by Rebecca Bryn
‘Only four?’
‘Okay, five.’ She reached for him, drawing him closer and opening her lips.
‘Not good enough.’ His fingers stroked her inner thigh and wandered upwards, finding the spot that made her writhe with pent-up desire.
‘Seven. For God’s sake, Adam…’
‘How’s a man supposed to perform if he’s only rated a seven.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘It’s not good for the ego.’
‘All right, eight. You’ll have to do better than this if you want to rate a ten.’
‘Like this?’
‘Nine.’ She grabbed his hair and moaned. ‘Adam…’
He caught her lips with his. He was hard, his muscles taut beneath her hands. ‘There’s been no-one since Effie…’
What had that to do with anything? She drew him closer.
His lips moved to her neck. ‘I don’t have a condom.’
‘You don’t need one.’ Her heart caught in her throat. ‘Si vis amari, ama.’
He entered her, moving gently at first, building her desire to a crescendo of need. At the edge of climax he slowed, leaving her poised on the brink of ecstasy. She held her breath for a long agonising moment before he plunged on taking her to new heights, her being part of his; together as one.
‘Ten and a half…’ He collapsed against her, breathless.
‘Ten and a half…’
They lay in each other’s arms. Her body moulded to his as it had in the Chapel of Unity: flesh to flesh, heart to heart, soul to soul. Her sun would rise and set with his for all eternity; nothing and no-one would come between them. She closed her eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, and the beating of his heart.
***
Charlotte checked her watch for the third time: it avoided looking at Adam. ‘Here he comes.’ She covered her head with her newly-purchased scarf and followed him into the synagogue.
Rabbi Cohen returned the images of Miriam and her family. ‘I showed your photographs to friends. None knew of these people. Forgive me but I have made copies.’
She smiled her appreciation. ‘That’s good of you, rabbi.’
He shrugged away her thanks. ‘Few of us remain, but I will ask. If I have more time I may find record of them. I fear I may not be able to tell you if they still live.’
She nodded: it was unlikely they’d survived. ‘Thank you, we appreciate the trouble you’re taking. I’ll write down my address for you.’
‘You are welcome, child.’ Rabbi Cohen reached in his pocket for his diary and a pen. ‘It’s important, I think, to understand your roots and your history. It’s who you are.’ He handed her his card and took back the diary. ‘I have the letter your grandfather sent with the carving.’ He opened a yellowed envelope. ‘You showed me photographs of the other four carvings. You have them all?’
‘Yes,’ Adam said. ‘And Charlotte has a letter of authority from Walt’s widow to act on her behalf.’
The rabbi nodded. ‘I see, though your intent is of more interest to me. You’ve told me the other carvings are hollow, and something of what they contain. That explains something that puzzled me. The letter tells us that the flames contain the key to a truth. I believe that is meant literally, in some way. Now, before we go further, I should tell you that your grandfather made a promise. I feel it is my duty to protect that. Therefore, I ask for your solemn oath.’
‘I’ll give it willingly.’
Adam was more cautious. ‘What oath?’
‘The oath Charlotte’s grandfather would wish her to make.’
‘How are we supposed to know? Charlotte, our plane…’
She waved his concern aside. ‘We can get a later flight. Think, Adam. What would Grandpa promise? What do we have to do?’
Adam rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘Nothing in the carvings makes sense.’
The rabbi focussed on her. ‘Yet there is a vow you can make.’
She’d made vows to Robin. ‘We… I promise to find Miriam or her family?’
‘No-one would hold you to that promise, child.’
No, of course they wouldn’t. She searched her memory. ‘Auribus teneo lupum, peccavi, fata viam invenient. What was the other one?’
‘Qui tacet consentit,’ Adam said. ‘Who keeps silence consents. We promise not to consent?’
The rabbi waited. She hesitated. ‘We promise not to keep silent?’
‘It is what your grandfather promised, though he regretted the truth had already been hidden too long. It was to protect you, his family.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I fear his promise may take courage to keep. Your solemn oath before God and you may take the Flames of Shoah.’
Shoah… calamity… her skin prickled, hot with apprehension and guilt. In sickness and in health, forsaking all others… ‘I swear before God that I shall seek the truth and I shall not stay silent.’ This was a vow she would not, could not break.
‘I wish you joy of the flames but I fear your truth may be painful.’ The rabbi lifted the carving. He hesitated and then placed it in her outstretched hands. ‘Your grandfather was a man of conscience, a good man, I think, and a gifted one. Treasure his memory, child. You will be in my prayers.’
***
Charlotte arrived at Sunnybank alone. They’d stopped by Adam’s broom-cupboard to collect his post and discovered a pool of water on the floor. He’d done a temporary repair to the pipe joint, but the plumber couldn’t call until Tuesday and he daren’t leave it unattended. When he’d called his flat a broom-cupboard she hadn’t taken him seriously. With only room for a single bed and one chair, she’d made her excuses and driven home.
She was relieved to be alone: she needed time to think about what she’d done, how she felt about Adam. She’d committed adultery, an ugly word but the truth. Robin had his faults but he didn’t deserve to be deceived this way.
Adam’s bike stood in the front garden where he’d left it. His airbed and sleeping bag were stashed behind the sofa. She pushed them out of sight, as if that could assuage her guilt. She’d arranged to meet him at the station after his plumber had finished. By then she needed to have made a decision: her marriage or Adam.
The telephone shrilled.
‘Charlotte, where have you been?’
‘Robin?’
‘Who did you think it was?’
‘I’ve been to Germany, after another carving. I only got home a few minutes ago.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me you were going? I could have come with you.’
‘I’m sorry… I didn’t think. It was a sudden decision… We…’
‘We?’
Damn, why couldn’t she think before she spoke? ‘Dr Bancroft… he helped organise the trip.’
‘What’s going on, Charlotte?’
‘We should talk… I need to see you, Robin.’
His voice softened. ‘I need to see you, too. I’ll come down, if you like. How about tomorrow?’
Adam wouldn’t be back until the day after. One day to decide the rest of her life; one day to agonise over whose heart, or hearts, she was going to break. ‘Tomorrow, then.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Charlotte opened the door to a huge bunch of lilies. Heady scent filled the space between them. ‘Robin… They’re lovely, thank you.’
‘So this is where you’re hiding.’ Robin leaned towards her for a kiss and she offered her cheek. ‘Charlotte…’
‘Come in.’ She felt awkward, inviting him in: he was her husband not a stranger. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
The distance grew between them. He held out a bag. ‘I brought a takeaway and a bottle of wine… well, two bottles…’
‘That’s thoughtful, thank you.’
He looked around the room and frowned. ‘This is where Dobbin got to.’
‘I thought he’d upset you.’ How stupid could she be, bringing the horse here where Robin might see him? ‘I should have left him in storage.’
Robin perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘I thought you were
renting a room… giving Lucy space… Dad said you’d taken time off work, not moved away.’ His voice had an edge like sharpened steel. ‘This isn’t right, Charlotte. It looks too permanent. You here. Me on my own in that huge house.’ He fiddled with his watch strap. ‘I miss you.’
She put the lilies in the kitchen sink, not having a vase, and found plates and glasses. ‘You hit me, Robin. You told me to fuck off.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He moved closer. The smell of aftershave woke memories that refused to be forgotten.
She opened the containers and curry spices drove out the aftershave. ‘Buna Chicken Tikka, saffron rice… my favourites.’
He poured wine into the glasses. ‘All this misunderstanding, it was one thing on top of another. I lost the plot big-time, Charlotte.’
‘It’s no excuse.’
‘It won’t happen again.’
She carried loaded plates into the lounge. ‘Words are easy, Robin. Trust…’ She stared at her curry. Trust cut both ways.
He sat beside her and handed her a fork. ‘Come home. I’ll prove you can trust me. What we have is too good to lose.’
They’d had good times together. ‘And what about children? I want a family and so do you. We can’t ignore the fact that it isn’t going to happen.’
‘If you come home we’ll talk about it. This is about you and me though, isn’t it, not children. I hit you and that’s unforgivable, yet that’s what I’m asking. Forgive me, please.’ Eyes like deep pools pleaded.
Why did he have to look at her like that? ‘It’s not that easy, Robin. Trust takes time to build, and once it’s gone…’ And she was being a hypocrite.
Robin topped up her glass with wine. ‘I’ve never really talked about Mum and Simon to anyone, before.’
‘Talking never was your strong point.’ Or hers… she’d led Adam on, let him love her: she hadn’t mentioned her infertility to him.
‘I think bottling it all up all these years was half the problem.’
‘You’ve talked it over with your dad?’
‘No. That’s still a step too far, but I feel I’ve turned a corner, Charlotte.’
‘I wish I could see round it…’ That wasn’t a constructive comment. ‘Sorry, Robin. The therapy is helping, though?’
‘It’s going to take time.’ He swallowed his wine and refilled his glass. ‘I just want a chance to prove how much I love you. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?’
She had no answer to that. ‘Are you planning to drive?’
‘You always did fuss too much. Here’s to us sorting our differences.’
It seemed petulant not to join the toast. Robin could be thoughtful, gentle. She finished her meal in silence and sank back into the sofa, wine glass in hand.
Robin opened the second bottle. ‘But what about you? You said you’d found another of those old carvings of your grandfather’s. What’s that all about?’
Glad of the change of subject, she smiled. ‘It’s intriguing. There are five carvings altogether. We’ve opened four of them. They contained Latin quotes… a sort of message.’
‘You and this Dr Bancroft?’
‘He works for the Imperial War Museum. He wants to display the carvings there.’
‘And he travelled here to see them?’
‘And helped me find the others.’
‘Hence the trip to Trier.’ Robin frowned but seemed satisfied. ‘You said they contain a message. What message?’
‘We can’t make any sense of it. Maybe when we open the last one we’ll discover why Grandpa carved them.’
‘I wish I’d known Walt. The way you talk about him, he must have been very special.’
‘He was.’ She smiled. It had been a while since she’d felt relaxed with Robin.
He glanced at Dobbin. ‘I’m sorry about the rocking horse. I’ll pay to have it restored. It means a lot to you.’
‘I remember Grandpa making him. I was only five.’
‘It’s sad to lose someone you love, when you’re so young.’
‘He used to have nightmares. I feel sure the carvings have something to do with them.’
Robin topped up both glasses again and put the bottle on the coffee table. His smile was gentle, his eyes softly shadowed: light touched his cheekbone. He took her hand in his. ‘I do understand. I miss Mum and Simon. I have nightmares too… knowing it was my fault…’ He let go of her hand and covered his eyes with both of his. ‘A tree coming towards me… the world jolting to disaster…. Blood, always blood. My fault.’
‘Oh, Robin.’ She could feel the smoothness of his cheek without having to touch it. She knew how guilt could twist the mind. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I was the last person in my family to see Grandpa alive. For years I felt responsible for him not coming back. Don’t ask me why. I was a child and children blame themselves where blame isn’t merited, like you did.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I love you, Charlotte. I need you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You understand me.’ He gripped her hand urgently making her pulse race. ‘Come home with me, now. Please.’
The second wine bottle was almost empty. How much had Robin drunk? ‘You shouldn’t drive. Robin, I’m not sure if…’ He pulled her to her feet and kissed her, holding her tight. She could hardly breathe. Her head swam, intoxicated with more than wine.
‘Then let me stay the night. If you want me to go in the morning, I’ll go.’ He kissed her again and his fingers found the button of her jeans. His hand caressed her hip, smooth against her skin.
Longing pulsed through her. Adam had been a terrible mistake, a selfish indulgence: she realised that now. Robin needed her. He was her husband, the man she’d vowed to love until death parted them: he must never know she’d betrayed his love. It would break his heart. ‘You can stay… just for tonight.’
***
The morning sun shone through the floral curtains and threw shadows on the wall. Charlotte stretched and yawned. A movement beside her set her heart thudding; the morning after untangled itself from the night before. She’d slept with Robin.
He’d done it again. A bunch of flowers, a thoughtful gesture and a sorry, and he’d had her begging for him, or two bottles of wine had weakened her defences. Adam and now Robin, only two nights apart. How could she be so weak, so stupid? She was a slut: a weak, selfish, stupid slut.
‘Morning.’ Robin smiled sleepily and reached for her.
She avoided his touch and threw on her dressing gown before he woke enough to want a repeat of the night before. ‘I’ll make tea.’ The stairs creaked. The scent of lilies made her nauseous. She filled the kettle. Lilies… her favourite meal… seduction. How could she have fallen for it again? It wasn’t what she wanted: it wasn’t. Adam, Robin… The worm of indecision whispered but it was good, Charlotte. She wouldn’t listen; sex, however good, wasn’t a basis for a relationship. It was like condemning a butterfly to spend its life as a caterpillar. She had to let Robin down gently. More to the point she had to persuade him to leave: Adam would be ringing later to say when his train was due.
She carried two mugs upstairs and handed one to Robin. She sat beside him on the bed. ‘Robin, this doesn’t mean you and me are back together.’
He surveyed her over his mug. ‘Why not? Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.’
‘That isn’t the point. You plied me with wine, made me feel sorry for you, and made sure you’d had too much wine to drive.’
‘It was you who insisted I’d drunk too much.’
‘You took advantage.’
His expression darkened. ‘I made love to you. You’re my wife. Are you saying I forced you?’
‘No, of course not, but if I hadn’t drunk so much…’
‘The wine made you see what you really want. It lowered your inhibitions.’
‘And what do you see when you drink too much? A woman to be knocked about?’
His jaw tightened. ‘I can’t keep apologising. Look, we should be honest with each other about w
hat we want. If…’
‘It’s no good building on dodgy foundations.’ And she wasn’t being honest with him, even if he was devious and manipulative. ‘There’s something I should have told you.’ Not about Adam: she could never tell him about Adam. ‘In fact, I should have told you when we first met.’ She put her mug on the bedside table. ‘When I was at uni I had a boyfriend. His name was Barry Hannant. He was a lying, cheating toe-rag.’
‘That’s all in the past, Charlotte. I had girlfriends before you. It means nothing.’
‘He said I was his first. He was sleeping around.’
‘I’d never do that to you. You can trust me.’
She couldn’t even trust herself. ‘No, you don’t understand. When I found out he was cheating I had myself tested. He’d given me a sexually transmitted infection. I had it treated straight away. They said I was fine, and I’ve had no ill-effects but…’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Chlamydia. It can cause infertility.’ She tensed, ready for the explosion.
Robin stared at her as if waiting for the truth to hit bottom. ‘But it’s…’ He shook his head. His face underwent a series of expressions and settled on incredulous anger. ‘You married me, knowing I wanted children, knowing you could be infertile?’
‘It was twenty years ago. The clinic gave me the all clear. I didn’t think it would be a problem.’
He threw back the cover and leapt out of bed naked, his face crimson. ‘You let me fall in love with you.’
‘I’m sorry, Robin.’
‘You talk to me about trust… you on the moral high-ground making me feel like the crap on your shoe. You cow.’ He moved catlike towards her and gripped her wrist.
‘Robin, you’re hurting me.’
He released her, breathing deeply. His eyes focussed on something she couldn’t see; he let out a slow breath. ‘I’m sorry. I’m in control now.’ He held out his arms to embrace her. ‘It’s all right. You weren’t to know.’
She closed her mouth abruptly. ‘You forgive me?’
‘You wouldn’t have deliberately deceived me.’
She stared at the floor. What had she done? Slept with Adam while this troubled man was doing everything she’d asked of him. He only got angry because he cared too much.