Mrs Fitzroy

by Rachael Wright

  "How are Alba and Flora?"

  Miriam smiled as she swiveled her head from side to side to drink in the white stucco buildings with orange shingles and palm trees that flashed by. "Flora is spending the summer holiday volunteering for the Scottish Trust and Alba had a lovely graduation. I am so proud. Now all she wants to do is relax before university, but Seamus is worried."

  "He's having a hard time?"

  "He loves her more than anything in the world, and Oxford worries him. I always believed it was my job to raise her to operate in society, teach her what she needs to survive, and make sure she knows she can come to me with any problem. If I did all that, she'd be okay. She'd be safe and be informed. Seamus doesn't like it and retorts with: 'she's so vulnerable' and 'what if a guy takes advantage of her?' Oh the idea of that and what else she will face. The world hasn't changed much since we were young. The difference is: I can't do any more. I've raised her to the best of my ability and now she must fly."

  "How are you so logical?"

  "I'm not callous!" Miriam snapped. "I know what it's like for a young, eager woman in the world. And I do worry, but I can't let it seep into my soul or I won't be able to do my job in the meantime."

  "Miriam, I'm not judging you. I envy you. She's a wonderful girl. You raised her well."

  "It wasn't me," Miriam sighed, she slumped back against the seat and laid her head on her palm. "She's been kind and good and respectful since the day she was born. She's a rose and I'm a thorny, thick stem holding her up for the world to see."

  Davonna put her hand over Miriam's. She heaved a sigh … just to touch another person, a person she trusted and loved, was priceless.

  "I'm so glad you came," she whispered.

  "I'll always come."

  They sat in silence as Davonna coaxed the car up the hill towards the house. Miriam looked around eagerly as they wound up from the sea, which spread out before them for miles like a thick carpet of blue.

  "Goodness, it's a large house. Your pictures didn't do it justice."

  "It wasn't my idea. John was adamant we needed room to spread out and a garden to enjoy."

  "Well, you have both in ample supply."

  "I spent years bringing the garden back to life. I hope it'll pass muster."

  "Mum would have loved it."

  "Yes."

  Davonna parked the car at the front of the house and helped Miriam through with her baggage. The front hall was cool and a relief after the short walk in the hot air. Miriam was polite but didn't spare a glance at the ornate decor and exquisite furniture.

  "It's lovely," she said, as Davonna showed her to the spare bedroom.

  Miriam placed her bags on the window seat with a thump. Davonna sighed. She had to go back to the master bedroom. Maybe she'd make a bed on the floor.

  "I said it's lovely," Miriam repeated.

  "Well, why don't you get settled? I'll make tea and we can sit in the garden."

  Miriam took a deep breath and stopped Davonna with a warm hand on her arm. Her eyes grew soft and she bit her lip. "We need to talk about John."

  

  VIII

  τα ράσα δεν κάνουν τον παπά.

  A cassock doesn't make someone a priest.

  Davonna walked downstairs, laying a tray with tea and scones, clotted cream, jam, cold cuts and cheese. She tucked napkins under the pot as Miriam's voice drifted the length of the long hallway.

  "Davonna, where are you?"

  She wiped her hands on a tea towel and jogged out to the hall. Miriam stood by the staircase; her hands on her hips, a half bemused frown on her face. Davonna led her through to the kitchen, picked up the tray, and they walked out, through the sunshine, into the garden.

  Miriam stood in abject wonder, drinking the expansive grounds, her eyes roving over the cascading wisteria and the endless shades of green.

  "Did you plan this yourself?" Miriam asked, as they sipped their tea.

  "I remembered what Mom wanted. I wanted it to be a sanctuary, with little hidey-holes for escape."

  "Did you use them often?"

  "No."

  "I wouldn't blame you if you did. The place is too wonderful to resist."

  Davonna smiled and leaned back into the chair's thick grey cushion. In the shade of the gazebo, the fan whirling like mad above, Lesvos turned into paradise. How enjoyable to sit in silence without a sliver of fear or apprehension. She looked across the exquisitely trimmed borders of gardenia and peonies, and the riot of wisteria-covered arches and the white-pebbled walkways, drinking in the aroma of the lazily drifting rosemary with pleasure.

  "What did they say?"

  Davonna struggled out of her wanderings and turned. "What did who say?"

  "The police, is there anything new?"

  Davonna sat for a moment. She took a sip of tea to give her time to gather her thoughts. "Only what I told you. I'm sure they have more."

  "You have to be proactive. You can't sit around and wait for the police to come to you. Have you engaged a solicitor?"

  "Yes."

  "Is she any good?"

  "Yes, she is. But I've been cooperative … I don't want to appear guilty."

  "You're the furthest thing from guilty."

  "You didn't hear what his mistress said about me. She spoke to Captain Savva. He doesn't trust me."

  "There's a large divide between distrust and being a suspect."

  "I can't explain it. I saw it in his eyes when he came and told me that John was murdered. I didn't react the way he expected."

  "Are you glad John’s gone?"

  "I … I'm not sure," she said, but she drew herself together, her shoulders lifted, and her eyes became flat. "No, I'm not glad he's gone."

  "Why?"

  "I'm on my own now."

  "It can be a good, Davonna. You're still young. You can sell this house, move back to England; go back to work!"

  "My job won't be there still. I left that life years ago. I enjoy it here. The garden is perfect, and I enjoy the people. Somehow I made friends."

  "The UN would give you your position back in a heartbeat, but I understand why you like it here. It's warm. It's a beautiful home. The people are nice."

  "Beyond that, I'm not the same person who left the U.N. Not anymore."

  "What do you mean? You're a talented linguist."

  "It's not talent," Davonna said, in a painful whisper.

  "What is it?"

  "I used to be … never mind."

  "Davonna," Miriam stretched out her hand, “ you can tell me. There's no need for secrets anymore."

  "What secrets?"

  "That John was unkind to you."

  An uncomfortable heavy silence fell in the space between them. They both stared ahead as if any eye contact would ignite the tension. Davonna tried to act as though the statement didn't matter, but memories, horrors flooded her mind, and she was once more the plaything of a dangerous man. "He did his best.”

  "If he did, he wouldn't have had an affair."

  "I tried to do my best for him and he looked for more."

  "Davonna it's not your fault he had an affair! It's his."

  "That's not how it feels. If I'd been better, more willing, been more adventurous …”

  "Are you talking about sex?"

  "Not just sex."

  Miriam sat mute beside her, then with a sharp intake of breath; "What do you mean ‘more willing?’" She turned to stare at Davonna, pain and anger boiled in her eyes.

  "Sometimes they want … more."

  "No, Seamus knows damn well when to let his plans go. Did he take advantage of you?"

  "A husband can't take advantage."

  "No means no. No matter what the arrangement is."

  "Miriam, please, let's enjoy the day."

  "I didn't come to enjoy the day. I came here to support you."

  "Stop."

  "No."

  "Yes, Miriam, stop digging."

  "How can you ask that; you're
my little sister?" Miriam choked.

  "I'm fine."

  "You're not. He raped you didn't he; and more than once."

  "It's not rape."

  "So he did."

  "I didn't say that."

  "Davonna, any normal woman would have slapped me for saying that, and you're holding a cup of tea like I told you the sky is blue."

  "What do you want?" Davonna cried. The teacup trembled in her hands and she put it on the saucer. The china clinked merrily, mocking them both.

  "I want to help you. I want you to tell someone, anyone, what he did to you."

  "Miriam, you don't understand. The truth will condemn me."

  "What do you mean? The truth is always the best option."

  "No, no it's not."

  "You mean … dear lord … is it motive?"

  "I had access to the car. He left for a week; it's more than enough time."

  "But you don't know a thing about cars."

  "It's old. You don't need to know much; just a few Google searches," Davonna explained.

  Miriam shook her head and stared, unseeing, at the garden in front of her. "Tell someone."

  "No."

  "If you don't, and you're charged and put on trial, it'll all come out. They'll find out. If it looks like you tried to hide information, it'll look much worse. What is it pundits say? The cover-up is always worse than the crime."

  "I'm NOT covering anything up."

  "Oh, stop bleating."

  "What's wrong with you," Davonna screeched, her voice brittle. She looked at Miriam as though for the first time.

  Miriam rounded on her with much the same glare. "I am here to protect you. How about helping?"

  "I want to lie down," Davonna said, taking Miriam's half-drank tea and putting it onto the platter.

  She strutted inside and plunked the rattling tray on the kitchen table and, for a fleeting moment, imagined throwing every single china cup, pot, and saucer at the wall, and of the wonderful release it would provide. But the awful image of her gorgeous china in shards on the floor, never to be whole again, broke her heart. She collapsed on to the bench and dropped her head into her hands.

  The kitchen door creaked open. Davonna jumped, hiding her hands behind her back. Miriam slid through the door, a weak smile on her pale face. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  "That's ok."

  "I wish you would speak to someone. It isn't healthy."

  "Life didn't turn out like I thought."

  "There's still time to figure this out."

  Miriam leaned across the table to bridge the distance, but Davonna stepped back and put her hands against the countertop.

  "I can't talk about it. Please, let it go."

  "I came here to help you."

  "Drop it."

  "I don't take direction well," said with a weak smile.

  Davonna leveled her gaze, dropped her voice to the barest hint of a whisper, and said, "Perhaps you should learn."

  She left the kitchen and struggled upstairs. She was about to collapse into bed when her gaze fell upon Miriam's suitcases stacked in the corner. Davonna bit back a scream; her hands shaking. She fled the room and made straight for the window seat in the far corner of the master bedroom. Miriam was right: she should sell this house. There was altogether too much of John in it. His presence lingered: smothering her. But the memories were worse, memories, which flung themselves at the defenseless parts of her mind. Davonna leaned against the window, warm from the sun, and the heat seeped through her clothes, permeating everything until she bathed in it, the hint of olive trees on its wings. She closed her eyes, basking in the warmth. The sun rarely shone with such ferocity in England; a few hot days in the summer when the island was stuffed to the gills with tourists.

  The day, the last warm day of summer … flooded back into her mind. She’d travelled from Geneva to meet with two Members of Parliament. She struggled across the pavement, through the crowds of eager amateur photographers angling for the perfect shot of Parliament and Big Ben. After a close call with a double-decker, Davonna made it through to the entrance where she gave her name and appointment and was ushered in.

  It was appalling: the meeting, and she excused herself at the first opportunity, though she quailed at catapulting herself into the tourist horde, the stuffy room and the obnoxious MP's made her nauseous.

  She pleaded an excuse and strode across the long halls, passing schools of tightly knit, black-suited men, whispering or arguing or ignoring each other. It was always enjoyable to walk through the Palace of Westminster and look out its windows and see the Thames flowing sedately by. As she was about to exit, the hotel called. Her room had flooded

  and they needed to move her belongings. Would she mind coming at her earliest convenience and to check they had retrieved it all?

  Davonna let out a sigh. She had hoped to get out of the city, or at least picnic in Hyde Park and enjoy the sun. But she wandered over to The Royal Horseguards and gave them her name. A handsome manager in a well-tailored suit met her at the door, with a winning smile. He led her to the top floor with far fewer doors.

  At the end of the hall, he opened a door, and she walked into a wide, luxuriously furnished suite of rooms, that looked ready to receive the Queen. The manager showed her to the large, walk-in closet, the size of her flat's living room. He had her thumb through her high street clothes and other belongings to make sure nothing was left behind. He pointed out the bottle of champagne chilling next to the large plush couch and asked if she'd like room service to deliver her lunch.

  He was charming and when she hesitated, not knowing how to address him, he smiled and the silky, soft voice said, ‘John Fitzroy, Madame,’ as though addressing her was his greatest pleasure. Davonna wasn't a naïve woman. She'd lived alone far too long to be, but she wasn't as experienced as her glamorous sister Miriam; who'd had any boy she wanted from age fifteen. When John Fitzroy kissed her hand, she blushed, and he saw it, and light flickered behind a pair of bottomless eyes.

  John delivered a five-course lunch a half hour later. He rolled the gleaming cart into the room with zest and a hint of flirtation. There was a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape and another of Riesling to accompany the meal. He set the table, poured her wine, and lit candles. She asked him to join her. He was working, he said, with a pained expression, but with another little gleam, he offered to meet her at a restaurant for dinner and Davonna tried not to over smile. He was handsome and charming and took charge, obviously taking great care of himself. All this she noticed that first day.

  At dinner the conversation was light, he asked briefly about her work, which he admired, and then turned the topic to his life, enchanting her with tales of his youth in Kent and his distant relation to old King John. A spell took shape around her; the outside world grew hazy and distant, with nothing left but the aura of John.

  It seemed natural that she invited him to her suite for a nightcap, to thank him. He smiled and accepted. He looked surreptitiously around as they arrived on the top floor. John took his time. He flattered her, enjoyed the wine, and smiled as she reminisced about vacations in Scotland. He took hold of her hand and held her gaze until she almost fell forward to meet his kiss.

  It wasn't her first time, no matter what John said afterwards. That time, in the hotel, on sheets with higher thread count than the balance in her bank account was perfection. John touched places that made her shake and scream in ecstasy. He took her to the brink and back again and she was putty in his hands. And when it was over and they both gasped with relief, John smiled.

  His eyes were a fire, as if he knew she needed him and their affair wouldn't end with him getting dressed and slipping out the back staircase and taking the underground home.

  Davonna pulled herself away from the window, her burning cheek bringing her back to the kitchen. Water ran in the guest bathroom. John was gone. Yet not gone. Just as he had been that first night when the scent and feel of him didn’t dissipate when he left.

&
nbsp; Savva left the Colonel's office, with the less than opaque threat of the Inspector General ringing in his ears. No pressure then, Savva thought, it's only my entire career and my pension along with it that'll be on the chopping block if it went unsolved. The last thing he wanted to do was to present himself at the Dukas' mansion and ask Ioannis if he was sleeping with a woman young enough to be his daughter.

  But Savva pulled out of the police parking lot and steered his car out of town and up the winding road, which hugged the sea like a frightened child. His mind turned to Shayma, asleep in their bed (or was she awake now?), how she flitted through the house like a fairy, putting their home to rights, infusing the rooms with her presence. What would she have done? Would she give Kleitos a piece of her mind and flat out refuse his order?

  "Damn politicos," Savva grumbled to himself, as he slammed the door and shuffled toward the house.

  As he walked, the pink outline of the Fitzroy house rose, silhouetted against a blue sky dotted with inconsequential white clouds, so small and wispy they were easily demolished by a light breeze. He wondered how Davonna felt about this hot island, whether she missed her rain soaked home. The snipping of shears broke the calm and Savva blinked himself back to the present. He picked up the knocker and brought it down three times, hard.

  "Captain Savva?" Ioannis Dukas said. He stood framed in the doorway, and unsurprised to see the policeman.

  "Mr. Dukas, may I come in?"

  "More questions?" he asked, as he ushered Savva over the threshold.

  "Yes, but they won't take long."

  Ioannis walked Savva to a bright room at the front of the house. Comfortable chairs lay scattered around. The room’s windows were flung open to tempt a breeze. Savva looked around, surely this house had central air conditioning like the Fitzroy's home, and yet it was warm without a hint of machine-blown air.

  "How can I help, Captain?"

  "How long have you known Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy?"

  "Since they moved. We say hello when she walks to town for her errands and we talk about gardening and which plants work well in the heat and full sun. As for John Fitzroy, I wasn't acquainted with him at all. John didn't interact with anyone outside of the hotel. He wasn't a sociable neighbor."