Wicked Beauty

by Susan Lewis

  As it turned out, they did reach the border before nightfall, but only just, so it had long been dark by the time Rachel turned the Mercedes SUV that she’d traded for Tim’s 500 into the lane leading up to Dick Lom’s farm. By then everyone was starving, not just the baby, so leaving Dick and one of the farmhands to tie a hearty five-foot spruce on to the roof rack, Beanie and Rachel took off to the warmth of the kitchen, where they tucked into Mrs Lom’s mince pies, while the baby guzzled greedily on his own personal supply.

  Then it was all back in the car, to cover the final four-mile stretch to Killian, where to Rachel’s delight and relief, Nick and Jenny were in the pub keeping an eye out ready to help carry everything up to the cottage.

  ‘We got the fire going,’ Jenny told her, as they lugged the carrycot and a heavy bag each up to the cottage. ‘And the heating’s on. It’s been bitter. But no snow. Had a heavy frost this morning though.’

  ‘Are there carols in the pub tomorrow night?’ Rachel asked, going in first through the gate.

  ‘Christmas Eve? Course there’s carols,’ Jenny answered. ‘We’ll all be there. And this one too, I hope,’ she added, smiling down at the baby.

  ‘That will be the loudest voice of all,’ Rachel assured her. ‘Are you OK there, Bean? Those groceries are heavy.’

  ‘I can manage,’ she said, puffing her way in through the back door and plonking the bags down on a draining board. ‘Oooh, it’s nice and warm in here. I hope you remembered to put my heating on too,’ she said to Jenny. ‘And the turkey’s ordered, is it? We need a twenty-pounder for all of us.’

  ‘Everything’s been taken care of,’ Jenny told her, with an affectionate hug. ‘We got you a tree as well. It’s already in there. We left Romie at the pub until you was all settled. Oh, look at him,’ she crooned, gazing down at the baby. ‘He’s awake. Look at his blue eyes. He’s so like his dad. Can I pick him up?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rachel smiled. ‘Careful he’s not sick though, he seems to find that a fun way of introducing himself,’ and leaving Jenny and Beanie to it, she trotted back down the footpath to get more things from the car.

  ‘Can you manage there?’ she said to Nick, as he lifted the tree down from the roof rack.

  ‘No problem,’ he assured her.

  She waited until the tree was balanced, ready for him to carry, then seizing the opportunity of these few moments alone, she said, ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Yep. Arrived two days ago.’

  ‘How is he?’

  Nick’s expression was thoughtful as he tilted his face to the moon. ‘You’ll see,’ he told her.

  At that, Rachel’s heart contracted, for the last time she’d seen Chris had been on the day of the funeral, when they’d travelled back to the house together. They hadn’t had long to talk, but it had seemed important to him then to apologize for everything that had happened, and for all she was going to learn over the coming months. He hadn’t elaborated, though he had warned her not to believe everything she heard.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she’d asked him. ‘Some way I can help?’

  ‘Yes, you can distance yourself,’ he’d answered. ‘There’ll be a lot of fallout, and you’ve already been through enough. So it would help me to know that you’re standing as well back from it as you can. No, please don’t argue,’ he’d said when she tried to protest. ‘This is not going to be an easy time. I’m going to need all my wits about me, so please don’t make me worry about you too.’

  So she’d done as he’d asked and kept her distance, at least physically, but ever since his arrest she’d been in daily touch with Laurie and Elliot, who visited him and his lawyers regularly, so she’d always known what was happening, and just how difficult and alarming everything was proving. In the end it was Elliot’s frustration with the system that would not allow him, at this stage, to report the outrageous injustice of what Chris was being put through, that had prompted Rachel to act. It had taken a while for anything to happen, but then Laurie had called late last week, to let her know that her little chat with the PM had done the trick, and the doors were finally opening.

  After learning he’d gone to Cornwall following his release, she’d hastily changed their Christmas plans in the hope she could persuade him to join them. Since he was alone and had no family, it surely wouldn’t be hard to prise him out, but she had yet to learn just how much damage had been done during the past three months, for his experiences at the hands of his own government could very easily have made him bitter, even vengeful. On top of that there was the loss of his wife, for whom he’d hardly had the chance to grieve since everything had blown up within days of the funeral. And the shameless speculation that had been bandied about in the press since, such as ‘Did she fall, or was she pushed?’ must have turned the whole horribly painful ordeal into a nightmare of unimaginable proportions.

  ‘Hi, we’re here,’ she said to Anna later on the phone, after everyone had gone. ‘It feels strange, but I’m glad we came.’

  ‘How’s the baby?’ Anna said.

  ‘Wonderful. Sleeping at the moment, so I’m just about to get in the bath. God, I’m still so fat,’ she grumbled, catching sight of herself in the mirror.

  ‘It’ll go,’ Anna assured her. ‘But not this side of Christmas. When are Laurie and Elliot arriving?’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon. And you’ll be here Boxing Day?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind staying with Beanie?’

  ‘Of course not. Does she mind having us, is the question? Now, tell me, have you seen Chris yet?’

  Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. ‘No. I thought I’d go over in the morning, while Beanie babysits,’ she said.

  ‘You know how to make her day,’ Anna smiled. ‘By the way, did Robert tell you that Ernesto’s been in touch with Chris, and the exhibition’s going ahead?’

  ‘That’s great news,’ Rachel cried, taking it as a sign that Chris was already making an effort to move on with his life.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ Anna responded. ‘I know Robert is. He’s hoping it might coincide with the opening of the film.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘Could be. I hate to say it, but after all the publicity surrounding her death … Well, it’s not going to hurt either the exhibition or the film, but for God’s sake don’t quote me, especially not to Chris.’

  ‘He’ll know that anyway,’ Rachel said. ‘He might even be seeing it as a tribute, something he can do for her that helps keep her memory alive.’

  ‘That’s what Robert said. Certainly that’s how he’s seeing it.’

  Rachel paused for a moment as she wondered how Robert was really feeling about Stacey’s death, though whatever it was, he’d certainly been behaving like a man totally in love with his wife and in full control of his film these past three months, so it was probably wise not to delve any deeper. After all, if Anna wasn’t worried then there was no reason for her to be, and since there was something rather more immediate that was concerning her about Chris she said, ‘Tell me honestly, Anna, is he going to think I’m throwing myself at him? Trying to push some kind of relationship on him, by rushing down here like this?’

  Anna laughed and sighed. ‘Darling, after what he’s been through there’s no knowing what he’ll think, but as long as you’re clear about your motives, that’s all that matters.’

  Rachel’s heart dipped; it wasn’t quite the answer she’d hoped for, especially when her motives weren’t so much clear as opaque, or when she had no way of knowing if he might hold their friendship to blame for Stacey’s death.

  After putting the phone down, Anna wandered out of the kitchen and back to the sitting room where Robert and the girls were still trimming the tree. Rachel would be all right, she felt sure of it, and even if it turned out that Chris didn’t want to see her, she, Anna, would be there in a couple of days to take charge.

  For a while she stood in the doorway watching her husband and
children and felt her heart fill with so much love she almost wanted to cry. Had they really made it this far? Were they really recovering as well as it seemed? Stacey Greene’s vanity and Robert’s obsession had been formidable foes, the worse she’d ever had to face in a marriage and career that were liberally and painfully chequered by Robert’s passions and crises. She’d always brought them through before, and she would probably have to again, but she couldn’t imagine anything ever being so bad as Stacey. Just thank God Robert was finally starting to get over it now, though she wasn’t fooling herself here, there was still some way to go; and seeing Stacey’s face, hearing her voice every day in an editing room, was, all too often, almost more than he could bear. But he was fighting it, and with Anna at his side there was no doubt he would win. Anna would make sure he did, just as she made sure of everything else in his life.

  Smiling as he urged her to come and join them, she walked over to the tree and sank down on a bean-bag next to Justine, who was rummaging through the box of ornaments that dated back to before either of the children were born. So many of them had broken or become damaged over the years, yet Anna unfailingly put them together again, unwilling to let any of her precious memories go, no matter how worn or faded they might be.

  Raising her eyes to Robert she found him watching her. Then she began to smile, almost playfully, as he went to the CD and changed the music from a robust medley of carols to one of their favourite blues songs.

  ‘Dance?’ he said, holding out a hand.

  Emily looked from her mother to her father, and seeing Anna about to accept, put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, puhleeze,’ she protested.

  Laughing, Anna got to her feet and moved into Robert’s arms.

  ‘Just don’t kiss, all right,’ Emily told them hotly.

  ‘I like it when they kiss,’ Justine piped up.

  ‘That’s because you’re weird,’ her sister informed her.

  Their eyes shining with laughter Robert and Anna looked at each other and swayed slowly to the beat. A few minutes later Emily marched out in disgust, leaving Justine as sole witness to a kiss that Anna knew was as full of apology as it was of love – as full of gratitude that they were here together now, as it was of fear that somehow he would lose control again. And of course he would, because he always did. That was simply the way it was for him, as a writer, an artist, a creator. Just thank God he had her, and that women like Stacey never came along twice in a lifetime. She experienced a momentary flicker of guilt that she could feel so relieved at someone’s death, then she thought of Chris and Rachel, and how very confused and difficult their emotions would be to handle, or even to understand now, in this aftermath of tragedy and facing a strangely uncertain future.

  The following morning, after making sure Beanie had everything she needed for a couple of hours, Rachel got into the car and drove the few miles to Chris’s house, the other side of Roon Moor. It was a chill, dank day, with not a glimmer of sun making it through the cloud as she followed the sparsely wooded lanes that led to his gates. As she turned in she noticed how drab and barren everything looked, uncloaked for the winter and ravaged by the winds, yet there was a kind of dignity to the sombreness, and a stoicism that seemed almost hypnotic in its own peculiarly subdued way.

  When it came into view the exquisite old house, nestling cosily on its own horizon, caused her a tremor of nerves. She’d never seen it while the east wing was still standing, though knew that it had been a more recent addition, which was now completely destroyed by the fire. The clean-up must have continued while he was away, for there was little evidence now of the fire, or even that another wing had existed, though a builder’s skip stood in the front courtyard, with piles of sand and other equipment nearby. It didn’t appear that anyone was working today; the only sign of life was the glossy black mare that was grazing in a nearby field.

  Driving around the centre island of the courtyard, she pulled up next to the skip and turned off the engine. She knew, from the column of smoke rising from one of the chimneys, that someone was at home, and the car in front of the stable told her that it was almost definitely Chris. She wondered if the housekeeper and manager were around, or if he’d invited some friends down from London, but everything seemed very quiet, and since there were no other cars in sight, she dared to hope that she was going to find him alone.

  Unbuckling her seat belt, she stepped down on to the gravel. The air was perfectly still, and so cold it stung her face, so pulling her scarf up round her mouth, she hunched herself into her eider coat and started towards the house.

  After knocking she stamped her feet and punched her hands together. Her heart tripped as the door opened, and turning round she looked up into his eyes.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, in a small cloud of white breath.

  His surprise was evident, though there was more that she couldn’t quite define. Resistance? Hesitance? ‘I … thought you were in London,’ he said.

  ‘We arrived last night,’ she told him, starting to fear that he wasn’t even going to let her past the doorstep. ‘How are you?’

  For what seemed an eternity he simply continued to look down at her, then standing aside, he gestured for her to come in.

  She waited for him to close the door, then smiled awkwardly, not sure what to say now.

  ‘I was in here,’ he said, directing her into the sitting room where an enormous fire was roaring in the hearth, and the newspapers he’d obviously been reading were scattered around the sofas.

  As she reached the fireplace he said, ‘Can I take your coat?’

  As she unwound her scarf she looked around the elegant yet cosy room, with its big comfy sofas and armchairs, the throw pillows surrounding the coffee table, and the bookshelves that filled the niches either side of the chimney breast. It was the same as it had been the day they’d come for the wake; less people now, of course, and not quite so sad.

  ‘This is a beautiful room,’ she murmured, passing him her coat. ‘Did Stacey do it this way?’

  ‘Yes, she did,’ he answered.

  Though the reply had been short, he hadn’t seemed to flinch at the mention of Stacey’s name, which gave her courage, for she’d been afraid he’d shy immediately from that particular hurdle. Then realizing he was watching her, she turned to look at him too.

  ‘No one would confirm it,’ he said, ‘but I think I have you to thank for the intervention that speeded up my release.’

  She raised her eyebrows comically. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she responded.

  He was still watching her. ‘Thank you anyway,’ he said. ‘And thank you for coming. It’s good to see you.’

  ‘And to see you.’ She wanted to touch him, if only to squeeze his hands, but knew instinctively that it would be wrong.

  He gestured with her coat. ‘I’ll go and hang this up, then can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? There’s mulled wine, if you fancy it.’

  Surprised and impressed, she said, ‘Why not? It’s Christmas. Did you make it?’

  He gave her a waggish sort of look, a hint of his old self. ‘I could lie,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure I’ll be found out, so no, Jenny brought it over, yesterday. She seems to have appointed herself as a replacement for Elwyn and Felicity, now they’ve gone back to Wales. After all the fuss, they were nervous of the police unearthing a certain cottage industry that wouldn’t thrive on that kind of publicity.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, what’s happened about that?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t ask.’

  ‘Better not to know,’ she agreed.

  He went off with her coat, then came back a few minutes later with two tumblers of warm, spicy wine.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, tapping her glass to his.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he echoed.

  They both drank, then realizing he was watching her slightly curiously now, and afraid she knew why, she put a hand to her middle. ‘I promise you, it’s not still in there,�
� she said, ‘though I know it looks like it.’

  He smiled and it almost reached his eyes. ‘I hear it was a boy.’

  ‘Laurie told you?’

  ‘Yes. Congratulations. How is he?’

  ‘Adorable, but then I would say that. His name’s Charles. Charlie, actually. Tim’s name was Timothy Charles, so I’ve called the baby Charles Timothy.’

  ‘Charlie,’ he said. ‘I like it. Will I be able to meet him?’

  Feeling a small leap in her heart, she said, ‘Oh, I think so. In fact I’ve signed you up for nappy-changing duty during the carols at the pub tonight.’

  His eyebrows rose, then he shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’ll be going,’ he said. ‘But certainly another time.’

  Keeping her disappointment hidden, while wanting to kick herself for being so clumsy, she went to sit in the armchair he was indicating, and crossed one booted leg over the other, while he went to sit on the sofa.

  After a while she said, ‘I know it’s been a difficult time, and you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I just want to know, has it all been sorted out now? Are you home for good?’

  Stretching an arm out along the back of the sofa, he said, ‘Actually, if there’s one person I would want to talk to about it, it’s you, though I’m not sure I knew that until today.’ From his expression he seemed genuinely surprised by the discovery, but she could tell he was still keeping a barrier between them. ‘Yes, I’m home for good,’ he said. ‘But as for everything being sorted …’ His eyebrows went up as he looked down at his glass and shook his head. ‘Insofar as they’ve finally dropped the charges against me, I guess you could say that it is all sorted, but there’s still a heck of a lot going on behind the scenes, as I’m sure you know, so it could be that I’ll be called on to testify at various trials, or inquiries, that might come up over the next couple of years, though it’s by no means certain they will. If they do, it won’t be easy, because I actually struck up personal friendships with some of those involved, particularly Rudy Forester. Did Laurie tell you about him?’