by Laura Wood
“I was just showing Bea the work,” Ben says, and his tone is expressionless.
“And very interesting it is,” Sir Hugh breaks in here. While we have been talking, he has been examining Ben’s paintings closely. “Quite a fresh approach, Benedick. This is promising.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ben says quietly.
“Well,” Uncle Leo says, looking around anxiously. It strikes me that he enjoys pleasing people, and that in our current group there is no possible response that will appease everyone. “Perhaps we should return to the party.”
But as he speaks we are joined by other guests and one draws Ben aside to talk about his work. Leo takes the opportunity to pull my hand through the crook of his arm. I am still frozen, barely able to take in what has just happened – the way a perfect golden scene has been so shattered.
I look back at Ben, and it’s as if a door has closed.
“Ben—” I start to say.
“You should go, Beatrice,” he says, and I think only I hear the harsh note in his voice. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to further compromise your reputation.”
His face is a smiling mask, as he turns to speak to the newcomers, answering their questions and accepting their enthusiastic praise, and I am left reeling by his coldness.
“It looks as though Ben is getting on very well,” my uncle says, in what I think is supposed to be a comforting tone. He pats my hand. “Best for everyone that he focuses on his work, eh?”
By now we’re back at the centre of the party, and the music is still skittering through the air, its cheerfulness at odds with my own emotional turmoil.
“My dance, I think,” says a voice, and in a daze, I twirl into another pair of arms, trying to ignore the hollow ache in my chest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The next morning, I lie in bed, trying to organize my thoughts. Clearly things with Ben have reached some sort of turning point that needs to be addressed. It’s no use being cowardly about it, I realize; it is time to face up to my own feelings.
The experiment has been over for me for a while – what is happening now, as far as I’m concerned, is very real. But does Ben feel the same? I frown. He hasn’t said so – not in so many words – but I think he does. With a pang I remember the rules we established, the last being that I must not fall in love with him. A qualm of doubt passes through me. Finally, I decide that I simply can’t take it any more and run down the stairs to find him.
A raised voice from the drawing room causes me to stop. It is Ursula, I realize, and she sounds upset.
I follow the sound of heated conversation and find a group gathered, frozen before me like the denouement of a play. My uncle sits beside Hero who looks miserably down at her hands. Frances and Sir Hugh are there too, and Filomena, so still she seems carved from stone.
Ursula stands in the middle of the room, Klaus at her shoulder. Her jaw is set and her eyes are cold. “I have said all I have to,” she says quietly. “And I think now Klaus and I will get our things together and leave.”
“Leave!” I exclaim, making my way towards her. All seven sets of eyes snap in my direction. “Whatever for?” I catch Ursula by the arm. “What has happened?” She turns away from me and I follow. “Can I help?” I ask in a low voice.
“No, darling,” she says softly, and her hand covers mine in a most un-Ursula way as her eyes flicker away again. “It’s clear that my sort are not welcome here,” she says in a louder voice.
“Not welcome?” I frown.
“Now that’s not—” my uncle starts up, his cheeks turning red.
“Oh, really.” Frances’s languorous tone cuts across his bluster, her voice a savage chip of ice. “All I said was that Herr Hitler’s theories about racial and cultural purity were interesting. I, personally, have nothing against the Jews – but one can rather see his point when it comes to protecting certain values.”
“You are an ignorant woman. You do not know the first thing about what you’re saying,” Ursula flares.
“Ursula,” Filomena murmurs, holding out her hand, though whether it’s to stop her from talking or to offer support it’s not exactly clear.
“I think things are getting a little heated,” Leo says, clearly flustered. “As Lady Bowling said, this isn’t a personal issue. There’s no need for you to take such offence.”
“I assure you that it is very personal to us.” Ursula’s voice is needle-sharp. “This is how it works, don’t you see?” She looks around at us all. “The bigotry and the hatred… It doesn’t come in like a hammer and hit you over the head. It’s insidious.” Her contemptuous gaze lingers on Frances. “It’s a well-dressed lady in a drawing room, drinking tea and talking about ‘certain values’. That’s how they get you, that’s how they worm their way in, rotting the apple from the inside. And you don’t see – none of you will see until it is too late.”
She’s magnificent in her anger, ten-feet tall, and her words are a call to arms. It feels like we should all be on our feet applauding.
“How very … dramatic,” Frances says instead.
Ursula smiles then; it’s not a nice smile. “Until it’s too late,” she repeats and then she turns and leaves the room, Klaus following behind her, his face pale. I stand frozen to the spot.
“I-I,” Leo stutters. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Frances.”
“Now, now, Leo,” Sir Hugh says soothingly. “We must make allowances for the ardour of youth, eh?”
“She’s the playwright, yes?” Frances asks and my uncle nods. “In that case,” she continues, “painful as it may be, it is perhaps best that she does leave. An association like that might be bad for you. Her sort of work is being banned in Germany.” Her tone is even, as though she’s talking about the weather. “These are uncertain times.”
Leo looks thoughtful. “Well then, I suppose my announcement is quite timely.” He turns to me. “I’m sorry to have to cut your stay with us a little short, my dear, but spending so much time at the British Embassy in Rome with Lady Bowling and her charming friends has made me terribly homesick.”
A freezing sense of dread begins to creep through me. I look at Hero, pale and silent on the sofa.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I have arranged for us to return to England. I’m going to take Hero back with me to Suffolk and get her some proper schooling. I’ve been irresponsible since dear Thea passed, selfish. I see that now. Frances, too, will return – we will escort her back to Kent on our way.”
She bows her head slightly to him, like a queen acknowledging a favoured courtier.
My head is reeling. “You’re going back to England?” I say. “When?”
“The passage is booked.” Leo smiles, as though delivering joyful news. “Within the week. I’ve already written to your parents. They’ll be delighted to see you.”
“But – but – ” I stammer, my heart thumping. I look wildly around the room, at Filomena’s grave, calm face. She does not meet my eyes. “What about Filomena?” I burst out.
Leo looks a little uneasy and begins clearing his throat noisily. Filomena rises and comes forward, graceful as always.
“I will stay behind and see that the house is closed up properly. Then I will join Leo.”
“Exactly,” Leo wheezes gratefully. “Exactly right, join us later, once things are a bit more settled.” He beams at me and at Frances. I look at Hero again. She hasn’t said a word since I arrived. I don’t think she’s even moved.
She’s not surprised, I realize. She looks sad, yes, but resigned. I think back to her behaviour over the summer – her restlessness and frustration, her urgent need to take in all this loveliness, as though it might all be over too soon. As though she expected something like this.
“So,” Filomena says brightly, as she moves across to the door, “I think I will go and begin the preparations.”
“More tea, Frances?” Leo asks.
“Certainly, thank you,” she replies. They retur
n to their chit-chat as though nothing has happened. I remain, stunned and unmoving, where I stand. Then, through all the noise in my brain, one thought crystallizes.
I need to find Ben.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I spend hours combing the grounds, starting with the fountain, but I can’t find Ben anywhere. When I finally track him down, he is in about the last place that I expect him to be.
He is in Filomena’s room, and though his back is to me I can tell from his rigid posture that he is angry.
Filomena is folding clothes and packing them carefully into a set of suitcases laid out on the large four-poster bed.
“You can’t go with him,” Ben says firmly. “You can’t.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice low. I shut the door carefully behind me.
Ben swings around to face me, his eyes blazing. “She’s leaving. She’s going with Hugh,” he says.
I freeze, unable to take it in. “Filomena – why? I don’t understand.”
“Yes,” Filomena says. “I will go with Hugh, because he has offered to take me with him.” She gives me a small smile. “And because I have nowhere else to go. I am fortunate that Hugh is here to offer at all.”
“But I don’t understand!” I exclaim. “You’re going to join my uncle and Hero in England.”
Filomena sits on the bed. “I said that because it is what Leo wanted me to say.” She shrugs. “He is not a man who likes disharmony. So I give him this: a peaceful separation at the end of our time together. I know he would not like a scene. But I also know what he means, when he says that he is going back to England. It means that my time is up.”
“But not Hugh,” Ben pleads. “Please, Fil. You know what kind of a man he is.”
“Yes,” she says and her eyes spark. “I know what kind of a man he is, Ben. And I can take care of myself.”
“Like my mother did?” Ben asks. “Women are objects to him, that’s all. Disposable objects.”
“I know you are only trying to help,” Filomena says gently, so gently. “And I loved your mother… Despite what you might think I love you, too. I am grateful that you care. But I know who he is and I know who I am. And I am not her.”
There is a silence and then, without another word, Ben turns and leaves the room. I go to follow him.
“No.” Filomena’s voice stops me. “Leave him, just for a minute. He will want you, but not now.”
“How can you be so calm?” I ask her, rage rising inside me. “How can you stand this?”
She shrugs again, that shrug of world-weary resignation. “It is not a surprise to me. I knew that my relationship with Leo would come to an end; it was only a question of when.”
“Because you didn’t love him?” I say, thinking back to her detachment around Leo, her refusal to discuss a date for the wedding.
Filomena gives me a look full of pity. “Because he didn’t love me,” she says quietly. “Only the idea of me, for a while.”
I understand, then, what has been just out of sight for me this summer, the thing that wouldn’t sit smoothly. I thought Filomena’s feelings were not as strong as my uncle’s. Now, I realize, she was simply bracing herself for this moment.
“He is not a bad man, Bea,” she continues, taking my hand and setting her rows of gold bracelets jangling. “But he is weak. He allows himself to be swayed by others. He embraces what he admires. For him, I think I was a… What do you say? A novelty. We were happy together, for a time, very happy, and that must be enough.”
“That’s not enough,” I whisper. In that instant I see my uncle for what he is: a weak-willed man, easily led, afraid of confrontation. Not bad, not wicked, but foolish.
“Listen, Bea,” Filomena says, “before you go, please listen to me.”
I lift my eyes, meeting her steady gaze. She reaches out and presses my hand between her own. “I meant what I said to Ben. I will go with Hugh, but on my own terms. I am not afraid to be alone, because I know that I am strong. I know what I want; my art is what drives me, what gives my life purpose. It is art which I prioritize above everything else – not a man.” Her voice is low – hypnotic, almost – and I feel her words in my bones. “You are so strong, Bea,” she says. “You have so much in you, such joy, such a gift for life. Your drive and your intelligence should not be squandered in isolation. Go into the world and make your mark on it. You are brilliant. Do not let anyone make you feel less than that. Not your parents, not anyone.”
For a moment it is as if I had been struck. My ears ring and I feel dizzy.
As Filomena’s words settle, I realize that they are only confirming a decision I have already made. I can’t go back to my life as it was. I can’t moulder away, dragged down by the estate and its problems.
I want a life of my own. I want to go to university and to learn. I want to travel and see the world. And for the first time, I am not afraid to make that happen. I meet Filomena’s eye and nod, once. She squeezes my hand again, and there is a world of understanding in her gaze.
“Go,” she says.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I find Ben by the fountain. Our fountain.
He stands, looking down into the water.
“Are you all right?” I ask tentatively, placing my hand on his shoulder. He relaxes a little against my touch.
“I don’t know,” he admits and then he lets out a deep sigh. “Filomena is right. She can look after herself. I was angry. I am angry, but not at her.” He gazes down at his hands and then up at me. “I’m glad we get to see each other again, before I leave.”
I feel the ground tilt momentarily beneath me. “You’re leaving,” I repeat.
“I am,” he says. “I’m hardly going to stay and make nice with Hugh and that witch, Lady Bowling, am I?”
“But what about me?” I burst out.
“What about you?” Ben’s words are hard. “You’re leaving too, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, I suppose.” I flounder.
“So what are we talking about then?” Ben runs an impatient hand through his hair. “Your uncle is taking you home, Bea. The summer is over. The great experiment is over.”
“But that’s not what I want.” The words are torn from me before I can think about them. “Is it what you want?”
Slowly, Ben shakes his head.
Happiness floods through me, leaving my body warm, tingling. I feel a grin spreading across my face. “You could come with me,” I say eagerly. “Come back to England with me.”
Ben laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “Oh, your family would love that, wouldn’t they? You turning up with me in tow. Your uncle already made it very clear how they would look upon any connection between us.”
“I don’t care what they think,” I say. “I’m surprised that you think I would.”
“Are you?” Ben asks, rubbing his brow in a gesture of frustration. “I know you, Bea. You’re the one who told me that you want to please them, to make them happy. I know it’s important to you, whatever you say.”
“It is,” I say, confused. “It was.” I struggle to find the words. “If I try and fit in their world I’ll end up making us all unhappy. Things have to change.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to school,” I say. “It’s what I want. It always has been. I think I’ll study medicine. Find a way to help people, actually make a difference.”
Ben smiles, a real smile this time. “That’s wonderful,” he says. “You’ll be wonderful, I’m certain.”
“And you could come with me,” I say again.
“And do what?” Ben asks. He turns and walks restlessly away, before turning back again. “Look, I’ve been offered a commission in Spain. It’s an important one, one that could mean big things for me. You have your life to live, Bea, and I have mine. I don’t want to go back to England, but you should.” He gives a small smile. “It’s the rational thing to do.”
A sense of numbness is spreading through my body; it’s as though his words are coming from
far away.
“I know that,” I manage. “I understand it logically, but I – I don’t feel rational about you.”
I find myself suddenly swept into a kiss that is frantic, wild. It’s a kiss that says so many of the things I’ve been struggling to find the words for. It’s ferocious, all-consuming and almost painfully intimate. It feels as though I’ve been stripped back to something shining and elemental. As if I have shared my whole self with Ben, and he has shared his whole self with me. Our bodies coil around each other as if that’s what they were made for, as, I suppose, they were. It’s a kiss full of longing, of tenderness, of sorrow, and by the time we break apart I am trembling.
“I don’t feel rational about you either,” Ben says finally. “But that doesn’t change the facts. We always knew it was just for the summer. That’s why we put the rules in place.”
“You must not, under any circumstances whatsoever, fall in love with me,” I say dully.
“Right.”
“You’ll go to Spain, will you?” My voice is bitter; I fling the words at him angrily. “And what will you do there? Paint? Flirt with women? Ignore what’s happening in the world around you? It’s not just me you’re running away from, you know. You’re burying your head in the sand, too afraid to look at what’s going on. You’ll take a commission from whoever pays you, no matter what they stand for. Don’t you see that these people, all these rich patrons who will happily have dinner with a dictator – they’ll hurt the people you care about. Ursula and Klaus. Gert and Lili.” He flinches at that and I wonder if I’ve hit home. “You’re afraid,” I say, and to my surprise my voice is steady. “Too afraid to stand up for what you want. What you believe in. Do you think I care about your background? Do you think I wouldn’t fight for you, defend you? You’re a coward. You’re a coward and you’re turning your back on something that could be real.”
There’s a long pause. Anger and sadness and hurt and a million other emotions rush through me, and I see them all reflected in Ben’s eyes.
