by Joanna Rees
‘You don’t mean that. You can’t say you’ll love a person no matter what.’
He pulled back and looked at her. ‘Yes, you can. You know when your heart is captured.’
‘But you hardly know me. I mean, not really.’
‘I know enough to know that you have a good soul.’
Vita felt a knot form in her throat as she thought of Clement’s immobile body in the barn and the trickle of blood from his mouth. ‘But what if I’m not?’ she managed.
He took her palm and kissed it. ‘I don’t know what silly ideas you have, but I see you. I know that you are a decent, kind, loyal, sweet, intelligent, amazing person.’ He emphasized each word with a kiss.
She felt her tears falling then.
‘Why are you crying?’ he asked.
‘Just because . . .’ she said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. She should tell him. She absolutely should tell him. That she hadn’t been honest. That she’d led a whole life he knew nothing about.
‘Shhh, my love,’ he soothed. Come here,’ and he pulled her into his arms and then pointed at the sky. ‘Now look.’
She nestled into his arms, feeling hopelessly torn as she gazed at the canopy of stars. She must tell him, she resolved. Now that she’d given herself to him, she’d come clean. Give herself entirely.
And that was when she saw a bright light dash across the sky.
‘Archie. Look! Did you see that?’
‘Yes. Yes,’ he said. ‘A shooting star. Make a wish.’
Vita closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that she would one day be free of her guilt over Clement, and that she and Archie would be together.
‘What did you wish for?’ he asked.
‘I can’t tell you. Otherwise it might not come true.’
93
Edward Is Cornered
It wasn’t difficult to locate Sopel. After a few easy enquiries, it turned out that he was a member of the club next door to Clement’s own on Pall Mall. Clement and Rawlings had no problem getting past the doorman at the grand marble pillars.
The club was opulent, with a lavish marble staircase and large oil paintings of bygone military heroes on the walls. After some discreet questions to one of the liveried butlers, Clement was told that he could find Sopel at the bar on the first floor and they headed up there, following the sound of raucous laughter. Clement felt his back twinge painfully as he stumped up the steps and he was glad of Rawlings’s support – his arm gently cupping Clement’s elbow. He would have to make this short and sweet and then retire for his injection.
The bar was crowded with groups of loud men and was thick with smoke. A large wooden bar dominated one side, the mirrored wall behind it covered in exotic-looking bottles of gin and whisky.
‘That’s him,’ Rawlings whispered, and Clement looked over to the young man in evening dress at the bar. He was handsome, and Clement could immediately sense the entitled air that he had about him, as he held court with a group of men. As they started to drift towards a table, he waited until Sopel was alone for a moment at the bar and then nodded to Rawlings. They walked directly towards him, standing on either side of him.
‘I say, fellas, what do you think you’re doing?’ Sopel began, but then he saw the cane Clement was holding. He stopped and Clement felt a frisson of satisfaction to see this confident young man looking so rattled.
‘Recognize it?’ Clement said.
‘Who the devil are you? What’s the meaning of this? I am entertaining company this evening, so if you’ll excuse me.’
‘Percival Blake.’ Clement said softly, leaning in close. The barman was pouring drinks, his back turned to them.
Edward scrabbled for words to deny it. ‘I have no idea . . . no idea what you’re talking about or who you mean.’
‘We have pictures of you two together,’ Rawlings lied. ‘Meeting at your hotel. Clifford Court.’
‘So there’s really no point denying it,’ Clement said. He gave Sopel one of his hard stares. ‘And my colleague and I were thinking how unfortunate it would be if the pictures were to get into the hands of the press. Or . . . your father.’
Sopel mouthed something wordlessly for a moment. ‘What is it that you want? Money?’ he whispered, his gaze flitting across the room to where his friends were waiting for him.
‘We just want some information from Mr Blake. That’s all,’ Rawlings said. Clement admired his deadpan tone.
‘What information? What’s he done?’
‘Get him to meet you at that hotel room,’ Clement said. ‘There’s no need for you to be present. We can do the rest. Make the call. And when he’s there, call this number.’
Rawlings handed over a card with the number of Clement’s club on it. ‘Ask for Mr Darton.’
94
The Cricket Match
Vita finally crept back to her room at dawn, after having made love with Archie under the stars all night, whereupon she fell into the deepest sleep of her life. When Mrs Hopson woke her, it took her a moment to remember where she was. If the old housekeeper knew what Vita had been up to in the night, she didn’t let on.
Embarrassed that she’d overslept, Vita hastily washed her face, got dressed and hurried downstairs. She found Archie in the breakfast room in cricket whites. Bobby Chartwell, his friend from London, had arrived earlier in the pony and trap, Archie explained, and the two men were full of bonhomie. She knew straight away that Archie had told him what had happened between them. Bobby’s eyes glinted with the knowledge, and she felt herself blushing under his gaze.
Archie had told Vita that she’d ‘simply adore’ Bobby, but Vita didn’t like him on sight. He was the kind of priggish bore, with a red face and a honking laugh, that Nancy would roundly mock, if she’d been here.
They had clearly been talking about the plans for later that evening and Vita felt a dart of apprehension. She’d been anticipating another night alone with Archie, but now that Bobby was here, that wasn’t going to happen. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed. Was it only twelve hours since she’d left her room to join Archie on the roof?
‘So, we’d better get a move on,’ Archie said, clapping his hands together. She could see a flush in his cheeks. ‘Can’t let the side down. Can you bear to watch?’ he asked her, as if she were just a friend – one who might want to spend some time alone at the house.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she lied, staring at him hard as she picked a grape from the fruit bowl and put it in her mouth. She waited for a special sign from him – a touch, a look – but Archie and Bobby were clearly excited about the match.
As they sped down the drive in the car and along the lane beside the impressive drystone wall of the Hartwell estate to the village green, Vita shivered, looking up at the grey clouds mounting. She couldn’t help thinking about the last time she’d been in the car, only yesterday, and how different she felt now.
‘Hopefully we’ll get the match in before the rain,’ Archie said over his shoulder to her. ‘You can watch from the pavilion, Vita, just to be on the safe side.’
When they parked by the village green and Bobby vaulted over the low door of Archie’s sports car, she still she didn’t get a second alone with Archie. They were the last men to the pitch, and as Archie and Bobby hurried onto the green, she saw several men greet Archie fondly. He waved his bat over at her. ‘Don’t worry. They’re all very friendly,’ he called to her.
She blew him a discreet kiss and then made her way into the wooden pavilion and queued up for a cup of tea, looking round at the mixture of women, who were all chatting animatedly by the urn. She felt their stares as she got herself some tea, and went to the front porch with her bone-china cup and saucer to watch the game start.
‘Veronica,’ the woman ahead of her said, turning to Vita and shaking her hand roughly. She was tall, with a cricket jumper over her summer dress and a large floral scarf tied round her head. ‘We’re next-door neighbours of the Fen-wicks. I’ve known Archie si
nce we were this high.’ Suddenly she put her teacup down on the wooden balustrade and shouted loudly, deafening Vita, ‘Go on, darling. Run for your life.’
Vita followed her gaze out to the cricket green, where a young boy in a white cap was running.
‘My eldest,’ she explained. ‘He’s under strict instructions to beat his father.’
Vita smiled and nodded. ‘He’s here?’
‘The husband? Yes . . . ghastly man,’ Veronica added, but Vita couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking. ‘He’s the bowler next to Archie.’
Vita followed her gaze to where Archie stood, surrounded now by a group of men discussing tactics.
‘We’re friends from London,’ Vita said, wondering if Veronica was trying to guess their relationship.
‘Only friends? Shame. It’d be lovely to have London people here. It’s so boring. And now all the traditions are going. It’s devastating that this is the last Hartwell match.’
‘The last one?’
‘Didn’t Archie tell you? But that’s why he’s here.’
‘Why the last . . .?’
Veronica put a large piece of cream cake into her mouth and licked her fingers. ‘Because they have to sell up. Clarissa is completely broke. The cricket green is part of the house sale.’
‘Sale? But I thought . . .’
‘Alas, the only way the Fenwick family can survive is if dear Archie were to find himself in changed circumstances.’
‘Changed circumstances?’ Vita asked.
But Veronica didn’t answer, because now the spectating became rather animated. Vita joined in, shouting for Archie, and it felt good to be included with the wives, but still her mind churned with this new information. Why hadn’t Archie mentioned that Hartwell was for sale, when they’d had a whole conversation about country houses? Veronica must be wrong.
The match ‘tea’ was actually a lunch and Archie, who had scraped to victory with his boys, was in a jubilant mood. She watched him as he socialized, longing for his eyes to search her out.
‘You’re looking at him as if you could eat him whole,’ a woman – a friend of Veronica’s – said to Vita.
‘Oh,’ Vita said, laughing. ‘Really? I was just daydreaming.’ She was making it sound even worse.
‘Who can blame you? You’ll have to join the queue. Everyone around here has been in love with Archie Fenwick forever. But it looks like it’s too late.’
Vita wondered exactly what the woman meant. That she had been in love with Archie, but now saw that Vita had claimed him?
Veronica joined them as Archie came over, and Vita wondered if he knew that they’d all been talking about him. She was gratified when he smiled at her, and Vita felt the woman beside her stiffen as she saw the look between them.
‘Why don’t you come over to ours. What do you say, Arch? Bring Vita, here.’
‘Oh, no. Ron, that’s so sweet, but we can’t,’ Archie said.
‘He’s got to go back to London,’ Bobby said, slapping Archie on the shoulder. Archie turned, his eyes flashing at Bobby. ‘Well, he’s taking me,’ Bobby clarified. ‘Bloody strike means there are no trains, and I absolutely promised we’d be there tonight.’
‘Be where tonight?’ Vita’s voice sounded shrill, even to herself.
‘Didn’t he tell you?’ Bobby said and she saw Archie’s cheeks go pink. ‘Three-line whip at the club, I’m afraid. Pals’ thing, you know. When one of us old buggers gets married, we have to give the fella a good send-off. The lads sent me down to make sure Archie puts in a show.’
‘Oh? Who’s getting married?’ Vita asked, but at that moment there was a loud clap of thunder and everyone jumped, and all the remaining players ran for cover in the pavilion.
‘I said I’d drive Bobby,’ Archie said, his tone placatory. ‘I’m sorry we can’t stay longer. You’ll come with us, won’t you, Vita?’
‘It’ll mean being squashed in the back, old girl,’ Bobby said, as if trying to put her off.
‘I don’t mind,’ Vita replied, but she did. And she minded even more when Archie didn’t meet her enquiring gaze. She’d missed Nancy’s party for him – no doubt incurring Nancy’s wrath – and yet he wouldn’t miss a party for her? Why was he doing what this awful man said? Why was Archie going back to London, when she was quite happy to stay here with him for another night? And why hadn’t he told her about needing to sell the house? Most importantly, where was the Archie of last night, who’d told her he’d love her forever?
95
Squashed in the Back
The heavens had opened by the time they got back to Hartwell and rain hammered down on the canvas roof of the car. Vita had hoped Archie might try and wriggle out of the arrangement that Bobby had insisted upon, especially over tea, when both Jeffers and Mrs Hopson expressed their concerns about it being too wet to drive. But Bobby was having none of it and, all too soon, Vita was squashed in the back, just as he’d predicted.
She sat, glowering, finding it hard to breathe as Bobby smoked in the front. It was difficult to follow the conversation, because the engine was so loud and the windscreen wipers struggled to cope with the rain. Vita shivered as a leak in the side-window blew cold spray into her face. Archie lost his grip of the tyres several times and, as the journey continued, Vita’s worries turned to fear that they’d ever make it in one piece. She was relieved to see the river and the skyline of London through the gloom.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Archie asked her, as he parked by the kerb on Pall Mall, next to the white stucco building round the corner from the Haymarket. With the honking motorcars and all the people on the street, it felt as if they’d been swallowed by the city, and yesterday’s tranquil picnic seemed like a year ago, but Vita was delighted to be able to stretch her legs as she stepped out of the back of the car. ‘I’d take you home, but we’re late as it is.’
‘You go, then,’ she said, feeling the imposing building looming over them. ‘I’ll be fine. I can walk from here.’ She shivered, her clothes wet from where she’d been sprayed in the car. Archie opened the boot and produced an umbrella.
‘Here, take this,’ he said, putting it up for her and handing it over.
She tried not to let her pent-up tears fall, as she huddled from the rain under the umbrella. She felt bereft. Archie was really leaving her. The magic of last night – of everything they’d shared – had gone.
Archie watched Bobby disappear inside the building and then he pulled her into an embrace. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Bobby is quite the world’s worst gossip. I didn’t want to give him any more ammunition than he already thinks he has.’
Why did it matter so much to him that she remained a secret? So what if Bobby knew? She didn’t care if the whole world knew they were in love.
As if reading her thoughts, he held her face and kissed her with infinite tenderness on the lips. ‘Oh, my darling,’ he said. ‘Today has been torture.’
She felt relief bleed through her. ‘I know.’ She kissed him back then, until she was pressed right against him and, embarrassed at the spectacle they were making, he moved back from her.
‘Will I see you?’ she managed.
‘See me?’ he asked, shocked. He held her shoulders and looked into her face. ‘Of course. Remember everything I said last night?’
How could she ever forget? She nodded, drowning in his gaze, longing for him to repeat it all.
‘Well then,’ he said.
‘Come on, old chap,’ Bobby called, coming back around the porch. ‘Everyone is waiting.’
‘You’d better go,’ Vita said, nodding, clear at the understanding between them, although she longed to throw herself into his arms – to make him promise they’d never be apart.
96
The Cheque Book
Mrs Bell was serving supper as Vita came in. As she entered the parlour, she felt the weight of what had just happened hit her. The wireless crackled with a familiar dance tune, but suddenly Archie and his club and hi
s friends seemed a million miles away. It was as if he’d been consumed by his world and she’d been cast back to hers, and their space – that magical place where the two of them could just be together – seemed to have vanished.
‘Where on earth have you been? The girls said you went away?’ Mrs Bell said, looking at her with knitted eyebrows. ‘Casper, shoo,’ she said, nudging the cat off Vita’s chair.
Vita nodded, sitting down heavily in the chair, feeling too exhausted to make an excuse. She suspected that the gossip had been rife here in the house, from the way Mrs Bell looked at her now. Casper jumped back up on her lap and Vita petted him, burying her face in his fur, suddenly wanting to cry.
‘Well, did you?’
‘I went to see a friend,’ she said, looking at the plate of ham and boiled potatoes, wondering how she was ever going to eat. She thought of Archie dining in his smart gentlemen’s club, and the contrast with her boarding house couldn’t be more marked.
There was the noise of footsteps on the creaky stair and Percy came in and grinned, sitting down opposite her.
‘There you are,’ he said, not noticing her glum expression. ‘Look what came to the studio.’ He handed her a thick white envelope.
Vita put Casper down and looked inside, before pulling out a cheque book. She turned it over in her hand and opened the page. ‘Coutts and Co.,’ she read, running her fingers over the loopy writing of the private bank’s insignia. ‘Proper cheques,’ she said, her mind suddenly flooding with the enormity of their forthcoming presentation and what it might mean. ‘Paddy Potts came through after all, thanks to Nancy.’
‘Look at those,’ Mrs Bell said, admiring them. ‘Aren’t they beautiful? Such a lovely design.’ She nodded. ‘This business of yours is on its way now.’
Percy leant in closer. ‘It’s all very well having a bank account, but it’s empty,’ he reminded her. ‘Did you ask Archie for his investment money? We need contracts, and a lawyer, too.’
