by Susan Lewis
Dimly aware of how slowly she was breathing, Carla thought about the book, and how it was lending an awful truth to Betty’s words. Then there was that extraordinary moment in the pub, the night There and Beyond was first transmitted, when he’d confessed to seeing someone murdered. But such lack of respect for human life, and outrageous exploitation of a humble man’s morals, didn’t fit at all with the Graham she knew, until she realized, with a cold, sinking dread, that it would fit with the man who’d been sending emails she’d believed were from Richard. Recoiling from that, she looked at Betty, whose right cheek was glowing red from the fire. Seeming to decide that Carla was now ready to hear more, Betty continued.
‘It was about the time the book came out that Graham decided we should all move south,’ she said. ‘Well, we say it was Graham’s idea, but really it was Barry’s, because he had a fancy for living in a big house of his own, now he could afford it, and if he bought himself somewhere near where we were people would wonder where he’d got the money. So we all came south and that was when Barry and Graham said that it would be better if we told everyone I was Graham’s wife. That way no-one would wonder why he wasn’t married, being so eligible like, and it would prevent him from having another woman move in, which Barry didn’t want, because he was afraid of anyone finding out our secret. Of course, we don’t ever call it blackmail, what goes on between the three of us, but really, that’s what it is, because we’ve all got this hold over each other now, and though the characters in Graham’s book Quiet Chaos are two women and a man, he’s based it on the way we all live, and the harm we could do each other, if we wanted.’
The phone was ringing again, but this time Carla didn’t even attempt to get up, nor did she hear the rain that had started drumming against the windows.
‘Of course, me and Graham, we’ve never lived together as man and wife,’ Betty said. ‘At least not, you know, in the biblical sense. We have separate rooms, and I expect you’ve noticed how often I go away … Barry’s got us a big house, just outside Taunton, which needs a lot of looking after, but it’s private, and no-one round about really knows who we are, or thinks of Barry as a detective, the way they do here. It was a cover Graham came up with, because no-one would be suspicious of a detective making regular visits to someone who writes the kind of books he does.’ She took a quick breath, but didn’t continue until a distant rumble of thunder had subsided into the wind and rain. ‘We’ve had some really bad periods over the years,’ she said, her eyes reflecting the troubled state of her mind. ‘Times when things have turned so ugly … All the blame, and the threats … Of course it’s pressure as well as guilt that gets us all riled up … We all want to get out of the situation, but there’s no way we can now, so we have to get over it, and I suppose, in its way, it makes us a bit like any other family, except with us we’re really stuck together. But I have to keep reminding myself that it could be a lot worse, because underneath it all Graham’s a lovely man, and does everything he can to help us through the bad times. Well, you know what he’s like, and I can tell you, he thinks the world of you. You’re the daughter he never had, and no-one’s ever mattered more to him than you, except your mother, of course, when she was alive.’
Carla tensed at the mention of her mother, but said nothing as Betty’s pale eyes seemed to drift into some other kind of thoughts that even a new crescendo of thunder didn’t appear to disrupt.
‘Lovely woman, Valerie,’ she said. ‘I’d like to have known her, but Graham and Barry thought it would be safer if I never got on terms with anyone, then there wouldn’t be any danger of me and Graham contradicting one another, you know, about our pasts or what-have-you, that would make people suspicious.’ She stopped and stared forlornly down at her lap, apparently contemplating the hopelessness of her existence.
Watching her, Carla couldn’t help wondering why she was telling her all this now, and was about to ask when a loud rap on the front door set her heart pounding and Eddie barking. Her first thought was of Richard, then, remembering, her eyes returned to Betty, who appeared suddenly very tense and anxious, and on the point of springing to her feet.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ she whispered.
Carla shook her head, and they continued to look at each other as Eddie stopped barking leaving only the storm breaking the silence. Seconds ticked by, then the sound of a key going into the lock set Eddie off again and turned Carla rigid. Telling herself that it had to be Avril, or Sonya, she stared out into the hall, so on edge that she didn’t even call out for Eddie to stop.
The sound of the front door closing brought her to her feet. Her heart was pounding and the fire was burning her legs as Eddie’s bark turned to a whine, the way it often did when greeting someone he knew. She knew it must be Graham, and fear slid through her to realize he was in the study with Eddie! But he wouldn’t hurt Eddie. There was no need. He just wanted to reassure him, and settle him down.
Her eyes remained fixed on the doorway as she strained her ears for a voice, then her heart jolted at the sound of the office door being quietly closed. There was a brief silence, then the floorboards creaked. A moment later Graham’s large frame filled up the doorway, seeming to trap them in the room. Then his eyes found Carla’s and it was as though the air was suddenly thickened by the strain of his pent-up emotions, while rain from the grooves of his hair ran down his face like tears.
For several long, disorienting seconds they merely looked at each other, as she tried to reconcile the familiarity of his face and warmth of his aura with the cold-blooded actions Betty had described. In a way it was like looking in a mirror and seeing the wrong reflection, for no evil showed in his persona – in fact nothing, except her perception, had changed since the last time she’d seen him. Yet the very fact that he’d let himself in, and that he was now standing there, unwelcomed and attempting to gauge her thoughts, removed them from the norm in a way that was frighteningly strange.
Finally he turned to Betty and began slowly to shake his head. ‘You’re not experienced enough with the computer to cover your tracks,’ he informed her.
Carla looked at her too, and saw an uneasy defiance in her eyes. ‘I had to come,’ she told him. ‘You know that.’
‘No, Betty, you didn’t,’ he responded. Then, looking at Carla, he said, ‘How much has she told you?’
Unwilling to mention the murder, Carla said, ‘I know she’s not your wife.’
For a moment Graham pulled thoughtfully at his beard, then, indicating the other fireside chair, said, ‘May I?’ Without waiting for an answer, he unbuttoned his coat and came further into the room. When he was seated, he addressed Betty again. ‘Does Carla know that you’ve tried speaking to her before?’ he asked. ‘Have you told her that the woman her niece and nephew saw was you, trying to pluck up courage to get past the dog? And the female intruder Maudie spotted? Have you admitted it was you, and explained what you were doing? And the phone call to the pub on Christmas Day? Of course, your incompetence on all occasions denotes an underlying willingness to be caught, we all understand that, it’s just unfortunate that this time you’ve managed to get much further. Now, what I need to know is how much further?’
‘She knows about the emails,’ Betty said quickly.
Graham’s brows went up, and after slowly nodding his head he looked up at Carla. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ he said.
For a long time she only looked at him, waiting for him, even willing him, to deny Betty’s words. But he didn’t, and as the horrendous, unthinkable truth of what he’d done washed over her, her sense of violation could hardly have been any worse. She looked at his hands, and his face, the crook of his legs inside his trousers, and the swell of his chest beneath his shirt. Then she thought of all the things he might have done to himself in response to the intensely intimate instructions she had given, she thought, to Richard. Masturbation was only the beginning; she couldn’t bear to go any further, for never, in her worst nightmares, had she ever imagined it was Gra
ham, the man she’d almost considered a father, who was receiving those emails, and doing God only knew what as a result of them. Nor could she bear to think of the brazen acts she had carried out on herself, using her fingers, and mirrors and ropes and candles, all the time thinking it was Richard asking her to do those things, sitting somewhere in his own quiet space at the hour they arranged, knowing everything from the moment she disrobed to the moment she reached self-imposed fulfilment. And it had only ever been Graham sitting in that quiet space, thinking, seeing, controlling … Dear God, how many times had he looked at her, knowing she wore no underwear, because he, not Richard, had told her not to? And all the frankly obscene words she had used to describe her lust, intending to turn Richard on – what had they done to the man who was really receiving them? Oh God! Oh God! Her stomach churned and her head reeled at the sheer revulsion of it all. It was so perverted and disgusting and outrageously invasive that just to look at him now was making her skin crawl, for it was as though he had touched the most intimate parts of her with the most intimate parts of himself, and she just couldn’t stand it!
‘Has Betty told you the reason for the emails?’ he asked her.
‘No,’ she responded, her voice breaking through a wall of repulsion.
He took a moment to digest this, apparently summoning an excuse for the inexcusable. Suddenly she wanted to yell at him, scream and rant, bang her fists in his face, but all she did was stare down at him in unrestrained disgust. He knew what he’d done, so he knew how she must be feeling, and she didn’t want him to make any mistake.
When finally he spoke his words almost took her breath away. ‘I did it for your own good,’ he said.
Her mouth opened, then, pressing a hand to her head, she sank down on the sofa. ‘You’ve lost your mind,’ she told him.
He was nodding. ‘I know you think that’s an extremely odd, and even unkind thing to say,’ he responded, ‘but it’s true. I did it for your own good, and I think Betty would bear me out on that.’
Carla looked at Betty, but it appeared she had lost her tongue, for she merely continued to stare down at her tightly bunched hands.
‘You were in a great deal of pain,’ Graham said, recalling her attention, ‘which was hardly surprising considering the level of betrayal and rejection you’d suffered at the same time as the death of your mother … Even the strongest individual would have been incapacitated by such a series of blows, and if you have any idea how much you mean to me …’ He stopped as Carla flinched, then continued with, ‘It was very difficult seeing you struggling so hard to overcome it all. Months went by and the hurt just never seemed to leave you. Or maybe it did by degrees, but it carried on holding you back, making you afraid. I knew you were trying, but with your mother no longer here to help you, and your father heaven only knows where … You needed someone to coax you out of the despair, and I believed if I could eliminate at least one part of your grief, by making it appear as though it had no actual substance, then there was a very good chance of you making a swifter and more thorough return to the life you should have been leading. Of course your mother’s death was irreversible. Nor could I undo Chrissie’s or Richard’s betrayal. But rejection lends itself rather more readily to perspective, and since perspective is much easier to change, I realized that was what I must do. So I devised a way of making you see the rejection as a deeply regretted mistake, which wasn’t difficult when none of us ever wants to believe we’re wrong about someone we love, nor do we ever find it easy to let them go. It therefore stood to reason that you’d accept that love again in whatever shape or form, and as the email was the perfect tool, I used it to help you rediscover your confidence and strength through the continuance of a connection you had trusted so completely, and needed so desperately, that it was unlikely you’d question it too closely. Although you did question it, but only ever in a way that would give you the answers you needed. And as angry as you might be now, I don’t think you can say that the desired results weren’t achieved.’
As appalled that he could think she’d approve of his actions, as she was at the actions themselves, she felt so much outrage gathering inside her that it was hard to keep her voice steady as she said, ‘You’re surely not trying to tell me that you believe betrayal can cancel out rejection, because that’s what this amounts to, and you know it. You’ve betrayed me now more insidiously than Richard or Chrissie ever did, because this kind of exploitation and manipulation, no matter how worthy or altruistic you try to make the motive, is monstrous and totally unforgivable. Jesus Christ, I bared my soul in those emails, thinking I was talking to Richard, and all the time …’ She put her hands over her face, as the near incestuousness of the sex once again swamped her. ‘My God, it makes me feel ill just to think of it. What a fool I must be …’
‘No, never a fool,’ he argued. ‘Only someone who was wise enough to see this as an easier and quicker path back to the life they’d abandoned.’
Her head snapped up in furious amazement. ‘How can you say that,’ she cried, ‘when I had no idea you were behind it, pulling all the strings, experimenting with my psyche, as though you were some kind of god with a new creation. I truly believed those emails were from Richard, and now, just to think of the way you exploited all my confidences and played games with my mind, not to mention … God, I can still hardly believe you did it,’ she gasped. ‘You’re a sick and cruel man, you must know that.’
His eyes went down, and she saw that a small tic was jerking one lid. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I was always afraid you’d think that, but it was a risk I was prepared to take, just to see you whole again.’
Unable to look at him any longer, she shielded her eyes with her hand. It was all just too awful and humiliating and outrageous to take on board in its entirety.
‘Tell her about the letters,’ Betty suddenly said.
Carla glanced up at her, then returned her gaze to Graham, who was still looking down, watching his thumbs circling each other and seeming almost diminished by her aversion to his atrocious methods of therapy.
‘Yes, the letters,’ he said, finally looking up. ‘Of course, they were very helpful. Mimicking Richard’s style, and knowing the complete depth and tenor of your relationship, would have been almost impossible without them.’
Carla was aghast. ‘You have my letters from Richard?’ she exploded.
He nodded.
‘But how on earth did you get them? Sonya would never have …’ Dashing a hand through her hair, she said, ‘This is so much worse than I realized. So much worse …’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It is.’
Her eyes were scathing as she turned them back to him. ‘You’ve trespassed on something that was so precious and private to me that you’ve got to know I can never forgive you. In fact, if I could I’d …’
‘Tell her why it’s worse than she realizes,’ Betty interrupted.
Graham’s face was bleak as he looked at Betty.
‘Tell her about the book,’ Betty insisted. ‘Tell her how you’ve been harvesting … That’s what he calls it,’ she said to Carla, ‘harvesting. He’s been harvesting your responses, and using them for the central character in the book he’s writing now. So there’s not quite as much altruism in his motives as he’s willing for you to think.’
‘It began because I care about her so much,’ Graham angrily responded. ‘You know that, so don’t try to paint it any other way. The using of her responses came much later, and only because she had such a fascinating ability to make anything I threw at her work …’
‘Stop discussing me as though I weren’t here,’ Carla seethed.
Graham was immediately contrite. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. Then, after a pause to collect himself, he said, ‘What Betty is referring to is your remarkable capacity for giving every quotation or innuendo I cited a merit or a meaning I had not foreseen. In other words, you were so willing to believe that it was Richard who was sending you those messages that no matter how obscure
they were, you always managed to turn them into a message that was not only uplifting for your spirits, but nourishing for your heart. Of course, I tried always to stay with the works he’d mentioned in his letters, but even if I ventured outside them, you invariably gathered them into the realms of understanding that only a woman in love, and so in need of reassurance, can possess.’
Carla’s eyes were blazing. ‘You mean you were challenging my pathetic powers of self-delusion to see if there was anything I couldn’t turn into a nice soothing balm for my belittled ego. Well, I’m sure I wasn’t a disappointment, because we all know that the human capacity for self-deception is almost limitless when it’s time to face the rejection and letting go of love. The problem is, when we’re in the thick of it, we never seem to realize we’re doing it – unless you’ve got a friend like Avril who keeps trying to make you face it. But I wouldn’t, so I can see what a gift of a study I was for you. Why make it up, when you’ve got me to do it for you? Give her a few quotes from Rousseau, or a maxim from La Rochefoucauld, then sit back and see how her poor deluded mind turns them into proofs of love, and reasons to hope. Very convenient for a man who doesn’t think like a woman, but needs to write like one. Ingenious, in fact. What I want to know is what the hell you were planning to do if Richard had come back into my life?’
