Ophelia concerned her. What the hell was all that about that drip Digby choosing her clothes, and slagging her off to Sam? Lucie knew the signs, especially after supporting Melody for so long. Ophelia was in a bad situation, she could just tell that from the brief time they’d spent together. She hadn’t seen her cousin for years, of course, it wasn’t like the extended family met up regularly or anything. They weren’t the type, too bloody selfish. And she actively avoided spending time with her sister, snooty cow that she was.
It was funny, in a sad sort of way, Lucie reflected, because she’d always envied Ophelia, who seemed to have all the looks and charm a girl could want. They didn’t see very much of each other, the last time they’d met up was before Sam was born. She’d seemed quiet then, more subdued than she remembered her, but no warning signs, no hint that anything was wrong. Yet here Ophelia was a few years later, seemingly and unfathomably under the control of Digby. She wanted to talk to her cousin about it, get her to open up and share whatever was going on, but she also knew that going in too heavy-handed would most likely make Ophelia back away and tell her nothing. Lucie felt lucky to have the husband she did. Of course, they’d had their arguments and bad times, they were in the middle of one now. But he was a good person, so kind and thoughtful. She never wanted to lose him.
‘Listen, Neil,’ she said to his back view. ‘I’ll talk to Aunt Florence soon, I promise. Let’s just stay a few more days until I find the right moment, okay?’
‘Fine,’ Neil said, without looking at her. ‘Whatever. I’m going to find the boys.’
Lucie stared at the bedroom door as it swung closed after his departure. This was bad; she hadn’t seen him this down for, well, as long as she could remember. Right. She must talk to Auntie Florence, even if this was the most horrendous and awkward time to do so. But how on earth would she go about asking for money when her aunt’s husband had just died?
10
Romilly turned out to be very different from whatever Sister Veronica had been expecting. An incredibly tall, chubby woman, she wore her mousy brown hair scraped back in a low ponytail, and spoke to everyone in a soft voice. She wore a perpetual look of disappointment on her fleshy face and Sister Veronica felt thwarted that the woman standing at the kitchen counter in front of her was not the fiery energy ball she’d been imagining. Could this dowdy person really be responsible for Magnus’ defeated persona? It was hard to imagine how.
‘Oh, Wilfred, are you making a mess again?’ Romilly’s voice was softly accusing. ‘You always make more work for people, don’t you? Just like your father. It’s a very selfish habit. I’m always mindful of everyone. I was hoping you might notice one day and take heed.’
‘Oh, Romilly, are you being passive aggressive again?’ Wilfred mimicked his mother’s tone, not looking up from his dinosaur craft extravaganza.
‘That’s a hurtful thing to say.’ Romilly’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I don’t even know what passive aggressive means. It’s outright anger I can’t stand. Doesn’t hurt to be polite to people, I always think. Don’t you get any exercise anymore, Wilfred? Do you just stay in the house like this day after day?’
‘Yes, I’ve developed an allergy to sunlight,’ Wilfred said. ‘If the rays touch my bare skin I turn to dust. Plus, I’m on the way to becoming a hermit. It’s what I want to be when I grow up. I plan to never leave the house for years.’
‘Now.’ Florence bustled between them, going over to switch the kettle on. ‘Wilfred, don’t be rude to your mother, and stop being silly. Hello, Romilly, here again, I see. I’m not sure you’ve heard but Giles passed away unexpectedly yesterday, so today is very hard for us here. I’m sure you won’t be staying for long, perhaps just a quick tea?’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, of course, but you seem to be trying to get rid of me as soon as I’ve arrived, Florence. As usual.’ Romilly gave a small, long-suffering smile. ‘Yes, I’ll have a tea, thank you.’ She settled herself on a bar stool at the counter. ‘Although I’m never wanted here.’
Sister Veronica watched the woman with interest as delicious smells wafted up from the oven. Her remarks were so full of ‘victim’ it was fascinating. Mrs Hardman must be around somewhere but she still hadn’t met the elusive housekeeper yet. She suspected Wilfred’s diagnosis of passive-aggressiveness regarding his mother was correct. She’d only been with Romilly for a minute and already wanted to shake the woman. She had seen a different side to the boy since his mother had arrived. Up until now he’d seemed calm; detached but centred. Now there was a quiet anger exuding from him, and it was uncomfortable to watch his bad manners, however provoked they were.
‘V, would you like one too?’ Florence said over her shoulder.
‘Yes please.’ Sister Veronica let her eyes drop to Wilfred’s decorations. He hadn’t done much since she’d last seen them, she noticed. Perhaps he was a slow worker. Or maybe…
‘Is Magnus around?’ Romilly said. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of him, but he never answers my texts. And I always answer people straight away. It’s very rude of him.’
‘Is there something desperately important you need to see my son about?’ Sister Veronica detected an edge of rage in Florence’s voice. ‘He’s just lost his father and I think he should be left alone for a few days, Romilly, to come to terms with it.’
‘So that’s this week’s reason to try and keep me away from Magnus.’ Romilly sniffed, reaching out to take the hot mug Florence was thrusting at her.
‘It’s the truth.’ Florence’s voice was getting louder. She picked up a tea towel to mop up some spilt water. ‘It’s not a bloody excuse.’
Sister Veronica stood up, walking over to her cousin.
‘I’ll take care of this, Flo,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You go and have a lie down.’
Florence nodded, throwing the tea towel down with force on to the counter before exiting the kitchen.
Sister Veronica made her own tea, generously heaping two sugars into it, suspecting she may need the energy, before rifling through the cupboards and retrieving an old packet of custard cream biscuits. She threw them on the counter in front of Romilly, and steadied herself on a bar stool opposite her, introducing herself and explaining her family connection to Florence.
‘Oh yes, Magnus said there was a nun in the family.’ Romilly regarded the packet of custard creams, a look of disdain briefly replacing her habitual disappointment. Wilfred reached across her and helped himself to three. Sister Veronica retrieved two for herself. ‘Which is a surprise,’ Romilly went on. ‘As Magnus never tells me anything usually.’
‘Well, you’re divorced,’ Wilfred said, turning to his mother. ‘That’s probably why he doesn’t talk to you much. Goes with the territory, Romilly.’
‘Don’t call me that.’ Romilly’s mouth turned down slightly at the edges. ‘It’s rude. Call me mum or mummy, or even mother. Not Romilly.’
‘Okay, Romilly.’ Wilfred pushed his glasses up his nose before turning back to the vicious-looking creature he was working on, adding extra droplets of blood around the mouth.
Romilly sighed.
‘They’re all so horrible to me, Sister. All the time. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, I’m a good person, and I do my best by everyone.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘I’m so nice to this family but I feel like they throw it back at me, and the worst thing is that Wilfred is copying them now.’
‘Yet the children don’t live with you?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘Any reason for that?’
‘Dad is less annoying,’ Wilfred said, wiping a crumb from his mouth. ‘Romilly makes us feel bad about everything all the time.’
‘No I don’t, what a horrid thing to say.’ Romilly picked up her mug. ‘You’ve always had the Beresford insolence, haven’t you, Wilfred? Honestly, I think you’re a lost cause, there’s no hope for you, not coming from the line you do.’
‘Yep.’ Wilfred nodded, not looking up. ‘You’ve got it right, absolutely. I’m a los
t cause.’
‘You’ll turn out like your grandfather Giles, if you’re not careful,’ Romilly said, taking a sip of tea.
‘What, dead?’ Wilfred said.
‘No, of course not, I didn’t mean that.’ Romilly’s voice was soft, hurt. ‘What a mean thing to say, trying to make it out like I would talk ill of the dead. I meant dislikeable. Not many people liked Giles.’
‘You just spoke ill of my dead grandfather.’ Wilfred’s shading of his current dinosaur was getting darker and darker, Sister Veronica noticed.
‘Why don’t you go and get some fresh air, Wilfred,’ she said. ‘You’ve been in the kitchen for a long time now. Perhaps it’s time for a break? Go on, spend a few minutes in the garden, you look like you need some fresh air.’
‘Fine.’ He put his pencil down, stood up, and walked out of the back door without a backward glance at his mother.
‘So you think that not many people liked Giles?’ Sister Veronica decided to push for information while she had the chance.
‘The man was a bully.’ Romilly sniffed. ‘I’m not one to speak badly of anyone, but the simple fact is that Giles was an egotistical tyrant who treated his workforce very unfairly. Always firing people for no reason, or taking away their bonuses. Must have paid himself a handsome wage though, I mean just look around. Not a cheap house to keep and they’ve just had a new kitchen fitted.’
Sister Veronica looked around. Yes, she supposed it all did look new and shiny, in a rustic style sort of way. It was a large space, with two ovens – she suspected one was an Aga – long polished sideboards and country-style cupboard doors. There was an island in the centre, surrounded by the bar stools they were sitting on. The thing is she never really noticed new things until someone pointed them out, she wasn’t that interested in them. But people, on the other hand, were a different matter. Her interest and fascination most definitely lay in them, she loved trying to understand all sorts, all types of personalities, puzzling out what made them tick. And more to the point, working out the motives behind people’s words and actions.
‘How do you know how Giles treated his workers? Did you do some work for him?’ she said, turning back to Romilly.
‘No, I’d never do that.’ Romilly gave a bitter chuckle. ‘It would be too hellish. Giles gave my brother a job for a few months, before he fired him. His excuse for letting him go was that Steven was always late in the mornings, and therefore was unreliable. But he was only a few minutes behind schedule a couple of times. I mean, really. What kind of reason is that to let someone go?’
‘Was that the only reason?’ Sister Veronica said, picking up a custard cream.
Romilly shifted, a look of discomfort crossing her face.
‘Yes,’ she said, after a pause. ‘That was the only reason. Magnus couldn’t even hack his own father’s domineering manner. He tried to work for the old bastard several times but in the end something happened and he got signed off with stress. He’d never tell me exactly what had gone on, just that he’d had enough and was never going back.’
‘Is that so?’ Sister Veronica said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Now, that’s very interesting.’
‘Magnus finds life very stressful in general,’ Romilly said. ‘I had to do everything when we were together, earn the money, pay the rent and the bills. Not that he ever thanked me for it.’
‘What do you do?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘Workwise, I mean.’
‘I’m a civil parking enforcement officer,’ Romilly said.
Sister Veronica thought for a moment.
‘Oh, do you mean you put parking tickets on car windscreens?’ she said.
‘There’s a lot more to it than that,’ Romilly said, sniffing. ‘Although most people don’t realise. I’m on my feet all day. No one is ever nice to me at work either.’
‘No, I don’t expect they are,’ Sister Veronica said absent-mindedly. Her brain was full of whirling thoughts, each presenting different people’s motives to her. So Magnus was signed off with stress because something had happened when he was working at his father’s fish finger business, Beresford’s Breaded Wonders. Romilly had clearly never liked Giles, and she’d already overheard Rufus and Cecily’s reasons for having issues with the man. What about Lucie and Neil? And did she need to include the children in her investigation? And Maud? Maud was Giles’ blood relative, surely there wouldn’t be any reason to include her. And, of course, there was Ophelia and Digby to think about. Sam, being four, could reasonably be excluded from suspicion. She hated to think of this, but what about Florence? The man must have been very difficult to live with, perhaps Florence had just had enough? And then there were the awful letters Florence had told her about. Could the person behind them have killed Giles? Goodness gracious, what a family. Where was the love in this household? Why was everyone so disparaging of each other?
Footsteps came running up the passage towards the kitchen.
‘Oh my God,’ Coco shouted as she entered. ‘Oh my God, the police are here. They must have found out about Daddy.’
‘What do you mean, Coco?’ Sister Veronica asked quickly, standing up. ‘What’s happened to your father?’
‘He takes drugs.’ Coco’s voice became a wail. ‘He’s a drug addict. I caught him smoking a spliff this morning, I can’t believe it. What kind of example is he setting to me?’
‘Is he doing that again?’ Romilly rolled her eyes. ‘Cannabis has always been his weakness.’
‘You knew?’ Coco shouted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I think the police are probably here because of Giles,’ Sister Veronica said as she walked past Coco and Romilly towards the door. ‘Not Magnus. Shall we all calm down and go and find out?’
11
Ophelia sat on the side of Sam’s bed. Digby had taken the boy out again without telling her. She had no idea where they were, or when they would be back. An aching emptiness was eating up her insides. She felt like Sam was slipping away from her, after everything she’d endured to keep him and her together. When the fear surrounding every aspect of Digby’s treatment of her receded, she detected a hatred of him inside her. Not just a hatred, but an all-consuming loathing. No, she couldn’t give in to it, he would use it against her. Look at what had happened when she was washing Sam’s wellies.
She raised her aching hand. A purple-and-blue bruise was starting to come to life across the top of it. She would have to use thick foundation on it, like she did with the bruise on her eye. She hoped no one would notice, she didn’t think they had so far. For a while she’d thought the old nun might have spotted something, the way she was looking at her. But she’d never said anything so Ophelia had come to the conclusion that Sister Veronica must look at everyone in that strange, intense way she had.
Loneliness was an all-pervasive experience. To be so alone, yet among family, was even worse. Not that they were really her family, not her blood relatives at any rate. Her father Tarquin had been getting on in years when he and her mother had adopted her. They hadn’t told her much about her birth parents, just that they hadn’t been in a position to look after a baby. She didn’t even know their names. She’d always felt like an outsider, never like a true part of the family. Oh, her mother and father had been kind enough, in a distant, formal way, and she’d never wanted for anything. Been left a tidy inheritance when they’d passed, within two years of each other, that Digby had enjoyed slowly taking over and controlling. He said she was bad with money. But it was her money. And she wasn’t bad with it, just bought things that were needed. Well, she used to, before she was given a certain amount a month, and a pocket book to write down all her spending in so he could rake over it every evening and question her about each item.
‘You bought a coffee?’ he’d ask. ‘When we have coffee here at home?’
‘Yes, Digby,’ she’d reply. ‘I was meeting Lisa in a café. You can’t bring your own coffee into cafés.’
‘It’s a waste of money,’ he’d say. ‘Invite Lis
a here. I don’t want you buying any more drinks, they are a luxury you can do without.’
Every inch of her life was now controlled by her husband. And the worse thing was, she couldn’t tell anyone because he’d take Sam away from her. He threatened it enough. Lucie seemed nice, she hadn’t seen her for years, and Ophelia felt compelled to take her into her confidence and explain what was going on. Of course it wasn’t normal that Digby bought all her clothes, or encouraged Sam to put her down, or controlled her money. But because of what she’d done he now had her in this suffocating bind that she couldn’t escape, because the price of freedom meant losing the person she loved most in the world, her little boy, and she just wasn’t prepared to do that. And because Digby had now transferred what was left of her inheritance into his own private bank account, she had no means to leave him in secret, and take Sam with her. She was stuck, trapped.
Ophelia had thought about taking her own life more than once. She fantasised about suicide, because it gave her a sense of peace, the thought of all the pain going away. But in reality she could never do it to Sam. It made her laugh how people said she was pretty, how they thought she had it made. If only they knew the truth.
There was a fuss going on downstairs in the hall, she could hear raised voices, and Coco screaming about something. But she had no interest in it, she just wanted Sam to come back. She lay down on his bed and breathed his pillow, his familiar smell making her heart ache. As the voices downstairs grew louder, Ophelia shut her eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
12
The Tormented Page 6