Beautiful

by Anita Waller

  Haltingly and after many gulps of coffee, Amy began to talk of the assault for the first time.

  ‘The pain was unbearable,’ she said. ‘I suppose the shock of the pain stopped me from screaming or crying – apparently I went into a coma of sorts for four days and they just took everything away. I suppose that’s why I can’t hold Pilot – that’s a different sort of pain.’

  She talked and Pat listened, hearing the details for the first time; suddenly aware of just how much David didn’t know.

  When Amy had finished speaking she seemed to be in shock. Her eyes had taken on a glazed look and bright spots of colour burned in her cheeks.

  Pat reached across the kitchen table and took her friend’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for trusting me. Now, we have to sort you two out. I can’t bear to think of you both being unhappy.’

  ‘We’re not unhappy.’ The response was a shade too fast. ‘Why should we be unhappy? I look after him, especially now I’ve finished work. His book’s due out in another month, we’ve got our cottage – no, we’re not unhappy.’

  ‘But Amy, you can’t seriously expect John to go through the rest of his life without sex! One of two things will happen, I promise you. Either he’ll leave you and build a new life for himself, or he’ll stay with you, make the best of it because he loves you, and have a string of affairs. Which option do you prefer?’

  ‘I think I’d die without him.’ Amy shuddered.

  ‘Do you sleep in the same bed?’

  Amy nodded and looked down at her hands, restlessly intertwining her fingers.

  ‘We do but I always go to bed before him. He’s usually writing until the early hours anyway and then I pretend to be asleep when he does come up.’

  ‘I hate to say this, Amy, but the answer lies in your hands. I’m no psychiatrist, believe me, and maybe that’s the sort of help you need, but my inclination is to say seduce him. Give him what for; replace the bad memories of your first encounter with sex with the good memories of your second encounter. But first of all, go see a doctor. Make sure the pain you felt wasn’t physical.’

  ‘Seduce him?’ Amy looked aghast and Pat doubled up with laughter.

  ‘God, Amy, you’re priceless. You know, sexy nighties and such things. Tie him to the bed or something but for God’s sake show him you love him instead of just telling him and hoping that will keep him tied to you, because it won’t.’

  Later that week they went shopping with much giggling from Pat and a peculiar churning of the stomach for Amy. Her quickly arranged visit to Dr. Bakewell had resulted in an internal examination. She was pronounced “fine” and was grateful that the doctor hadn’t been censorious.

  She bought a black nightie; she wanted a white one but Pat had scoffed.

  ‘You’ve got to be a femme fatale, not a virgin. Get the black one and knock his eyes out.’

  John was surprised at the sumptuous meal, the candles, the wine; he didn’t question it, just thanked his beautiful wife with his slow smile then disappeared as normal into his study. Amy felt sick, unsure how to begin the seduction scene.

  Taking her courage in both hands, she put her head around the study door.

  ‘Just going for a bath, sweetheart. Anything you want first?’

  John glanced up and blinked. He pushed his glasses back on to his head and looked at her. God, how he wanted her.

  ‘No, I’m fine. You go ahead.’

  She closed the door quietly, humming softly to herself, trying valiantly to pretend that she wasn’t shaking all over.

  John smelt the fragrance of her perfume before sensing something was different. Leaving behind thoughts of the Highlands of Scotland, he lifted his head, afraid to turn around, afraid to let his hopes rise. He held his breath and slowly swivelled his chair.

  The nightie was sheer, black and all revealing. The small triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, dark against her white skin, was the focus of his attention at first. Slowly his gaze travelled upwards, taking in every aspect of her body; the already erect nipples, the waist he felt he could span with his hands. He gulped audibly.

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘How important is your writing right at this very minute?’ She held out her hands.

  ‘I’ll change my job. Become a milkman.’

  She smiled slowly, seductively.

  ‘Not necessary, just put it on hold for an hour…or two…or three.’

  He felt at a loss not knowing what to say, what to do, afraid that if he walked towards her she would back off saying fooled you.

  But she didn’t. She stood, unmoving, until he slowly lifted her arms, linking her hands behind his neck. He was still unable to accept what was happening. Her words from that September night still seared his brain – don’t touch me again, ever!

  Her kiss began as a light touch then deepened as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. He began to get the message.

  At last, his mind echoed, at last.

  He put his arms around her waist. She felt so fragile, the nightdress silky beneath his fingers. His hands ran lightly over her hips and he became lost in the spiralling vortex created by the fire in her kiss.

  ‘Come to bed, John,’ she whispered, ‘come to bed with me,’

  He couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to speak. She led him by the hand up the narrow stairs to the large, sparsely furnished room that reflected Amy’s character. Turning to him, she beckoned with one finger. He moved as if in a dream resisting the urge to tumble her unceremoniously on to the bed and rip the sexy nightdress from her. He knew that he must not make mistakes this time. From somewhere, he would summon up the experience that he needed but didn’t have.

  Amy seduced him slowly, carefully, passionately. He required no experience – Amy took over leading him where she wanted him to go and willingly he followed. Eleven months of believing she was cold to the point of frigidity and suddenly she erupted into one vibrating volcano.

  They made love through the night until, satiated and utterly spent, John slept. He wrapped his arm around her waist holding her close to him enjoying the new experience of the simple act.

  Amy smiled into the darkness. It had been worth the pain, a pain that had lessened the harder John had pushed; now he wouldn’t need to look elsewhere for comfort. He was hers.

  The other face was something she would have to learn to live with. The face that had been superimposed over John’s as he lay across her body at the moment of climax, the face on the photograph given to her by the police. Ronald Treverick ought to rot in Hell she thought before allowing her eyelids to close.

  ‘Help? What sort of help?’ Amy looked at her mother in consternation. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, don’t worry. It’s just that I can’t manage the smallholding on my own. I have no intention of asking you and John to work the land for a bit, you’re both far too busy with John’s new book, so I’ve decided to take on a man. I can afford it, it’s a good little business thanks to your dad and it’ll give me a bit more time to watch this new television I’ve just squandered all that money on.’ She smiled at her daughter, a twinkle in her eye.

  It had taken John and Amy months to persuade her to have a television. Already, she was remarkably knowledgeable about the characters in Coronation Street.

  ‘Mum, are you sure? You know we’ll help wherever we can.’

  Brenda laughed.

  ‘John is no gardener, Amy, and you’re kept pretty busy editing his writing. I’ve already placed an advert and I’ve got a chap coming to see me this afternoon. He rang this morning. Just moved down to Cornwall, he said, from up North, so I’ll see if he’s suitable. It’ll be a load off my mind if he is, I can tell you.’

  ‘Want me there?’

  ‘Well, funnily enough I came to ask you that. If one of you can spare the time…’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Amy said firmly. ‘Come on. You can take me to that new café down by the harbour for a cheeseburger then we’ll go up to the cottage to wai
t for your man, whoever he is.’

  ‘Cheeseburger? What’s a cheeseburger?’

  Amy put an arm around her mother’s shoulders.

  ‘You, Mrs Andrews, are about to have your taste buds tickled. Tell you what, I’ll treat you as it’s your first time at having such a gastronomic delight – hang on while I get my coat and bag.’

  Brenda watched as Amy left the room and shook her head in wonder at the change in her daughter. Since her wedding she had become more and more morose, unhappy with life, but there had been a recent change and now she was blossoming.

  Brenda shrugged her shoulders; oh well, as long as whatever had been bothering her has gone, what did it matter?

  The cloud that had been over her since the age of six was changing from nimbus to cumulus and she knew her Amy was happy at last.

  But the darkness was still within Amy – she couldn’t shake the image of Ronald Treverick from her mind. How much longer could she stand to have him permanently living with her? No, Amy was not completely happy at last, far from it.

  16

  Treverick knew it was time to make his move. A change of direction was needed and handing in his notice was the start. The job had been a good one but it would not have led him to the Andrews family; he had to get a new position and his experience with Taggarts would stand him in good stead.

  He fingered the reference from Tony Taggart, a reference given reluctantly since he hadn’t wanted to lose a valuable assistant.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he had told the obviously upset man, ‘but Mother is ill and I have to go back up North.’

  Taggart had said that there would always be a position for him if he ever felt the inclination to return to Cornwall, to come back to Bude.

  ‘Thank you,’ he responded, his boyish smile flashing across his face, ‘but I can’t see that happening. I expect I’ll have to take over management of the shop now that Mother isn’t well enough to run it herself.’

  And now he had to find the job that would lead him directly to Brenda and Amy Andrews.

  He regretted missing out on old Jack, but old Jack had left two vulnerable ladies to fend for themselves…

  17

  1966-1967

  Ken Buckingham’s short fair hair suited his rounded face giving him an almost boyish appearance despite the fact he admitted he was thirty-five years old. Both Amy and Brenda responded immediately to his ready smile and loved the flat unvarying tone of his Yorkshire accent.

  ‘So, Mr. Buckingham, what experience do you have with medium scale gardening?’

  ‘None, duck,’ he laughed. ‘I won’t lie to you. But up north we’re all gardeners. I had a big garden, grew mainly vegetables, few flowers and had a bit of lawn for the missus that got smaller every year because I needed more for the vegetable plot. Spent most of my time in the garden and that’s why I jumped at this chance when I saw your advert.’

  ‘Where are you from, Mr. Buckingham?’

  ‘A place just outside Sheffield, between Sheffield and Rotherham. You’ll not have heard of it.’ Again the smile appeared.

  ‘So why Cornwall? Why move all this way without any job prospects?’

  ‘Amy!’ her mother shrieked.

  ‘I’m running away. Feel free to ask whatever you want, Miss.’

  ‘It’s Mrs,’ Amy responded, ‘Mrs Thornton. So go on then, why Cornwall?’

  ‘I like it,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve been here a few times with my brother-in-law. He’s a lorry driver and I did some trips with him. I figured if you’re going to run away you might as well run away to somewhere that you like.’

  Amy nodded approvingly.

  ‘Quite right, but what are you running away from?’

  ‘Amy! That’s enough!’ Brenda blushed and this time both Amy and Ken laughed.

  ‘Look, I don’t want any secrets,’ he said. ‘I want this job and I’ll work hard for you so it’s only fair you should know about me. I’m divorced, no little ‘uns, so no ties. But the wife – ex, I should say – can’t make up her mind whether or not she really wants to be divorced so I’ve made it up for her and not left a forwarding address. Mind you’, he finished with a grin, ‘happen that’s because I haven’t got a forwarding address as yet, nowhere permanent at any rate.’

  ‘Oh?’ Brenda felt she ought to join in at this stage.

  ‘Only arrived last night. Booked in at a B&B but I’ve to look round for something of my own.’

  ‘Can I think about this, Mr. Buckingham? I was actually looking for someone who had worked on a small holding before, but…’

  ‘I can do the job, Mrs Andrews. Shall I call you later?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Please. I promise you a firm answer by four o’clock. Oh, and down in Padstow there’s Mrs Troon – takes in boarders, excellent place I understand. Here’s the address, you’ll want somewhere no matter what I decide.’ She scribbled on a small piece of paper.

  They watched him walk down the lane, his short muscled figure exuding a certain grace.

  ‘Mum, he’s just what you want!’

  ‘Is he? He’s not done the work before.’

  ‘But he’s full of muscles,’ Amy protested. ‘And you heard him say he loves gardening. That’s half the battle.’

  ‘I don’t know… there’s something about him...‘ Brenda sighed.

  ‘Animal magnetism?’ Her daughter grinned and once more Brenda was struck by the change in her.

  ‘Well, I’m not looking for animal magnetism in anybody, thank you very much.’

  ‘Don’t say you’re prejudiced against a Yorkshire accent.’

  ‘No it was quite pleasant to listen to, wasn’t it? Oh, I suppose it’s just me being silly. It’s the thought of somebody else using your dad’s tools, doing the work he loved. When he rings, I’ll say yes.’

  ‘So when can you start?’

  ‘Yesterday.’ The pleasure in Ken Buckingham’s voice was undeniable and Brenda found herself smiling into the telephone.

  ‘So will nine o’clock tomorrow morning be okay?’

  ‘You tell me, you’re the boss. I can be there earlier if you want. There’s a fair bit to do – I had a quick look as I went down the lane yesterday. Oh, by the way, I’ve taken a room with Mrs Troon, very pleasant it is so I’m nicely settled now. You’ll not regret giving me the job, Mrs Andrews…no, you’ll not regret it at all.’

  And she didn’t.

  He arrived before eight o’clock, had a cup of tea and then she didn’t see him again until lunchtime. He had double-dug a large area of ground ready for the planting of sprouts and had begun work on clearing the dead flowers. Already the land had begun to take on a more business-like appearance and Brenda knew she had made the right decision.

  She produced a cup of tea at three o’clock that brought a huge smile to his face.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Andrews. That cool breeze isn’t cool enough when you’re deep digging.’ He ran a hand across his brow, removing the sweat and replacing it with a streak of dirt.

  ‘And how’s it going,’ she asked looking around.

  ‘Very well. Whoever worked for you before knew what he was doing, this ground’s been well dug.’

  ‘No one worked for me. My husband worked the land. He died last year,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Me and my big mouth.’ He dropped his eyes to the ground.

  ‘That’s all right Mr. Buckingham, you didn’t know.’

  ‘Ken, call me Ken. If we’re both suited I intend being here for a long time, so Mr. Buckingham’s out. Daft name it is.’

  She laughed. ‘Ken it is and call me Brenda. If we’re going to work together – and we will be, I’m used to doing my fair share of the digging and harvesting.’

  ‘Right then. And I’ll tell thee what, Brenda, tha’t as good as any Yorkshire lass at mashing tea.’

  ‘Mashing?’

  ‘Aye. It’s called a mashing where I come from, but don’t worry, you’ll get used to translating.’

  She to
ok the cup from him and turned to walk away. ‘You’re okay, Ken, you’re okay.’ He liked the compliment and the spade suddenly seemed much lighter in his hands.

  The telephone was ringing as Brenda re-entered the cottage.

  ‘Mum? It’s me. They’re here.’

  ‘Who’s here?’

  ‘Not who. What. The first copies of John’s book.’

  Brenda wished she could see John’s face. She knew just how much he had longed for this moment.

  ‘And John? Is he pleased with the look of it?’

  ‘He’s just opened a huge bottle of champagne,’ she laughed. ‘I must go before he sprays everything. We’ll bring your copy over tomorrow.’

  Brenda smiled into the receiver.

  ‘I’m absolutely delighted for the pair of you. I know how much time you’ve put into the final draft. Enjoy your evening, Amy – see you tomorrow.’

  Her hand remained on the telephone long after she had finished speaking. She sensed a loosening of tension that had been there since her marriage and she wondered what had changed.

  Brenda moved into the kitchen to begin the preparation for dinner, looking forward to Freda’s company during the normally unbearably long and lonely evening hours.

  ‘Did you know Amy had been for a checkup?’

  ‘Amy? She’s not ill, is she?’ Brenda looked startled. She pushed back her short brown curls nervously. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘No. I had a quick peek at her notes before filing them. She just came for an internal examination. It said everything was fine.’

  Brenda stared at Freda.

  ‘But… I don’t understand. Why would she suddenly need a check up now? She wouldn’t go before she was married.’ And then the cogs began to turn in her brain. ‘Freda, you don’t think…’

  ‘Think? I try very hard not to think where Amy’s concerned because if I did I’d worry myself into an early grave,’ the older woman said gruffly.

  ‘But they’ve been married eleven months. Surely they haven’t only just started making love…’