Touching the Wire

by Rebecca Bryn

  ‘Charlotte?’

  She moved into his arms. Tears streaked her face and wet his chest.

  He stroked her hair. ‘I want you, Charlotte. I want you so much.’ He lowered her onto the bed. ‘Why don’t you get into bed? I won’t be a minute.’

  She froze as he closed the bathroom door behind him. It was all moving too fast, out of control. She couldn’t think: she needed to think. The flush sounded, the bathroom door opened and Robin filled the doorway. He was holding something. It was the blue toothbrush.

  ‘I take it you can explain this?’

  She stared at him, heart thumping, and clutched her dressing gown tightly around her.

  ‘You can’t or you won’t? I’ll take that as a confession, shall I?’

  She met his cold, dark rage. He’d know if she lied to him. ‘Adam stayed the night.’

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Dr Bancroft.’

  ‘The man you went to Trier with?’

  She nodded.

  ‘How long has this been going on?’

  She tried to keep her voice steady. ‘I’ve only known him a week or so.’

  ‘Long enough to jump into bed with him. In this bed? Where we made love?’

  ‘No…’ Her voice was a whisper.

  ‘No, you haven’t slept with him?’

  ‘No, not in this bed.’

  ‘You adulterous whore.’ His voice was a low growl, predatory, dangerous. ‘You were only ever after my money, weren’t you?’

  ‘That isn’t true.’ The accusation stung. ‘I’m not the only one to blame here. I loved you.’

  ‘Marrying into the family firm… a step up from a back-street terrace. A short-cut to the top…’ His lip curled in contempt. ‘No wonder you were an easy ride.’

  ‘I worked for our future… I’m not ashamed of my roots. Grandpa…’

  ‘You and your precious fucking Grandpa…’ His eyes had gone blank, withdrawn: pools with a layer of film, no way to see what lay beneath. ‘Do you really think I have nightmares?’

  Anyone would have nightmares about losing their mother and brother like that, surely? Realisation hit her; Robin was quite capable of using it as a ploy to get his own way. ‘Oh, you knew which buttons to push, didn’t you? Guilt… nightmares… I never know when you’re telling the truth. You twist it to suit your ends.’

  He leaned in close. ‘And you don’t?’

  ‘You can’t begin to come close to what Grandpa meant to me. He was kind, loving. He protected those who loved him.’

  Robin’s hand gripped her throat. He forced her to the floor, on her knees, and stood before her. A hand fisted in her hair and he released her throat. ‘I could kill you.’

  He’d got a hard-on. He was getting off on this? A tremor ran through her; he was between her and the stairs. Show fear now and she was finished. ‘I never wanted your money. I earned my own. Invested it in us.’

  He twisted her hair tighter. ‘You’ll get everything you deserve. I shall make sure of that. Now earn what I’ve already paid you.’

  She wouldn’t cry out. ‘What?’

  ‘Pleasure me, like the whore you are… and do it right or it will be the last thing you do.’ He yanked her head back. Muscles twitched in his forearm.

  What he wanted filled her with revulsion, now, but he was strong. She smothered an urge to tell him to go to hell. He’d hit her before, and she was alone with him. ‘Please, no…’

  He moved closer, his musky scent strong. His hand in her hair prevented her from pulling away. She would rather die after one brief flight as a butterfly than live as a caterpillar. Her hand gripped his scrotum and twisted.

  Robin screamed in agony as he thrust her away; bending double he clutched himself with both hands. She ran into the bathroom and bolted the door. Something crashed against it. Sounds of destruction mingled with moans and obscenities before silence eventually filled the void.

  She pressed an ear to the door. Silence stretched to breaking. He’d gone? She drew back the bolt, and raised her hand to the latch. It rattled.

  ‘Charlotte…’

  She jammed the bolt across and shrank back against the wall, shaking. ‘Go away.’

  ‘I haven’t finished with you, yet.’

  His feet thudded on the stairs and another crash came from downstairs. He was leaving, or finding something heavy to break down the door. She waited a lifetime before the roar of the Porsche, and the screech of rubber, faded into the distance.

  I haven’t finished with you, yet.

  She slumped to the floor, head in her hands. She was no better than a whore. Self-pity would get her nowhere: she splashed water over her face and straightened. In the mirror her throat bore red thumb marks. They weren’t the first marks Robin had inflicted. He’d begun this: excusing his behaviour had made her a victim, an abused wife.

  She opened the bathroom door cautiously. Glass from her bedside lamp and the mirror on her chest drawers sparkled on the floorboards: she picked her way through it on bare feet. Dressed, she went downstairs, determined to put Robin behind her and get on with her life. Dobbin lay on his side: the sofa and coffee table were upended, The Flames of Death lay on the floor among shards of wine glass. Shoah… calamity.

  Actions have consequences, Charlotte.

  The full shame of what she’d done sent a wrenching pain through her chest. Robin had forfeited the right to her love, but it wasn’t only him she’d been unfaithful to. Adam loved her and trusted her. She’d let him believe she’d chosen a future with him, and had gone straight from his bed to Robin’s. She’d betrayed Adam, the only man since Grandpa who had made her feel truly loved, the only man but Grandpa she had ever truly loved.

  The relationship she wanted with Adam couldn’t be built on deception. This wasn’t a secret she could keep from him: she would always know what she’d done and it would kill her joy in his love. He wouldn’t hit her, or shout at her, or accuse her of whoring: he wouldn’t even blame her. He’d look at her with his grey eyes full of pain and walk away with a broken heart, like he had from Effie… because she hadn’t loved him enough.

  Her life was nothing without Adam: it was over, ruined, finished, and it was her fault. She snatched the Flames of Calamity from the floor and hurled them across the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Adam jumped from the train and hurried along the platform and into Charlotte’s arms. ‘I’ve missed you, Hellcat.’ She silenced him with a kiss. When he drew away her cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘You okay? Has something happened?’

  ‘I’m fine… really.’

  He picked up the bag he’d dropped on the platform and walked her towards her car. ‘Come on, out with it.’

  ‘I’ve had a visit from Robin. We… talked.’

  His heart missed a beat. Sweat beaded on his neck. ‘And?’

  ‘He… said he wanted me to go home.’

  ‘And are you going to?’

  ‘I love you, Adam… you do believe that?’

  ‘But you love Robin more. I never really stood a chance, did I?’ He squeezed her hand and struggled to keep his voice steady. ‘You have to do what’s right for you.’

  Charlotte wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. ‘I don’t know what that is, anymore.’

  They’d reached the car. He wanted to hold her and never let go, but she wasn’t his. She had to make this decision herself. He had to stay strong or she’d fall apart, and then he’d fall apart as well. He took a deep breath, held out his hand for the keys and unlocked the door. ‘Did you get the Flames of Death open?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s at home, in a bag. I haven’t looked at what’s inside. I wanted you to be here.’

  She’d wanted him to be here. He slid into the passenger seat beside her and looked out of the window so she wouldn’t see his pain. ‘Let’s go and see what’s in it, then.’

  ***

  Charlotte put the Flames of Death on the coffee table. Adam leaned forward, his hand brushed hers.
She concentrated on the carving. It was stuffed with something: a piece of material that looked and smelled vaguely familiar. She unfolded the fabric and smoothed it out on the table. A small, ornate brass key lay in the centre. ‘The key to the truth… I wonder what it unlocks.’ She rotated it in her fingers. It too was familiar. ‘I think Grandpa used to keep this on a chain in his pocket. I’m almost sure he did.’

  Adam held the fabric to her nose. ‘Beeswax and turpentine… polish. Smell it.’

  It wasn’t so much a smell as a time and place filled with love and laughter. ‘This is a bit of one of Grandpa’s winter vests. He wore them until they were in holes then used them for polishing cloths. Gran complained that if he had an accident she’d be ashamed to visit him in hospital.’

  Her brief smile faded. Grandpa had met with an accident but Gran had never had the opportunity to visit him. She shook off the memory and delved inside the carving, pulling out the expected assorted scraps of paper. ‘Perhaps this will tell us what the key fits.’ She flattened out the first piece of paper. ‘Hell is not enough. Stripped of the veneer: Magna est veritas et praevalelit. What does the Latin mean?’

  Adam’s arm touched her shoulder. ‘Truth is great and will prevail. The Latin is easier to understand than the English.’

  Grandpa’s Latin words pierced her heart. Adam deserved better than her truth. She must end this without breaking his heart: without hurting him more than she had already and leaving him feeling used. ‘There’s more.’ She unfolded another larger piece of paper. ‘Six, six, six is the number of the beast and I live with the horror of his evil. Follow the instructions. For truth, one must only look at what is not there. Instructions?’

  ‘There’s nothing else in here.’

  ‘Look at what is not there? How are we supposed to know what’s not there? And where is there?’

  ‘Let me look. I like a puzzle.’ Adam’s enthusiasm sounded forced. He reread the slips of paper. ‘Let’s start with what we have, your grandfather’s words.’ His brow furrowed, hooding his grey eyes. ‘Look at what is not there?’

  She tried to concentrate. ‘Let’s see if we can work out what’s missing.’

  Adam leaned closer. ‘Ignore the Latin for the moment. Let’s see if we can make sense of the rest.’

  Her sight blurred with tears. She could hardly see the words to read them. ‘The truth shall be uncovered and I pray for those I love… of civilisation and humanity, fear bought my silence and love… There is no atonement too great, eternal… I do not ask your forgiveness, there is none. I ask only that… hell is not enough. Stripped of the veneer…’

  Adam moved one of the pieces of paper. ‘There is no atonement too great, eternal… Here, look… hell is not enough. Stripped of the veneer…’

  ‘The veneer of what?’

  Adam stabbed at a quotation. ‘…of civilisation and humanity, fear bought my silence and love…’

  She fiddled with the two quotations that were left. ‘I do not ask your forgiveness, there is none. I ask only that… the truth shall be uncovered and I pray for those I love. Something is missing, something after silence and love. Fear can’t buy love.’

  Adam glanced at her, his expression unreadable. ‘So what is it? If we need it to discover what the key unlocks, where is it?’

  ‘Look for what is not there.’

  ‘The missing words? They contain the location?’

  ‘I guess they must. What else could it mean? I wish we had these instructions, whatever they are.’

  Adam re-read the words. ‘Look at what is not there… How can we look at something that’s not there?’

  ‘At? At not for?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She rested her chin in one hand, her elbow on her knee. Something Mum had said came back to her: Dad did nothing without a reason. Grandpa had promised the truth would be told. He would leave nothing to chance. He’d have made arrangements beyond an accidental breaking of a carving… but… the distinction between at and for was still important. She reached out a finger to stroke the Flames of Death, her finger brushed the chip she’d caused when she hurled it across the room in temper. Was she really any different to Robin?

  ‘Charlotte?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure…’ Like the others the carving was smooth, polished, and vibrantly alive, yet it was different. They were all different.

  She turned the carving round and leaned forward. Viewed from above, one side looked a bit like half a heart. In fact it looked like a heart with two huge bites out of it. One or two of the others had looked as if they had bites out of them. Why? ‘Why is it this shape? Why are they all alike and yet precisely different?’

  Adam’s index finger tapped the curve in his top lip. ‘Where are the Flames of Hope?’

  She took the carving from a carrier bag. ‘This has two bites out of it, too.’

  ‘They’re like pieces of a bizarre jigsaw puzzle.’

  ‘Yet none of them fit together. I tried.’

  ‘But we didn’t have these two then. Have you got the photos of the three I took to Duxford?’

  She dealt them like cards. ‘The original Flames of Hell from Gran, the one from Mason and Hargreaves, and the Duxford Wolf. They’re all peculiar shapes.’

  He twisted the Flames of Hope round idly and placed the bitten sides together. He tried a different way. ‘The shapes could be determined by different pieces of timber.’

  ‘Too precise. It must have taken a lot of work and planning. Grandpa went to all that trouble for a reason, Adam.’

  ‘Look at what is not there.’

  ‘The bites?’

  Adam stared at her as if she’d switched on a lamp in a coalmine. He stood up and turned the carvings around, bitten sides together. Two circles, side by side… He rotated them, lining the circles one above the other. ‘What does that look like?’ He fetched a salt pot and a pepper grinder from the kitchen and stood one in the top circle, and the other in the bottom one.

  She looked at him blankly. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Imagine it with the two little carved candles in the circles instead of salt and pepper. What does it remind you of?’

  She stared at the two carvings he’d pushed together. ‘A strange set of condiments.’

  ‘No, think of it with the candles.’

  ‘The Chapel of Unity had candles.’

  ‘Forget the candles then. Think of them as shapes.’

  ‘Give me a clue.’

  ‘Think of a number. The number of the beast, remember?’

  ‘It’s not a six.’

  ‘Look at what is not there. If only we could see the shapes of the other carvings properly.’

  ‘You think the shapes make numbers?’

  ‘The spaces between the shapes. Stand up. You’ll see it more clearly.’

  She stood. ‘It could be an eight.’

  ‘The carvings are pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.’

  ‘I’m not convinced, Adam. The shape would be perfect. This isn’t.’

  ‘We can’t be certain of anything until we see all the carvings together but it’s the answer, I’m sure of it, and what’s more… What has a number and a key? We’re looking for a safety-deposit box. I’ll stake my life on it.’

  ‘You mean there really is treasure?’

  ‘Why don’t we reunite the Flames of Death and Hope with their sisters at Duxford? We might solve Walt’s puzzle.’

  For a moment, her pain forgotten, their lips met making her ache with longing. They drew apart, but the taste and the feel of him lingered.

  ***

  They arrived at Duxford in time for lunch. The table where they’d sparred when they first met stood unsullied by Charlotte’s betrayal. She’d found her soul mate, and in her heart she’d promised nothing would come between them. She’d thrown him away, seduced by lust, pity, guilt… marital duty? It would have been better for Adam, better for all of them, if he’d never fou
nd the Duxford Wolf.

  ‘Penny for them, Charlotte?’

  ‘It’s nothing…’

  ‘You think we were a mistake. Love on the rebound?’

  She stared at her feet. ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘You’re feeling guilty about us sleeping together when you’re still married?’

  She hesitated, unable to phrase a truthful answer. ‘Yes and no.’

  He took her hand. ‘I don’t believe you love Robin. You wouldn’t have slept with me if you did. You said it yourself, fear can’t buy love. I understand you worrying about him. Wanting to be there for him. You wouldn’t be you if you did any less.’

  She fabricated a reason, a way to allow her to distance herself gently from his love. ‘I feel I’ve walked away when Robin needs me.’

  ‘Who was it said need is a powerful weapon in the armoury of seduction? You can’t be a slave to someone else’s desires, Charlotte. Need alone can’t make a marriage happy.’

  ‘I know you’re right. I wish…’

  ‘Your wishes are my command.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘Let’s just enjoy the day. We’ll see what the café has to offer. My treat, Hellcat.’

  She straightened and smiled. ‘I do love you, Adam.’ They still had five precious days of his holiday left. Five days to last her a lifetime. When he was back at work ending it would be easier. They’d known each other such a short time, and long-distance relationships often failed. She could let him go gradually, causing him least harm: a holiday romance, a memory to smile about in years to come if he remembered her at all. ‘I think you’ll find it’s my turn to pay.’ She was rewarded with a grin, and guilt shattered her heart all over again.

  ‘You won’t see me arguing. I don’t come cheap, though.’

  She played the game. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  ‘I am a growing lad.’ He looked down at his lean stomach.

  ‘Yes, sideways.’ She laughed despite her grief. ‘Lunch first or carvings?’

  ‘Lunch, definitely.’

  They took sandwiches and coffee to a table. She toyed with her meal.