barbara had come into enough money to pay me off. She never had much before beyond what I gave her.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh, last year. Not long before Christmas. She was evidently in a hurry to be rid of me, for whatever reason. She probably had her eye on some poor sap.’

  Tommy frowned. Perhaps . . . perh
aps that’s why Veronica wanted her gone so badly. It’s possible Barbara was eyeing up her husband and considering making a move. She looked over at Fred, but there was no way to convey all this, and anyway, he was looking at Hastings.

  Fred said, ‘Did you decide to give her a divorce?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to roll over,’ Hastings replied, and took a long pull on his cigarette. ‘I know Barbara and I wasn’t going to let her win just like that. I knew we’d both enjoy a final tussle a little too much. And she had my girl. I had my conditions. Access to the girl. And five hundred pounds.’

  Tommy gasped. ‘Five hundred! I don’t know how Barbara would get that kind of money.’

  ‘She can get money if she needs it, all right. She’d do anything for cash. She was free enough with her favours in India if she could get some return on it.’

  Tommy blushed deep red at the implication. Had Barbara really stooped so low? If she had, there was no knowing what else she might do. ‘If that’s what you think,’ she said in a tremulous voice, ‘how can you leave your daughter with her?’

  ‘I’d like nothing better than to have Molly to myself. However, I know Barbara can be a lot less than a paragon but I do know she’d never expose Molly to anything unsavoury. She has a strong sense of decorum, believe it or not.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tommy said thoughtfully. ‘I know what you mean. But still, Mr Hastings—’

  ‘Listen, you two,’ Hastings said, suddenly brusque. ‘Is this some kind of church meeting or what? What’s your offer?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Fred said quietly, flicking a quick glance at Tommy.

  ‘I presume you’ve been sent by Barbara to move this divorce along. So you’ve come to offer me money. I know five hundred pounds is steep but it’s what I need to set myself up and I believe Barbara could be good for it, and I deserve it if I’m to lose my girl.’ He held up a warning hand. ‘Though I’ll have some visiting rights, you can be sure of that, or I’ll drag her through the London courts, sue her on the grounds of her infidelity and be sure to scupper her chances of ever marrying a decent man again.’

  Tommy and Fred looked at one another and burst out laughing.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Hastings crossly. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Tommy said, giggling. ‘It’s not funny. It’s just . . .’

  ‘We would like nothing better than for you to decide to divorce your wife in a blaze of publicity, that’s all,’ Fred said. ‘But I have a feeling you won’t do that if you think it would serve our purpose. So let’s come to a compromise. A letter from you, confirming that you are legally married to Barbara Hastings, and your whereabouts, should we need to contact you. After that, you’re free to work out the end of your marriage in any way you choose. So . . .’ Fred took another sip of his tea then put the china cup carefully back in the saucer. ‘I suppose the only question to resolve now is your price.’

  When Hastings had left, having signed a letter quickly written out by Fred in the nearby library and pocketed a cheque for fifty pounds, Fred and Tommy faced each other over the tea table. Fred leaned across and took her hand.

  ‘Darling, we’ve got her,’ he said exultantly. ‘She’s known all along her husband is alive. She’s guilty of attempted bigamy, and we’ve got her on the ropes. Roger is going to be free, just as soon as we can get down to Kings Harcourt and confront her. I have some appointments tomorrow. Shall we leave on Friday?’

  ‘Yes, Friday.’ Tommy clutched his hand. ‘My God . . . we’ve done it. I can hardly believe it. They’ll have to believe us now. And you know what this means, don’t you, Fred? I can go home.’

  When she got back to Celia’s flat that evening, still hopping inside with excitement from the plans that she and Fred had been making, she found a telegram addressed to her on the hall table. She opened it quickly and read the brief message on the piece of paper inside.

  COME HOME AT ONCE STOP ROGER MISSING STOP

  Chapter Forty-Three

  ‘Patrick!’ Caitlyn was dizzy, astounded. Here was Patrick, talking to her. Alive. Her head whirled and she thought she might faint. ‘Patrick!’

  But Patrick went on talking as if she hadn’t spoken and she realised she was watching a recording. She spooled it back to the beginning, her finger trembling so much she could hardly make the arrow move, so she could watch it again. The image of Patrick was frozen now. She could see he was sitting in his study in their old house, around him all the familiar objects of a life now utterly vanished. He was history now, and so was that moment and those things; all scattered and gone.

  She pressed play and the still image came to life.

  ‘Ah, Caitlyn. Hello! I was wondering when you’d get here. Pretty good, isn’t it? You’re looking around in my tablet, aren’t you? And, at last, you’ve stumbled on my little games folder. So I think you found the clue that directed you to play this game of snake and you managed to get past the first round. Well done. Once you did that, my tablet took your picture and recognised your face, and set in motion this little recording for you. Only you could possibly see it.’ Patrick smiled at her across the gulf of time and space. ‘Now. If you’re looking in my tablet, then you must have the code which I left with the lawyers to be given to you in the event of my death. I know you, Caitlyn. You’re only looking around because you suspect me of something heinous. Hmmm . . . let me guess.’ He made a face and stroked his chin in a theatrical way.

  He’s enjoying this. He always did like his games. It was the oddest sensation to see him alive like this again. Wonderful in some ways, but also horrifying. All the old feelings of being controlled came back along with the happiness of seeing him. And he still knows how to pull my strings.

  ‘Here’s my guess,’ Patrick went on. ‘You think I’m having an affair with Sara. Maybe that’s what she told you. Did she tell you that?’ Patrick suddenly leaned in, closer to the camera and she could see the way his shirt crumpled open a little and the skin below. She remembered that shirt. Where is it now? As she glimpsed his chest, she remembered the weight of his body and the scent of him. She missed him deeply and ravenously in that tiny moment. Then she was listening again.

  ‘My darling, do you really think I would have an affair with Sara? I don’t think so. But my relationship with her is . . . complicated. She is a complicated person. She wants what she can’t have and she hates what she loves and loves what she hates. Right from the start, she thought I would be hers if she just twitched upon the thread. She thought that, like all the rest, I would come running when she snapped her fingers. Of course, there are plenty who don’t want her. You’d be surprised. But she filters most of those people out of her consciousness very effectively. Over me, she expected to triumph for some reason. She seemed to find my imperviousness a challenge, or an elaborate pretence on my part that I was begging her to take apart. You, my darling, were allowed to have me until she wanted me, a kind of human duvet, keeping me warm until needed. I knew that she would try her luck with me one day; she sent me that message all the time with her fluttering eyelids and heavy-handed flirting. Any excuse and she’d be touching me, stroking me, pouting at me – even when she was with Rupert. On the day she married him, she took me to one side and said, “Don’t worry, Patrick, you’ll get your chance one day.”’ Patrick laughed mirthlessly. ‘She really is incredible. Her self-confidence is mesmerising.’

  Caitlyn felt a stab of pain and a plunging feeling in her stomach. So that’s how it was. She’d always known it somehow.

  ‘There, there,’ Patrick said. ‘I can see your sad little eyes right now. My God, how she’s made you suffer over the years. Why do you let her, Caitlyn? I never could understand it. I’d watch her toy with you and use you, and work out her little ways of undermining you. I think she sometimes didn’t even know she was doing it but there was nothing you did or said that she didn’t notice and work on. I could see why she did it. It was warped but it made a kind of sense. She didn’t want you to be happy because she
didn’t see why you should be. You weren’t as beautiful or talented – I’m sorry to say that, because it’s not what I think, it’s what she thinks – so why did you keep winning at life? Why did you get the scholarship? Why did you fall in love – really in love – with me and have a happy marriage?’ Patrick smiled at her conspiratorially. ‘We know we have our problems and I know I’m not easy to live with, but we love each other, don’t we? We have Max. We have our home. We’re happy, despite my being a prize shit from time to time. I’m a control freak, I know that. But that’s because I want to make life good for all of us.’ His expression was warm and he looked wistful for a moment.

  She nodded without thinking that he couldn’t see her and said, ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Tears came to her eyes and her nose tingled. ‘You’re right. We were happy.’

  Patrick was going on, heedless. ‘So that was Sara’s thing. Why were you happy and not her? She was the girl with the mostest. With the beauty and the style and the class. How come you kept being the real winner at life? So she thought she would wait for her moment and then destroy your marriage when she felt like it, or when she needed a boost. I knew that was her plan. I knew it from the very first day. And so . . .’

  ‘What happened, Patrick? What? Did you do it? Please don’t say you did!’ Tears slipped out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks but she barely noticed.

  ‘One day when her marriage to Mark was failing, she obviously decided that now was the time. I suppose that while she’d ruined two relationships, I’d been on the up. We’d bought our lovely house, my career was going well, we had money, we had Max. I think she thought she would like a little piece of that for herself. So she invited me out for lunch and told me what she wanted: an affair. You should have seen it. I often wish I’d told you about it so we could have laughed about her together: her incredible ego that made her certain I’d betray you at the first opportunity.’