by K. J. Frost
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” I say. “I have no idea why he didn’t write to you, but I know he wants to renew the acquaintance now.”
“He does?” She looks up.
“Yes. He asked me if he could come round to see you.”
She smiles, but then her face falls again. “He’s not the same man he was,” she remarks.
“In what way?”
“Well, I know Sam used to joke about Gordon having his young mistress, but it’s no laughing matter… not really. I’m not exactly proud of the man he’s become,” she admits.
I climb to my feet and then sit beside her and she shifts to make space for me. “I never thought I’d say this, considering how difficult he’s been over the last few days, but I think you should give him a chance.” She tilts her head to one side and I know she’s looking for more of an explanation. “He’s made mistakes,” I continue, “but at least he knows it… and I think he’s repentant. He’s done his best in what can only be described as difficult circumstances.”
“You mean Millicent?” she asks.
“Yes. I think he tried very hard with her. And he still does, to an extent. He could have abandoned her, and he hasn’t.”
“But is that entirely fair on the young woman he’s seeing?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders. “Abigail Foster knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s perfectly well aware of the situation, and chooses to stay put, so I wouldn’t worry your head about her.”
She takes a moment, then reaches out and holds one of my hands in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Is he really going to come and see me?” she asks.
“Yes. He seemed quite pleased at the prospect.”
“Oh… how lovely.” She blinks a few times and raises my hand to her lips, gently kissing my fingers. “You’re a good boy,” she murmurs. “And you’re much wiser than I thought.”
I laugh. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”
“It is,” she replies, patting my hand.
“Because you thought I was stupid?”
“Not stupid, no,” she says, although she sounds unsure. “But I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to find yourself a nice young lady… and you’ve done so much better than that. You’ve found a very nice young lady, who’s sensible when she needs to be, but who’s also rather good fun, and extremely beautiful, and who doesn’t take you too seriously. She’ll be good for you, Rufus.”
I get up and look down at her.
“Providing you, and mother and Aunt Issa don’t put her off first,” I reply, going over to the door.
“Oh… I shouldn’t worry about that,” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear, and as I climb the stairs to bed, I wonder what she means.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s been too long. I can’t sleep and I’m having trouble focusing on anything other than the need… the aching need to find another woman. I have to try and concentrate when I’m at work, so that I don’t give myself away, but it’s becoming exhausting. And when I’m at home, my mother’s voice is grating on my nerves even more than ever. Just the smallest thing has me snapping.
The need has become an obsession and I know I’m losing all sense of reason.
It’s no good. I can’t fight it any longer, and I’m not going to try.
*****
I park the car in my usual space behind my block of flats and turn off the engine.
“Are you alright?” I ask Amelie, turning to face her.
She nods her head, but doesn’t respond. Our journey has been similarly silent, and I gave up trying to make conversation before we reached Putney.
“I’m only doing this to keep you safe,” I explain.
She turns to look at me and I see the fear in her eyes. “I know,” she whispers. “That’s what scares me the most – that you’re having to do this. I just want my life to be normal…”
I reach over and take her hand in mine. “It will be. I’ll catch whoever’s doing this, and everything will go back to how it was. I promise.”
“And how long will that take?”
“I don’t know. But you’ll be perfectly safe with my mother.”
She pauses. “I just wish you could stay with me,” she murmurs. “And I’m aware of how improper that sounds, but I don’t care.”
I smile across at her. “I think we can make allowances, in the circumstances.” I raise her hand to my lips and very gently kiss her fingers. “Now… speaking of improprieties, I need to go up to my flat to check my post, and make sure the place is still in one piece. Do you trust me enough to come with me?”
She tilts her head from one side to the other, as though undecided. “I suppose,” she replies.
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I do my best impression of a man insulted and she leans over and kisses my cheek.
“I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone, Rufus,” she whispers, seriously. “At the moment, it feels as though my life is in your hands, so I certainly trust you with my virtue.”
I lean closer. “Foolish girl,” I murmur and smile at her to show I’m joking. She smiles back and I get out of the car, going around to her side to help her out.
“Did you just call me a ‘girl’?” She says, taking my hand and getting out of the car.
“Yes,” I reply. “Does that bother you more than being referred to as ‘foolish’ then?”
“Not necessarily,” she replies, looking up at me, “but is that how you see me? As a girl?”
I move closer, keeping hold of her hand. “No. I see you as a very beautiful young woman.”
“With the emphasis on the ‘young’?” she asks.
“No, with the emphasis on the beautiful, if there must be an emphasis at all.”
“Shall I call you ‘old man’ then?” she suggests, her lips curving upwards.
“Not if you want me to answer you,” I reply. “But it wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate. I am thirteen years older than you.”
“And does that matter?”
“Not as much as it probably should, no.” I pull her away from the car and over to the rear entrance to the block of flats. “I live on the third floor, and there’s no lift.”
“I’ll race you up there then, old man,” she says, releasing her hand from mine and running up the stairs.
Never one to decline a challenge, I follow, taking the steps two at a time, and catch up with her right outside my own front door, grabbing her around the waist. She squeals, and then giggles.
“Being as this is my flat, I think we’ll have to call that a tie,” I tell her, nodding to my door and pulling her tight into my arms. There’s an almost visible crackling of emotion between us and, for a moment, we stare at each other, our eyes locked, then I slowly lean in to kiss her for the first time, just as Mrs Henshaw’s door opens.
“What’s all the noise?” she says, then stops abruptly. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Mr Stone… I didn’t realise you had company.”
I let Amelie go, but take her hand and turn her around.
“Mrs Henshaw,” I say, making the introductions, “I’d like to you to meet Miss Amelie Cooper.” I twist slightly to face Amelie. “Amelie… this is Mrs Henshaw. She looks after my flat when I have to go away.”
Mrs Henshaw wipes her hands on her apron and steps out into the communal hallway. “How lovely,” she says, her eyes twinkling in a way that reminds me of Aunt Dotty. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.” She offers her hand to Amelie, who takes it. “But you must call me Gladys,” she adds. “I’ve been trying to get Mr Stone to do so for years.”
“Thank you, Gladys,” Amelie replies. “It’s lovely to meet you too.”
“How’s everything been?” I ask Mrs Henshaw as she releases Amelie’s hand.
“Absolutely fine,” she says. “I’ve left your letters on the kitchen table inside. And I flicked a duster around at the weekend.”
“You’re a godsend.”
&nbs
p; She shakes her head and looks from me to Amelie, and back again. “I’ll let you get on.” Her eyes are twinkling again as she turns back to her own front door and I hear her muttering, “She’s even a brunette… well, who’d have thought…”
As her door closes, both Amelie and I burst out laughing and have to stifle the noise. I open the front door to my flat and we quickly move inside, still trying to hide our mirth.
“What was that about?” she asks once she’s calmed down.
“Oh… it’s just that Mrs Henshaw has been on at me for ages to find myself a young lady… preferably a brunette.”
“Why a brunette?” Amelie enquires, looking around the hallway while I take off my hat and put it on the hall table, and remove my coat, hanging it up on one of the spare hooks behind the door. As it’s the weekend, I’m wearing casual grey trousers, a white shirt, and a navy jumper. I intend to pick up a jacket from here, rather than wearing my winter coat on the train. I can swap back again later on my return journey.
“I have absolutely no idea.” I take her hand. “We’ll only be five or ten minutes,” I continue. “Do you want to take your coat off, or stay as you are?”
“I’ll stay as I am, thanks,” she replies, although she removes her gloves and puts them in her pocket.
“Okay… Come in.” I lead her into the living room and she stops and glances around.
“You’re very tidy,” she says. “Or has Mrs Henshaw been at work?”
“No. I’m quite tidy,” I reply. “But then I’m not here very much, so it’s not difficult to keep the place clean.” I let go of her, with great reluctance. “Do you want to sit for a while? I just need to go through my post and put out some more clothes.”
“More clothes?” she calls out to me as I go through to the kitchen and start thumbing through the letters Mrs Henshaw has piled up there for me.
“Yes. I need another suit, and a couple more shirts. I wasn’t expecting to be away for as long as I have been and I think, with the weather turning colder, Ethel’s been struggling to get my things washed, dried and ironed quickly enough. I can just take some more back with me.”
“So you’ll take them all the way down to Somerset, and then bring them all the way back?” she asks.
“No. I’ll put them out now, and pick them up when I come back. The thing is, I’m going to be in a hurry later so, if I put them out now, I can just grab them on my way through.” I come back into the living room, having discovered that there was nothing of any interest in my post and left it on the kitchen table. “I’ll be two minutes,” I tell her on my way through to my bedroom.
“Okay,” she replies.
When I come back, carrying my grey tweed jacket, which I put over the back of the chair, Amelie is standing by my bookshelves, with a framed photograph in her hand. “Who’s this?” she asks, holding up the picture. I go over to her and take it from her, noting the suspicion in her eyes as I look down at the familiar image of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and the most impish smile you can imagine.
“It’s my mother,” I reply. “Although obviously it was taken a while ago.” Amelie nods her head and smiles, and I put the photograph back, before taking her hands and turning her to face me. “Before you ask, there are no photographs of Victoria here,” I tell her. “I don’t have any keepsakes, or mementos of my time with her.” She goes to open her mouth, but I release her hand and place my fingers over her lips. “If you’re thinking of apologising, think again. I’m fairly sure that, if the shoe were on the other foot, and I discovered that you’d been engaged before, I’d feel the same way as you do… I’d want details and reassurance too, and I’m fine with answering any questions you’ve got. But the thing is, you said you trusted me, so I want you to believe me when I say that Victoria is very much in my past, and you are my present. And maybe, when I’ve caught the man who’s doing all this, and things have calmed down a bit, we could talk about the future too?”
A delicate smile forms on her lips. “I think I’d like that,” she murmurs.
“And now,” I add, before I’m tempted to forget why we’re here, “we’d better be going. Or we’ll miss our train.”
“Oh… right.”
I pick up my jacket and put it on, adding my grey fedora.
“You look very smart,” Amelie says, coming over and pulling a tiny piece of thread from my lapel. “But then I’ve noticed you always do.”
“As do you,” I reply, although I’ve got no idea what she’s wearing today, other than her coat, and the navy trousers that I can see beneath it. She’s wearing a beret style hat again, although this time, it’s in a deep red.
She looks up at me. “Shall we go then?”
I’d rather stay here with her, maybe sit and talk, have some lunch, go for a walk together, perhaps, and then later, take her somewhere nice for dinner. At the end of the day, if I were very lucky, I might be able to steal my first kiss, but I’d settle for a day in her company, just doing normal things. I won’t get that though, because I need to get her safely down to Taunton, and the first step of that is to catch the underground to Paddington.
“We’ve got a long journey ahead of us,” I tell Amelie once I’ve found us a compartment on the train. Luckily it’s not very busy and there’s no-one else in here at the moment. “You may as well take your coat off and get comfortable.”
She nods her head and starts undoing the buttons, revealing a deep red twin set, which matches the beret she’s just removed. I know she’s young – I’m constantly reminded of that every time I look at her – but she’s also very sophisticated and stylish and I feel a smile forming on my lips.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing.” She looks at me, seemingly confused. “I was just thinking how beautiful you look, that’s all.”
She blushes and folds her coat, handing it to me. “Could you?” she asks, nodding to the luggage rack above our heads, where I’ve already placed her suitcase and my hat.
“Certainly,” I take it from her and add it to our other things, before sitting down beside her.
“When are we due to leave?” Amelie asks, looking out at the bustling platform, filled with people dashing from one train to another.
“Any minute now,” I reply.
“So we just made it in time?” She turns to look at me.
“Yes.”
Even as I speak, the train jolts into life and I offer up my thanks that no-one has come into the compartment to spoil our journey. Providing no-one gets on at any of the few stations along the way at which this train actually stops, we’ll have the next few hours to ourselves…
We’re still travelling through London when Amelie turns to me.
“The view’s very uninspiring,” she says, smiling.
“It gets better, trust me,” I reply. “Give it time.”
She looks back out of the window again. “I’ve never really liked London.” Her voice is a little wistful. “It’s so busy, and noisy. What made you choose to live up here, rather than anywhere else?” She turns back to face me.
“I wanted a quick transfer, and I knew I’d get one if I applied to Scotland Yard,” I reply. She still looks confused and I know I’m going to have to explain. “You remember I told you that Victoria cheated on me with a man who I thought was a friend?” She nods. “Well, he was also a colleague.”
“And your fiancée left you for him?” she asks, seemingly shocked.
“Well…” I wonder how to phrase this as delicately as I can. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. The truth of the matter is, that…” I hesitate. “The truth is, that I caught them together. Well, as good as.”
“Together?” she repeats softly, then falls silent for a moment, and then I notice her eyes widen as realisation dawns. “Oh.” She blushes. “Oh, I see.”
“The thing is that I thought we were waiting… until after we were married,” I add by way of explanation. “Evidently Victoria didn’t. That’s why I ended it.
That’s why there were no second chances.”
“Oh,” she says again. “You were waiting?”
I nod my head and look down at her. “I know some people might consider that old-fashioned, but it seemed right to me… at the time.”
She moves a little closer to me and puts her hand on my arm. “I don’t think it’s old-fashioned at all,” she replies and smiles up at me. I have to smile back. “So you moved up to London?” she asks.
“Yes. I didn’t want to have to spend every day with the man who’d broken up my engagement. Of course, I’m having to work with him now…”
She sits forward, looking back at me. “You are?” she says.
“Yes. But it’s fine. As I said before, Victoria’s in the past.”
“And you’re not worried about working with this man?”
“I was… to start with.” I reach over and gently pull her back into the seat, so I can see her better. “But then I got to know you, and I found I wasn’t even remotely bothered about anything to do with Victoria anymore.”
She lets her eyes drop to her lap, before looking back up at me through her thick lashes, a beautiful smile on her lips. We stare at each other for a moment, then she looks away and out of the window again.
“Oh, that’s better,” she says. We’re in the suburbs now. It’s a little less built-up. She turns back. “Thank you for telling me about it,” she whispers.
“As I said earlier, I don’t mind answering any questions you’ve got about Victoria. I do understand.”
She nods, then sits up a little. “Tell me about your mother, and your aunt.” She changes the subject, letting me know, perhaps, that she doesn’t really want to talk about Victoria anymore. Not for today, at least.
“Mother’s a pianist,” I say, because it feels like a good place to start. “I think, if she hadn’t married my father, she’d probably have made a career out of it.”
“She gave it up?” Amelie twists in her seat to face me.