‘Ah, you’re making me remember my history lessons now.’
‘Sorry . . . shall we take a seat over there?’
‘We can catch the last blush of sunshine for the afternoon,’ Bethany agreed.
Once seated, they enjoyed a more comfortable silence and watched others going about their business as evening drew in.
Bethany broke the quiet. ‘Harry told me about you.’
Alex swallowed. ‘What did he say?’
Her companion studied her gloves. ‘Everything there was to say about the only woman he has ever loved.’
Alex gasped and turned sideways to face Bethany, offer an explanation, but Bethany shooshed her with a finger to her lips. ‘Alex, I didn’t come here to make accusations. I came here to explain something that I think it’s important for you to know.’
Alex breathed out silently. ‘Please go on.’
‘Thank you. There’s no easy way to say this, so you’re going to have to forgive how bluntly it is delivered.’
Alex studied her nemesis, blushing that she’d ever thought her hateful. Bethany looked like a precious china doll, tiny in build, with a milky complexion and peach-like cheeks. Her eyes were expressive, alert as though made wide and round so that she would never miss a moment of life or its interests. She could imagine Harry looked like a hulking bear next to her and Bethany’s petite size made her feel Amazonian with her long feet and tall legs. ‘You see, Alex, I’m dying.’
Alex hissed a breath this time and then held it, looking back at her companion in horror.
‘I’ve known I’ve been dying for a while.’
‘Does Harry . . .?’
‘Yes. I told him on the day we were reunited. He came home to us distracted and deeply saddened. His mother, Ellenor, put it down to all he’d seen during the war and then his next job recovering the fallen. Anyone would feel bleak, she assured me. But I’ve known Harry since I was a child; I’ve loved him for as long and I think I understand him better than most. I knew something had changed in his heart. I couldn’t bear to lose him, Alex, not when I finally . . .’ Her voice broke.
Alex reached over and took Bethany’s hand. ‘I understand. Harry and I always knew we couldn’t be together.’
‘No, wait. You need to hear it all. I know you came to visit. I don’t think Ellenor wanted to tell me but she feared talk in the village and that I might hear through gossip.’
Alex didn’t bother trying to argue otherwise; to lie now would be cowardly.
‘I gather Ellenor mentioned what a tearing hurry he was in for our nuptials. I tried to make him hold off until February as planned, but he wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You see, Alex, his hurry was not in trying to forget you.’ She smiled, squeezing Alex’s hand. ‘He can’t forget you. You share our lives each and every day, even though he hides it well and never makes me feel ignored. He is funny and affectionate and I forgive him, Alex, for privately and silently loving you because I love him so very much —’
‘Please, Bethany, don’t.’
She nodded. ‘Believe me, you are not forgotten. But the reason he married me in such a hurry is that I told him of my illness. The physician called it malignant neoplasm . . . that’s cancer to most of us who prefer a plainer English. And it’s killing me. It’s been killing me for a couple of years and I fear I may not see this year out, which is why I wanted to see you before . . . well, before it becomes too difficult to travel, shall we say.’
‘Bethany,’ Alex breathed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Other words failed her. They would all sound meaningless.
Her companion shrugged good-naturedly. ‘I’m not going to waste my energies fighting it. The doctors have made it clear I will not win the battle so I’m taking this time to put my affairs in order.’ She giggled. ‘And my husband’s.’
It took Alex a moment or two to catch on to Bethany’s jest. She couldn’t share the amusement.
‘And with that comes my intense desire that Harry be the happiest he can possibly be after I’ve gone. I’ve no wish for him to live life as a grieving husband when his heart beats for another.’
Alex hadn’t cried over anything or anyone for fifteen months but tears welled now.
‘Don’t weep on my account, Alex. Do you know, I haven’t shared this with anyone but if I had the choice of dying now, aged thirty and married to the man I have loved since I was old enough to differentiate boy from girl, or living until I’m in my dotage either having not known him or worse, watching him with someone else, I choose to die early. I’ve enjoyed being Mrs Blakeney and given that we do not have children – couldn’t, actually – perhaps another Mrs Blakeney might give Ellenor the grandchildren she craves and Harry the love he set aside.’
‘You’re an amazing woman, Bethany. I have nothing but admiration for your attitude.’
Bethany’s smile broke wide and bright. ‘Thank you.’
‘How do you know Harry would even want me? Our last words were harsh. I accused him of something terrible and it’s been such a long time.’
‘Well, dear Alex, let me tell you, I’ve never seen Harry weep ever; not through childhood, not when his father died, not even when our beloved Edward died. He was stoic throughout. But when he read the letter that you left, tears came. He was as shocked as I but he let me read the letter, about Kitty, and I think you broke his heart when he understood.’
Alex covered her mouth to prevent the spill of emotion turning from a silent weep to a vocal one. ‘I hated that he never knew. I didn’t want him to feel betrayed. It was bad enough that he left knowing I thought badly of him.’
‘Well, it was then that I realised the full breadth of Harry’s feeling for you but even in his honesty he couldn’t convey how deeply his affection ran. You shall not have him yet, though. I need him and I love him. And I shan’t keep him from you for terribly long. But it will be up to Harry to seek you out when he is free to do so.’
Alex swallowed her tears that had been pushed to her throat. ‘You’re so brave.’
‘No, I’m just in love and feel I’ve led a blessed life to have brought me to this point to be with Harry. I don’t delude myself about the one-sided love affair I have with my husband but we’re not unhappy, you know.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘But you are unhappy – I can see it in your eyes – and so I feel vindicated in this trip north to share my secret. Harry does not know I’m here. He believes me taking the spa waters at Harrogate. What’s more, Ellenor is unaware of my illness and will remain that way.’
‘Your secrets are safe.’
‘I shall leave you now, Alex. This visit has worn me out.’
‘Can I walk you back to your accommodations?’
‘No, dear. I shall take a hackney direct to the station. There’s an evening train to London. I can be in by nine, into my husband’s arms, as Harry will meet me off the train. I like to spend every moment I can with him just now.’
‘What about your chocolate heart?’
‘That’s for you, Alex.’ She stood, embraced her and touched her cheek. ‘No more tears. Make him proud with your salons.’
And then she was gone, an elegant figure, petite enough that soon the pathway’s bushes had swallowed her up and Alex was left with only Bethany’s perfume – a waft of vanilla and woody musk flavours that left an intense smoky note around her that she recognised as Tabac Blond by the House of Caron, one of her favourites.
__________
She returned to the salon and sat with the recently foiled chocolate heart on her desk before her. Her feelings were mixed: half awed at Bethany’s nobility, the other half horrified by what Bethany had shared.
There was no point in avoiding it. She broke the heart, enjoying the snap of the chocolate beneath her fingers. It was precisely how fresh, finely made chocolate should sound. Alex retrieved the note and took a breath before she read it.
Dear Alex – or should I say Kitty?
/>
Thrilled to finally meet you. After whatever we discuss today I am sure there is little else for me to say other than to give the advice not to permit love to slip by you. Sometimes it’s easier to simply resign oneself to loneliness and its sorrows than fight it but had I not kept hope burning in my heart for Harry, I would never have known the joy of this last year or more of being his wife. He has been a loyal and affectionate husband but I know his heart resides elsewhere. I want him to know the same joy I have known after I’ve gone and I realise he can only experience that with you. So, my friend – and I’m sure we shall be friends by this evening – put pride, disappointments and the past aside to embrace the future and its potential happiness in the arms of one who has never stopped loving you.
I wish you years of love and laughter together.
Think of me kindly. Bethany x
Wondering if she would ever match up to the honour of Bethany, Alex Frobisher put the note from her former nemesis into the safe alongside the paperwork of her divorce and as she clicked the brass handle closed, she felt closure on her past. It was as though she’d spent these first twenty-six years of her life in training, gaining wisdom and experience in how to cope with adversity and setback.
If Bethany could face her impending death with such grace and generosity, then she would not allow any obstacle to make her cower. She would blaze a trail, in fact, for women business owners in this new quarter of her life ahead as Britain entered another decade, a fresh era of peace and prosperity.
Harry would be with her in that future and she would mark this new age of her life with a sophisticated new chocolate to sum up all that had gone before. She began to scribble it down so the inspiration of this enlightened moment would not be lost. It would be made from plain bitter chocolate, sweetened decadently with a rich, darkly cooked caramel, and as a defiance to all that had caused sorrow previously, Alex decided she would add salt to the caramel.
It would shock and delight customers.
And as she scribbled down her recipe and design Alex Frobisher knew she would never fear the taste of salted tears again.
EPILOGUE
SEPTEMBER 1921
The funeral for Bethany had been held in the final days of March, during the thaw of the previously frozen ground sensing new life as the first inkling of warmth caressed its uppermost layers. She’d defied her illness to hold on to life for longer than those who loved her had dared hope, not only seeing the previous year out but being bright enough still to celebrate her husband’s January birthday and her own in February. Towards the end, when they all sensed her days were counting down, she had jested with Harry that the gods of the underworld would have to remain patient until she alone decided when to take her last breath. Persephone, the queen, came looking for Bethany in the early hours of a spring morning, before dawn began to lighten the heavens. She whispered her welcome, took her hand and stole her away from the embrace of her husband, which had held her close from an hour previous when they had both unexpectedly stirred.
Harry recalled how Bethany had smiled sleepily at him, her blue eyes dark and shiny in the small pool of light from the lamp they kept on permanently in the corner of their bedroom.
‘Are you all right?’ he’d murmured, blinking awake at her turn and slipping his arms around her.
‘I am now.’ She had snuggled into him. ‘I’m not scared.’
‘Beth . . .’ he’d begun, sensing from her tone that she was not speaking dreamily simply from her sleepy state.
‘Hush, Harry . . . there’s no pain,’ she assured, stroking his face as she flattened herself still closer to him. ‘This is precisely where I want to be . . . inhaling you for my last breath.’
‘What can I —?’
Again she made a soothing sound. ‘Nothing. You have done all I need. I have everything I could ever want and I promise you I face this next journey at ease. Just lie here with me until I breathe no more.’
Harry felt a guilty sob lurching in his chest; it came out as a shudder.
‘Don’t, darling Harry. I promise you there is nothing to weep for. You’ve made me so happy. Now you have a chance to be happy.’
‘I’m sorry it was never perfect, Beth,’ he choked out, needing to admit the truth that had stood between them. It felt important to say the words aloud in this nakedly brutal moment as death was tugging at her.
‘There’s no blame,’ she said gently in her ever-generous way. ‘I chose this life and I knew it was never going to be perfect but you’ll hear no complaint from me.’ The chest she leaned against rose and fell sharply as Harry struggled to keep his sorrow contained.
Harry was reminded of Matthew Britten-Jones, fully appreciating the tightrope he too had walked between loving someone his heart cleaved to helplessly and one he felt simply fond of. And so, dark, heavy guilt now would accompany him as he let the woman in his arms go on without him. She had deserved a man who adored her rather than this dutiful husband.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Harry, and I want you to stop. Don’t dare believe for a moment that I didn’t make all my own choices. My love was all that mattered to me and my heart wanted you, only you. You have given me no cause to grieve, to feel anything but your fondness. Let the guilt go. I’m moving on and it’s your turn to be selfish. Go claim your heart from the person who has it . . . and tell her she can only keep it if she becomes the next Mrs Blakeney and loves you until death parts you . . . the same oath I gratefully swore.’
‘Don’t, Beth,’ he pleaded.
‘This is my wish, Harry.’ She had sounded so weak then, her tone wispy.
Harry leaned in to kiss his wife in the warmth of life one last time. It was tenderly delivered and it spoke of friendship and respect, but especially of gratitude.
When he pulled back she didn’t open her eyes. ‘I wish everyone could pass from life with such a delicious farewell,’ she whispered and exhaled a final, gentle sigh.
__________
Harry sat at the same table in King’s Cross Station that he’d used on his first trip to York. That was when he was running away from his duty to Bethany; now he was escaping all the well-meaning expressions of sympathy for her passing as much as keeping his promise to her. He was headed north again; it had been more than six months since her burial.
Her interment, at St Nicholas’s Church in Brighton, had gathered her family at the grand western extension of its cemetery, which included a terrace of Tudor-Gothic stone vaults. The Porters owned one of these recessed vaults but had hoped they would not be used for many decades. They showed their dismay at having to accompany their daughter here by insisting the burial remain private, limited to themselves and the two surviving Blakeneys whom Bethany had adored.
Bethany’s wish had been that she be buried in the exquisite yet modest and wartime-conscious ecru silk Eden Valentine wedding gown that she had worn with such joy in the late winter of 1919.
Harry gave no outward sign of his inner turmoil, grief mixing with guilt like a silvery blade that cut him dozens of times in the days leading up to the burial. He covered it with a distant manner and a blankly sombre expression as he laid an all-white bouquet of irises, lily of the valley, violets, freesias and snowdrops on her polished, cinder toffee-coloured coffin. He was the last to farewell his wife and, after laying a hand on the casket, had whispered a few words that no one else shared, before he caught up with the shuffling line of mourners to comfort his still shocked but stoic mother with an arm around her narrow shoulders.
Harry realised he’d been reflecting on the past few months, immune to the sounds of life, and as someone brushed past him and accidentally knocked his elbow he returned to the present.
‘So sorry,’ the offender said, pausing briefly to look over her shoulder at him.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he replied, finding a polite smile that warmed to genuine because the woman reminded him – in the briefest of ways – of Alex. It may have been the way in which she held herself, or the mor
e obvious dark hair. He wondered if Alex had cut hers. He knew she’d learned the truth behind Matthew’s escape to safety; Matthew had written to him and explained this. She also knew of the rushed marriage to Bethany, of her fate too, but still he’d kept his distance. He didn’t so much as write or pick up the telephone to hear her voice, especially after reading her note following her visit to Ockenden. This resistance had felt important in order to remain loyal to Bethany, to keep that promise he’d made, and while every day away from Alex had hurt like an old wound that refused to fully heal, the pain had lessened. But his desire for her had not.
So now it was time. Bethany had been right and she’d given him the permission he needed to go in search of the calm his restless soul needed. Only with Alex could he be truly at peace – they were meant to be together . . . two halves that needed one another to be whole.
Would she be at the station? It had been a long time and it may have an awkward quality – he was ready for that – but deep down he hoped they would simply ignore the time apart and their harsh farewell. He’d sent a telegram ahead last night. If she were not standing at York Railway Station, anxiously searching him out, he’d have his answer.
‘Be there, Alex,’ he murmured, and as he made his way to the train he began the pleasurable daydream of seeing her emerging from the cloud of steam on the platform, running towards him and flinging herself into his arms.
‘You must be Kitty,’ he would murmur with a smile and a sense of completeness.
Acknowledgements
My novels are never the result of just me tapping away on a keyboard, lost in the world of my making; they may begin in my imagination but the number of people behind these books seems to increase with each new release.
The historical research takes up plenty of headspace and time, and contributions come from far and wide, often from the unlikeliest of sources. The Chocolate Tin has three brilliant historians – experts in their field – who have helped me to get the sense of place right for this story.
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