Читать книгу The Other Wife: A sweeping historical romantic drama tinged with obsession and suspense - Juliet Bell, Juliet Bell - Страница 27

Betty

Betty leant on the veranda railing. It was a hot January day. Most people would be inside in the shade, but, even after all this time, Betty still loved the way the heat of the sun warmed her as it touched her skin. And she even secretly loved the way it turned her skin darker – it reminded her that she wasn’t Eliza Mason at all, no matter what everyone else might think.

The girls from school would go to the beach on the weekends and come in on Monday all red and sore, and complaining that they could never get a tan. Betty wasn’t like them. That meant they hated her. Betty had decided not to care. She’d decided that she hated them too.

A car pulled up to the garage. Richard’s new car, a present from his father for his birthday. She’d heard Richard boasting to his mates about the big red muscle car. It was a 1971 Falcon GTHO with racing stripes. He thought it made him powerful. It didn’t. It was the car that was powerful. Richard was nothing.

She slipped back inside before Richard got out of the car. She tried to avoid Richard as much as she could. He had ignored her for years, but just lately he’d noticed her again and she didn’t like the way he looked at her now.

She tied her hair out of her face and went down to the kitchen. The cleaning woman only came twice a week now. Mr Mason had decreed Betty old enough to manage most of the cooking and tidying. He only got someone in to help if he was having his disgusting work people over to the house. Then Betty was confined to the kitchen. She didn’t mind that too much. It was better than sitting at that table with the Masons.

It was time to start making dinner, so she put a pot of water on the stove to boil and started peeling potatoes.

‘What are you doing?’

The tone of Richard’s voice made her freeze.

‘Go away. I’m starting dinner. Your father will be angry at me if it’s late.’

Richard shrugged. ‘He’s not home yet. Went out with clients and won’t be back for ages. Plenty of time for a bit of fun.’ His smirk made Betty’s insides clench. She was sixteen. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

‘Piss off.’

‘I don’t think so. We’ve fed and clothed you all these years. It’s time you started paying us back. And I know just how you can do that.’

Betty shook her head. ‘No.’

Richard lunged towards her. She staggered backwards, cracking her hip on the corner of the big table. She stumbled. That was enough for him to get to her. He pushed her back onto the table and trapped her there between his arms and his body. She wriggled backwards. He laughed.

One hand grabbed her wrist. The other dug into her thigh. ‘You can pretend you don’t want to, but we both know you do, don’t we?’

His arm pushed down across her chest, and his free hand pulled at her knee, forcing her thighs wide. ‘Come on. I know you give it to the boys at school.’

His hand starting pulling at her skirt. Betty stared up at the ceiling, her panicking mind searching for something… anything.

She twisted her shoulders as hard as she could. It unbalanced him and she sat up, leaning forward, trying desperately to push him away. It wasn’t enough. She just ended up closer against his body. He laughed again. ‘I knew you’d be up for it.’

He held her tight against his body now, while he struggled with his own clothes. ‘I bet you like to suck cock, don’t you?’

A wave of nausea hit her. She leant forward as far as she could. One last effort. The pot for the potatoes was still on the stove. If she could reach that, then she’d have something she could hit him with. She reached and her fingertips brushed something – the handle? She tried to grab. The burning pain seared through her hand. She screamed without thinking. Richard looked behind himself. He pulled her hand into his grip, staring at the red welt that was appearing across her palm. ‘Does that hurt?’

Betty had no fight left. She nodded silently.

He smirked again. ‘Good.’

He tipped her back onto the table. Looking into his eyes, she saw a kind of madness there. Nothing would stop him now. Not her pleas, or her injury. Not even fear of his father finding out. She’d had boys before, but this was something else. They’d wanted her. Richard just wanted to have her, to show her that he could. Betty closed her eyes and pictured the fire. She concentrated on the burning sensation in her hand, and in her mind that grew into flames dancing in front of her, warming her. Carrying her away.

‘What in God’s name…?’

Richard was off her in an instant. ‘Father?’

Betty pushed with her uninjured arm, and pulled her knees up onto the table, dragging her skirt down to cover herself.

‘What in God’s name is going on here?’

Betty stared down at her blistering hand. She didn’t speak.

‘I was… she…’ Richard stumbled and stuttered over the words as he stuffed himself back into his trousers.

‘She what?’ His father’s voice was cool.

‘She started it.’

Betty shook her head.

‘She came on to me. Been coming on to me for months now.’

Mr Mason nodded. ‘And you couldn’t resist the urge?’

Richard bent his head towards the ground. ‘Sorry, Father.’

Betty waited for the consequences. She’d heard Mr Mason shout at his son through the walls sometimes. But instead of anger, Mr Mason just nodded. ‘Young men have needs.’

He stepped forward and slapped his son briskly across the shoulder. Then he looked at Betty. ‘And you fancied this one.’

Richard shrugged. ‘She was up for it.’

Betty burned with rage. ‘I was not. I…’

Mr Mason held up a hand. ‘Quiet. You’ve done enough.’

The older man was staring at her, though not with want, like she’d had from Richard such a short time before. This was something else.

‘My mates all want a go with her. That’s half the reason they all want to come round here.’

Mr Mason nodded. ‘That’s interesting. Very interesting.’ He turned back to his son. ‘I forgot the contracts for the Northam land leases. Could you fetch them? Should be on my desk.’

Richard hurried out of the room.

Betty still sat huddled on the table.

Mr Mason folded his arms. ‘I’m thinking I might get a new cleaning girl in.’

Betty nodded, confused.

‘Maybe it’s time you played more of a part in the business, if you know what I mean? Does that sound good?’

Betty didn’t know what he meant, but it seemed to mean less cleaning, so she nodded.

‘Good. We’ll have to get you some new clothes.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Nicer things so you’re nice for my associates to look at. I’ll give you money to go shopping. Would you like that?’

Now Betty understood. She was to look pretty and make people happy. ‘Yes, Mr Mason.’