‘Grace, this is Muriel. Look, Nanny Baines is ill. Eaten some bad meat, stupid woman.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes, well, the thing is, she’s supposed to be looking after Imogen. As Florence is away, doing her war work.’
‘Oh really?’ said Grace.
‘Yes. Down in Southampton. Something to do with finding billets for people. At least she doesn’t bring them into her own home.’
‘Muriel, please—’
‘Anyway, I can’t possibly have Imogen, I’m far too busy, so I’ve told Nanny you’d collect her and keep her until Florence gets back.’
‘But Muriel, I—’
‘You have the other childen after all, so it will be easy for you. And you’re one of the few people with petrol. She’s waiting for you now. Please hurry, the poor woman’s extremely unwell.’
‘I have to laugh,’ said Grace to Ben, relating this conversation, ‘or I’d cry. As Mrs Babbage is always saying.’
Robert arrived at the Priory at lunchtime, bearing a bottle of sherry for Muriel. ‘Any news of Florence?’
‘No, but I’m sure she’ll be back in the morning as promised.’
‘Yes of course. Where’s Imogen then?’
‘Grace is looking after her.’
‘How kind.’
‘Well, it’s the least she could do, I would have thought.’
Robert was reading the paper when there was a ring at the door. Muriel was having her nap; he went to answer it.
A large imposing woman in WVS green stood there, smiling graciously over some blankets clutched to a benchlike bosom. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘I’m Joan Haverford. From the WVS. Is Mrs Grieg here?’
‘No,’ said Robert, ‘no, she’s away. On WVS business actually. She’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘I do assure you she’s not on WVS business,’ said Joan Haverford just slightly sternly. ‘I have given her two days’ leave. Anyway, these blankets are for her. For the evacuees that arrived from Bristol the other night. Perhaps you could give them to her. Thank you so much.’ And she was gone, with a gracious wave.
Grace was in the kitchen making soup when Robert arrived; Ben was sitting by the fire reading to Imogen. Clifford and the boys were at the school, rehearsing for the Christmas concert, Grace having persuaded him, with a mixture of whisky-flavoured carrot and stick, to take her place this year. She said she simply couldn’t cope with it again so soon, the last one seemed like only yesterday. Clifford told her that Christmas coming round too quickly was a sign of age, and Grace said in that case twenty-four must be at least middle-aged.
‘Hallo, Robert,’ she said, opening the back door to his knock. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
She felt uneasy, anxious, after his last visit, worried about Florence being away.
‘Yes, well, I suddenly got a week’s leave and thought I’d come down. Only to find that Florence wasn’t at home. It’s a shame, but she’s doing her bit for her country, so I can’t complain.’
‘Um – no,’ said Grace. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes please. Where’s my little daughter? I was told she was here. Bless you Grace, for having her.’
‘Yes, she’s here. She’s in the drawing room, being read to by Ben.’
‘Ben?’
‘Yes, he’s a – a friend of mine. Well, the father of my little evacuees actually.’
‘Oh really?’ Robert’s eyebrows went up, in a way Grace didn’t quite like, but then he smiled at her and went to find Imogen. He came back with her in his arms; she was struggling furiously, cross at being disturbed in her story by someone she didn’t know. Ben followed him in.
‘Well, what do you think of her then?’ said Robert.
‘She’s lovely,’ said Grace. ‘And very clever,’ she added dutifully.
‘I know. Very bright indeed. I only wish I could see more of her, she changes so much, so fast. You don’t think she’s being harmed in any way, do you, by Florence leaving her with Nanny Baines?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Grace, and was about to enlarge on her view, to express everyone’s delight at the change Nanny Baines had wrought in Imogen, when Robert said, ‘Where’s this cup of tea you promised then?’
‘I’ll do it, Grace,’ said Ben, moving forward. Robert watched him in silence as he made the tea, poured it, passed the cups round.
‘Thanks,’ he said briefly. A taut silence filled the room.
‘Ben was out in the Western Desert. Like Charles,’ said Grace slightly desperately.
‘Oh really?’ said Robert.
‘Yes, and then he was wounded and brought home, and now he’s over at Tidworth.’
‘Grace, I think I can manage to speak for myself,’ said Ben lightly.
‘It must have been a pretty bad wound, to get you home,’ said Robert. He looked at Ben coolly.
‘It was,’ said Ben. ‘Shoulder. Shoulder and back. I was in hospital for over six months.’
‘I see. And do you often come over here to stay with Grace?’
‘Every now and again,’ said Ben, ‘to see my boys. My wife was killed, in an air raid. Grace has taken us all in.’ He smiled down at Imogen; she was trying to climb back onto his knee, waving her book at him. Robert picked her up rather pointedly and tried to get her to settle on his lap.
‘Daddy will read to you, darling,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Imogen. ‘Ben read.’
‘Ben has to go,’ said Ben into the uncomfortable silence.
‘Really, Ben?’ said Grace. ‘So early?’
‘Yeah, I’m due back on my course at six tomorrow morning. Sorry. I’ll go and get my things together.’
‘See you’re using an army vehicle,’ said Robert.
‘Yes, I did a delivery of some stores on the way. I did have permission, you can ask my CO, if you want.’ Grace stared at him. He was never defensive, never rude.
‘Good Lord no,’ said Robert. ‘Just a bit surprised, that’s all. Now Imogen, you come into the drawing room with me and I’ll read you this story you like so much. I’ll see you in a minute, Grace.’
‘Fine.’ She followed Ben upstairs. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Ben! There is.’
‘I won’t waste my breath on it,’ he said shortly. ‘I feel funny with him anyway, knowing what you told me about Florence.’
‘What about the boys?’
‘I’ll call in at the school on the way, say goodbye. And to Sir Clifford. I daresay they’ll be ages.’
‘Yes, they will.’
‘Well, goodbye.’ He hesitated. ‘Will you be all right? I don’t – like him.’
‘Of course I’ll be all right. And I do like him, very much, actually. He’s always been very kind to me,’ She sounded as she felt, defensive.
‘OK. Right then. I’ll be in touch. Bye, Grace. Thanks for having me again.’
‘Goodbye, Ben.’
He put his head round the drawing-room door a few minutes later. ‘Bye, Imogen.’
‘Bye-bye, Ben. Kiss?’ she added hopefully.
He moved forward, then stopped. Robert turned his back squarely on him, said, ‘Don’t be silly, Imogen, we’re having a story.’
‘Well, I’ll be off then,’ said Ben. He was back in uniform. ‘Goodbye – sir.’ The word came out like an insult.
Robert looked at him coldly over his shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Sergeant.’
Ben walked out, slamming the front door, accelerated out of the drive extremely hard, shooting the gravel under his tyres.
Grace went back into the drawing room. Robert was sitting by the fire, on his own. She smiled at him rather uncertainly. ‘More tea?’
‘No. No thank you. Sit down, Grace, won’t you?’
She sat down. ‘Where’s Imogen?’
‘I put her upstairs. In her cot. She was obviously tired, anyway.’
‘What on earth for? I don’t think she was. It’s not her bedtime.’
> ‘She’ll be all right. I gave her some toys to play with. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Oh. Well, just for a minute, then I’ve got to go and—’
‘Grace, do you know where Florence is?’
‘No,’ said Grace, her heart beginning to thump unpleasantly. ‘No, I don’t. Except that she’s on WVS business.’
‘I don’t think she is,’ said Robert.
She felt a hot flood of colour in her cheeks, her neck. She swallowed. ‘Robert, of course she is.’
‘No she’s not. A woman from the WVS called, said she had given her some time off.’
‘Oh,’ said Grace. She felt rather sick. ‘Well, I suppose she’s gone to see someone then. I must have got it muddled. Clarissa, perhaps she’s gone to see Clarissa—’
‘I don’t think so, do you? Grace, look at me.’
Grace looked at him, and didn’t like what she saw: a new Robert, the pale eyes flint-hard, the rather full mouth folded tight. A pulse throbbed in his neck; it looked somehow obscene, like a slug writhing.
‘Grace, do you know anything about Florence’s boyfriend?’
‘No. Of course not. I didn’t know – that is, I’m sure she hasn’t got a boyfriend.’
‘I think you probably did know. And I think you probably knew he was Imogen’s father as well, didn’t you? How do you think that makes me feel, Grace? To be taken for a fool, as well as deceived.’
‘Robert, I swear I don’t—’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Grace. You were there, with Florence, when Imogen was born. Don’t tell me you went through that with her and she didn’t confide in you. Of course she did.’
‘Robert, she didn’t,’ said Grace. ‘I really don’t know anything about Florence’s private life. I’ve always been careful not to ask.’
‘Oh I see. Well, quite suddenly, Grace, I can imagine that you might have been conniving with her. Encouraging her, egging her on, agreeing to help, to deceive me over the baby you helped to deliver. Pity you made such a big slip the last time I was here. Let the cat out of the bag.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Telling me Imogen was born early. When Florence had so carefully told me she was late.’
‘I – well, I must have got that the wrong way round. I—’
‘Oh Grace, please! Do credit me with a little sense. I’m disappointed in you, Grace. You’re not at all what I had always thought. A very good ally for Florence, I’d say.’
‘What? Robert, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh come off it. Of course you do. Little Miss Mealy-Mouth, so pure and virginal. What a joke—’
‘Robert, don’t.’
‘And all the time you’re carrying on with this – this creature. Some oick you’ve brought in from the back streets of London, along with his repellent sons. Who I find nursing my daughter. It made me feel sick, Grace.’
‘Robert, will you please leave!’
‘Still waters evidently run deep. Going upstairs with him before he leaves, having a quick one, were you? Up against the wall? That’s what they do, I believe, where he comes from.’
Grace stood up. ‘Get out. Get out of my house.’
‘Your house. It’s your house now, is it? Poor old Charles. Not only cuckolded, but cuckolded by a soldier. Not even an officer. Christ Almighty. What would he say? While he was fighting to defend his country.’
‘You’re disgusting,’ said Grace.
‘Well,’ he said and moved over to her, took her by the wrists and pulled her suddenly up against him. ‘Well, Grace, let’s see how far you can spread your favours. I always rather liked you. I like the virginal type. You know what they say about still waters.’
He had hideous breath. She turned her head away, but he pushed her against the wall, pressed his mouth hard on hers. She could feel his tongue probing through her lips, her teeth; she tried to call out, but his mouth muffled hers.
Then suddenly he stood back slightly, looking at her thought fully, and smiled. ‘Shall we go upstairs? Where you were with him? Or shall we do it down here, by the fire? I always like sex on the floor, don’t you? It’s so – primitive.’
‘Robert, please leave. I – I don’t want to—’
‘Of course you do. No, we’d better stay down here, Imogen might hear us. She’s had quite enough unsuitable experiences for one day. Sitting on your boyfriend’s knee, him trying to kiss her. It was disgusting.’
Grace was silent.
He pulled her backwards, still holding her wrists, towards the big rug on the floor by the fire. He held her with one hand and reached out for the buttons of her dress with the other. He started fondling at one of her breasts, reaching for her nipple.
Grace turned her head and bit the wrist; he grinned at her, continued to fondle. ‘Ah. The virginal worm turns. Oh Grace, this is rather fun.’
‘Please,’ she said, starting to cry now, ‘please, Robert, leave me alone. Just go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear. Just go. Listen, Imogen’s crying, she—’
‘All right,’ he said suddenly, ‘all right.’ He released her, stood back looking at her. ‘I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.’
She stared at him, stunned at the abrupt change of mood.
‘Just tell me where Florence is, Grace. Tell me where she is. Who she’s with.’
‘Robert, I can’t. I’ve told you I don’t know.’
He raised his hand and brought it down hard on the side of her head; she was so dazed, so shocked, she just stood there, staring at him. ‘Tell me where she is,’ he said. ‘You know, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t know.’
He hit her again, this time harder still; it caught her eye, hurt horribly.
‘I think you do. Come on, Grace, you might as well tell me.’
It was like some obscene dream; she was unable to move, to think what to do. She felt totally impotent, trapped far from anyone or anything. She could hear Imogen crying upstairs and, far away in the kitchen, music playing on the wireless, but it wasn’t real, it existed far from her, outside what was happening. She looked at Robert, and he smiled suddenly, the old, gentle, friendly smile, and for a wild moment she felt perhaps she had imagined the whole thing, that she was dreaming.
‘Here,’ he said, and sat down, patting the sofa beside him, ‘here, come and sit down. You look very pale, Grace, are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said carefully, ‘yes, I’m all right.’
‘Good. I’m sorry if I startled you, I just had to ask you, had to try and find her. I love her so much, you know. Come here, come and sit with me.’
Her eyes fixed on his, she moved trancelike onto the sofa, pulling her dress closed as she did so. He sat back and looked at her.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea in a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, very carefully, very quietly.
Perhaps, after all, it would be all right now, perhaps he would let her go, perhaps he was ashamed of himself. He was looking quite normal, quite calm. ‘Robert, could I just go to the—’
‘In a minute.’ A pause. ‘Now,’ he said softly, ‘where is she?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know.’
And then he raised his hand and hit her again, on the jaw this time; and as she recoiled he put out his hand, ripped savagely at her dress, and this time it tore, and the slip underneath it, leaving her breasts bare.
‘You do know,’ he said. ‘Tell me. Tell me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You’re lying. Little whore. Well, let’s see what happens to whores, shall we? Soldiers’ whores—’
He brought his hand down once more, on the side of her head, so hard that she slipped onto the floor; then he was kneeling over her, fumbling with his fly, dragging her pants down. She could feel his penis stabbing blindly at her, at her thighs; she clenched them together, tried to push him away.
‘Open your legs,’ he said, ‘go on, open them. Or I’ll h
it you again.’
Her last thought, as she tried and failed to push him off, sank into a sick, heaving darkness, was how desperately sorry she was not to have believed Florence.
‘You filthy bastard! Get off her. Leave her alone.’
It was Ben; he had seized Robert by the scruff of the neck with his good arm and was pulling him up, kneeing him repeatedly in the buttocks at the same time. Then he turned him round, pushed him against the wall and drove his fist into his face.
Grace, sitting on the floor, sobbing, trying to pull her skirt down, was dimly aware that the boys were standing in the doorway, gazing at her, white with shock; she could hear Clifford on the phone in the hall calling the police. And even in her pain and wretchedness knew it was the wrong thing to do.
‘Clifford, don’t. Please don’t.’
He put the phone down, stared at her. ‘Why? Why ever not?’
‘Just don’t. Please.’
She crawled slowly, painfully across to the sofa, sat on it, her head in her hands; she could hear David saying, ‘Dad, don’t hit him any more,’ and Daniel saying, ‘Grace, don’t cry, don’t cry.’
Clifford came in from the hall and said, ‘Ben, it’s all right, I should leave him if I were you. He’s a coward like all bullies. He won’t do anything more now.’
Ben dropped one hand, but still held Robert by the throat.
‘Let him go,’ said Grace. ‘Just let him go.’
Robert shook himself like a dog, pushed back his hair, mopped his bleeding nose with his handkerchief. Then he looked at Clifford.
‘Do you know where she is?’ he said. ‘Where my wife is?’
Clifford was silent; then he said, ‘Robert, either you get out of here, and never ever come near Florence or Imogen or indeed any of us ever again, or by God I swear I will have you in jail.’
Robert walked out of the room, out of the house; they heard the jeep roaring off up the drive.
Grace, still huddled on the sofa, saw Ben looking at her with an expression of quite extraordinary intensity. Not just concern, not even just outrage: something else. Something she couldn’t cope with at the moment.
‘I think I’ll go upstairs,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Excuse me, please.’
‘Shall I come too?’ said little Daniel and ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, Daniel, it’s all right. You must go and see to Imogen, Ben. She’s been crying all this time.’
Forbidden Places Page 43
