Adelina thanked God she’d not had to deal with it since then. And that he hadn’t managed to impregnate her that night.
After that night, they’d fallen into an uneasy truce. She promised to handle their social engagements flawlessly. He promised not to hurt her.
It was no way to live, and she needed to find a better answer.
That morning, though, she knew exactly why the dream had come. Normally, the dream was formless, and it always started the same way—Adelina, in the practice hall of the National Youth Orchestra. Richard walked in, always in the black jeans and black t-shirt he’d worn the day he raped her the first time. Smiling. Menacing.
Last night, the dream had been different. Because he had been there. The smiling twenty-one-year-old Prince George-Phillip.
You’re a charming woman, Adelina, he’d said.
You’re too kind, she had whispered.
Every time his eyes grazed over her, she felt herself flush. It wasn’t that she hadn’t felt desired before. After all, Richard had desired her. But it was different. George-Phillip was kind. He’d been interested in what she had to say about the Youth Orchestra and her opinions of international politics, which she’d spent considerable time studying in the last year. His expressive face and animated eyebrows demonstrated how closely he was paying attention to what she said. Adelina might have had to drop out of school, but she was a very intelligent woman. No more than five minutes into their conversation, George-Phillip and Colonel Rainsley both realized that. The conversation had naturally shifted, mostly to the circumstances of Colonel Rainsley’s run for the Senate.
“The problem wasn’t that the orders were badly thought out,” Rainsley had said. “The problem was no one in the White House cared enough to think through the implications of putting us there with rules of engagement that wouldn’t allow us to defend ourselves. Do you know that was the deadliest day for the Marine Corps since Iwo Jima? And here’s the thing—the White House couldn’t even decide on a response. Too much political infighting, so we pulled our guys out, used a battleship to bomb the crap out of the wrong people and left it at that. Every single one of those young lives was wasted.”
Of course the discussion had circled around politics and international affairs. Richard was a Foreign Service officer, and their guests included people who weren’t high government officials yet, but likely would be one day.
Adelina found herself staying careful. Periodically Richard’s eyes wandered to her, and it was important to maintain the pretense that she was entertaining their guests solely for his purposes.
In fact, she’d found herself more and more drawn in by George-Phillip. Rainsley, initially, was dismissive of George-Phillip’s opinion of anything military. That lasted right up until George-Phillip described the British recapture of the Falkland Islands almost two years before.
“You were part of the landing force?” Rainsley asked, disbelief on his face. “You’re too young.”
“I was nineteen at the time, sir. After my father passed, I served a two year tour with the 5th Infantry Brigade.”
“Under General Moore?”
“Yes, sir, you know him?”
“I do, I was briefly assigned as Liaison to Royal College of Defense Studies in ’77. General Moore was assigned there at the time.”
Adelina watched George-Phillip, intrigued. At first she’d taken him as a fop. Royal, perhaps, but a fop. But apparently he had enough substance that he’d volunteered to serve in an infantry regiment and fought in the Falklands War, when he could have just as easily sat at home spending his inherited wealth.
Colonel Rainsley had turned his attention from George-Phillip to Adelina. “We should turn the conversation to other topics,” he said, “so we don’t bore Adelina.”
At the opposite end of the table, Leslie Collins and Richard were leaning close to each other, nearly whispering. Prince Roshan seemed equally involved in whatever they were discussing, which left Brianna Rainsley and Myriam Roshan stewing in the two middle seats of the table.
“No need to worry about boring me, Colonel, I’m quite interested in the topic. Unless Brianna or Myriam would prefer we discussed something else?”
George-Phillip gave Adelina a warm look, a slight twinkle in his eye, one side of his mouth slightly upturned. Adelina felt a deep sense of satisfaction at Rainsley’s clear look of discomfort.
Myriam Roshan took the opportunity to ask Rainsley a question about his experience in Beirut and to lament the damage caused by the civil war, and the conversation moved on.
That night, Adelina dreamt of George-Phillip. Dreams that slowly turned back to the familiar scene, dreams that ended the same way they always did. With Richard’s hands around her throat.
Her eyes had popped open and she sat up instinctively, terror clogging her throat, her heart thumping in her chest. It was four in the morning when she awoke from the dream, and it took her a long time to get back to sleep. She got up and got a glass of water, then went back to her room and lay down alone. With the door locked behind her. When the alarm woke her at six am, she felt strung out. Exhausted.
All the same, she dragged herself out of bed. She didn’t expect to see much of Richard, but Sunday mornings she attended Mass at the Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic Church on Old Georgetown Road. Services. Communion. But since her arrival in the United States, she’d not attended confession. Maybe soon, she thought. She’d been telling herself that ever since the day almost exactly three years before when Richard had walked into her father’s shop. The day of the coup. The day he raped her.
Adelina left her room cautiously, as always. She didn’t know if Richard was home—he often wasn’t—but she didn’t want to take the chance. Julia would be awake any moment. Adelina wanted at least a few moments before she was. She walked down the hall, passing Richard’s closed door on her way to the kitchen. At first he’d balked at the idea of separate rooms, but he’d finally given in, with the admonition that she was to never tell anyone.
People will think we don’t love each other. Married couples don’t sleep in separate rooms.
We don’t love each other, she’d replied. No amount of lies will change that.
He’d snarled at her and she’d walked away, knowing that antagonizing him any further was a bad idea.
The coffee pot—a new one, with a built in clock—was already on with a fresh pot.
Thank God. She poured herself a cup, generously adding cream and sugar, and walked toward the sliding glass doors and the balcony. She passed the mantel, with its bizarre decorations, including a gigantic brass head he claimed to have bought in Indonesia. It was heavy. One day she wanted to use it to smash in his head.
She slid open the sliding glass door and slipped into one of the cast iron seats at the table overlooking Bethesda, Maryland, and in the distance, Washington, DC. She left the door cracked—Julia would be awake soon. This was the one compensation for living here instead of San Francisco—or, for that matter, Madrid or Calella, or anywhere else on earth without Richard. She loved the view from this balcony, she loved sitting out here and drinking her coffee and relaxing. She rarely had moments of unguarded relaxation. Very rarely. She closed her eyes and leaned her head forward and whispered a prayer.
“Mummy?”
Adelina swallowed and opened her eyes.
Julia had awakened and was standing at the sliding glass door. Her brown hair was tousled, curling around her head, framing green eyes that looked alarmingly similar to Richard’s. She wore a blue nightdress with white flowers.
Adelina smiled and stood, then slid the door open slightly.
“Come here, baby,” she said. She sat down, and Julia scrambled up into her lap and stretched her arms around her.
Adelina stiffened for a moment, then fought that down and hugged her daughter back, cursing herself. It wasn’t Julia’s fault Richard had … it just wasn’t her fault. But all the same, every time, she had to fight back the initial reaction. She had
to fight against her instinct to shy away, her instinct to not be touched, ever.
“I love you, baby,” she whispered in Julia’s ears. But she wondered if her daughter would someday wonder why Adelina recoiled against touch. She sat there, holding her arms around that precious baby, and promised herself that no matter what else happened, she’d take care of that little girl.
“I love you, Mummy,” Julia said.
The phone inside rang. Adelina felt a flash of irritation as she stood up to go get it, swinging Julia around to rest on her hip. Was it the babysitter again? She was late last Sunday, and Adelina ended up being late for Mass, which was yet another sore point with Richard, because he’d insisted Julia be brought up as Protestant. Not that he would make arrangements for Julia to have any other religious instruction. Nor could he be bothered to take any interest in his daughter in any other way.
You’re not even religious! Adelina had shouted. You’re only doing this to spite me!
She’d lost that battle, and Adelina had learned long since that she simply couldn’t win all of them. But she would teach her daughter in private, no matter what he said.
Adelina reached the phone and picked it up.
“Hello?” As she answered the phone, Julia began to squirm in her arms. Adelina held on tightly.
“Mrs. Thompson? It’s Marcy Whitsun. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make it on time this morning.”
“That’s fine,” Adelina snapped. “Don’t bother. Don’t bother coming back at all.”
“Miss Thompson? Wait, it’s just that—”
“I don’t really care what it is. You’ve worked for me for three weeks, and this is the second time you’ve called to say you’re late or not coming on Sunday morning.” Julia began to kick in her arms, but Adelina held on. She continued speaking into the phone. “I have limited patience. You’ve reached the end of mine.”
She slammed down the phone, hard. Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. The only thing that tethered her to reality was going to Mass. That was all she had. She needed to go. She needed the time.
“Mummy?” Julia said. Her tiny arms were waving wildly. “Mummy? Mummy?”
“What?” Adelina shouted.
Julia’s eyes seemed to double in size as they filled with tears. Her face began to get red, and Adelina said, “I’m sorry, baby, it’s not…”
She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Julia’s face turned red and she began to scream.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she muttered. She slid Julia down to the floor, where the girl promptly collapsed and continued screaming. Adelina looked around, her head swiveling round as she searched for her coffee cup, which she’d only had maybe three sips from before Julia awoke.
Julia let out a piercing scream.
And that was when Richard’s door opened and he shot out of his room.
“Can’t you quiet that child?” he shouted. “I’m trying to sleep!”
“Why don’t you quiet her?” Adelina shouted back. “The only time I ever get to myself is Sunday morning, and now I’m losing that too.”
His face stiffened, his jaw working, and he reached forward and grabbed the sides of her face and began to squeeze. “I told you to shut. Her. Up. Do it.”
His face was red as he said the words, his teeth clenched and his eyes bugged slightly. Adelina began to whimper, the pressure from his hands on the side of her face causing intense pain.
“Stop!” she shouted.
He let go and pushed. Adelina staggered back against the wall.
He sucked in another breath, his shoulders rising, and Julia let out another piercing scream.
He pointed. “That child. If you don’t shut her up, I will.”
Adelina slid down the wall, backing away from him. His words instantly quelled any argument or defiance. All she had to do was remember her father, run down by a truck on a narrow Madrid street, and he instantly gained her obedience. She had a little brother, Luis, to protect. She had a daughter to protect. It didn’t matter that Richard was Julia’s father. The longer she knew him, the more she realized he simply had no normal human feelings.
She kneeled down and picked up Julia, who screamed even louder. “Stay away from her.”
Richard sneered at her. “Gladly. I’m going back to sleep. If you have to, take her outside, but shut her up.”
“I’m going to Mass this morning.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! Take her to your Mass! Just shut her up!” Richard turned and stomped off, then slammed the door to his room.
Adelina turned back into the kitchen. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she could feel sweat on her forehead. “Calm down, Julia. You must calm down. Don’t disturb your father.”
Julia hiccupped and began to whine again. Adelina was desperate. She knew how to take care of babies—after all, Luis had been younger than Julia was now when she married Richard. She’d changed plenty of diapers and fed plenty of babies, and she knew what to do to calm Julia down. But the hardest part was calming herself down, and Julia would not calm down until her mother did. All Adelina could see was Richard, reaching his hands around her throat, ripping her dress, harming the people she loved.
She closed her eyes, desperately trying to breathe as waves of nausea and fear swept through her. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you something to eat.”
Eventually, Julia began to calm, and they sat together on the balcony as Adelina fed her daughter. The sun was coming up now; great bands of red and orange stretching across the sky. Adelina reflected that despite herself, she’d won another victory against Richard this morning. She’d won an essential victory, the fight for her daughter’s soul, the fight to bring her daughter up in the Church. The flip side of that was the bleak realization that she’d won that victory not through her own efforts, but through her daughter’s.
***
It was well past one in the afternoon when Adelina returned to the condo. Julia was asleep in her stroller—the long walk back from the church had been peaceful. The sky was a little grey, but by the time she started the walk back home, the temperature had warmed to the low sixties.
Normally Adelina made the walk home regardless of the weather, but that would change if she took Julia with her every week. Adelina didn’t mind walking in a raincoat with an umbrella in thirty degree weather, because it gave her time to think. But a two-year-old couldn’t do that.
The need to go to confession had been stronger than ever today. The last time she’d gone to confession had been traumatic. She remembered being on her knees in the parish church of Santa Maria in Calella, her mother on one side and the priest on the other, as she sobbed out a half-true story. She was pregnant, and gave the name of the father—Richard Thompson. But she didn’t describe the circumstances, because she was too afraid. Too afraid he would hurt her brother, or her mother.
Father Dennis, the priest at Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, seemed like a trustworthy man. She’d watched him over the last few weeks since her arrival in Bethesda. In his early thirties, he had deep brown hair and eyes and moved around the church with deliberate care and courtesy to everyone. He’d made a point of introducing himself at her first Mass, and then sought her out twice since to make sure she was settling in well.
She’d never had cause to doubt a confessor before. The bond between a penitent and confessor was supposed to be inviolate, but she’d learned the hard way that not all men were able or willing to uphold the trust of that sacred bond. After her experience in Calella, she needed to be sure. What would happen if she told Father Tom about her rape, about Richard, about her lies to her family, about all of it? She didn’t know. Part of her was deeply afraid he would betray her the same way the parish priest in Calella had done. She couldn’t imagine the consequences of Richard in a real rage. For example, if his position were threatened. He’d made it very clear to her that his ambition was both boundless and that she was to do everything she could to support it.
/> As Adelina rode up the elevator, she felt, rather than saw, Julia begin to stir. Adelina crooned a quiet tune in the elevator, hoping to keep her asleep long enough to take a nap. She decided to take the chance. Next weekend she would go to confession. Her soul was more important than any earthly consequences.
Inside, she stood still and breathed in the calm for a moment when Julia didn’t stir. The concierge had let her know that Richard was out. She knew he wouldn’t be back until late that evening—whatever Richard did with his free time didn’t include her. Sometimes he spent long hours locked in his study, and sometimes he just stayed out. She didn’t really care where, as long as she didn’t have to deal with him often.
She rolled the stroller back to Julia’s room and slowly lifted her out of the seat to the crib, then froze halfway up.
The phone was ringing. Damn it. Julia started to stir, but Adelina whispered calming words and slowly got her into her bed. She tucked the blanket around her then stepped back.
The girl didn’t stir. Adelina stepped out and gently closed the door.
She reached the phone just in time to hear the answering machine pick up.
“Um … hello,” said the voice on the machine. A warm, upper class British accent. She instantly recognized George-Phillip’s voice and felt an intense anxiety.
“I’m calling for uh … Mr. Thompson. This is George-Phillip Windsor, you were kind enough to host me for dinner the other night—”
Adelina snatched up the phone.
“Hello? Hello?”
“Um…”
The awkward exchange went silent. Then George-Phillip said, “Is this Adelina Thompson? It’s so pleasant to hear your voice.”
Adelina felt her cheeks heat up at the same time she felt intense shame. Hate Richard she might, but she was married to him. But just hearing the sound of George-Phillip’s voice on the phone sent her heart racing.
“This is Adelina,” she whispered.
Girl of Rage Page 9
