by Aitana Moore
It would be so awful to say it. It would be real again.
“But one was more interested in me after he saw how young I was. He knew what to do. He pretended to like my mother a lot, and she kept saying she had found someone, that she was in love. He wouldn’t pay any attention to me, and she was always sending me out of the house. Every now and again, he would throw a look my way, and it chilled me to the bone — but there was no one I could tell.
“One afternoon he gave my mother a coupon for a treat at the spa, and he was at home alone when I got back from school. I went to my room, and I wanted to lock it, but my mother wouldn’t allow us to have keys. He just burst in and sat down on the bed next to me, asking me how my day had been, and what had I learned. He put his hand on my leg. I could only look at his fingers. They were so thick and dirty. His nails were long and filthy, because he worked as a mechanic. When he lifted his hand from my thigh, he had grabbed it so hard that there was a mark there. That was all I could look at, that mark, when he pulled my shorts aside, and my panties too. He was staring, and drool came out of his mouth and fell on my body.
“He stuck his fingers inside me, and it hurt so much. His nails hurt me. He kept putting his fingers inside and saying that he knew I liked it, until his pants got wet in front.
“I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew he was going to keep on doing this, and I would have to throw myself in front of a car or something. And I couldn’t do that, because I had a little sister. She was only four, but who knew how sick this man was? Who knew how long he’d stay around?
“So I got up the courage to tell my mother. She slapped me across the mouth many times, as if she could put the words back in. She slapped me silly. I thought she’d break my teeth. Her eyes were crazy, as if she were begging me not to spoil this for her.
“Yes, that’s it. She never told me she didn’t believe me. She only told me to be quiet.
“I knew I had to do something, because no one else would. The next time he came to my room, I had a kitchen knife under my pillow. He sat the same way and put his hand on my thigh the same way. And I ran the knife across his hand with all my strength. He started to scream. There was so much blood.
“And he was a bully, after all. All bullies are cowards. He looked at me as if he were scared. He never even went to the hospital in that town, he just drove away with his hand all bandaged up, bleeding like a pig. My mother sat on the ground by the door and cried, but she never dressed me up to get men again.”
Lee didn’t say any of it.
That story would never be told, because she was ashamed. She was ashamed of the animal life she had led, although it hadn’t been her life. Her life had begun later, and it was also shameful — but at least it was her choice.
“No, he wasn’t a relative,” she finally told James.
It was obviously as difficult for him to ask as it was for her to answer: “Did it ever stop?”
“Yes. I made it stop.”
“How?”
She took a deep breath. “You said at Balbina that sometimes anger is righteous. I think sometimes violence is. Sometimes it’s the only thing.”
He turned her around to face him and brushed the hair away from her face. “Damn right,” he murmured. He gave a small, sad smile. “I like that about you. That you can take care of yourself. I don’t care about the rest of what you’ve done. Whatever it is, it’s fine.”
When he kissed her, it was with respect for her silence, perhaps even understanding of her sins — though he didn’t really know them — and tenderness. And she liked that about him, so much.
Later, in his room, he made the bed as she got on her knees and put the diamonds back on the tray. The ring felt warm in her hand. It made her heart beat fast.
James took the tray from her and walked to his study. She had kept a necklace and stood behind him as he opened the safe.
"There’s this one," she said, handing him the necklace.
"Thanks."
He placed the tray inside the safe and locked it. She saw the combination: 181958. She would remember it, even if she had no use for it. Numbers just stuck to her head.
TWENTY-THREE
By Monday morning, the weather had changed again, into a calm blue sky and barely a breeze. Broken branches and scattered leaves had already been cleared from the grounds, as if the storm had never happened.
When Lee went down to breakfast, the two young men who mostly did the heavy work in the house were carrying a big frame wrapped in cloth out of the turquoise room. She stood rooted to the steps as she watched Mia being removed.
In the morning room, James sat reading the newspaper. He took the hand she put on his shoulder and kissed it.
"Hello,” he said.
There was no sadness or worry in his face, but he wasn't callously getting rid of Mia either. Perhaps he had needed to tell someone that he hadn't loved her but that he still grieved for her, and he had finally told Lee. Perhaps he thought that Mia shouldn't be in the house where he was making love to another woman.
She had told him something too, and his eyes were thoughtful and tender as he she sat before him. Lee had been sidetracked by the diamond, but he had probably never lost sight of the fact that they were damaged, and that they were giving each other some solace.
He poured coffee for her. “Drink and eat. You’re riding today.”
It suddenly occurred to her that he made her feel welcome. She had never felt that way before. He smiled as she ate eggs, and even bacon, sausages, mushrooms.
“Sure you don’t want some deviled kidneys?” he asked, after watching her eat for a few moments.
She covered her mouth to laugh. “What the hell would that be?”
“You don’t want to know.” He picked up a pot of jam and set it before her. “Have some marmalade, then. Sugar is good for you.”
They went for their morning ride, and on the way back she felt like singing as she walked into the house. She was about to climb the stairs when a male voice said, "Morning!"
Lee stopped with her foot on the bottom step. A tall man of about fifty was walking her way, hands in his pockets. He had a vulpine look, with bristly dark hair and close-set grey eyes. His heavy eyebrows and hard mouth also made him appear somewhat thuggish, despite his good tweed jacket. The dogs followed him as if they knew him, but he obviously didn't work on the estate.
He half smiled and half studied her. Like James, he had a crooked smile, was tall and broad-shouldered. She recognized him from the YouTube video she had seen weeks before, where he had raged against his nephew for selling the family estates.
"I'm Robert. James’ uncle.”
She shook his hand. "I'm Vivien."
Robert must have seen James kissing her at the door.
"Does he know you're here?" she asked.
"Yes, it's accounts day," Robert said, and she detected a certain bitterness in his tone, though he kept smiling.
"I think he will be here soon.”
"By all means, go up and change. I know how it is after riding, we long for a shower, don't we?"
Lee nodded and went up the stairs as he added, "I'll make myself comfortable, don't worry. I grew up here."
The resentful uncle making a point. He wanted her to know that the house had belonged to him before it ever belonged to James.
After she showered and changed into jeans and a silk top, Lee heard Robert's voice through the window, "Met your live-in ..."
Lee watched James shake his uncle’s hand outside. "Do you mean Vivien?"
"Have to give it to you, you know how to pick them."
"Why, thank you, Uncle.”
They turned into the house, and she went downstairs again, without relishing the prospect of meeting James’ relations. In the turquoise room she found a middle-aged woman staring at the empty space where Mia’s photograph had been.
"It was high time, James,” she said.
She stopped short when she saw Lee at the door, and the look in her e
yes changed from surprise to understanding, as if she had seen the reason for Mia to be gone. James walked in briskly just then, followed by Robert.
"Vivien, you've met Uncle Robert, haven't you? This is Aunt Imogen."
The two women shook hands. Imogen seemed like a more pleasant person than her husband, who had sat down and spread his arm along the back of the sofa as if he owned it.
James’ aunt-by-marriage asked the usual polite questions: how did Lee like Deerholt, had she been frightened of the storm, and wasn't it a beautiful day?
Robert listened to their conversation before interrupting it, "Where are you from in America? It's America, right, not Canada?"
"I'm from Phoenix," Lee lied.
James looked at her, and she realized that he had never asked where she had been born or where she had grown up — or much about her life, except what she had volunteered at the group sessions. He hadn’t asked anything at all, as if he had expected to only hear lies.
"Isn’t that a big desert?" Imogen wondered.
"It's almost in the Sonoran Desert," Lee said. "We are meant to get the most sunshine out of all major cities in the planet. Three hundred days a year."
"Well, then, you came to the right place if you want a change," Robert said with a laugh like a bark.
Imogen turned to James. "But the party! Don't you need any help to organize it? It's only a week away."
James cocked his head at her. “I think you mean, ‘Are you making a horrible mess?’ ”
They laughed as he put his arm around his aunt’s neck and kissed her temple. Perhaps jealous, Robert held out a hand to his wife, pulling her to his side. James sat next to Lee.
Imogen’s face was slightly chubby and full of tiny lines, and her hair was dyed an unflattering shade of dark brown — but she had beautiful cornflower-blue eyes and the warmest smile Lee had ever seen. Her husband caressed her shoulder as if he expected everyone to admire her.
“I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Imogen told James. “Although you hate parties with such a vengeance.”
"Let's hope there's no storm," Robert contributed. “People would have to come in!”
James ignored his uncle, "Cat wants to keep it small, Aunt Im. Well, not as small as I'd like, but under a hundred people."
"Bloody mob," Robert said. "The young people will be puking all over the house if you let them."
“There will be loads of them, and less of the old ones who might just get incontinent on the chairs,” James remarked.
"She told me it will be the 1940s. She's always loved that time," Imogen pointed out. "I don't know how many times she asked me to try and make her hair look like that."
Eventually, the men left together to go over accounts. Lee suspected that James supported his uncle’s household. Hadn’t he said there was another family estate, further south?
"How long have you known my nephew?" Imogen asked pleasantly.
"About seven weeks."
"Did you meet at—?"
"At rehab, yes."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
"It's not a problem. People aren't very ashamed of going to rehab anymore." Lee smiled and added brightly, "Especially Americans like me."
Imogen laughed. "No, now people write songs about it, don't they? I'm sure it was nothing terrible for you, you look so healthy. As for James ... Well, I'm glad it's past. It’s been a year, but the aftershocks are always complicated." A shadow fell over her face. "I feel terrible about the baby. An innocent child, never born. But there — it’s the first time we meet, and listen to me being tragic. James wouldn't like it, and it looks like you've done him a world of good already. Have you got a dress for the party?"
Lee was relieved to abandon the subject of Mia. "No, I don't have any long gowns with me."
"Don't leave it to the last minute. You'll want something beautiful. Deerholt is spectacular when there is a party, you'll see. You'll remember it forever."
After Imogen and Robert left, James had to go to Dorchester to attend to more business. Lee took advantage of his absence to call Cora, telling her that she was now in the estate of her new boss. She swept the phone around the grounds of Deerholt.
"And there will be a party?” Cora asked. “Does the house have a ballroom?"
"It does. Still, I hope it won't rain."
"Send me a photo of your dress!" Cora begged.
The ballroom. Lee hung up, walking back inside and thinking that it would be on the ground floor. Why hadn’t they seen it the day before? It must be across the gallery, and they hadn’t gone that way.
Even if Mrs. Taylor finds me, she won't suppose I'm doing anything wrong. It's natural curiosity.
Coming upon large double doors, Lee pushed one open. The floor of the ballroom was made of polished wood in the shape of starbursts, and the walls were white with delicate silver stucco. There were three chandeliers protected by big cloths. The Italian masters had outdone themselves there, covering the ceiling with images of gods and goddesses.
Despite being impressive, the room looked ghostly.
Lee thought of another big house and how lonely she had been there. She had entered ghostly room after ghostly room on her own. Perhaps she and James had more in common than he knew. Than he would ever know.
She left the ballroom, only to meet Mrs. Taylor in the corridor.
"Mr. James said you should have lunch without him. Would you like it now?"
Lee assented and ate in the morning room, where the table was small. Now that James wasn't there to make her laugh, she thought of what she had seen and heard in the past two days. She remembered the way the diamonds had looked, sparkling on the bed, and she couldn't deny that she had felt a pang of regret when they had been taken away and put in the safe.
The less romantic side to diamonds had always fascinated her: such a lot had to happen for one of them to exist. They were created in the Earth’s mantle through ultra-high pressure. They endured forever.
She could look at the ring again. She would only be looking, not stealing. She could no longer steal from James. Those diamonds had meant suffering for him. They were part of his grief. He had gotten rid of his wife's photograph for Lee — but he wasn't done flagellating himself over Mia.
I'm only going to look, she thought again as she found herself going to his study. Making sure that the corridor was empty, she moved quickly to the safe and typed the combination. The door clicked open and the diamonds glittered inside.
Lee sat on the ground and softly pulled the tray toward her. All the jewelry was there, without any concern for order. The ring rolled back and forth on the velvet as if it were a mere bauble. It wasn’t even in a box.
Once more Lee held her breath, as if something solid could disappear just by sensing her excitement. She slipped the ring into her finger.
As she sat under the safe, out of the light, it flashed. It had been thrown from the mantle of the Earth to the surface, just so it could dazzle her.
That’s how much I didn’t love my wife.
The words rang in Lee’s head as if James were in the room saying them. A tray of expensive diamonds lay next to her and she was wearing fifteen million dollars on one of her fingers — and all they represented was the absence of love.
White roses had meant something. He had given her white roses from his garden because he had noticed that she liked them. He had given her a medal with memories of a special time they had spent together. He hadn’t listened to Mia, but he listened to her.
Why am I betraying his trust?
She removed the ring from her finger, placed it on the tray and knelt to slide it back inside the safe. An envelope, however, stuck out. It had probably been dragged by the tray. She took it.
JAMES, it said in a woman's handwriting.
She opened the envelope and unfolded the paper. It read,
James, my love, forgive me!
I can't live anymore, knowing you don't love me and that you never will! I just can't go
on like this, it’s killing me slowly. I prefer a quicker end.
I wish I could explain and beg your pardon, but I think you'll understand anyway. You've always hated explanations. I hope you won’t be angry at me.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don’t be shocked!
I’m sorry about the child! Forgive me. I forced you to do things you didn’t want to do because I loved you so much. I’m putting everything back as it should be.
But you should know, I've always loved you. I always, always will. I wish it wasn't impossible with all my heart, but now I know that it is, and that there isn't anything else to do but this.
Your M.
A suicide note.
I can't live anymore, knowing you don't love me… I prefer a quicker end.
Why had the police not ruled Mia’s death a suicide, if she had left a note?
Had she left the note to be found by James, and had he hidden it — unwilling to let anyone know that Mia had killed herself? How could he not have shown it to the police when it would have exonerated him?
Lee read the note twice, folded it and put it back under the tray. Closing the safe, she moved to the door. She hadn’t paid any attention to the noises in the house for a while. What a way to get caught.
After making sure there wasn't anyone in the corridor, she went on to the bedroom.
It was only when she reached it that the words began to make sense.
Don't be shocked!
I wish I could explain, and beg your pardon, but I think you'll understand anyway.
I hope you won’t be angry at me.
I’m sorry about the child!
I’m putting everything back as it should be.
But you should know, I've always loved you … I always, always will.
Those weren't the words of a woman about to commit suicide.
Those were the words of a woman about to leave her husband for another man.
TWENTY-FOUR
