Mrs Fitzroy

by Rachael Wright

  "Of course." Sofia hesitated as though she was about to say something more, but thought better of it.

  The two women stared at each other. Davonna: crippled under the rising tide of circumstances, and Sofia: eager and ready to work. In a single moment, reality broke. Sofia was what Davonna herself had been, poised and professional, intelligent. She'd had all of it. Life had order and clear rules. As she looked at this woman, the bottom fell out of her fantasy. She had no career, no control. Was she even human? A huge house on an island … it could never bring back the lost years.

  Davonna turned and took her leave of the office. Sofia stood by the blue desk, her eyes full of concern, but when Davonna looked back she saw Sofia had already strode back to her desk and set to work.

  "I need to speak to Captain Savva right away," she paused as a voice mumbled something over the line. "I don't care if he's in a meeting, my name is Sofia Gabris and I am representing Davonna Fitzroy. I need to make myself clear about his future treatment of my client."

  IX

  Παπάς, γιατρός καιχωροφύλακας καλύτερα 'ναι να μην μπαίνουνε στο σπίτι.

  It's better not to have a priest, a doctor or a policeman enter one's house.

  "Mrs. Fitzroy, can we schedule a time for you to come to the police station, tomorrow?"

  "Eight o'clock?"

  "Yes, Ma'am that'll work. Goodbye."

  Davonna pulled her mobile from her ear and stared at it. Athena prompted Savva's call. There was something else, a crispness—like the first chill on an autumn morning. She walked to the window in the library and looked unseeing out at the immaculate garden. If she'd known how much work it would take, would she have agreed to John's plans? If she had foreseen the future would she have left England? The library swam in front of her and the London flat on Arneway Street materialized.

  ‘The house is fantastic, John. You were so clever to get it,’ Davonna said, caressing the pictures on the kitchen table.

  A month earlier they had married in a small courtroom, and Davonna was the picture of health and youth and grace and intelligence.

  'I can't wait to vacation there,' she said, whimsically.

  'This isn't a vacation home,' John said, offhanded like, as though she'd forgotten the main point.

  Davonna traced the line of the front door. 'What do you mean?'

  'We are moving as soon as the property management company completes the paperwork. We'll rent out this flat.'

  'But, I didn't realize.'

  'I'm sure you didn't, but I've accepted the job. I'll be managing the best hotel on Lesvos.'

  'What about my work? I can't be away from London. There's always Geneva or New York.'

  'I don't have a job in Geneva or bloody New York.'

  'So …'

  'You'll leave me, won't you,' John ejaculated? His handsome face mottled with anger and pain.

  'What? No! What are you talking about?'

  'I have a wonderful job prospect, and you want me to give it up so we can live cooped in this minuscule flat or an even smaller one in New York?'

  'That's not what I meant.'

  'It is. It's all about you. You can't let me pursue my dreams. I found an amazing house with fantastic potential for a real English garden we've always wanted ... and you want me to say no?'

  Davonna took a deep breath and put her hand over John's arm. She couldn't concentrate. He brimmed, and seethed, with anger, the room crackled with the electricity of it. There was the house in Greece, which she was positive John had never mentioned as their new HOME, and ... her job. The one she'd worked years for. All that time studying every intricacy of ten different languages. It meant the world … didn't it? Did it mean more than him? A job wouldn't keep her warm at night, or give her children, or happiness.

  'I'm sorry. You're right. I want you to have this. Let's move.'

  John did little more than smile; the anger and pain disappeared, as if flushed away.

  That night it happened for the first time. Davonna had always maintained old-fashioned notions of sex, and they were intimate on a regular schedule. And scheduled it had been.

  John threw her on the bed. Her head bounced off of the pillow and she looked at him, shock and excitement on her face. His was a mask. She bit her lip, searched his eyes, and tried to get him to look at her. He shoved her onto her stomach and, without preamble, wrapped his hand around her ponytail and yanked her head back.

  She bit back a cry and struggled for breath as John pushed her face back into the pillow. Her vagina was on fire. With every thrust of his hips, a searing, convulsing pain erupted under her ribs. Swallowing back tears, she tried to conjure feel of diving headfirst into the North Sea by Castle Varrich in Scotland. But soon the bite of the raw sea eroded into the seizing pain in her ribs. It was pain on a scale she'd never endured. A humiliation. It was as if she stood inside a glasshouse and with each thrust a pane of glass broke above her, showering her with murderous shards.

  John rolled off not long after, patted her shoulder, wiped off his cock, put his clothes on, and not a minute later she heard the door to the flat slam. She curled into a ball and squeezed her legs shut against the pain.

  She lay frozen on the bed for hours. An image of her father's face, if he ever found out what John was, rolled around in her mind as thin and fragile as cotton candy. She wasn't kind about moving and John had a voracious sexual appetite, and they were married—it wasn't wrong. It wasn't wrong.

  Davonna looked up. The garden, it was the reason John bought the house. She shook. The garden swam in front of her and everything disappeared but him: the closeness of his breath, the near suffocation, and the hands around her neck. She couldn't breathe. He'd be back any moment and drag her off to somewhere deep. Somewhere dark. There was no safety.

  She collapsed on the floor. Loud racking sobs jolted through her body. She was back there again. Back with John and his moods and his anger and his punishments. It circled her. It tore at the fabric of her mind. She was a child, waiting for it to end, waiting for the monster to run out of oxygen and fear and memories, to eat itself into oblivion.

  Somehow it did, after a long while when the tears dried and snot clogged her nose. She pulled herself off the floor and sat against the bookshelf, clutching her knees to her chest.

  What if she hadn't fought him? Would he have left her alone? If she was silent? If she'd been better? She stood on shaky legs and went to bed. To pursue oblivion.

  Davonna stood at the entrance to the garage. The sun brushed the tops of the olive groves with golden fingers. Its light-brushed flapping awnings and the white spires and red slate roof of the Catholic Church near the sea.

  The garage was quiet and still, and the air hung heavily in it. She breathed shallowly, careful not to disturb the air. She stole in, tiptoeing across the epoxy floor.

  The streets were silent when she pulled into the parking lot behind the police department. It was too early for the normal miscreants, but constables laughed outside of the back door, looking both harassed and excited, slapping their partners on the back or handing over steaming cups of coffee in plastic cups. Davonna lingered in the car, trying to melt into the buttery leather. But the minutes ticked past and soon she would be late.

  "Davonna Fitzroy, I'm here to see Captain Savva," she said, in her best Greek.

  The desk sergeant looked at her with a kind smile. "Certainly," he said in English, "if you'll take a seat, I'll let him know you're here."

  Davonna turned and sat in one of the grey chairs set in neat little rows. Nearer the door an ancient man with a wispy beard, which tickled his rusty belt buckle, sat hunched over a paper cup of coffee. His smell wafted about the room as the door swung open and she choked. It was like breathing in the contents of a sewer.

  "Mrs. Fitzroy?" Captain Savva stood in front of her with a strange resemblance to the tramp in the corner with his crooked tie and wrinkled shirt.

  "Kalimera."

&nb
sp; "Let's talk in my office." Savva motioned for her to follow.

  They passed through locked doors, which Savva opened with a key code, past lines of cubicles, and the incessantly ringing phones. Savva ushered her through a door and she was surprised to see that his office was neat and didn't smell as awful as the lobby.

  "Please sit," Savva said, as he lowered himself into his own chair.

  Davonna sat with her faded leather purse; the bottom corners scratched several shades lighter, on her lap. Her heart thundered in her ears. She couldn't let go of the purse because if she did, he'd see her shaking fingers, and he'd know. The door opened again and Sofia Gabris waltzed in. She wore black heels with loose beige trousers and a smart white shirt and grinned winningly at Savva.

  "Kalimera."

  "Kalimera."

  "I hope you'll refrain from any lines of questioning which are incriminating, Captain Savva."

  Savva inclined his head in submission and turned his gaze on Davonna.

  "I've had some interesting conversations in the last few days, Mrs. Fitzroy."

  "Yes?"

  "Yes, with a woman named Athena Carras, at the hotel."

  "His mistress," Davonna said blandly.

  Sofia stiffened but was quiet.

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  "I overheard her talking to another employee when I was there to get John's personal effects."

  "And what did you hear?"

  "They were lovers for six months’."

  "I see. Anything else?"

  "I'm not sure what you're getting at, Captain," Sofia said. Her tone was polite, but the words were sharp.

  Savva surveyed Davonna over the tips of his fingers, "Do you know anything more about your husband's relationship with Miss Carras."

  "I do."

  "Tell me."

  "I'd rather hear what you found out."

  Sofia smiled in contentment and relaxed into the chair.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "You said you've had interesting conversations in the past few days."

  "I have spoken to Miss Carras. She had some ... interesting comments about her relationship with Mr. Fitzroy and his relationship with you," Savva paused and Davonna's stomach flopped. She could imagine what Athena had said. "Not only did she intimate they shared more than sex, she also said he confided in her he would divorce you."

  "Don't answer that," Sofia said.

  "It's alright," Davonna muttered to Sofia. She turned back to Savva, "I'm sure she did."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "She spouted off lies about me to her friends while I was in John's office."

  "Her friends? I thought you said it was one other employee."

  "There were two of them, but they clearly worship her and were only interested in gossip. I suppose that's why I said one."

  "What else did Miss Carras intimate?"

  "Again, Captain," Sofia interrupted, but Davonna held up her hand.

  "She said I was abusive. Which I wasn't. I did everything for John. I moved here, to further his career. This was a big step for him—running the hotel. I wasn't the perfect wife, but I didn't abuse or manipulate him."

  "How did she say you were abusive?"

  Davonna took a deep breath, "That I didn't work because I wanted to stay home. That I forced John to always be home and eat with me. That ... that I even forced him to be intimate with me. She talked as if I was …”

  "As if you were what?"

  Davonna shook her head. She almost let it slip: almost said John described himself to Athena.

  "As if I was at fault," she whispered. She didn't want to say it. It would tug on his mind and he'd remember it but it was better than the alternative.

  "Are you at fault, Mrs. Fitzroy?"

  "What do you mean?" Her eyes were rimmed with tears and she clutched her purse even closer to her body.

  "Did you kill him?

  "That's enough, Captain!" Sofia broke in. She turned to Davonna with a steely gaze.

  "No," said Davonna.

  Sofia rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  "I hope you understand, Mrs. Fitzroy, I have to ask these questions. Is there any truth in what Miss Carras said?"

  "No."

  "Why she would have said that?"

  "No."

  "Thank you for coming in."

  Davonna grimaced and stood although she couldn't quite believe he was letting her go.

  Savva called for a constable to escort them back to the lobby. As soon as the two women left, Iason Rallis walked in.

  "Who was that? I heard her shouting from down the hall."

  "Davonna Fitzroy and her attorney."

  "Did you ask her?"

  "Ask her what?" Savva said, staring at the chair Davonna’d vacated.

  "You know, the damage to the brake system on the vehicle."

  "Oh no, I'm saving that one."

  "Why, particularly?"

  "I'd like them to answer one question at a time. Never show your whole hand."

  Rallis shrugged and left. Savva stared at the chair seeing neither leather nor metal.

  Davonna found herself outside the police department, contemplating the license plate of her car. Sofia had given her a hug and left for her office. Davonna walked towards her car and threw herself inside. Compared to the place she had just left, it was paradise, safe and quiet.

  She was about to put the key in the ignition when it hit her—Savva'd only asked about one conversation when he mentioned multiple. Surely he wasn't just referring to Athena. He seemed too smug; too sure of himself with only the word of a twenty-something girl to go on. Davonna's stomach tightened, and if there had been anything to throw up, she would have, right there in the police parking lot.

  She drove home but didn't remember the drive. The car rumbled into the garage and she sat there, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. She panted as the car warmed in the heat from the garage. She stumbled out and propped herself against it. Beads of sweat pooled at the base of her neck and her lower back.

  The trudge to the kitchen felt like an eternity. She poured a glass of water and retreated upstairs to the spare bedroom, falling asleep within moments, though her mind spun questions about Savva's strange behavior. Perhaps it was the pull of oblivion, or that sleep was now an escape from a life, that was now a deadly game.

  It was almost dark before she stirred. Beams of pale light cascaded through the open windows. Davonna sat up and rubbed her eyes. Downstairs somewhere, a phone rang, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the window, though she could see little. It was difficult to put into words or conscious thought the events of the past days. If there was anyone who knew the truth about her marriage even they wouldn't be able to understand that there was no freedom or joy in John's death.

  Was this some mad scheme of John's to see how she'd react and whom she'd turn to in her time of need? But she'd seen the body and the wreck of the car with her own eyes. Still, he lingered. His presence pooled into the marble and sunk into the linens and melted into the wood. He was everywhere.

  Davonna put out her thin arms and pushed herself from the bed. Her legs shook and her head spun. Had she eaten today? The phone rang again, it echoed off the walls and Davonna left the room to go in search of it.

  "Davonna, I've been calling and calling!" The voice of her sister, Miriam, came over the line, shocked and breathless.

  "I'm sorry, Miriam, I've been out of it the past few days."

  "What do you mean? What's wrong? I wanted to check and see if you could come home for Alba's graduation."

  Davonna smiled. She pictured the six-foot-tall woman who commanded her own force of genetic scientists and researchers in Edinburgh. Miriam somehow managed the precarious balance between career, motherhood, and being a wife. She was open and honest and brash, and it served her well. Her husband, Seamus, was kind and quiet and often smirked when she bulldozed.

  "Davonna?"

  "I meant to call you … John died in a car accident a
week ago."

  A long pause stretched between them like a balloon just waiting to be filled with hot air.

  "I … Davonna … are you alright? What happened?"

  "I'm alright, John was driving back from the hotel and his car careened off the side of the road and crashed into the sea. I … I've been to the morgue. It's his body."

  "That's horrendous. Oh darling, should I come? You can't be alone now."

  "No, Miriam, it's alright. Alba graduates in a couple days, you should be there to help her."

  "But I don't understand. I never liked John, you know, but I never knew him to be a reckless driver. Was he distracted? Did an animal run out in front of him?"

  "I don't know."

  Miriam was an astute woman. She knew the precise point at which her daughters, Alba and Flora, lied to her. Miriam knew people. She inherited that talent from their father who’d been a military man all his life and knew, on a personal level, the men he took into combat. Miriam saw through John in a day. She didn't trust his sweet way of talking, or his peculiar perfection, and she didn't keep her comments to herself.

  They hadn't spoken for years because of it. Davonna couldn't admit to Miriam that she was right, that John was worse than Miriam feared. Perhaps she didn't want to worry Miriam, and since their parents’ deaths, it seemed the wrong time. Davonna could never predict how John would react. So she never said a word.

  "Are you still there?"

  "I'm sorry, my mind was wandering."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm not sure," Davonna took a breath. She worried about what to say and whether Miriam would believe a lie. "The police are investigating."

  "What do you mean?"

  "To determine whether it was an accident."

  "I don't follow, you don't mean someone might've done it intentionally."

  "Yes."

  "But … Davonna, you need me there. I'll get a flight for tomorrow."

  "NO," she shouted. "I mean, no thank you, Miriam. I can handle this on my own. I don't want to take you away from your family now."

  "You are my family."

  "I know. I love you, too."