by Kate Charles
‘I found a tin of tuna,’ he announced, indicating a plate of inexpertly made sandwiches. ‘Would you like a sherry first?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Amontillado?’
‘Lovely.’
They sipped sherry and munched sandwiches almost companionably for several minutes. They were both so hungry that the sandwiches tasted rather good. Gabe had never been much use in the kitchen, David recalled. But then, he’d never needed to be. There’d always been someone else to keep him fed: the succession of cooks at home, at boarding school, at university, at the clergy house in Brighton, then the housekeeper at St Anne’s vicarage, and finally . . . Emily. He wondered how Gabriel was faring without her on a purely practical level. Probably not too badly, if the story he’d concocted about Emily nursing an ailing relation had gained very wide circulation among the ladies of the parish.
‘Would you like a slice of cake?’ Gabriel asked, confirming his suspicion. ‘I think I’ve got a bit left from the one Mrs Framlingham brought me the other day.’
‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’
‘She – Mrs Framlingham, that is – said that she’d seen you at the Royal Albert Hall with Lucy Kingsley,’ Gabriel remarked casually.
‘Oh, did she?’ was David’s calm reply. Interfering old cow, he added to himself furiously. None of her bloody business.
‘You’ve been seeing rather a lot of Lucy Kingsley, from what I hear.’
‘And who are all these sources of information, who are taking such an interest in my life?’ Although he struggled to keep his tone light, his voice was beginning to take on a hard edge.
‘Various people. In a parish like this, it’s bound to happen. Let’s just say that people have noticed. Don’t get me wrong, David – I think it’s great,’ Gabriel remarked heartily. ‘It’s about time you found yourself a nice wife and settled down.’
‘A wife?’ His expression was dangerously calm; Gabriel should have been warned.
‘Yes. I can’t recommend marriage too highly, David. Have you thought about it at all? Lucy would make you a good wife. She’s an excellent cook, and good company, and quite pleasant to look at. You could do much worse.’
David struggled with himself for a moment before replying. ‘How dare you,’ he said, very quietly. ‘How dare you presume to tell me what I should do with my life?’
‘I only meant . . .’ Gabriel stammered, startled. ‘I just want you to be happy, David. I just thought . . .’
‘Anyway, I don’t see that you’re exactly a walking advertisement for the joys of wedlock. You seem to have cocked up your marriage pretty badly,’ David said brutally.
The face that Gabriel turned on him was white, as he struggled with a dawning realisation. ‘You know where Emily is, don’t you?’
‘What if I did?’
‘If you know, David, for God’s sake tell me! Don’t you know that I can’t live without her?’ There were tears in his eyes.
David looked at him for a long moment. He knew then that Gabriel’s haunted look, the changes he’d noted in him, were caused by Emily’s absence, and not by the second blackmail letter. Gabriel had suffered, was still suffering, and he hadn’t been able to share his agony with anyone. He must love her very much. David knew then what he had to do. Emily might never forgive him, might not understand why he’d done it. But Gabriel deserved a chance.
‘Yes, I know where she is,’ he said. ‘And I will tell you.’
CHAPTER 37
But lo, thou requirest truth in the inward parts: and shalt make me to understand wisdom secretly.
Psalm 51.6
David had been walking aimlessly in the park for a long time – he had no idea how long. So many things crowded his mind, demanding attention: the blackmailer, Gabriel, Gabriel and Emily. Lucy. He had to talk to Lucy.
It was Sunday afternoon. He would find Lucy at the V & A.
He went to the gallery where she’d been working at closing time the week before. She was there, alone in the gallery, intent on her sketch pad. David stood immobile for a long time watching her. There was such grace in her every movement, her every gesture, and as she paused momentarily, unconsciously, to push her hair back from her face, he felt his chest constrict painfully. She was so very beautiful, sitting there on a bench at the V & A, with her red-gold curls shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. He felt that he could not bear what he now had to do. His nerve failed him, and he half turned to go.
The movement caught her eye; she looked up and saw him, and her face illuminated with pleasure. David thought that as long as he lived he would remember that look, as if a light had been switched on inside her. In a continuous fluid motion she rose and came to him, checking herself at the last moment as she saw the expression on his face. ‘Hello, David.’
‘Lucy.’ He smiled, painfully, and took her hands in his. ‘How have you been?’
‘All right. I missed you. How was your trip?’
‘Fine. The weather was miserable, the food was awful, and the bloody pipes banged all night and kept me awake, but aside from that . . .’
She laughed. His heart constricted again, and he dropped her hands. ‘Listen, Lucy, we have to talk,’ he plunged in. It was now or never. ‘The roses I sent you . . . I thought I meant it, but . . . I just can’t do it. I feel terrible about this . . .’
She interrupted him softly, ‘You don’t have to say anything, David. Let’s just leave it. We’ve had some lovely times together, so let’s not spoil it now by saying anything we’ll be sorry for.’
‘But I want to make you understand why . . . it has to be this way. It’s not you, Lucy, it’s me that’s the problem.’
‘I do understand,’ she affirmed, raising her eyes squarely to meet his. ‘You’re a lovely man – you deserve the best that life has to offer. I know it sounds terribly trite, but I hope that some day you’ll meet someone special and he’ll make you very happy.’
‘How . . . how did you know?’
She laughed quietly, wryly. ‘I’ve known a lot of men, remember? I told you once that all the good blokes around my age were either married or gay. You’re a damn good bloke, and you’re definitely not married.’
‘You knew all along.’
‘I suspected. And the other night I knew for sure, when I wanted you to stay, and you wouldn’t . . . couldn’t.’
‘I didn’t know that you wanted me to stay,’ he breathed with wonder.
‘That’s just it, isn’t it? You didn’t know.’
‘Then why . . . I was going to . . . I asked you to marry me!’
‘Ah, David.’ She touched his cheek with great tenderness. ‘I was going to say no. I was very tempted, but I would have said no.’
‘But why?’
‘Don’t you see, David? Marriage with you . . . well, it would have been very nice. Comfortable. An end to being alone. But that’s not enough. There always would have been . . . something missing. It would have been a mistake for you, and it would have been a mistake for me.’
‘But, Lucy, I do love you.’ As he said it, he knew it was true.
She smiled into his eyes. ‘Yes, I believe you do. But maybe not in the right way, or maybe not enough. Marriage isn’t a game, David. It’s not an escape from anything – not even from loneliness. Some of the loneliest people in the world are married. Your loneliness is inside you, David, in a place I could never reach.’
His eyes filled with tears; he found he couldn’t speak.
‘I’ve been there before,’ she went on. ‘Years ago I married for all the wrong reasons, trying to escape from my past, from . . . myself. It didn’t work. But at least I’ve learned from my mistake. I won’t do it again. And I care about you too much to let you . . .’ She smiled through her own tears. ‘But let’s not close all the doors yet, David. Please?’
His voice, when he finally spoke, was choked. ‘Lucy Kingsley, did anyone ever tell you that you were a wise woman?’ He took her gently in his arms and, for the firs
t and possibly the last time, kissed her on the lips, with a kind of love and with infinite regret.
CHAPTER 38
They that sow in tears: shall reap in joy.
He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed: shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him.
Psalm 126.6–7
Emily was drowsing in bed. She’d spent much of the past two days sleeping, a healing sleep, and when she woke she thought about her past, and her future. Soon she would have to make some decisions and face the future, whatever it held. But first, in this limbo-like present, she must try to come to terms with the past: her past and Gabriel’s.
In thought she’d gradually worked her way back through the years, the years of happy memories. The last few years, when the children were small, and needed so much attention and love. Before that, the incredible joy of their birth, after they’d both wanted them for so long. And the not-so-happy memories of the time before that, when she’d lost the baby, and disappointed Gabriel so terribly. But always, through it all, the love they’d shared . . .
Outside her window it was a golden August afternoon. It was on just such an afternoon that he’d first asked her to marry him. Emily closed her eyes.
It was his afternoon off, and they’d driven out into the country for a walk. They’d known each other only a few weeks. At the top of a hill, he suddenly stopped and said, ‘Emily, I want to marry you.’
Breathless after the climb, and with surprise, she replied, ‘I just don’t know, Gabriel. I have other plans for my life. I never counted on meeting you – I need some time to think about how you fit in. There’s Cambridge, and the fellowship . . . I’m just not sure yet.’
But later, back at the vicarage, the housekeeper away, he took her in his arms and kissed her, and from that moment on nothing else mattered. He’d kissed her before, but this time he meant business. His lips, his arms around her – she didn’t want him to stop. He didn’t stop. Afterwards, in bed, he smiled down at her, tenderly brushing a strand of dark hair from her cheek. ‘Now you’ll have to marry me, my darling Emily.’ And, looking into his eyes, loving him, of course she said yes.
It was just after that, she recalled now, that she’d asked him the question: why hadn’t he married earlier? ‘Because I’ve never met a woman like you before. You must believe me, my love – you’re the first woman I’ve ever loved.’ Had there been even a shadow of concealment on his face when he’d made his reply? She couldn’t remember. She got up and splashed some cold water on her face at the basin, trying to stop the racing of her pulses at the vivid memory of his lovemaking. She scrubbed at her face with the rough towel, squinted at herself in the small mirror, and ran a comb through her tousled hair. Perhaps she’d go out in the garden and get some air.
There was a quiet tap on the door. ‘Mrs Neville, there’s a man here to see you,’ said a soft voice. David, Emily thought with a smile. It would be nice to see David. She turned as the door opened.
Gabriel! Her heart lurched with a wild joy and she instinctively moved towards his open arms, but she checked herself in time and retreated. ‘No, Gabriel. That would be too easy.’ She faced him across the narrow bed. ‘What do you have to say to me?’
He looked at her, stunned. ‘Say to you? Don’t you understand, Emily? I’ve come to take you home.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready to go home, Gabriel. There are a lot of things we have to talk about first.’
His hands dropped to his sides. ‘All right, then. Let’s talk.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘David told me . . .’
She laughed harshly. ‘I should have known that you men would stick together.’
‘It wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to tell me – I begged him. He finally realised how important it was – that I should at least have a chance to see you.’
‘Did he also tell you why I left?’
Gabriel looked away. ‘Yes. But you must believe me . . .’
‘How can I know what to believe, when our marriage was based on a lie?’ she asked with heart-rending honesty.
‘I never lied to you, Emily.’
‘No, you didn’t, did you? “Economical with the truth” is the phrase they use these days, I think. “The first woman you ever loved”, you said. I suppose I was naive not to ask about the other half of the human race.’ The bitterness in her voice touched him on a raw nerve.
‘Don’t you understand? I couldn’t tell you – I was terrified of losing you. I didn’t think you’d be able to accept it, to accept me, believe that I’d changed and that all I wanted was you.’
‘Did you have so little faith in me, then?’
‘You were so young, so innocent. I couldn’t take the risk that you . . . would be disgusted by my past.’
She was silent for a moment. She’d asked herself so many times over the last few days how she would have reacted. ‘And since then?’ she asked finally. ‘Surely you could have found a moment, over the last ten years, when you might have told me. It wasn’t fair of you to deny me that knowledge, not all this time. I just can’t help feeling that our marriage has been a dishonest sham.’
He recoiled. ‘Never that, Emily. Don’t the last ten years mean anything? I’ve loved you, I’ve been faithful to you for ten years. David and the others – it was all a very long time ago.’
She looked as if she’d been struck, but her voice was deadly quiet. ‘Others? There were others? How many?’
Oh, wonderful, he thought. ‘Didn’t David tell you? I assumed . . .’
‘No.’
‘Not many. Before David. Three, four . . . several. David was the only one who really mattered.’
‘Oh, Gabriel, it’s all too much. How can you expect me to believe anything you say any more?’
He sat down heavily on the bed, burying his head in his hands. At last he raised his face, wet with tears, and said in an anguished whisper, ‘How can I make you understand? I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. I was foolish, and selfish. But I didn’t want to lose you then, and I couldn’t bear to lose you now. I love you, Emily. Please come home with me.’ She’d never seen him cry before, not even when she’d lost the baby. His tears reached her as his words could not, and in the end she was comforting him, stroking his head and murmuring her love.
In the car, on the way home, he told her everything: about David, and how he’d loved him, about the others, and finally about Peter Maitland, his death, and the blackmail letters.
She cried a little, but her love for him was very strong, and his honesty meant everything to her; by the time they reached the vicarage he had gained the most stalwart ally he could have. ‘If only you’d trusted me sooner,’ she said. ‘So much pain could have been avoided.’
He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. ‘I think I can face whatever happens, now that I’ve got you back. Don’t ever leave me again, my love.’
CHAPTER 39
My lovers and friends hast thou put away from me: and hid mine acquaintance out of my sight.
Psalm 88.18
Daphne probably wouldn’t know he was back in London, David thought: he’d left his car in front of the vicarage, and unless she’d been down to St Anne’s for some reason that afternoon she wouldn’t have seen it. In any case, he didn’t think he could face her – or anyone he knew – just yet. He took the Tube to a far-flung corner of London and found a quiet pub where he could sit in a dark corner and drink anonymously.
Daphne wasn’t expecting him. She looked over the tops of her spectacles in surprise when he let himself into the flat.
‘All right, what is going on?’ she demanded immediately. ‘Why was Gabriel trying to reach you? What’s so urgent that he’d ring here at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, looking for you?’
David sat down and put his feet up. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘We’ve got all night. Do you want a drink?’
‘Actually, I’d like some
thing to eat, if it’s not too much trouble. I haven’t had anything but a tuna sandwich all day. And a few glasses of whisky,’ he added candidly.
‘I could grill you a chop, if you like.’
‘Thanks. That would be lovely.’
‘Come through to the kitchen, then. You can talk to me there.’
He followed her to the kitchen. It was a fairly small room, so to stay out of her way he leaned against the door jamb and watched her as she quickly and efficiently put together a meal for him. Dear old no-nonsense Daphne, he thought. What a treasure. Maybe I should marry her. But then there’s no reason why she would have me, either, he reflected in a half humorous, half self-pitying way. By now he’d almost forgotten that he’d done the rejecting – that he’d decided he couldn’t possibly marry Lucy. He remembered only that she’d said she wouldn’t marry him. And he remembered that he’d said he loved her. It all seemed quite extraordinary, and a very long time ago.
‘If you aren’t going to tell me about Gabriel, maybe you’ll tell me about your trip,’ Daphne prompted him. ‘Did you find out anything about Miles?’
‘Yes, I certainly did.’ He told her with great relish about Miss Somers, and the circumstances of Miles’s departure from Selby Cathedral.