Fear in the Sunlight (15 page)

Josephine was hesitating over whether to join Marta and Lydia, when Archie came downstairs. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, bending to kiss her. ‘And relatively unscathed. How did your meeting go?’

‘Well, I think. She’s not at all what I expected, but I liked her. You might be on for that premiere after all.’

‘She managed to talk you into it?’

‘It was odd, really. She has a knack of getting what she wants by being honest – about herself and the whole process. The more she said, the more sceptical I became, but by the time we parted I knew that I was going to say yes. You’re right, Archie – it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I’d be stupid not to take it.’ He smiled at her, genuinely pleased. ‘I don’t think I want to be closely involved, though. She made it sound like a nightmare. I just need to accept that it’s a different medium entirely, another version of my story. There’ll always be the book, no matter what they do to it.’

‘I’ll remind you of that when we go and see it. Are the others about yet?’

‘I haven’t seen Ronnie and Lettice, but Marta and Lydia are out there.’

‘Do you want to join them?’

‘In a while. First I want you on your own so you can tell me about Bridget.’ They found a quiet table at the other end of the terrace and ordered some drinks. ‘So – who is she?’

‘We met in Cambridge during the war.’

She waited for him to continue and, when he didn’t, said‚ ‘I’ve been accused of some lazy plotting in my time, but even I can see that’s only half a story.’

He laughed. ‘Give me a chance. It was when I came back from the Front for the first time. September 1915.’

‘I remember. You wrote to me from hospital. You’d been hit in the shoulder.’

Archie nodded. ‘That’s right.’ He was still wary of discussing the war with Josephine, as it held ghosts for them both, but there was no other context in which he could talk about Bridget. ‘They sent me to a hospital in Cambridge. I say hospital, but it was a makeshift affair. The military had taken over Nevile’s Court in Trinity‚ and there were beds all round the cloisters. I came round one day‚ and there was a woman sitting by my bed, drawing. She didn’t say anything – just smiled, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – and I drifted off again before I could make any sense of it. When I was more myself, I half thought I’d dreamt it. But she came back and brought the drawing with her. I still have it.’

‘I’d like to see it.’

He reached inside his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper from his wallet, creased and discoloured now from years of wear and tear. ‘I kept it with me all through the war,’ he said. ‘It was a small pocket of stillness and sanity amid the chaos.’

Josephine unfolded the image of his younger self, a sleeping soldier on a narrow bed. Even now, Archie could still remember the peace it had brought him. He watched as she traced the outline of his face on the paper, and found himself instinctively removing the years from her, too, trying to remember her as she was when he had first known her. ‘Was that really twenty years ago?’ she asked, as if reading his thoughts.

‘I’m afraid so. Goes quickly, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes. Far too quickly.’ She handed the drawing back. ‘I can see why it’s so precious to you.’

‘It’s exactly how I remember that time in Cambridge,’ he explained. ‘The extraordinary sense of calm – gentle nurses, ordered beds and safety. It was such a contrast to the hell of those first few weeks in France. As I began to get better, it was almost impossible to face up to the fact that I was going to have to go back there. I thought I was going mad – despair is so much worse than fear. And it was Bridget who got me through that.’ He saw Josephine looking at him intently, and guessed that she was wondering why she had never known this about someone to whom she was so close. ‘I had some leave when I was well again, but I couldn’t face going home to Cornwall. It wasn’t long after my parents died, and I didn’t want to be somewhere that reminded me of them wherever I turned, so I stayed in Cambridge and we spent some time together. Even there, you couldn’t quite get away from the war. We’d cycle out into the countryside and lie on the grass by the river, and listen to the dull throb of the guns in France. It seemed extraordinary to hear them there, amongst all that innocent green. I might have thought they were in my head if she hadn’t heard them too.’

‘You forget how far it spreads, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Cambridge was a place we both loved, but it was unrecognisable by then, and in a funny sort of way that made us closer. There were soldiers and military vehicles everywhere. The college courts were empty, and the pace of life was slow and dull. I’ll always remember something Bridget’s father said to me – Cambridge was nothing without its youth.’

‘You got as far as meeting the parents, then?’

‘Yes. He was vicar of St. Edward’s at the time.’

‘Good God. I know I’ve only met her once, but I wouldn’t have had her down as a daughter of the cloth!’

‘No. I got the impression it hadn’t always been an easy relationship, but they were still close.’

‘What happened when you went back to the Front?’

‘She went back to the Slade and continued her art training.’

‘And you haven’t seen her since?’

‘No, not until today.’

‘She’s beautiful,’ Josephine said, and he noticed that her voice had a wistful quality to it. ‘There’s something very free about her. You know instantly that she’ll do whatever she likes, and that’s always irresistible.’

‘Haven’t you got enough on your plate?’ He made the joke without thinking and wondered for a second if he’d gone too far, but she only laughed‚ and he sensed that they might at last be ready to talk honestly with each other about their lives. ‘Do you love her?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’ve only just met her, Archie. It’s far too early to tell, but I’m a fool for an Irish accent.’

‘I meant Marta.’

‘I know what you meant.’

‘And?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Of course you’re sure. Don’t play that game.’ His frustration with her evasiveness was obvious, and he tried to soften it. ‘The answer might come with complications but the question’s very easy. Do you love Marta?’

‘Yes.’ It was less a declaration than an admission, and Archie wondered if her hesitation signalled a need to come to terms with her own feelings or a desire to protect his. ‘Yes, I love Marta.’

‘And have you told her?’ She shook her head. ‘Then do it now, Josephine. For God’s sake give her some hope.’

‘How will that help? As you say, it’s complicated. We can’t be together, so telling her how I feel will only make it worse.’

‘Shouldn’t you let Marta be the judge of that?’ he asked gently. ‘She’s not stupid. I’ve learnt that to my cost in the past, and I get the feeling that she knows exactly what she’s taking on by loving you.’

‘You make it sound like such a trial.’

‘Well, it is. Not many people would put up with your nonsense.’

‘I’ll ignore that, but only because you’ve bought me half a racehorse.’

‘If it means I can be truthful with you, I’ll buy the other half as well. Honestly, Josephine – have you any idea how infuriating you can be? Sometimes
I
want to pick you up and shake you, so I can only begin to imagine how Marta must feel.’

She tried to glare at him, but didn’t make a very good job of it. ‘I think I preferred it when you two hated each other. This uneasy truce you seem to have come to makes me feel very vulnerable.’

The rebuff was half-hearted by Josephine’s standards, and he guessed that his words reinforced something she had just realised for herself, or at least had only recently allowed herself to acknowledge. ‘Well, love can force some strange alliances,’ he said, matching her tone, and then added more seriously‚ ‘Knowing how
you
feel might at least make Marta believe that there’s a point to it all. You know what it’s like when you’re trying to guess how someone
really
feels about you – it tears you apart. You become obsessed by it until you lose sight of yourself completely.’

‘You’re not talking about Marta, are you? You’re talking about us.’

He ran his finger idly up and down the stem of his champagne glass while he decided what to say. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,’ he began, ‘and I suppose I’ve realised that worrying too much about what someone else thinks can also be an excuse not to look too deeply at your own feelings. It’s time I looked at my life and what I want from it.’ He caught her expression and smiled. ‘Not because of Bridget; because of me. And you need to do the same. Be honest with yourself about what you want, and find a way to make it work.’

She put her hand on his cheek. ‘When did you get so wise?’

‘Somewhere around forty,’ he said. ‘With a bit of luck, it should hit you at any minute.’

Bella sat at the desk in the royal suite and sealed an envelope, obscuring the mermaid who decorated Portmeirion’s distinctive letterhead. Without warning, the door crashed open behind her, startling her as it knocked over a chair, and she turned round angrily to see who it was. Her brother stood in the doorway. The barely contained anger in his face jarred sharply with the quiet of the room. Without acknowledging him, Bella turned back to the desk and calmly addressed the envelope.

Her silence only provoked him more, as she had known it would. Even when they were young, she had been able to wind him up to breaking point‚ and old habits died hard. ‘Why didn’t you tell me I had a child?’ he demanded furiously, slamming the door behind him. ‘You must have known.’

It wasn’t the question Bella had been expecting, but she hid her surprise well. ‘Of course I knew. Grace told me.’

‘Did it never occur to you to mention it?’

‘You made it clear to me that you’d left here for good, so what would have been the point?’

‘I had a right to know, that’s the point.’ He walked over to the desk and looked down at her. ‘God, you’re a cold bitch. I don’t know why I’m surprised that you should side with Gwyneth. You’re two of a kind.’

Bella smiled. ‘There was never any love lost between Gwyneth and me, but she didn’t deserve you‚ and she wouldn’t have thanked me for sending you back when she’d finally managed to get rid of you. Anyway, a marriage is private‚ and it wasn’t for me to interfere.’ She stood up so that her face was level with his, determined he should never know that, deep down, she had always been a little afraid of him. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t respect that when you came crashing into mine.’

‘Change the record, Bella. How is your failure of a marriage my fault? Maxwell Hutton was making his money out of dirty films long before I met him.’

‘But I didn’t know about it, goddammit.’ She slammed her hand down on the wood. Talking about Max and her illness had left Bella vulnerable to the darkness that coloured her thoughts more each day, and she struggled to regain her composure, helped by the sly smile which crept across his face when he saw she was upset. ‘And what you don’t know can’t hurt you.’

‘So not telling me that my child is buried up there in those woods like a dog was an act of kindness, was it?’

‘Buried in the woods?’ Bella stared at him. ‘Who told you that?’

He seemed to think her astonishment was an act and brushed her comment impatiently away. ‘Come off it. That waitress you’re so friendly with told me she thought Gwyneth’s missing kid was in the cemetery.’

Bella had no idea if that were true and wouldn’t have told him if she had. ‘There’s a certain irony in that, don’t you think?’ she said quietly.

A satisfying flicker of fear crossed her brother’s face, and his tone became suddenly more placatory. ‘Tell me about the child, Bella. What happened to him? Or her? Christ, I don’t even know if I had a boy or a girl.’

‘It’s Gwyneth you should be talking to,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go and ask her?’ He hesitated, and she added‚ ‘You won’t get anything out of me, so you might as well leave.’

‘Why
were
you talking to that girl?’ he asked. ‘Were you telling her not to say anything to me? Because if you were, you’re wasting your time. I know how to get round her sort.’ She saw his eyes travel down to the desk, trying to read the name on the envelope. ‘What else don’t I know about my own life, Bella?’

She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Dear Henry. You never were the brains of the family, were you?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ he snapped. ‘Especially not here. My name is Leyton Turnbull now. I left Henry Draycott behind a long time ago.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m no keener for people to know we’re related than you are.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You really don’t know who she is, do you?’

‘What do you mean? She’s a waitress with a mouth on her. What else is there to know?’

‘That’s you and women all over. Try looking
above
the waist, Henry. Look at who she
is
rather than what she can do for you. That girl’s been writing to me for years, begging me to help her find her mother.’

‘I don’t understand. Why would she do that?’

‘Because she’s Rhiannon Erley’s daughter‚ and she thinks her mother abandoned her to run off with my brother.’ She watched, satisfied, as the realisation finally sank in. ‘Except she didn’t, did she? Rhiannon Erley never left here at all.’

‘Of course she did. I told you what happened.’

‘It was a pack of lies. You killed her, Henry.’

The certainty in her voice must have told him that it was useless to pretend any longer. He walked over to the bed and sat down, and she knew as clearly as if she were watching a film she had seen many times what his next move was going to be. ‘It was an accident,’ he said, word-perfect with the script she had roughed out for him.

‘And that makes a difference?’

He shrugged. ‘It makes a difference to me. I’m not a killer, Bella.’ He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing‚ and he asked instead‚ ‘How do you know what happened?’

‘It doesn’t matter
how
I know. It’s what I’m going to do with the information that counts.’

‘You wouldn’t. The scandal would ruin you. Anyway, what do you care about Rhiannon or her daughter? You couldn’t get away from your own family quick enough, so don’t start banging the drum for someone else’s. You only think of your precious career: that’s why you’ll keep quiet.’

‘You’re right in one sense,’ Bella admitted. ‘I don’t give a damn about you or your slut, and if you’d learnt your lesson then I might be happy to leave it alone now. But you didn’t, did you? You carried on, dirtying everything and everyone you touched, and you’re still doing it. That girl needs to know what happened to her mother, and as you’ve never been capable of one decent thing in your life, the job seems to have fallen to me.’

‘You haven’t got any proof.’

‘No?’ She glanced down at Chaplin. The dog obviously remembered his encounter in reception because he kept a wary distance. ‘I thought Chaplin and I might take a walk up to the cemetery later. He loves these woods. You know how it is – dogs and their bones.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Try me. Perhaps we’ll look for your child as well.’

From nowhere, he lunged towards her and pushed her roughly to the wall, his hand around her throat, his body pressed hard against hers. The attack took her completely by surprise‚ and, in her panic, she cursed herself for underestimating him. Chaplin forgot his fear, but he was kicked easily away‚ and Bella smelt her brother’s aftershave, mixed with sweat and stale whisky; his physical proximity was abhorrent to her, worse even than the tightening in her throat and the pain in her breasts and back as he crushed her body with his own. As she struggled in vain to breathe, she felt herself losing consciousness – and suddenly, in her fear, she realised that this was the answer to everything; at least this way her death would count for something. She forced herself to meet his eye and smiled, willing him to squeeze harder, but for once he showed some self-control; just in time, he took his hand away and left her doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

‘What the hell’s going on? Bella? Are you all right?’

She looked up as David Franks hurried across the room, horrified that he should see her like this. He put a hand on her shoulder‚ but she shook it off and somehow managed to speak. ‘What do you want, David?’

‘Don’t act as though nothing’s wrong,’ he said, glaring at them both. ‘What are you playing at?’

‘A bit of rivalry got out of hand.’ From somewhere she found the strength to walk across the room and calm her frightened dog. ‘That’s enough, Chaplin. The gentlemen are just leaving.’ She looked questioningly at David. ‘Well?’

‘Hitch asked me to invite you to dinner.’

Bella laughed. ‘That’s very kind of him but I don’t have much of an appetite.’

‘Let me stay with you. I’ll have something brought up.’

‘Don’t pity me, David. For God’s sake, after everything that’s happened, at least spare me that. Now get out – both of you.’

Her voice was calm, but it invited no argument. Reluctantly, David turned to go‚ but her brother lingered, his eyes resting on the note to Branwen. ‘Come on, Turnbull,’ David said, ushering him out of the room. ‘I don’t know what this is about, but you’ve done enough damage.’

Bella watched the two men leave, then sank exhausted onto the bed. She stared at her image in the dressing-table mirror and put her fingers to her throat, where the imprint of her brother’s hand – red and livid against her pale skin – lay like a gauntlet of shame. ‘You should have put me out of my misery, Henry,’ she said softly. ‘But you couldn’t even do that, could you?’