by Janey Rosen
As I walk up the path toward the front door, I admire the thatched roof, eyebrow windows and skewed architecture. The fragrance from the jasmine, which frames the porch overhang, is heavenly. Christina Travis welcomes me in to her home with sincere warmth and invites me to sit in a floral armchair in her cosy living room. When I last saw Christina, she resembled a destitute old lady but today she is smartly attired in cream blouse and pale green skirt, a string of pearls at her throat. Her mood seems temperate as she fusses in the kitchen preparing a tray of tea and biscuits.
“I’m so glad you telephoned me,” she calls from the kitchen.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me today,” I call back, admiring the comfort and tranquillity of her home. On the side table next to me, a small photograph in simple gold frame catches my attention. I pick it up and study the snapshot of a carefree and beautiful young lady with long golden hair, sapphire blue eyes and a dimpled smile.
“That’s my Libby.” Christina places the tray of tea down on to a footstool before seating herself on the armchair beside mine.
“She’s lovely,” I smile. “How old was she when this was taken?”
“Twenty Five years old. She hadn’t met Sebastian then, that’s why she looks so happy,” she sighs forlornly.
“Do you mind talking about her?” I ask hesitantly. “I understand it must be painful …”
“Not at all, dear. On the contrary, it’s refreshing to be able to talk about her. She didn’t have many friends at the end, so there really aren’t many people I can remember her with.” Christina pours the tea into delicate pink china cups. “Sugar and milk, dear?”
“Just milk please.” Christina hands the cup and saucer to me and offers the plate of biscuits and I take a custard cream, placing it on my saucer. A large ginger and white striped cat saunters in to the room and sniffs at my shoes before eying the milk jug hopefully.
“Mummy will fetch you a saucer of milk my darling Tigs.” She scurries to the kitchen and returns with the promised treat, which the cat laps greedily.
“You have a lovely home,” I say, Christina looks delighted and justifiably proud of her cottage.
“It’s very small but it suits Tigs and I well enough. Tigs, or Tiger as he’s is actually called, was Libby’s cat. He was quite the mouser at Penmorrow, heaven only knows how many mice infest that big old house, now that Tigs has left.” She puts a custard cream in her mouth in once piece and chews noisily. I nibble mine and sip the tea.
“Could you tell me about Libby? I’d like to understand a little more about her illness, if it’s not too painful for you to talk about.”
“Let me start at the beginning, dear. It’s important that you understand how Libby was before she married that man. Then you will believe me when I say that he caused her death.” She rises from her chair and crosses the room to a pine dresser, from which she retrieves a leather bound photograph album, placing it on my lap.
“Open it, dear. It’s full of photographs of Libby from childhood through to adolescence. Then it has wedding photographs and, at the end, photographs of their last Christmas together. You look closely, dear. Tell me what you see. Take your time.”
I place my teacup down on the side table and lift the heavy bound cover of the album. The photographs on the first three pages are black and white images of an adorable baby girl. She is happy and plump and clearly adored by her parents who tickle and cuddle her for the camera. The following pages hold colour photographs of a young girl with page-boy haircut and dated clothes. The snaps show holidays and birthdays and a young Libby as ballerina at a school production.
“She’s adorable,” I murmur.
“Isn’t she,” Christina removes the tea tray and retreats to the kitchen and I swear I hear her sniffing back tears. Libby’s graduation photograph shows a now elegant young woman, beaming as she clutches her scroll with proud parents either side of her. Turning the page, a grouping of family and friends clap as Libby blows out twenty-one candles on her birthday cake. I flick through the subsequent pages, noting how Libby is indeed blossoming in to a vibrant and beautiful woman.
“She’s beautiful,” I call out.
“Was. She was beautiful. Carry on Elizabeth, please.” Christina enters the room once more and sits quietly, Tigs jumps on to her lap and she strokes him languidly as he purrs contentedly. The wedding photographs hit me firmly in my belly and twist at my gut. The happy couple beam at the camera, family and friends showering them in confetti. She wears a full white gown with tiny waist and full skirt, her veil tossed back exposing fair ringlets cascading over her left shoulder. He is looking adoringly into her sparkling eyes and she returns his loving gaze. It hurts me to see the evidence of their love, jealousy coursing through me unashamedly.
“Such a loving couple,” I run my index finger gently down the image of her dress, the burning envy causing a bitter taste on my tongue. You’re jealous of a dead woman, Beth. Get real. He loves you now.
“Oh they were, granted. They had a fancy wedding at the church in Trevissey, then a fabulous reception at Penmorrow. Her father pulled out all the stops, nothing was too much for his baby girl,” she recalled, fondly. “His parents were long gone, of course. He had a cousin who flew over from Australia for the wedding, the only other guests on his side were his estate staff and a few friends.”
“I haven’t met any of his friends yet,” I mumble, more to myself than to Christina. “He’s throwing me a fortieth birthday party in two weeks time, I guess I’ll meet them then.”
“Yes, he likes his parties. Libby told me about a few of them.”
There were no photographs after the wedding pictures, until the last page where, glued in the centre of the page, is a snapshot taken at Christmas. My hand instinctively covers my mouth as I stare, shocked at the image of an emaciated woman, seated next to a glum looking Sebastian. Her head is bowed though her hollow eyes look up to the camera wretchedly.
“Oh my God,” I gasp in horror.
“You see dear? You see the change, now?” Christina reaches forward and rests a hand on mine. Looking into my eyes she sees the tears, which have misted my vision.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Christina. I see what you mean. But … why? Why did this happen?”
“All was fine for the first few months of their marriage, he was always very domineering but Father thought that was a good thing. He was old fashioned, you see, said a man should be the boss of the household. Libby used to tell me he was firm with her but then … then I started to notice bruises, such as on her wrists. She couldn’t sit down one day. She was right here in this room and tried to sit in the chair you’re sat in now. I remember she winced, put a cushion under her bottom and when I asked her what was wrong, she said haemorrhoids were causing her pain.”
“And you don’t think that was true?” I ask quietly.
“No, Elizabeth. Scarlett once told me what he used to do to her. We went round there, I even called the police but of course, Libby told them she was fine. Said her husband liked to indulge in a bit of kinkiness that was all. Police said there was nothing they could do, she consented and it wasn’t abuse. I know it was abuse. My daughter wouldn’t consent to being treated like that, she was bought up properly, knew right from wrong.”
“But, why didn’t she leave?” My question seems hypocritical as I know full well what the sting of a slap feels like and yet I haven’t left him. I wonder then, if Libby was initially aroused by Sebastian’s dominance as I am. Christina appears to read my mind.
“It’s all very well,” she says indignantly, “women today wanting to experiment in all this sex business. But they don’t realize that if you give a man like Sebastian an inch, he’ll take a mile. He takes advantage. He’s a sexual predator, you see. Libby’s always been a romantic girl. She just wanted to please that man in any way she could. In my opinion, he saw her weakness and vulnerability and he used it to turn her into the passive, compliant toy he wanted.”
I close the album, feeling a plethora of emotions – empathy toward Libby, poor weak woman that she clearly was and guilt for feeling that I am somehow stronger than she, and more worldly wise. My mobile phone rings in my bag I retrieve it and decline the call from Sebastian.
“She felt she was failing him,” Christina continues. “She told Scarlett that she couldn’t be what he wanted her to be and that sense of failure depressed poor Libby. I took her to the doctor and he prescribed pills for her anxiety, Benzodiazepines. They were no good for her, I tried to bring her here, make her well again, but she wouldn’t have it. She said her place was with him.” She spits his name with such venom that I truly believe she thinks he killed her with his bare hands. You don’t know him at all, I reflect.
“She wasn’t well, Christina,” I say gently. She straightens her back and regards me pitifully.
“He’s got you under his bloody spell already, hasn’t he? I knew it. Goddam that man to hell.”
“Now wait a minute,” I match her ramrod posture. “I have seen nothing but kindness from Sebastian and am certainly not the sort of woman to put up with anything less than a mutually respectful and honest relationship.” It’s almost true. Dominance in itself does not a murderer make. “The only person who is under a spell at Penmorrow is Scarlett.”
Christina nods in agreement. “You’re right, that girl is besotted with him. I’ve tried so hard, as I did with Libby, to warn her but she’s just like my daughter, she won’t be told. That’s why I’ve kept in touch with Scarlett, so that I can keep trying, I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to her and I hadn’t tried my best.”
“Did you know that Scarlett and Sebastian used to be lovers?” I ask. Christina takes a moment to consider what I have said.
“I’ve suspected it, Elizabeth. The signs were the same, why do you stay with him? What is it about him that enthrals and captivates women regardless of how he treats them? Besides his charm and money of course.”
“I don’t want to discuss that with you.” I feel uncomfortable now. Something is gnawing at me and I can’t fathom what it is. It’s something Christina has said and it’s bugging me. “I’m going now, but I want to thank you for being so open with me. It means a lot that I’ve been able to fit another piece of the jigsaw of Sebastian’s life.” I stand to leave, picking up my bag and holding out my hand to Christina.
“If you want to add more pieces of his jigsaw, I suggest you talk to his friend, Marcus. He’s known him since childhood and he can tell you about Sebastian’s childhood which does, in part, explain why he’s like he is.”
“Marcus? Where can I find him?” Sebastian has not mentioned Marcus, how strange that he should neglect to mention such an old friend.
“I’ve got his address somewhere, give me a moment.” She returns to the dresser and takes a notebook from the drawer. Thumbing through the pages she finds the information and scribbles it hurriedly on a blank page, which she rips out and hands to me.
“Thank you Christina. I’ll talk to him and I promise all is well, nothing’s going to happen to Scarlett or to me so please try not to worry.” She takes my outstretched hand and squeezes rather than shakes it.
“Take care, dear. Remember what I’ve told you. You’ve got a daughter, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Bella. She’s nearly eighteen,” I confirm, wondering where she’s going with this.
“Then be careful for her, if not for yourself.”
“Thank you, I will. Goodbye Christina.”
“Goodbye sweet Elizabeth.” She closes the door and I walk back to my car, closing her white picket gate behind me. My phone rings again. I hesitate before declining Sebastian’s call once more. Then I dial the number for Marcus.
23
Marcus answers on the third ring. I feel nervous and foolish calling a strange man that I’ve never met in order to question him covertly about my boyfriend.
“Hello …” His voice is very nice and that spurs me on.
“Oh, hello. You don’t know me - my name is Elizabeth Dove. Beth. I understand that you are great friends of my partner, Sebastian De Montfort.” I stammer and sound like a lunatic but he immediately puts me at ease.
“Beth, hi. Sebastian’s told me all about you, it’s great that you’ve called. Is this about your fantastic party?” He serves up the perfect motive for my call and I’m grateful for that.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m hoping you and err …”
“Becky.”
“Yes, Becky, can come?”
“We wouldn’t miss it. We’re both itching to meet the woman who’s stolen Sebastian’s heart.” Stolen his heart? Oh how that lifts me.
“Great, well I look forward to meeting you both too. I did wonder if I could perhaps meet up with you sometime? I’d like to get to know Sebastian’s greatest friends and the party will be a blur … you know, champagne, masks, hardly a great way to get to know people,” I babble.
“Sure. Tell you what, why don’t you and Sebastian come for dinner this Saturday night? Becky’s a great cook, I’m sure she’ll rustle up a treat for you guys.” Dammit, I want to talk to you alone.
“Perfect,” I say cheerily. “We’d love to. What time would you like us?”
“7.30pm would be good. We’ll see you then.” We say polite goodbyes and end the call. Shit. Now Sebastian will know I’ve called him plus I won’t be able to get him alone.
Driving home to Penmorrow, I reflect on my visit to Christina. What was it that she said, that rings alarm bells in my mind? Benzodiazepines. With a rush of realisation, I remember what it was that was playing on my mind. After Alan and Joe’s accident the police officer, DI Chambers, had said that the toxicology report showed this same drug in Alan’s blood. Why would Alan and Libby have been taking the same tablet? I tell myself that thousands of people must be on that same drug. It’s simply a co-incidence. DI Chambers had told me that the drug would cause drowsiness and this, combined with alcohol, had caused Alan to crash the car. I still don’t understand how he obtained the pills apparently without a doctor prescription. If Libby was on the same medication, it’s possible that her lethargy and frailty were exacerbated with the tablets she was taking. In essence, this may have been a circle of destruction for her. Depressed and anxious – popped pills – they made her listless and this, in turn, made her more depressed. Doctor Beth, psychiatrist extraordinaire, I muse. It’s all starting to make sense to me now, and begins to exonerate Sebastian.
When I arrive home, Sebastian’s car is on the drive but he’s not in the house. Bella is on her laptop in Sebastian’s study, chatting online to Chloe, she grunts when I say hello. Ruth is in the morning room watching television and she looks up as I enter the room.
“Hey stranger. I was worried about you, where have you been?” She mutes the sound and looks at me expectantly.
“Hi Ruth. I’m really sorry to have left you alone this morning, I had something to attend to and you were still asleep when I left, I did push a note under your door.” She looks as though she wants to push me as to what exactly I had to attend to, but then thinks better of it and pats the seat next to her. I sit down, putting my arm around her shoulders.
“Yes I read it, rather cryptic, it just said you had errands to run. Anyway I’ve been enjoying some ‘me’ time, it’s been so great to be here, Beth. It’s such a shame I have to go back, it’s been a flying visit.”
“It’s been so wonderful having you here, Ruth. Are you sure you have to leave today?”
“Yup, someone has to run that business of ours. Did you know Sebastian’s coming to the AGM, the week you’re back for Bella’s birthday?” She cocks a perfectly sculpted brow when I shake my head.
“No, he didn’t tell me. I didn’t think he had the right to attend. Doesn’t he need to be invited?” I ask, irritated at his intrusion.
“Beth, he’s every right to be there. He’s a shareholder. He has legal rights. Why don’t you want him there?”
“He int
erferes Ruth. He’s bloody annoying in the boardroom, as well you remember.”
She laughs and gives me a hug. “You two are hilarious. It’s worth every minute of him being there for the entertainment value alone.”
I slap her knee playfully. “Fine, but if he says one damn thing to irritate me, I’ll have his ass thrown out. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” We both laugh.
“Speaking of Sebastian, where is he?” I enquire, remembering the rejected calls. No doubt he’s once again mad at me.
“He showered and changed after his ride, then said he was going to look at the deer enclosure. He said something about the fencing. Why don’t you go and find him?”
“Yes, I will in a moment.”
“Beth he’s divine isn’t he? If you ever grow tired of that man, then cast him my way. I’ll quite happily accept your sloppy seconds. Those smouldering eyes, and the way he swaggers, it’s enough to make a girl’s toes curl.”
“Ruth!” I exclaim in mock horror. “He’s my boyfriend. You can’t say things like that.”
“Girl, believe me, looks like his should be censored.”
With wellington boots on, I hike across the lawns and over the deer park in search of Sebastian. It’s a glorious day, the sun is warm and I’ve changed into tight blue jeans and silver vest top. I feel fit and sexy and hope to distract his inevitable bad mood by baring my flesh. The sun beats down on my bare shoulders and, my hair clipped up, it kisses the skin on the back of my neck. On a day like this, it feels good to be alive, especially in such a spectacular setting. The deer chew at the lush grass until their awareness of my approach sees them spring away effortlessly across the grounds.
I view Sebastian across the park, knocking a post into the ground with a mallet and decide to sneak up on him by skirting across the enclosure, behind him. As I get nearer, the sight of him wearing only khaki combats, muscles bulging, sends a tremor to my sex, which instantly grows slick in anticipation. I tiptoe the last five yards and place a gentle kiss on his hot, sweaty back. He jumps, dropping the mallet on his foot.
