by A. B. King
“I think,” she whispered at last, “that I should go back to my room now.”
She slowly moved away from him, making her way back to the door. He remained where he stood, not trusting himself to say or do anything. She opened the door quietly, and then moved out from the room, pausing to look back at him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Chapter Seventeen. Thursday Morning, (continued.)
Martin woke suddenly, realising that he had overslept his usual time by almost an hour. No sooner were his eyes open than the events of the previous night came flooding back into his mind. He vividly recalled the emotions that had coursed through him as he had held June in his arms, yet as he remembered the old doubts about his own sincerity and his own inner motivation also came crowding back. Reviewed in the cold light of day it all seemed somehow totally unreal. The feeling that he was in a sense betraying his much loved and sadly departed wife was still hard to shake off, no matter how he sought to justify the way he now felt.
After June had left him, he had laid back on the bed turning things over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of what was happening. He had been in a complete turmoil, with one half of his being aching for her in a way that he had not ached for a woman since Alicia had died, whilst yet another part of his being sought to tell him that he was drifting into a fool’s paradise. How could he be sure that June really felt about him as he did about her? How could he be sure that she wasn’t simply making use of him in an effort to conquer her own demons? How could he possibly be sure about her if he wasn’t even sure about himself? Sleep was the last thing on his mind, yet somehow nature had eventually intervened, and he had dropped off without ever realising it was happening.
He rose quickly, slipping into the bathroom for a shave and a shower before venturing down stairs. It was well past nine o’clock, and there was much he wished to do before setting off to see his late uncle’s old housekeeper. First and foremost in his mind was seeing June again. For his own peace of mind he needed to see if she now regretted the actions of the previous night; he wanted to see the look in her eyes, the look he had seen the previous night, even if only to convince himself that what he had seen was true. He desperately hoped that everything was for real; yet he knew that he needed to be prepared for the fact that in the light of the new day it might all be different. He strode over to the kitchen and threw open the door and walked in.
June was standing at the sink on the far side of the room, and she glanced up as he entered and gave a slight smile of recognition. That smile meant so much to him, for it signified that at least she was harbouring no resentment for what had transpired between them in the night. Their eyes met, and in that instant he knew that he had not been fooling himself. She didn’t need to voice it, he could read it there in her eyes, and a tremendous feeling of relief flooded right through his system.
“I thought I heard you moving about,” she said brightly. “Your breakfast is about ready.”
“Excellent,” he replied in the same cheerful toned that she had employed, and settling himself at the table. “Are the girls up yet?”
“Not only up, they have breakfasted, and they are back at their tree house again.”
She scooped up a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and fried bread and placed it before him. There was absolutely nothing in her manner to indicate whether the events of the night still worried her. There was still much that had been left unsaid, and he guessed that she was waiting for him to take the lead.
“Thanks,” he said, picking up the knife and fork, “and if you can spare a few minutes, I’d like to talk?”
“Now, if you like,” she answered lightly. “I’ve done most of what I needed to do; I’ll just pour coffees and I’ll be with you,” If she feared what he might say now that he had had the chance to sleep on the events of the night, it didn’t show.
A few moments later she placed the cups on the table, and sat opposite him. She was, he noted, well turned out, and under the protective apron she was dressed in a far more feminine manner than he had seen before, and her hair was somehow fashioned in a more feminine style. It was hard to imagine that this was the same woman who, only a matter of a day or two earlier had looked so grim and forbidding.
“As I said yesterday evening,” he said, as he swallowed a mouthful of food and rested his cutlery down for a moment, “it would be better if you and the girls came with me today?”
He wasn’t sure if he was imagining things or not, but he thought he saw just the smallest flicker of relief in her eyes that he had not plunged head-first into far more sensitive subjects. It wasn’t that they were not uppermost in his mind, because they were. It was more a sense of caution; a natural desire not to be thought of as pushing her into decisions she might not yet be ready for that caused him to steer towards lest sensitive topics.
“You think it really necessary?” she asked. “It seems a bit of an imposition to have me tag along?”
He dealt with another mouthful of food as he considered his reply.
“Just call it a precaution if you like,” he explained, putting his cutlery down again. “In view of what you have told me about your husband and his associates I think that being alone here you may just be in danger. The possibility cannot be denied that the person who tried to break in here could be either him or one of his friends, and the only reason he would have attempted an entry was to get at you.”
“You still think he has been let out of prison?”
“You have to admit that it is a possibility you cannot afford to ignore. Maybe as yet we don’t know for a fact that he is at liberty, I just don’t want you to take the risk. I will be making enquiries this morning which will hopefully establish whether he is still safely inside or not. Even if he is, I’m not happy about leaving you here on your own; inside or not, you have already told me that he has friends willing to carry out his threats.”
“I wouldn’t be on my own, would I?” she protested. “I will have Beverley and-”
“And what good do you think two young girls will be if someone does try to get at you?” he interrupted pointedly. “No June, quite apart from the fact that I worry about you in this situation, I certainly cannot risk the girls becoming involved in it. Forget the work for once; I certainly won’t be complaining about anything. Look upon it as a trip out; I’m certain you could do with a break. It’s a seaside town, and the weather is warm and sunny. You can pack a picnic, and spend time on the beach with the girls while I go and see Mrs Jefferson. I don’t suppose I will be with her very long, and I’ll join you when I’m finished; now what do you say?”
He could see that she was tempted, and yet at the same time there was still that diffidence there, almost as if she was becoming increasingly aware that she was the hired help, and he her employer. To him there was no difference, no barrier, yet at the same time he could understand how it might seem to her, never having known anything better in her life.
“You really think that somebody might actually attempt something here in broad daylight?” she asked at last.
“By your own admission someone tried once before in broad daylight,” he reminded her. “It would be foolish to go on thinking that your presence here is unknown. You have to accept that what has been tried once may happen again.”
“I suppose you are right; I’m trying to fool myself,” she admitted after a moment’s thought. “If you are really sure you want me to come, then why not? I’m sure the girls will enjoy the outing, and I can look after them while you are busy.”
“I’m really glad you are coming,” he said, and meant it, “and yes, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t have known what to have done with the girls on my own.”
“Then I will pack a picnic, and make sure the girls are ready in time,” she said brightly. “When do you expect to leave?”
“I thought about eleven to eleven fifteen?”
“That’s fine.”
>
She paused, looking down at her coffee cup for a few moments, and then she looked up, staring straight into his eyes. He wanted to say what was in his heart, only somehow the words wouldn’t come.
“June,” he started to say, but she cut him off quickly
“About last night,” she interrupted swiftly. “I’m really sorry I embarrassed you; I don’t know what came over me. I dread to think what you really think of me now, I-”
“June, you didn’t embarrass me in the slightest,” he broke in. “If you will pardon an old fashioned phrase, I can only say that I was honoured that you would trust me to the extent of actually coming. In the circumstances I doubt I would ever have had the nerve. I want you to know that I meant every word I said to you last night, and I mean them just as much again today. Maybe you haven’t fully realised it, but last night you let the first real ray of light back into the darkness of my bleak existence. When I woke, you were all I could think of, and yet I dreaded learning this morning that you had changed your mind and was going to shut me out.”
She looked at him searchingly as he finished speaking, almost as if she could scarcely credit what he was trying to tell her; delight and fear seemed to be there in her eyes in equal proportions
“Please tell me that you’re not just saying that to try to make me feel good, Martin,” she said in a voice that was almost strangled by emotion, “I couldn’t bear it if you were.”
He placed his cutlery down once more, reaching across the table to place his hands over hers.
“You and Beverley are the only people in the world I really care about,” he assured her, squeezing her hands gently to emphasise his words. “I know how hard it is for you, and I will wait for as long as it takes; and even if you never want me as a husband, I hope at least that you will regard me as a true friend, for I shall always care for you.”
She gave him a brief fleeting smile of acknowledgement mixed with relief, turning her hands to grasp his, squeezing them in gratitude.
“You weren’t the only one who was worried about a change of heart,” she whispered. “Ever since I rose this morning I kept dreading that you would come down here and tell me that the situation was no longer acceptable, that you didn’t want me, and that I would have to go.”
“I could never do that!”
“I’m just not used to anyone being decent,” she sighed. “I know I was wrong to doubt you, and I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t think that men like you existed outside of the pages of an old romantic novel; even now I’m not really sure if I am dreaming or not. This whole situation is a completely new experience for me; you will have to give me time.”
“You can have as much time as you want, you must know that?”
She sighed, and then looked up at him again. “Can I tell you something quite dreadful?”
“You can tell me anything you like.”
“It’s going to sound silly; I mean, I’m a grown woman, yet if ever I am to live a normal life I need to tell you; I need to see your reaction?”
“June, all I want to do is to help you, and if it helps to tell me things, then I’m honoured that you think enough of me to wish to do it.”
She looked down at the table as if once again gathering her determination for something difficult, and then she looked up at him, watching his eyes closely as she spoke.
“When you kissed me last night, it was like I was two people. That kiss was like nothing I had ever experienced in my life. I know it sounds ridiculous, only, well, it was like I was suddenly free of all the worries and fears that have filled my life up to that point. I don’t know how you did it; you somehow touched something deep within me I thought simply did not exist, a powerful need for another human being, a longing to be wanted for myself as a person. One part of me wanted you so desperately I could have cried while the other half dreaded the prospect of your touch. That one kiss awakened within me a sensation I have never experienced before in my life, and it thrilled me to the marrow. It was like an electric current coursing through my body; you have no idea how I longed for you to possess me there and then, and yet the very thought of you making love to me was so horrific I wanted to flee in terror.
What I am trying to say is; I have never known love, not real love. In all my life since I was taken into that children’s home I have only ever been possessed by men who needed the use of my body. There has never been any finesse, no tenderness, no feeling, only brutality and lust. From the time I lost my parents men have used me. I’ve been beaten, raped, sodomised, and utterly degraded, so I suppose it is no wonder that in my mind sex is always equated with pain and fear. I thought I genuinely loved my husband, only I didn’t really know what love was. He took me for a complete fool; somebody he knew would be as putty in his hands. I was so in love with my own romantic idea of what true love would be I couldn’t see reality. The dream lasted right up to my marriage; the marriage that should have transported me into my idea of heaven, yet instead took me to hell! All the romantic dreams that had flourished in spite of everything vanished on my wedding-night. Not until I was fainting from the pain of a terribly beating would my husband make what he regarded as ‘love’ to me. Until you kissed me, I hadn’t realised that there was a third kind of love; the kind that is based upon caring for another as they would care for you. It is a totally novel concept for me, and one that I am still trying to get used to.”
She paused briefly, and then added; “I knew from the first time that I saw you that I was drawn to you, just as I knew that you were drawn to me, yet I feared you with a terror that was so hard to conceal. I deliberately set out to prove to myself that you were just like all other men, and to convince you that I was hard and callous and unfeeling; to drive you away so that you could no longer be a threat to my existence. I really did try, yet I couldn’t do it, and desire overcame my defences until I just had to see if you were merely playing with me. I confess now that is partly why I came to your room last night. I was prepared for yet another rape, just to prove to myself that all men are the same. Only you didn’t do it, even though I could read the desire in your eyes you didn’t make one move in that direction. That was when my last doubts faded away and I wanted to stay. Oh yes, I was tempted but it wouldn’t have been right because I still needed to come to terms with what is happening. In books people can change in the twinkling of an eye, but I’m not a heroine in a book, I’m somebody who has to learn that there is a different side to life than that which has been my only experience to date. I returned to my room, and there I spent the rest of last night fantasising about you possessing me in an endless series of unlikely situations, yet knowing that in life I could still never willingly participate, only submit.”
She paused, and sighed again as she looked searchingly in his eyes.
“Tell me honestly; do you think that there is any hope that I will ever be able to live like a normal person?” she asked in the faintest of whispers, “Is there any hope for us at all?”
“There is always hope,” he assured her, squeezing her hands again. “Just give yourself time. I promise you that I will never make any advances on you of that nature unless you want me to. I can wait for as long as it takes, because in my heart I truly believe that one day you will come to me; that we will be together.”
Their eyes met, and so much that was felt and understood yet unspoken passed between them. It was like a magic spell that held them there, and it was only broken as they heard the clatter of feet outside the patio door that heralded the imminent appearance of the youngsters.
“Hi Dad,” Beverley called as she dashed into the room. “Any idea where I can find some more nails?”
The spell was broken, and there was no further opportunity for private conversation during what was left of a short morning. Martin duly found extra tools and nails, and once the girls were satisfied he took himself off to the study where he needed to make some calls before setting out on his journey to see his uncle’s old housekeeper.
&n
bsp; His head was still in a whirl about the way matters were developing with June. In a way it was all happening so fast he had difficulty in coming to terms with things. In one sense he was happier than he had been since the loss of Alicia, yet in another he still had the feeling that he was getting out of his depth in falling for a woman he knew so little about. Not the least of the problems was the fact that she was still legally married. He didn’t doubt that a divorce could be arranged, yet that would take time. He didn’t doubt her sincerity any more, but could he tolerate a platonic relationship with a woman that might last a lifetime? He simply didn’t know the answer to that one.
He forced his mind to turn to more practical matters, the disposal of the house, the resolution of the mystery surrounding his uncle, the mysterious purchaser, the bogus butterfly hunter and the possibility that something had been going on that as yet he still knew nothing about. There was also the matter of June’s father. Was that a completely separate issue, or was it all connected with Springwater House?
His first call was to Charles.
“I thought that you might care to know,” Martin said once the usual preliminaries were out of the way, “that you were both right and wrong about Mrs Brent.”
“Oh?”
“Brent is not her real name; she is a Mrs Cassandra June Collins. As far as I can establish, the name Brent was actually chosen by my uncle, and not the police.”
“Assuming that what you say is true, that is quite extraordinary; why on Earth would he want to do something like that; does she have a criminal past?”
“I doubt it. But she is the wife of a certain Paul Collins. He is by all accounts a real nasty piece of work, a sexual pervert with a penchant for beating women. By her account she was instrumental in getting him jailed, and ever since he has been seeking revenge; she alleges that one of his cronies was probably responsible for running her down in Wellworthy. From what I can gather this was nothing less than attempted murder. It was my late uncle who saved her. As you know, he never had children of his own; I think that to some extent she filled the role in his mind of surrogate daughter”