by Lulu Taylor
‘You’ve certainly made yourself at home if you can give an order like that,’ Sara said in a sickly sweet voice. ‘I don’t think this is your house, is it? It’s Nicholas’s. Or does that count as the same thing nowadays?’
Caitlyn began to walk down the stairs towards her old friend. Did I ever even know her? Did I ever even like her? Why on earth did I waste so much time and energy on her?
She remembered Patrick saying, ‘We were both fascinated by her.’
Maybe I was. But that’s over. Now she bores me, with her endless drama, her desperate selfishness and the unending dissatisfaction with everything. She’s eaten up with envy. I don’t need that in my life.
Strength began to flood through her, and the fear vanished. She thought of Patrick and that thought made her powerful. He had told her the truth, she knew that. He’d asked her, as his last request, to get Sara out of her life. And that was just what she was going to do.
‘I’ve had enough of these games, Sara,’ she said in a voice of steel, getting closer to her. ‘I don’t know how you tracked us down, but you’ve gone too far this time. You can’t involve Max in your sick little games. Patrick was a grown-up and he could take care of himself. How dare you bring a child into this?’
‘I’m not going to hurt Max, for God’s sake,’ hissed Sara. ‘But you can’t get away with ignoring me any longer. You won’t know where he is until I have my say!’
‘This has to end,’ said Caitlyn, setting her shoulders. ‘I want you gone, Sara. Our friendship is over, and you know why. Now tell me where Max is, and leave.’
‘I’m doing this for Patrick!’ cried Sara as Caitlyn came near her. ‘I still remember him even if you don’t! You’re pissing all over his memory, jumping into bed with Nick. Well, guess what, Nick was with me last night!’
‘Don’t even try it,’ Caitlyn said in a bored voice. She walked past Sara and down into the hall. ‘I’m immune to your lies now. Of course you weren’t with Nicholas. He can’t stand you and never has. I know all about how you kept us apart, and I expect you guessed I did. You never have liked me knowing the truth about how empty and jealous you are.’
‘Have him, you’re welcome to him, he’s a jumped-up no one,’ declared Sara, turning to watch Caitlyn, her nose in the air.
‘Yes, that’s right. A no one, with this beautiful house and grounds and a priceless picture. I bet you’re kicking yourself that you missed that one, aren’t you? Because if you’d known about this place, you’d have really thrown yourself at him, wouldn’t you? You’re a grasping, silly snob. A greedy, selfish woman who thinks only of herself and always has.’
Sara laughed. ‘Oh, now we see it. The worm has turned! The little drab, plain nothing who owed everything to me has decided she’s better than me after all, because she’s shagging a man with a big house! You never would have met Patrick if it hadn’t been for me. He was too good for you!’
‘No. He was too good for you.’
Tears filled Sara’s eyes. ‘You must know by now. You called me from Patrick’s phone on the handset he gave me for his private use. You must have guessed that we were lovers. He’d been with me that weekend, when he died. I was at the same hotel in Switzerland so we could be together. I’d been with him loads of times. I told him to buy that perfume for you, the one I always wear. See? How would I know that otherwise?’ She adopted a tragic look. ‘I was never going to tell you this, but you’ve forced me to! I was going to take it to the grave, to protect you!’
‘Bullshit,’ Caitlyn said smoothly. ‘You could hardly wait to start dropping clues about you and Patrick. You intended to make sure that I worked out that you and he were having an affair.’
Sara looked mutinous and then her expression cleared. ‘Yes! All right, I did. You had to know the truth in the end. I couldn’t let you live in ignorance any longer. He wanted to be with me. I’d told him that we had to tell you, and that I would if he refused. He was on his way home that night to say he wanted a divorce so that he and I could be together.’
For a moment Caitlyn wavered. It was true that Patrick had been trying to tell her something about Sara. Something important. He knew that Sara was going to do something, or had said she would. Was she right – they’d been together and she’d demanded he end his marriage, and he’d agreed?
Then she recalled his face on the screen, heard his words and felt the comfort of his love around her. Sara might have been with him that weekend, Caitlyn would probably never know for sure, but she was certain that he had probably decided that if Sara was serious about revealing everything, then he would do it first.
But her guess was that Sara hadn’t intended to tell her at all. It had been another move in her endless game with Patrick. Sara didn’t want the game to be over – there would be no fun in that. Perhaps Patrick had tired of her at last. Perhaps he’d got jaded with pulling her strings, manipulating her and making her obey him. And then, before he could get home and explain, or change the message he’d recorded to her, he’d been killed.
No wonder Sara had asked ‘Is it Patrick?’ when Caitlyn had called her on the night of his death, before she knew anything of the accident.
Caitlyn faced Sara full on and put her hands on her hips. ‘Sara, you tell so many lies, you’ve forgotten what the truth is. You probably believe half of the fantasies you concoct. I know that you and Patrick were not lovers. He’s told me everything about you and him, and I know that he was your partner in a sorry little game of dare. He strung you along, just as you strung along so many others. He used you, just as you’ve used dozens of men. And he made you into his puppet, just like you tried to make me into your creature. How did it feel? I bet you couldn’t understand why he never actually succumbed to your charms. It must have been tormenting.’
‘Shut up!’ shouted Sara, her eyes flashing with fury. ‘I don’t want to hear this. It’s all lies. How dare you talk me to like this?’
‘You’re right about one thing – the worm has turned. I won’t be walked all over by you again. I’m not proud of some of my own behaviour. You’re right that I liked your glamorous life and the doors you opened. But when I saw how cheap you made yourself – sold for a glass of champagne and a free dinner to whoever would pay – I realised that was not a life I wanted.’
‘How very noble,’ sneered Sara. She took a step towards her. ‘I might have known you’d turn saintly in your old age. You’re fine now, aren’t you? You’ve got all of Patrick’s money and now you’ve got your claws into Nicholas as well. The truth is you don’t deserve any of it. You weren’t good enough for Patrick. You aren’t good enough for a house like this. You ought to be taken down a peg or two.’
‘You’ve devoted most of your adult life to doing just that,’ replied Caitlyn. ‘But you’re going to have to accept that it hasn’t worked. I’ve won.’ She smiled. ‘And I have the proof. I have all the films and pictures you sent to Patrick, and I know the truth. He didn’t love you at all. You were his pawn. He knew the truth about you and the reality is, he didn’t even like you.’
Sara screamed a long piercing scream, her hands in her hair, tearing at it, pulling it. ‘No, no no!’ she shrieked. ‘He loved me. I won’t have it any other way!’
‘I have it on tape!’ countered Caitlyn, talking loudly over her screams, ‘and I’ll play it to anyone you tell that Patrick was your lover. Now, tell me where Max is.’
Sara’s eyes were wide, her mouth twisted with rage. ‘You didn’t deserve Patrick, and you don’t deserve Max. You never were good enough for them.’
‘Tell me!’
Sara snarled and darted towards the fire irons that stood at the side of the great fireplace. A second later she was holding a poker in her hand, its long cold iron shaft pointed directly at Caitlyn. ‘You’ve always thought you were so much better than me. So saintly and sweet, practically untouched by human hand. Did you think I didn’t notice that you were standing in judgement of me all the time? Of course I did! But you never had h
alf as much fun as I did. You don’t have it in you.’
‘Put the poker down, Sara,’ Caitlyn said, trying to sound calm, though she was churning inside. What was Sara really capable of? ‘Come on, we don’t need to settle our differences like this. We can just talk about it.’
Sara didn’t seem to hear her. ‘You don’t know what it is to live, not really. Patrick did. I do. That’s why he loved me.’
‘Believe that if you want to. But please, Sara . . .’ Caitlyn couldn’t take her eyes off the slender iron rod that Sara had in her hand, still held out menacingly in front of her. ‘Please, put the poker down now.’
Sara frowned, her grey eyes cold. ‘He did love me.’
‘All right . . .’
‘No, he did.’
‘I’m agreeing with you.’
‘You don’t mean it!’ she howled.
Caitlyn’s nerve, strained to breaking point, snapped. ‘Of course I don’t! I know exactly what he really thought about you. He knew you for what you are – a phoney and a fake.’
Sara’s face contorted. ‘No, you’re the fake! You’re the fucking fake!’
Caitlyn gasped as she saw the rage blossom in Sara’s face. Decades of bitterness and jealousy had worked their way to the surface and were ready to explode. She was on the brink of losing control.
She’s a drama queen. She wants the ultimate last act. She wants to be the winner in our little psychodrama.
Caitlyn took a step away, her hands out in a placatory gesture. ‘Calm down, Sara . . . please.’
Sara took another step towards her, still glassy-eyed. ‘Patrick loved me. If he told you he didn’t, it was a lie. He loved me. Say it.’
Caitlyn stood still, wondering if she should run. But somehow she felt that if she tried, it would spur Sara on. She tried her best to relax, despite her pounding heart and the adrenaline coursing through her. ‘Okay, Sara, you’re right. Patrick loved you best. It’s so hard for me to accept that you were the one he wanted.’
Sara narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re lying.’
‘No. The message he left me – it said . . . well, it told the truth about how he felt. You can see it if you want to.’
Sara’s eyes immediately filled with tears and her expression changed to one of pleading. ‘Really? Did he say it? Oh God, I miss him so much.’
‘I know. So do I. But’ – Caitlyn licked her dry lips – ‘it was you he preferred.’
‘Did he really?’ Sara asked, her voice high and girlish. She looked at Caitlyn but didn’t seem to see her. She was seeing Patrick. Her expression was almost beatific, as if she were having a vision of heaven. ‘He wanted me?’
‘Yes. Give me the poker, Sara. You’ve won.’
Caitlyn held her breath as Sara took another step towards her, the poker shaking slightly in the air, and put out her hand for it. ‘Good girl, Sara. You’re the winner.’
‘The winner.’ Sara sounded happy. She began to proffer the poker to Caitlyn, who stretched out to take it. Her fingers were just about to close on the handle when there was a loud noise and Nicholas burst in from the door into the hall.
‘For Christ’s sake, Sara, what the hell are you doing? Leave her alone!’
Sara started as though woken from a trance, and seeing Nicholas, her expression transformed. ‘You!’ she spat. ‘I know all about you and your horrible lies.’
Caitlyn watched her in horror. There was no end to Sara’s need to be loved. She was a great, empty pit of a person, desperate to be filled up by other people’s admiration. It was pathological, there was no doubt about that. Caitlyn had never known how deep it went until now.
Nicholas had stopped and was staring at her. ‘You’re crazy. I really think you believe that shit.’
‘You wanted me!’ Sara screamed.
‘I bloody didn’t! I couldn’t get away from you fast enough.’
Sara bared her teeth at him in a kind of grimace.
Oh God. Nicholas, you don’t understand . . . that’s her weakness. The thing that drives her wild.
Nicholas gave Sara a look of scorn. ‘Put the poker down and get out of here. I’ve got Max safely in the car with Coco and if you ever come near any of us again, I’m going to the police.’ The contempt in his voice was withering. ‘You’re pathetic. And you know it.’
Sara started to scream in a strange, high-pitched thin wail. Then she turned, ran at the painting on the wall. Venetia hung there, sad and still as ever, gazing out over the centuries. She stood, always young and beautiful, in the shade of the tree. Her soft hair rose in powdery perfection, her curl resting on her collarbone. She would never move or change. She would always be taking a half-step forward towards her death. Caitlyn watched, stunned, as Sara lifted the poker and stabbed it hard into the centre of Venetia’s gentle face. It punctured her between the eyes, the dark shaft entering her white skin. Sara tore the poker downwards with all her might, shredding the canvas all the way to the bottom so that Venetia was gone. Now it was just a painted canvas that hung in two loose pieces, flapping inwards, the image lost. Sara drew out the poker and turned to look at Caitlyn in a kind of wild triumph, then began to weep, just at Nicholas dashed forward, grabbed her hard and restrained her in a strong embrace.
The poker fell out of her hand and skittered away.
‘Caitlyn,’ Nicholas said as he held the sobbing Sara still, ‘I think you’d better call the police.’
By the time the police took Sara away, the fight had gone out of her. She was sobbing quietly, letting Nicholas keep her sitting in a chair in the middle of the hall. Caitlyn left, feeling that her presence was not right at that particular moment. Besides, it was too weird to see her sitting there, muttering about Patrick.
‘I was his best girl,’ she said in her high voice. ‘It was me he wanted. Caitlyn said so.’
Caitlyn, saddened by the spectacle even through her relief, went outside to find Max. He and Coco had climbed out of the car and were eating ice creams on the grass. Caitlyn rushed over to him and hugged him.
‘Maxie, are you okay?’
He nodded, and said, ‘Yeah, but it was kind of weird. Sara said you wanted me to go with her, and then she took me to the village shop and left me there with ten pounds to spend on whatever I wanted. She said she’d pick me up later. So I bought some sweets and sat outside until Nicholas came by and stopped in his car. I told him about Sara, and he bought me and Coco these ice creams.’ Max took another lick thoughtfully and said, ‘Did you want me to go with Sara?’
‘It was perfectly fine that you did. But she’s not very well. I don’t think we’ll see her for a while now. And one of the paintings has been damaged so the police are coming, but there’s no need to be frightened. You and Coco go and play in the garden till we come and find you, okay?’
‘Sure,’ Coco said cheerfully. ‘Come on, I want to go and see those cages in the woods.’
The children walked off together.
Caitlyn stayed away and didn’t witness the arrest, but from the window she saw Sara being walked to the waiting police car between two officers and driven away. When she went downstairs, Nicholas was waiting for her, pale but calm. He put an arm around Caitlyn.
‘Are you all right? There’s a police officer waiting to take a statement.’
‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s just so shocking. She took Max – it was horrible.’
‘I saw him sitting outside the village shop and guessed something like that had happened.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you really think she was going to whack you with that poker?’
‘I don’t know – I don’t think so. She just wanted the drama of it. She didn’t want it all to end and she couldn’t just walk away, she’s not secure enough in herself for that.’ Caitlyn looked sombre. ‘You were right, I should have listened. She needed me, and once I didn’t need her any longer, she collapsed. And . . . oh Nicholas. Look at the Gainsborough!’ She turned agonised eyes to the flapping canvas. ‘She’s ruined it.’
‘It’s lo
oked better,’ Nicholas said and smiled ruefully. ‘But we’ll see what restoration can do.’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for that.’ From the connecting door, Aunt Geraldine came walking forward slowly and carefully, supported by her stick.
‘What do you mean?’ Nicholas asked. ‘We’ll have to get it mended, Aunt.’
‘There’s absolutely no point. That painting is a fake.’
‘But Aunt . . .’ Nicholas looked perplexed. ‘My mother told me that the Gainsborough in the house was the real thing. She said that ages ago someone took the real Gainsborough – but it came back. Her mother told her specifically that the Gainsborough was hers.’
‘Yes, that’s true. But she should have said that a Gainsborough in the house was real. And it’s not that one. That one was painted by your grandfather, Fred Burton Brown.’
‘Really?’ Nicholas appeared even more confused. ‘Then . . . there’s another Gainsborough?’
‘Yes,’ Geraldine said. ‘It’s hanging in my room. I thought it would be safer there. Thieves, you know. Vandals. Perfect strangers want to come into the house and look at the painting. I thought it was best to put out the fake, in case of accidents. A rather prescient thought, as it turned out. Today’s visitor obviously didn’t like Gainsborough very much. She quite took against the painting.’ A smile flickered on the old lady’s lips.
‘Then my mother was right.’
‘She was. But your mother didn’t mean my sister, Thomasina Burton Brown. She meant her real mother. Barbara Hastings. Or Barbara Evans. Or Barbara de Chalincourt, or whoever her last husband was.’
‘Your mother was adopted?’ Caitlyn turned to Nicholas. ‘Did you know that?’
Nicholas looked baffled. ‘Well, yes, I did. But when she said her mother had told her that the Gainsborough was real, I assumed she meant Granny Tommy. She always called Tommy her mother. I didn’t know she was in touch with her biological mother.’
Geraldine said, ‘She wasn’t really. Barbara left the poor girl here and never came back. She rarely wrote. Her father visited once or twice but died in a brawl in Soho in the fifties and that was that. Dear little Molly grew up here and became another daughter to Tommy. She was a great comfort to us all. We loved her. Barbara left her the Gainsborough in her will. And it’s because of Molly that you will get this place from me when I die, young Nicholas. And a real Gainsborough. So there you are. You can mend that one if you like, but I should think the glue will be worth more than the painting.’ Aunt Geraldine turned to head back to her sitting room. ‘I’ve called those children to watch the game show with me. I do like a quiz when I’ve got some company.’