Читать книгу The Forgotten Village - Lorna Cook - Страница 12

Veronica tried to force her face into a normal expression, but Freddie’s look was one of uncertainty. Veronica panicked: how much had he heard?

‘I just came to put my cases in my room,’ he said, looking from Veronica to Anna and then back again.

‘Right, yes.’ Veronica snapped to attention. ‘Of course. I’m sorry I haven’t checked to see …’

Anna spoke up. ‘The Blue Room is still made up, sir. The others have been emptied.’

Veronica threw her maid a helpless look as Freddie bent to pick up his suitcases.

Inside the Blue Room, Freddie dumped his cases just inside the door while Veronica threw open the thick blue curtains and removed the blackout frame from the windows. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had slept in this room. It had been so long since they’d had guests. So long since Bertie had allowed Veronica to have any of her remaining friends to stay. And now all their friends were in far-flung locations, playing their individual parts in beating Hitler; something she longed to do but which Bertie would never allow if it meant her being out of the house for long periods of time. She wasn’t sure her old friends from London would have come if she had invited them. Not just because they would be doing vital war work somewhere or other, but because they’d never really liked Bertie, had never really accepted her marrying him. As such, she hadn’t kept in touch with them. Bertie had discouraged it, feeling the same disdain towards her friends as they felt towards him. Inviting them to a party at Tyneham House wasn’t worth the argument with Bertie. And he no longer invited any of his friends, preferring privacy and quiet. They had been shut up alone in Dorset for so long, Veronica thought she was going to go mad.

Winter sunshine penetrated the room. Veronica stood by the window, reluctant to turn and look at Freddie. When she eventually did, she attempted a smile and hoped it masked the fact that she felt like the stuffing had been knocked out of her.

Freddie looked at her and a worried expression appeared on his face.

‘Veronica, I hope you don’t mind my saying. You look very thin. You look like you’ve had no sleep. Are you unwell? Are you ill? I mean, really ill?’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘It’s the stress of the requisition. It wouldn’t be so bad, but Bertie’s still trying to fight it. It’s hopeless, of course. Even he’s conceded we should pack up, but he’s fighting it nonetheless.’

Freddie sat on the edge of the four-poster bed, crumpling its dark blue eiderdown. Dust motes fluttered into the air. ‘I don’t believe you. Or rather, I don’t believe the requisition order is what’s done this to you. Tell me what’s really wrong,’ he said. ‘There was a time when you could tell me anything,’ he finished quietly.

‘I know.’ Veronica raised her eyes to meet his and then quickly blinked back tears.

Freddie stood and rushed towards her, stopping himself only a few feet away. But as a tear rolled out of her eye and down her cheek she found herself being pulled into his arms.

He just held her, resting his head on top of hers, while she cried into his chest, dampening his shirt with her tears. Her head still fitted neatly underneath his chin and for a few precious moments it was as if nothing had ever changed – as if the years hadn’t simply rushed past them both, grabbing hold of them and pulling them in different directions. Although embarrassed, she tried to stop her tears from falling, but it was no use. Her body shook. Freddie held her, making no further demand for her to divulge what it was that was making her cry, and for that she was grateful. She couldn’t tell him. Not now. If she was able to get away from Bertie, she couldn’t envisage having to ever tell anyone.

She lifted her head gently from the warmth of his chest and wiped her face. Freddie looked down at her and as their eyes met Veronica felt her heart pound. He was just the same as he’d ever been. It all felt too familiar, despite the fact it had been so long. The silence between them was tinged with emotion and the expression on Freddie’s face moved from concern to one of fresh pain. Veronica felt it too.

Downstairs, Cook rang the lunch gong and Veronica heard Anna pad past the Blue Room on her way downstairs to serve. Veronica sprang back from Freddie. She looked at his shirt, damp around his collarbone from her tears. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know quite what came over me.’

He looked at her intently, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

‘Lunch,’ she said in far too bright a voice and left the room.

While Anna hastily laid the table and then served, Veronica turned to Freddie and attempted to make polite conversation to counteract what had happened in his room. ‘We’re at sixes and sevens since we had the order to leave. It’s all been rather a rush, packing up and sending things on to the London house. We’re lucky, of course, at least we have another house to go to.’ Veronica knew she was prattling.

‘Where is the rest of the village going?’ Freddie asked.

‘Those that aren’t going to family are being rehoused around Purbeck,’ Veronica explained. ‘Until hostilities end. Until they can return.’

‘They’ll hate that. Most of those families have lived here for generations.’

‘Your family has lived here for generations,’ Veronica countered.

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He looked around but appeared unbothered by the prospect of his family home being requisitioned. ‘This house doesn’t feel like part of me anymore though.’ He shrugged. ‘Hasn’t in years.’ He looked at Veronica pointedly, but as she opened her mouth to speak, he asked, ‘Any wine?’

Anna disappeared, reappearing minutes later with a bottle of red. She fumbled with the corkscrew and Freddie leaned forward and delicately took it from her hands with a smile. ‘It’s all right, I’ll do it,’ he said. Anna shot him a grateful look and left the room.

‘She’s not used to serving,’ Veronica explained. ‘She’s my lady’s maid. All the male staff have gone to fight.’ Veronica didn’t like to say that the moment war had been declared, every single male member of staff had joined up immediately, as if they couldn’t wait to be gone from the house.

Freddie nodded. ‘How’s Bertie?’ he asked.

Veronica’s knife and fork stalled halfway up to her mouth.

Freddie plunged the needle of the corkscrew into the wine bottle and then started winding.

‘Fine,’ she said dismissively and then she asked quietly, ‘When did you last see him?’

Was it her imagination or did Freddie clench his jaw? He poured wine into both their glasses and then his next words cut through the room. ‘At your wedding.’

Veronica’s eyes widened. The wedding. The wedding she never wanted to think about ever again. ‘You’ve not seen him since then? Almost five years? That can’t be true.’

Freddie nodded. ‘We’ve spoken of course. But not often. He likes to know I’m not messing it all up at the factory. But communication has been … sporadic. One year has just drifted into the next. And here we are, five years on and the village is being requisitioned and your house is being taken.’

Veronica looked away at the dark wood panelled walls, now devoid of any portraits.

‘It’s not my house,’ she said quietly.

Freddie didn’t know then. He had no idea what Bertie was like now; the change that had slowly ravaged him. Although, Veronica supposed she had no real idea if Bertie had always been so violent, so full of hate. Perhaps he had but he had overtaken her senses when she’d met him. It was in the darkest moments of Bertie’s behaviour that she forced herself to remember how he used to be. She’d been swept along in the wake of Bertie’s forceful presence and hadn’t had time to fall in love with him. His intensity had taken her breath away and she now wondered frequently whether the signs of madness had always been there, under the surface. Had he simply hidden them away? Perhaps she was just blind and hadn’t wanted to see the start of the behaviour that would eventually destroy their marriage and almost kill her. She’d never know now.

A car crunched on the gravel and Veronica’s head rose. She stiffened. Bertie. There were no other cars in the village. Petrol rationing had put paid to that. Bertie, as an MP, believed it was necessary to the war effort that he swan around in his Morris Eight.

Veronica sat rigidly and pushed her lips one against the other, creating a thin line. She heard Anna run down the hallway to open the front door.

Anna shouldn’t still be here. Veronica was supposed to be on a train to London and her new life, such as it would be. She had made Anna promise she’d leave Bertie’s employment the very moment Veronica left, come what may. Anna had promised that she wouldn’t stay in the house alone with Bertie. Veronica knew Bertie’s sexual predilections and while, so far, they did not stretch to the staff, if Veronica had gone and Anna stayed, it would only be a matter of time. Veronica couldn’t bear to think about the poor young girl failing to fight Bertie off.

But Veronica was still here and so was Anna. And now so was Freddie. The nightmare was only getting worse.

The front door banged and she could hear muffled voices. Moments later, the dining room door was thrown open and Bertie walked in.

Freddie tossed his napkin on the table and stood, moving towards his brother and greeting him warmly. Bertie smiled thinly by way of reply and reciprocated the handshake. He stood beside Veronica.

‘Not going to kiss your husband?’ he asked.

Veronica stood and he pulled her towards him, placing his lips firmly on hers and clasping her around the waist. Veronica was stunned. This wasn’t for her benefit. Bertie pushed his lips harder onto hers until it started to hurt. She made a small noise and Bertie kissed her harder to mute her. Freddie shifted uncomfortably next to them.

‘Well,’ Bertie said to Freddie when he’d finished embracing Veronica, ‘my reprobate brother has returned.’

Freddie moved back towards his seat. ‘As commanded.’

‘Good. All your things are in the attic. Take what you want and anything you want destroyed by the bloody army you can leave here.’

‘Understood.’ Freddie sat down again.

‘Welcome back, little brother,’ Bertie said. He looked down at Freddie’s wine glass and picked it up, drained it and placed it back on the table.

Freddie made no comment but waited until Bertie had turned before he rolled his eyes.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?’ Bertie turned to Veronica.

As Veronica opened her mouth to speak, Bertie cut in, ‘It was a bloody disaster,’ he said. ‘There’s not a damned thing we can do about this requisition order. We leave as planned.’

‘I see.’ Veronica stared at her food.

‘Joining us for lunch?’ Freddie suggested when the awkward silence grew.

‘No. I ate. I’ll be in my study.’

A few moments later Bertie’s study door slammed shut.

‘The requisition has put him on edge?’ Freddie asked and then stopped talking as another young woman came into the room to remove their empty plates. She stopped short and stared at him.

‘Rebecca, Sir Albert’s brother will be staying with us for the night,’ Veronica said.

‘Very good, m’lady,’ Rebecca said. ‘Cook has custard and stewed fruit she can offer if you’d like pudding?’ she asked, not meeting their gaze. She removed their plates.

‘Not for me,’ Freddie grinned. ‘I’m full. I’ve not eaten this well in a long time.’

The maid glanced back at him and took in his features with a shocked expression on her face. Freddie smiled back uncertainly at her scrutiny.

‘No thank you, Rebecca,’ Veronica replied. ‘Please tell Cook that was delicious, as usual.’

Rebecca turned and left.

‘Well,’ Freddie said. ‘I’m going to take a look in the attic while the light’s still good. See what I’ve left behind from my misspent youth.’

‘Freddie?’

‘Mmm?’

‘About the crying.’ Veronica felt unable to meet his gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

He crouched beside her and glanced down the hall towards Bertie’s study. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he whispered.

She could feel his presence next to her as he crouched. Affability and warmth emanated from him. She’d always wondered what it would be like when she saw him again. After five long years being married to Bertie, she’d tried not to think about Freddie. It was too painful. She had tried not to regret the way it had all ended between them. It had been for the best. She’d been devastated when she’d learnt he didn’t love her, when she’d discovered he was casually playing her off against other women. But it felt as if her heart hurt even more now he was here than it had ever done in the long absence since she’d wed Bertie.

She tried to swallow down the uprising combination of guilt and love that she always felt when she thought of Freddie. She couldn’t help it. His head was almost level with hers and she risked a glance at him. The kindness in his eyes only served to wound, not to heal. She’d missed him, more than she cared to admit, but she’d have given anything for him not to be here now.

Veronica brought herself back to the present, back to the dire situation she’d unleashed upon herself, and tried seeing things through Freddie’s eyes. To the untrained eye, Bertie’s behaviour looked relatively normal. It was the most horrifically believable act. He’d been playing it for years. Freddie would never believe her if she told him the truth.

Veronica shook her head and looked down at the floor.

‘I can’t force you,’ Freddie said gently, taking her hand. ‘But you know where I am if you want to unburden yourself. You know I’ll always listen to anything you have to say, Veronica. I’m sorry for you. And I’m sorry for Bertie. This departure, it must have hit you both very hard.’

Veronica felt a lump forming in her throat. But it wasn’t tears; it was regret. She’d cast Freddie aside for Bertie. She only had herself to blame. Veronica knew that everything she’d suffered at Bertie’s hands was her comeuppance for leaving Freddie without an explanation. She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’