It was as he was packing the last of his things that he heard her voice.
‘Luke!’
He turned around and stared in surprise as he saw Orla running down the steps of the castle, followed by an excited One Ear. He’d never seen her in this part of the garden before – so near the front gates. Whenever he’d seen her leave to walk One Ear on the beach, she went through a gate in the back garden which took her down a secluded path. Here, she suddenly looked more exposed than he’d ever seen her and, as she stood there watching him, she too seemed to realise the fact.
‘Can I talk to you? Inside?’
He closed the van door and followed her and One Ear back into the castle.
‘If you’re worrying about my bill, please don’t,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to pay.’
‘It’s not about your bill.’ She was looking down at the floor, but then turned her gaze towards him. ‘I was a bit rash, telling you to go like that.’
‘I understand. It isn’t my place to tell you what to do.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘But I hope we can part as friends?’
‘Well, I have a problem with that,’ she told him.
‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘Well, listen – don’t worry. I wish you well, Orla.’ He turned to leave, hurt that she didn’t want to keep in touch, but understanding her decision nevertheless.
‘No, Luke – you don’t understand. I want us to be friends. The thing I don’t want is the parting bit.’
Luke was confused now. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘But I – you – I . . .’
‘I know I did. But I’ve changed my mind. Please stay.’
Luke stared at her, shocked into silence by her for the second time that day. ‘You want me to stay?’
‘Yes. I think I overreacted and I’m sorry. I really don’t want you to go, especially not like this. I . . .’ she stopped, seemingly struggling for words. ‘I haven’t had much company in the last few years. I’ve forgotten how to be around people, and you’ve been nothing but kind and thoughtful.’
Luke shook his head. ‘I’ve been a blundering idiot.’
‘No – you haven’t. It’s just that we’re both coming from different experiences and – well – you don’t know what’s happened to me and, without knowing, you can’t possibly understand why I am the way I am. I know what you must think – that I’m odd and eccentric – the village must too, and that’s okay.’
Luke swallowed hard, seeing that it clearly wasn’t okay with Orla, who was horribly pale and on the verge of tears again.
‘Orla – I’m sorry. I do nothing but put my foot in it and upset you. I promise I won’t do that again. I mean, really promise this time! I thought I was doing the right thing. Helen – it’s going to sound odd – but I thought I heard Helen’s voice. She wants to help you. She even wrote about it.’
‘She wrote about me?’ Orla said, her gaze softening.
‘She kept a journal, and I’m ashamed to say I read it. I couldn’t help it.’ Luke gave a hopeless shrug. ‘I needed to hear her voice, even if it was just through her writing. But she was worried about you. Being alone. She wanted to help.’
‘She wanted to help me?’
‘Yes. Very much. And I do too.’
There was a weighty silence between them and Luke couldn’t tell which way things were going to go.
‘Orla? Are we good?’ he asked at length.
She looked up at him and gave the tiniest of smiles. ‘Yes! We’re good.’
‘I can come back in?’
She nodded.
Luke sighed, feeling both relieved that he wasn’t going to have to face home just yet and also nervous at starting again with Orla. There was no blueprint for this, was there? They were two lost souls who had somehow managed to find one another and who were still navigating their way around each other. It would take time, care and patience, Luke understood that now.
‘Luke?’ Orla called as he started to head back out to the van.
‘Yes?’
‘I think it’s probably time.’
‘Time?’
‘Time that I told you about what happened to me.’
Chapter 10
When Luke turned up at Oyster Cottage without Orla, he couldn’t help feeling like a failure. Bill greeted him at the front door and placed a consolatory hand on his shoulder.
‘I can’t say I’m surprised, lad.’
‘I tried.’
‘You did. Don’t take it personally,’ Bill told him. ‘She’s only just beginning to get used to you, by the sound of things. You can’t expect her to want to mingle with the whole village.’
‘She threw me out when I told her about the meeting.’
‘She did?’
‘I packed all my stuff and was about to leave when she changed her mind.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that at least.’
‘And she’s going to tell me what happened to her.’
Bill looked as stunned as Luke must have when Orla told him, but they didn’t have time to talk any more because the rest of the horticultural club were arriving and Bill and Margy were kept busy ushering everyone into their living room.
It would have been a fun meeting under normal circumstances and Luke genuinely would have enjoyed himself. The talk about herbs was interesting, with Bill leading the discussion, but everyone chipping in with their own experiences. It was a lovely, friendly group – just as Luke had imagined – with a good mix of ages. Yes, most of the group were retirement age, but there was a couple in their early thirties and a man in his mid-forties.
But, however interesting the talk and however good the company, Luke was finding it hard to concentrate because he was thinking about Orla. Since asking him to stay again and telling him that she’d reveal what had happened to her, Luke had been on tenterhooks. He’d brought his things back in from the van, set his toolbox up in the great chamber, remade his bed and then gone in search of Orla. He’d found her in the china room, dusting and primping. She’d turned round to face him and smiled briefly before turning back to her task. He’d left her to it. When she’d said she’d tell him about what had happened to her, maybe she hadn’t meant at that precise moment.
When evening came, they’d shared a meal at the kitchen table and then took cups of tea into the great hall. He’d wondered then if she’d say something, but she hadn’t and he hadn’t felt it was his place to bring it up – having overstepped the mark so many times with her already.
Then, as he’d got ready to leave for the horticultural club meeting the next day, she’d walked with him to the door.
‘After you come back, we can talk then,’ she’d said, her face pale and anxious.
‘Okay,’ he’d told her.
He’d left for the meeting feeling utterly frustrated. How was he meant to concentrate on herbs with Orla’s promised revelation hanging over him?
Now, as Bill talked about the medicinal and culinary uses of herbs, Luke’s gaze drifted over the assembly. These, he thought, were Orla’s neighbours. Good, kind people whom she didn’t know at all. He smiled as he glanced around Bill and Margy’s living room. It was a cosy space with two small sofas and a couple of armchairs. Their Jack Russell was asleep on Bill’s knee as he talked and Margy’s knitting needles hadn’t stopped since the meeting had begun, but Luke hadn’t taken very much in at all. At the end, everyone started rummaging in bags and pockets and Luke wondered if a collection was being taken, but he soon discovered that it was a seed swap. And then it was time to go. Luke was glad but didn’t want to seem in a rush to leave and so hung back.
‘So, what did you think?’ Bill asked once the last guest had left.
‘Good! I never knew there was so much to learn about herbs.’
Bill chuckled. ‘Tempted to grow some yourself?’
‘Well, I’ll do my best to recognise the few we’ve got in our garden at home,’ Luke
said, and then flinched. Our garden. Only it wasn’t any more, was it? It was his garden. How suddenly such moments ambushed you. He wasn’t sure if Bill had caught the fleeting moment, but he laid his hand on Luke’s shoulder.
‘I’m glad you came. And I hope it goes well with Miss Kendrick.’
‘Thanks. Me too.’
They shook hands before Luke left Oyster Cottage for the short walk back through Lorford to the castle. The sky was an inky indigo now, studded with stars, and the uninterrupted view of it above the castle’s turrets was mesmeric. Luke took a moment to drink it all in and then he climbed the steps and rang the bell.
Orla had watched as Luke left the castle without her, a part of her crying out to go with him – that tiny part she’d tucked so deeply away from everybody because she was afraid, if she showed it, she would be hurt again. But it was there all the same; she’d just been so afraid to acknowledge it.
She felt terrible about having thrown him out and hoped she’d gone some way to regaining his trust. Then again, there was a part of her that was still upset at him having betrayed her trust. He’d been her guest for such a short space of time and was trying to implement major changes in her life. That, she believed, wasn’t fair. She’d let him into her home, but he had no right forcing such massive life changes upon her. He had no idea how she felt about being around people – any kind of people – let alone strangers. Well, perhaps he’d have a better understanding when she told him about what had happened to her.
But, as the clock slowly ticked around, Orla began to feel her courage slipping away from her. Was she really ready for this? She wasn’t at all sure. She’d never spoken about it to anyone other than her mother. Her friends and colleagues had only ever been informed; they’d never been contacted by Orla directly. She hadn’t been able to do it. She’d quietly withdrawn from her life, slipping deeper and deeper into herself.
Looking out of the window as the summer sky deepened from a pale turquoise to a deep indigo, she found her way towards a dark oak cabinet in the great hall, her hand hovering over the little latch that kept it closed. It had been closed for months now, but she needed to open it tonight. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the latch, opened the door and reached inside, her hand settling on the cool neck of a bottle of wine.
Just one glass, she promised herself. One glass to help ease her into things, to gently smooth the passage to her recent past. That would be all she’d need.
By the time she heard the bell ring at the front door, Orla was feeling softer, gentler. Luke seemed to notice straight away and watched her as they walked into the great hall together, One Ear between them.
‘Orla, have you been drinking?’
‘Just a couple of glasses of wine,’ she told him. At least, she thought it was two. But maybe it was three. Or four.
She noticed him clocking the wine bottle on the coffee table. Yes, Orla thought, it looked as if more than a couple of glasses had been drunk.
‘Can I get you a glass?’
‘Please.’ He watched as she poured him a glass and then she topped up her own. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course.’ She didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t bear to see those curious eyes gazing at her.
‘Because we don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘Yes, we do,’ she told him. ‘I feel I should. You’ve shared with me and now I should share with you, and . . . it’s time. I feel it’s time.’
She took a moment, aware that she was beginning to feel a little warm but, whether it was the wine or the knowledge of what she was about to reveal to Luke, she couldn’t be sure.
‘All right, then,’ Luke said.
Orla nodded. It was the strangest conviction, but she did – at last – feel ready to be rid of the burden of carrying this great hurt around.
They sat on the sofa together with One Ear lying down by his mistress’s feet as if in support of the decision she’d made, and they both sipped their wine. Orla had lit a small fire and the lamps she’d switched on did their best to banish the shadows and dark corners of the cavernous room. It was a cosy, intimate setting and it went a little way towards calming Orla as she began her story.
‘I was a photographer in London,’ she began quietly. ‘For quite a few years. I loved my job. I worked in a studio for a while, mostly photographing families or being hired for corporate events or portrait photography – that kind of thing. No two days were ever the same and I liked that. But then I was sent to a fashion shoot and my life changed for ever.’ Orla paused and Luke waited as she took another sip of her wine.
‘I’d never done a fashion shoot before. My partner usually covered them. It’s a different kind of atmosphere and it never really appealed to me, but my partner was ill so I stepped in. It was for some high-end magazine. Some of those silly clothes that nobody ever wears in real life. You know the sort – lots of net and trains and feathers and things.’ Orla shook her head as she remembered. ‘But I wasn’t there to judge. Anyway, there was this model. She was beautiful – the loveliest hair and eyes I’d ever seen – but she was a real diva and she was fighting with the director all the time. They just weren’t seeing eye to eye. I was doing my best to stay in the background and was counting down the minutes until I could leave. But I never got to leave, because the model did.’
‘But how did you shoot without the model?’
Orla gave a wry smile as she replayed what had happened in her mind. ‘Because I became the model.’
‘What?’
‘The director was frantic. He had to get the shoot finished and he was looking around the room for someone to step in and picked me. I really don’t know why. I’d never modelled in my life but, before I knew it, I was having my hair and make-up done and I was on set, only, this time, I was in front of the camera.’
Orla remembered the chaos of the day once again and how every fibre of her being had screamed against it, knowing that the role of model simply wasn’t her. But she hadn’t protested loudly enough, had she? If she had, her whole life would have been different.
‘But who took the photos?’ Luke asked.
‘The director did. He used to be a photographer and he knew how to handle a camera.’ Orla took a deep breath. ‘So, the photographs came out and the shoot was deemed a huge success by the magazine. I even got fan mail, can you believe it? The editor of the magazine was thrilled and asked for me again. Well, I said no, of course. I was a photographer, not a model. But they made me an offer. It was ridiculous really. More than I made in a year as a photographer. What could I say? I had bills to pay on an expensive London flat.’
‘So you said yes?’
She nodded. ‘Anyway, I got quite a bit of work after that and, one day, I found myself working with the model who I’d replaced that day. Her name was Kelli and she’d seen the photos and congratulated me, but I couldn’t help worrying that she might be mad at me for having got her job and all the subsequent jobs that came my way. But she was always polite to me and I didn’t worry about it because I had other things to worry about.’
She paused again, looking into the fire as she finished her wine and stood up to find another bottle and pour herself a glass. She motioned to Luke.
‘No, I’m good,’ he said. His glass was still half full. ‘So what happened next?’
She sat back down next to him, took another sip of wine, wishing with all her heart that she could rewind time and make different choices.
‘I started getting a lot more fan mail,’ she went on. ‘Bags of the stuff. Silly, really, because I certainly wasn’t the youngest or prettiest model around. Some of it was lovely, but some of it was really disturbing. I had to stop reading it after a while. I couldn’t cope. I had to hire somebody to deal with it all and they were the ones who spotted the letters from . . .’ She paused.
‘Who?’ Luke asked gently.
‘Brandon.’
Orla swallowed hard after saying the name aloud and she felt Luke watching her as she dran
k her wine.
‘You okay?’
She nodded and wondered if she could go on. She didn’t have to, she knew that. She didn’t really owe Luke an explanation, yet she had promised him one and so she continued.
‘He started with the odd letter via my agent. The odd odd letter. I’m told it’s usual in the business to receive marriage proposals and personal questions from strangers, but it felt so weird. Just a few months before, I’d been an unknown photographer, hiding behind the camera, and now, all of a sudden, I seemed to belong to the public. I hated it. Then the letters became more frequent. My agent told me to stop reading them and started keeping a separate file of them. I told Kelli about them and she said she got letters like that all the time. Emails, too, and tweets. She told me to ignore them, and I did, but then he showed up.’
‘Oh, my God! Where did he show up?’
‘At one of my modelling assignments.’
‘How did he know where you’d be?’
Orla shrugged, feeling again the cold terror she had felt at the time. ‘How do these types of people find anyone? Because they want to! Anyway, he started showing up wherever I went, calling out to me. “Orla! Did you get my letters? Why haven’t you written back to me?” I did my best to block him out, but it was pretty hard. He had a way of getting in my eyeline and I’d have to think of more and more elaborate ways of evading him, getting my taxi driver to go miles out of the way until we lost him. I was terrified of him following me home.’
‘And did he?’
‘He found out the block of flats I lived in, yes. I used to see him hanging around the corner of the street by a lamppost. But I don’t think he knew the flat I was in and I was lucky to move shortly after that. I got a flat where there was a porter and a code for the lift. I felt safer there. But the letters via my agent continued. Flowers too sometimes. And he always managed to find out where I was working and be there – hanging around studio car parks and shouting over at me. Kelli told me to report him to the police, and I managed to get a restraining order.’
The Beauty of Broken Things Page 12