by Erica James
‘Happy bloody Christmas,’ he toasted himself with the mug of coffee. Then looking around him, he suddenly thought of the absurdity of suggesting Annelise marry him as an answer to her problems. Why would she lower her standards to be with him?
Oh yes, some time in the future, he planned to have a bigger and better house, and one he would design himself, but that was a long way off. He needed to make a name for himself as an architect before that dream could ever be a reality. Fairview was the first really big commission he’d been given, and he’d always be grateful to Hope and Edmund for providing him with the chance to prove his ability. Very likely Annelise had had a hand in persuading them to appoint him, although when he asked her directly if she had, she denied it.
He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, wondering why love had to be so hard. Why did some people fall in love with the right person, and others the wrong? Look at Annelise, as smart as paint, but still she had fallen for a married man.
As for him, why did he have to love Annelise the way he did? She was unattainable, he knew that, he always had. But his feelings for her made it impossible for him to love any other woman. He was stuck in limbo, for ever wanting what he couldn’t have.
Was the answer to get away from Melstead St Mary and everything connected to Annelise? To put as big a distance between him and the village as was possible?
He thought of the Christmas card he’d received a few days ago; it had been sent from the other side of the world: Australia.
What if he went there?
The sender of the card had studied architecture with him and many a time they’d revised for exams late into the night together. Last year John had become a Ten Pound Pom and went to live in Sydney. According to the message in the card he was having the time of his life and earning a ton of money into the bargain.
Why shouldn’t Stanley do the same? He was well qualified and certainly not afraid of hard work. What was more, there’d be no risk of any freezing pipes. He’d spend his free time on the beach, just as John boasted he did. Better still, from all that Stanley knew of Australia, it was a classless society, a place where he could reinvent himself to be whoever he wanted.
The more he thought about it, as he stood watching the snow fall outside, the more tempting the idea became. What if, putting all this behind him, he could shed his past like an unwanted coat? Maybe then he’d also be free of the nightmares and the debilitating self-loathing that still had the power to rip the guts out of him.
But what of the people who had shown him such kindness? Those who had given him a home as a child and helped educate him? Could he really walk away from Romily and Evelyn and the debt of gratitude he owed them? And could he really leave Annelise?
What if she came with him? She could easily find a job at a top university in Sydney. And she could pretend to be widowed and therefore perfectly respectable in having a child.
Just as he was getting carried away with the idea that they could each build an exciting new life in a far-off land, he saw the fatal flaw in his thinking. The whole idea of him going to Australia was to escape his problems, not take them with him. If seeing Annelise was too difficult for him, then it would be better to remove her from his life completely.
He briefly closed his eyes at the pain he knew that would cause him, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t go on as he was. Something had to change, and it had to be him. He had to create a new existence for himself. A fresh start.
As if picking up on his thoughts, Tucker pressed his nose against one of Stanley’s legs. And what about me? The dog seemed to ask. Oh God, thought Stanley bending down to him, how could he leave his beloved dog behind?
An hour later, his boots on and bundled up in his duffle coat, a woollen hat pulled down over his head and the hood of his coat up, Stanley was ready for the trek to Island House. On his back was a rucksack containing Christmas presents, and a pair of shoes with clean socks to change into. It was rare for him not to take Tucker out with him, but he decided the snow was just too deep. ‘Best you stay here next to the Rayburn,’ he told the dog.
He’d walked for about a mile and not a single car had passed him. Or anyone else on foot. It was as if he was entirely alone in the world. At a sharp bend in the road, he recognised Edmund’s Mk 2 Jaguar sticking out of the hedge. The only reason he knew it was Edmund’s car was because as he approached, a great drift of snow slid down the back of it and revealed the number plate. Worried, he brushed the snow away from a side window to make sure Edmund and Annelise weren’t stuck inside. To his relief, they weren’t.
From the direction the Jag was pointed, Stanley guessed that Edmund, and probably Annelise too, had been returning from seeing Hope. He pressed on, deciding to take a detour to Fairview to make sure they were okay.
Annelise opened the door to him.
‘Stanley!’ she said, ushering him over the threshold, ‘what are you doing here? I thought you were having lunch at Island House?’
‘I was on my way there when I saw Edmund’s car and was worried.’
‘That’s so kind of you, and it’s not as if we’re on your way to Romily’s.’
‘It doesn’t matter. How . . . how are you?’ He forced his eyes to stay on her face and not travel down to where the baby was growing inside her.
‘Still feeling hideously sick,’ she answered quietly.
‘Any decisions made? And I don’t mean about marrying me,’ he rushed to clarify. ‘I know you can’t do that. It was a mad idea on my part.’
‘It wasn’t mad, Stanley, and I’m too fond of you to want to lumber you with another man’s child. That wouldn’t be fair to you.’
Aren’t I the best judge of what’s fair for me? he wanted to say, but he knew there was no point.
‘Will you stay for a drink to warm you up?’ she asked. ‘It is Christmas, after all.’
‘I don’t want to intrude.’
‘Don’t be silly. Since when have you ever intruded? To be honest, Edmund could do with being cheered up. He’s upset that we can’t spend the day at the hospital with Hope as we’d planned. We were on our way home last night when we skidded off the road.’
‘You weren’t hurt, were you?’
‘No. It happened in slow motion, so not even a bump. But the car’s stuck in the hedge and so there’s no way we can get to the hospital now. Edmund started talking about walking, but it would take him the best part of the day to make it all the way to Chelstead.’
‘Why don’t you both come to Island House with me?’ he said. ‘I’m sure Romily wouldn’t mind two extra for lunch; you know how she likes to gather everyone together.’ He was about to add that it would be like the old days, when he stopped himself short. With Hope fighting for her life, and Annelise pregnant, a comment like that was hopelessly inappropriate. How could anything be like it used to be?
‘Why not telephone Romily to see if she has enough food to go around?’ he said.
Annelise didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m not sure Edmund’s in the mood for enjoying himself to that extent.’
‘A change of scene might do you both good,’ he suggested. Selfishly all he could think was that Christmas Day spent with Annelise would be better than without her.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chelstead Cottage Hospital, Chelstead
December 1962
Hope
Hope had the curious sensation of floating. It was as if whatever had been keeping her anchored had released its hold and her body, which had felt so leaden and inert, was now as light as air.
Was this death? Was she finally to be released from the cruel torture that had robbed her of all movement? She had a sense of her mind clearing too, as it did when a migraine passed. Or when she came through a period of time with the Black Dog. Was this what was meant about being made whole when entering the state of heaven?
Not b
y any means was she a regular churchgoer, but she knew her Bible, and if there was one quote that had been a comfort to her when Dieter died, it was Revelations 21:4.
‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.’
She had hung on to the belief – the hope – that it was true, that Dieter was in a better place. Such was her heartbreak at his death she had considered ending her own life to be with him. All that had really stopped her from doing so was the fear she would then be bound for hell and not heaven. Forever parted from Dieter.
There had been times when Hope had doubted the existence of heaven, but hell, oh yes, she knew that hell existed. So much of her life had been just that, and never more so than lying here in this bed powerless to move or speak.
Her body feeling yet lighter still, and ever more convinced the end was drawing near for her, she suddenly wanted Edmund and Annelise to be with her. She wanted to say goodbye to them. Where were they? Had they forgotten to come? Or had they grown bored of sitting here with her, constantly having to think of things to say?
She wanted to say sorry to Edmund for having been such a poor wife to him. And Annelise, the dear girl had not been given the love she deserved from Hope. And now it was too late to explain how desperately sorry she was that she had failed them. It was also too late to wallow in self-pity. What she had to do before she ran out of time was confess her sins and seek forgiveness. God loved a death-bed act of contrition, didn’t he?
She was just marshalling her penitent thoughts when she heard singing. Was that the sound of angels she could hear?
As the singing grew louder and more distinct, she could clearly hear that it was ‘Away in a Manger’ being sung. Did angels sing Christmas carols?
Then she remembered that it was Christmas Day. The nurses had been chattering on about it last night, how it would definitely be a white Christmas. They had been worried about getting home and whether or not this morning’s shift of nurses would make it in. Somebody had joked that if the snow kept up, they’d be snowed in and would have to spend Christmas here.
Was that why Edmund and Annelise weren’t here? She remembered them saying they would spend the day with her. Edmund had said they would have their very own Christmas Day together, complete with decorations from home which Annelise had put up in her room.
The singing was much louder now, and ‘Away in a Manger’ had been replaced with the irritatingly jolly ‘Jingle Bells’. She wished whoever was singing would go away. If she was about to die, she did not want ‘Jingle Bells’ to be the last thing she heard.
Stop it! she wanted to shout.
Go and annoy somebody else!
Leave me in peace!
To her surprise the singing immediately stopped, and she was rewarded with silence. Feeling a strange rasping sensation in her throat, there then followed a cacophony of voices. One of which was full of urgency.
‘Quick, fetch Dr Carling, and then telephone Dr Flowerday.’
Another voice, and one that was much nearer to her, was softer. ‘Mrs Flowerday . . . Hope . . . can you hear me?’
‘Of course I can hear you!’ Hope replied. It took her a moment to register that the ugly croaking sound she could hear had come from her own mouth, and wasn’t confined to the inside of her head.
Very slowly, as though there were the heaviest of weights resting against them, she opened her eyes.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Ralph
Ralph really shouldn’t have polished off that bottle of wine last night, but one glass had led to another and such was the excellent quality of the claret that before he knew it, the bottle was empty, and he was spark out on the bed. As a consequence, he was dead to the world until lunchtime. Now, up and dressed, and ready to face his father, he went downstairs. It was time to prove his mettle and play his first move.
‘I thought I’d told you to leave this house.’
Ralph regarded his father as he sat at the head of the dining-room table. A napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, the grotesque man was tucking into his Christmas lunch. On one side of him sat Julia, a visible nervous wreck, and opposite her, and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, was Charles. The atmosphere could not have been less cheery had the threat of the Black Death been at the door.
‘And a Happy Christmas to you, Father,’ Ralph said brightly, pulling out the chair on which he had sat last night. There was no place setting for him today. Undeterred, his voice still as upbeat as he could make it, he said, ‘Happy Christmas to you, Julia, and you too, Charlie-Boy. What did Santa bring you?’
‘How many times have I told you not to refer to my son in that way? His name is Charles.’
‘You don’t mind me calling you Charlie-Boy, do you?’ Ralph said to his half-brother. ‘I bet you have any number of nicknames for me.’
The poor lad, his lips clamped together as if to keep him from bursting into tears, shook his head.
‘What? Not one little name?’
Arthur glared at Ralph. ‘He’s been told not to speak to you. One word, and he won’t receive a single present.’
Ralph looked across the table at his stepmother. ‘And does the same go for you, Julia? Are you also under orders not to speak to me?’
Giving him the smallest of nods, she poked at a sprout on her plate.
‘So what will you do to your wife, Father, if she dares to disobey you? Will you send for that quack of a doctor from London again? Or perhaps you’ll just lock her in her room?’
‘I suggest you keep your mouth shut and let the rest of us enjoy our lunch.’
‘Well yes,’ said Ralph, ‘I can see that this is the merriest of Christmas lunches, isn’t it? I doubt there’s another household in the land enjoying themselves as much as we are this fine day.’
In the silence that followed, and after helping himself to a chipolata from the dish on the table, he said, ‘By the way, Dad, how’s Miss Casey this morning?’
‘What sort of a question is that?’ his father demanded. ‘How should I know?’
Ralph shrugged. ‘I could have sworn I heard her being ill in the night. Sounded very like she was having trouble breathing. Does she suffer from asthma?’
The expression on his father’s face was priceless, his eyes bulged, and he looked ready to spit out whatever it was in his mouth. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he snarled.
‘Oh, I think you do. What is more, I think you’re going to let me stay for as long as I like. Won’t that be nice?’
Arthur wrenched the napkin from the neck of his shirt. ‘Julia and Charles,’ he barked, ‘kindly leave the room. I need to teach Ralph some manners.’
With not a word uttered, the two of them did as he said.
‘Well, this should be fun,’ said Ralph with a smirk when they were alone. For good measure he helped himself to another chipolata.
‘I don’t know what sort of game you think you’re playing, Ralph, but I won’t tolerate your insolence in front of Charles.’
‘I don’t give a damn what you will or won’t tolerate. I know what you’re up to with that Miss Casey, I heard the pair of you last night. At it like a couple of dogs. And guess what else I know?’
In the look he gave Ralph, his father managed somehow to convey both boredom and menace simultaneously. ‘I can’t imagine what sordid fantasies your mind has come up with,’ he said.
‘Oh, let me assure you, my mind is as pure as the driven snow that is currently deep and crisp and wonderfully even outside. You see, I know who is responsible for running over my poor Aunt Hope.’
There was a satisfying pause before Arthur spoke. ‘I suppose that’s what Julia t
old you, isn’t it?’ He leaned back in his chair, making it creak ominously. ‘What can I say, that’s the kind of woman to whom I’m married. A feeble liar who won’t accept responsibility for what she’s done.’
‘That’s right, and because you’re such a loving and benevolent husband, you’re covering for her, aren’t you, instead of going to the police?’
Arthur narrowed his eyes. ‘It might be unlawful, but any husband in my shoes would do the same. All I’m doing is trying to protect my wife, and my son.’
‘And you know what, you almost sound convincing. But the thing is, there’s not a member of the family who will believe you. They know what you’re capable of. As do I.’
‘You shouldn’t give any credence to the stories my brother or sister have told in the past about me. Or Romily for that matter. They’ve always resented my success.’
Ralph snorted. ‘For what possible reason could they think you’ve done better than they have? Hope and Romily are both celebrated authors and Kit is a war hero.’
‘Hardly that. All he did was survive a fire.’
‘And recover sufficiently to join the ATA. Whereas you did what exactly during the war, Father?’
‘I’m bored with this conversation.’
‘I’ll bet you are! But I’m not. Tell me about you and Miss Casey. How long have the pair of you been indulging in late night sex together? Pretty steamy sex from what I heard. And please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.’
‘What exactly is it that you want from me, Ralph?’
‘Money.’
His father shook his head. ‘What a surprise. Does nothing change with you?’
‘Why should I change when I do so well out of it? After all, I am my father’s son. I’m a regular chip off the old block. You should be proud of me.’