‘Slow down,’ he said to me. ‘It’s too late to reverse fate. There’s nothing he can do. They have a good half-hour on us. I got the exact time of departure from the newshounds.’
‘Maybe they got it wrong,’ I said. I kept walking but Crawley took my arm and tried to pull me back. ‘Let me go,’ I said. ‘He needs me.’
‘Oh yes, he needs you, all right. Herein lies his damnation. But once we realise that even between the closest human beings, infinite distances continue to exist, a wonderful living side by side can grow up if they succeed in loving the distance between them, which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky. A good marriage is that in which each appoints the other guardian of his individuality.’
This stopped me in my tracks. He laughed at my reaction. ‘Not bad on an empty stomach, eh? Well, don’t worry. It wasn’t me. I was quoting Rilke, and you must really take him with a pinch of salt on this subject, as he wasn’t exactly the marrying kind himself. What I’m trying to tell you is, leave him to it. There’s nothing you can do to help. The damage is done.’
He sat down on the bench next to the mesh fence and took a long drag from his cigarette. ‘Let me tell you what he’s doing right now. He’s ringing the police to get them to do an all-points bulletin, but the chances of her trying to get herself and the kiddies out of the country under their real names are less than zero. He’s not going to find her, and, what’s more, he’s going to have his work cut out for him cleaning up all the other trouble. There’s the empty grave, for starters. That’s one scandal, and I would guess at least one prison sentence. As for my respected employer, I doubt there’ll be much left of Beckfield Press either, once Rebecca’s through with it. It’s the kiddies that’ll do Max in, though. He’ll never get over it.’
‘But he spent so little time with them,’ I protested.
Crawley shook his head and laughed softly. ‘That’s what he’ll never get over.’
‘How cruel you can be sometimes!’
‘Yes, and you might need it too. But I’ll tell you one thing, you won’t be going anywhere. You’re never going to leave him, not after this. This is your life, girl, whether you like it or not.’ He looked back at the house. ‘You’ve got to hand it to her, though. As devils go, she’s really something special. No one ever said the girl didn’t know how to make an exit. Turn around, girl. Turn around and look at her parting gift.’
I turned around and looked. My eyes went first to the windows on the top floor, where the curtains were already burning. Sparks were pouring out of the chimney and spilling across the roof, across the sky. Meanwhile life continued as normal below. As she lit the glass pyramid in the dining room, I could see Bea noticing that something was amiss outside and moving with her candle to the window to take a closer look. Seeing nothing, she returned to her task of keeping the dream alive. At the other end of the house I could see Giles looking up from his chess table as another trail of sparks flew across the sky, and peering out of the window and then shrugging his shoulders and returning to his game even as the flames began to lick the walls above him.
And yes, the sight of the house turning into flames took my breath away. It took my breath away because I could never have done it myself. No matter what Rebecca tried to imply, I could never have gone that far. So, reader, it’s for you to decide. Why am I still picking through the ashes? Why can’t I get that picture out of my head?
A Note on the Author
Maureen Freely is the author of four novels, Mother’s Helper, The Life of the Party, The Stork Club and Under the Vulcania; and What About Us?: An Open Letter to the Mothers Feminism Forgot. She lives in Bath.
By the Same Author
MOTHER’S HELPER
THE LIFE OF THE PARTY
THE STORK CLUB
UNDER THE VULCANIA
WHAT ABOUT US?:
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE MOTHERS FEMINISM FORGOT
First published in Great Britain 1996
This electronic edition published in February 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © 1996 by Maureen Freely
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 1 4088 3065 9
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The Other Rebecca Page 29