Kathryn lifted her head and looked at him reproachfully.
‘I cannot say it, Andrew. You know I cannot say it.’
‘And will you just stand by and let him kill you, slowly but surely? Will you let him murder you, Kathy, by sucking all that is good, all your love and sweetness, all your absolute devotion out of you when I would nurture and care for you, when I could make you complete? Is that what your promise to God means?’
‘Andrew, please – you are making things so much more difficult for us both. Two wrongs cannot ever make a right. You know that as well as I do. Think about it. Think about the repercussions of what you are asking me to do. My husband has stripped me of everything that I own. I have nothing left but my self respect, my own sense of morality, my own sense of what is right and what is wrong to pass on to my son. And you are trying to strip me even of that. What would you think of me – what would I think of myself – were I to leave him now and run to you? I should be worthless, in my own eyes and in yours. What would you think - eh? What would happen when we had a quarrel? You would always expect me to be off – to run away at the first sign of any trouble. How could I hold my head up ever again, knowing that I was a lost woman, living a life of sin, breaking my promise to God every day of my life? What would my son say when he was old enough to understand? How would our children feel, knowing they were bastards, the objects of ridicule and shame? There is nothing I have left in this world, Andrew, except my own self respect. Giles is my husband. What ever I think of him, what ever I would wish – that things were otherwise, that I could live with you in happiness and love for ever – we both know that it simply cannot be. I would not be me – I would not be the woman that you love – if I were to do what we both most desperately wish to do.’
Andrew flung back his head, closed his eyes, and gave a out a deep sigh. Much as he could wish it otherwise, much as he did not want to admit it, he suddenly realised that Kathryn was absolutely right. She could not leave her husband. They were bound together for life. His eyes remained closed for a long, long time. He was silently weeping, weeping for the dream that had so suddenly and completely been snatched away from him for ever.
‘Yes,’ he said at last, his voice breaking. ‘Yes, mijn liefde, you are absolutely right. Much as I abhor it – much as I would wish it otherwise – I can see that you are absolutely right. I cannot press you to break your promise to God. It is mean and selfish and it would doubtless come to haunt us in the end. I cannot press you any more. It would be cruel and wrong. But I have to say it – I have to say this to you, just this once – I have to tell you that I love you more than life itself. I cannot find the words – I do not think that the words exist - to express just what you mean to me. We were born to be together, Kathy, of that I am convinced, whether it be in this life or the next. You know that, don’t you, lieveling? And, please believe me, please believe me when I tell you this. What ever happens – what ever the future might bring for us both – please remember that I shall ever be your most loyal and devoted friend. I shall always be here for you, I shall always be here when you need me, come what may.’
And with that, he took her in his arms, held her for a moment as if his whole life depended upon it, collected his horse from the shed, mounted it, and galloped off furiously down the hill.
Chapter 16
While Kathryn remained sitting just where she was, in the garden at Sandsford House, reliving this interview over and over again in her mind, Andrew was mentally pummelling himself as he rode furiously towards the Esplanade, and home. His emotions were in tumult. He was feeling angry, misused, resentful. He wanted to hit out at something – or somebody – or to throw himself off his horse and tumble down the cliffs to his death. But at the same time he was feeling immensely proud – proud of the woman whom he loved so passionately, proud that she held such strong beliefs that they could guide her through every trouble that might befall her, and immensely privileged that he was the one that she depended upon, and that he would never let her down.
It had been humid all afternoon and as he entered Weymouth he was greeted by a great clap of thunder, followed almost immediately by a flash of lightning so bright that it caused his horse to rear up in surprise. Then came the rain – a slow pitter patter for a second or two, followed immediately by such a torrential downpour that everyone who was out scuttled quickly into the building nearest to them to escape it. The building nearest to Andrew was the Royal Hotel. Bethinking to himself that this would provide him with the perfect excuse to drown his sorrows he left his horse in the capable hands of one of the ostlers, and dashed up the steps to take his place at his usual table by the window of the Royal’s public bar.
It appeared that his good friend and gambling partner Mr Ignacious Brewer had been similarly caught, and been provided with a similar thought, for no sooner had Andrew sat at his table than that gentleman materialised before him and begged his leave to join him.
In the absence of anything else to say, their mutual investments in the regeneration of Weymouth provided enough topic of interest for them to while away an hour or so, during which time Mr Berkeley downed rather more shots of brandy than was usual for him, and doubles at that. Mr Brewer was a little more circumspect for once and was somewhat amused by his friend’s unusually excessive consumption. Thinking that perhaps he had very little to return home to he suggested that he might like to take his dinner with him. To this Mr Berkeley readily assented and so after another quick round or two they set off arm in arm together the very short distance to his house in Gloster Row.
The rain had just about stopped by this time although the world was very wet, with great puddles in the roadway and drips galore to catch the unwary. Andrew followed his host (a little unsteadily) up the steps into his house and made his way into his usual haunt in the study at the front. The house was quiet for once. The children must be out somewhere. He sat down opposite the open door from the hall and took up a newspaper. The printing appeared somewhat blurry. No problem. He wasn’t much interested in it anyway. Mr Brewer had remained in the hall. He had seen a letter on the table and, when he opened it, he gave out a low ‘tut tut’ of annoyance.
‘Berkeley, my friend – I see I have a need to return to the bank for just a very few minutes. I shall not be very long. Make yourself at home here, my good fellow. Perhaps my wife will come back soon.’
Andrew was quite happy just to rest his eyes for a moment and he nodded off gently on Mr Brewer’s comfortable sofa whilst he awaited his return. He was awoken, quite astonishingly, by the sensation of a pair of soft lips tenderly caressing his eyelids, and a pair of hands placed ever-so gently around his now-aching head.
He cautiously opened his eyes. There, right next to him, was the mischievous, laughing, impish face of Miss Brewer. She must have crept in, as quiet as a mouse, and caught him entirely by surprise. She had obviously been out in the rain, for her thin muslin gown was quite damp and it clung most becomingly to her so that he could just detect the curve of her breasts inside it. She wriggled next to him provocatively and put her lips to his. Andrew could hardly believe his luck. Throwing his arms around her in an instant he pulled her on to him and returned her kisses with interest. Sophie giggled. She wriggled a little more and managed to place her legs upon his lap. Now, Andrew was a man. He had just experienced the most traumatic interview of his entire existence. He was bosky with the drink. He was taken by surprise. He was not immune to the charms of the fairer sex and he was certainly not immune to the charms of Miss Brewer. So, taking the opportunity that had so unexpectedly presented itself to him, and throwing all caution to the winds, he put a hand beneath her skirt and started to feel his way, exploratively and sensuously, as far up her legs as the lady would allow it to go.
‘Mr Berkeley!’
The hand stopped in mid flight and surreptitiously began to find its way back down to more acceptable regions on the blue and white sofa on which he sat.
‘Humph...good evening, Mrs
Brewer. Umm...’
‘Mr Berkeley, what ever are you doing with my daughter?’
Mr Berkeley decided that Mrs Brewer probably knew only too well what he was doing with her daughter and felt a response, therefore, to be somewhat surplus to requirements.
‘I sincerely hope that you intend to act honourably towards her, as a gentleman, Mr Berkeley?’
This time Mr Berkeley felt that some sort of response was probably in order.
‘I think that is prob...probably for Miss Brewer to decide,’ he said chivalrously, slurring ever such a little. ‘If Miss Brewer will have me then I can ash... assure you that I shall be more than happy to do the honour... honourable thing.’
Miss Brewer gave a little yelp of delight.
‘Do you really mean it, Berkeley?’ she cried, throwing her arms around him once again. ‘Do you really? Then yes. Yes. I shall marry you. I have wanted you to ask me for an age.’
Chapter 17
‘Berkeley’s a damned lucky cove.’
Giles was sitting at the kitchen table polishing his guns after a morning’s shooting. Kathryn was at the other end of the table with Bob, reading with him, and Sally was busy with some baking.
Kathryn thought it best to say nothing.
‘You’ve heard that he’s got her at last, Kitty? Heard it from him only yesterday. God, what a woman. He’ll have hours of fun with her.’
Kathryn caught her breath. Sally beat the eggs mechanically, a little harder than they really needed.
‘You mean that Mr Berkeley is...to marry Miss Brewer, Giles?’
‘Aye – didn’t I just say so?’
Bob looked up from his book with a jolt.
‘No!’ he cried suddenly. ‘No, that cannot be right. Mr Berkeley cannot mean to marry anyone. I know it isn’t so.’
‘What is the stupid boy on about now, Kitty? I cannot understand a word he is saying.’
Bob slipped off his stool and ran over to his father, pummelling him furiously on the chest.
‘Mr Berkeley cannot love anyone else, papa. Mr Berkeley loves mama. He cannot marry anybody else.’
Kathryn’s eyes widened in horror and she sat bolt upright in her chair. Sally stopped beating her eggs and stood stock still.
‘What?’ roared Giles. ‘How dare you say such a thing, you horrible child. Get away at once before I take you on my knee and slap you so hard you’ll not sit down for a week.’
‘Bob, Bob, come away from papa this instant and go to your room. It is very naughty of you to make up such stories. Of course Mr Berkeley is not in love with me. Papa is in love with me, not Mr Berkeley.’
‘No, no, you’re wrong, mama. I can tell that he loves you. I can see it in his eyes. I can see that he looks at you in just the same way as you look at me. Papa doesn’t look at you like that at all. It’s Uncle Andrew that loves you. Papa doesn’t love you at all.’
‘Aaaagh,’ – Sally dropped the bowl she was holding and the contents exploded across the kitchen floor. Giles leapt from his chair and tossed the child aside. He made straight for Kathryn, who was quivering at the other end of the table.
‘Is this true, whore?’ he thundered, shaking her. ‘Is this true? So that’s who ‘Uncle Andrew’ is – your bleeding lover. ‘Uncle Andrew’ who is a playmate to my son – ‘Uncle Andrew’ whom you told me didn’t even exist. You told me that you hardly knew him. You told me that it was his sister that you went to see. And all the time, right under my nose, you’ve been carrying on with him so much that your own blasted child can see that you’re...’
‘Please, Mr Miller – please give over shaking her like that – I’m sure that the mistress is perfectly inno....’
‘Silence, woman. This is nothing to do with you. Get out of this kitchen at once and take that bastard of a child with you. Out. Now. Out before I shoot you with this gun.’
Sally dragged a trembling Bob out of the kitchen and into the garden.
‘Now look what you’ve done, you naughty, naughty boy. Did your mama not tell you never to mention Mr Berkeley in front of your papa? And now you have done so and look what a mischief you have caused.’
Bob burst into a flood of noisy tears. Sally, frowning and despairing, folded him to her and rocked him gently where they stood.
‘Oh my lord whatever shall we do? Come on, come on, Bob. Don’t take on so. You’re only a little lad, after all – you weren’t to know what would happen. Come on, sweetheart – be brave. Your mama will need you to be brave for her from now on, that’s for sure. Go and find Tom for me. He’ll be hanging the pheasants in the shed, I expect. I’ve a feeling we may need him in a while.’
Back in the kitchen Giles had dragged his wife off her chair and flung her unceremoniously onto the hard flagstone floor.
‘What have you been doing with him?’ he shouted, giving her a kick. ‘Tell me what you have been doing with him.’
He kicked her again and Kathryn curled up, whimpering.
‘Tell me. Tell me or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you.’
‘Nothing, Giles. I have done nothing with him at all.’
‘You have. I know you have, you whore. Don’t you try to pretend to me that it’s all a mistake. Don’t you try to pretend to me that he really is just the brother of a friend. Don’t you try to pretend to me that you’re an innocent little miss without a care in the world. Why, even your own son knows all about it – even your own son sees him as his uncle,’ here Giles kicked her viciously again. ‘And you told me it was all a great pretence.’
He bent over her and hauled her to her feet. She was quivering uncontrollably. He thrust his face into hers and growled like a rabid dog.
‘Tell me the truth for once in your life. Tell me what I need to hear from you. Tell me what you have done with this man. I want to hear everything about it.’
‘There is nothing for me to tell you, Giles, really and truly there is not. He kissed me only once, when I had hurt myself one time and was in tears, but then I reminded him that I was a married woman and he has kept his distance ever since. I swear by Almighty God that I have done naught to be ashamed of. Mr Berkeley is a respect...’
‘So you allowed him to kiss you. Aye, I thought so,’ (shoving her roughly against the kitchen wall). ‘And you allowed him to fondle you and allowed him to strum you as well, didn’t you?- didn’t you? - though you conveniently forget about that. I wondered how he’d come to bring you home on his own – I wondered how he’d happened to be carrying my son in his arms. He has tried to take my place as a father to your brat and I know he has taken my place in your bed as well.’
Kathryn could not look at him. The black passion on his face was too awful to behold. Giles stared at her with piercing eyes. Then he raised his hand and slapped her with so much force across her face that she staggered sideways and almost fell to the ground again. He caught her roughly and slapped her again. She whimpered with the strength of the blows.
‘Aye, you may well whimper. You’ll be whimpering some more before I’m through with you, you bitch.’
He raised his hand to hit her again. Just at that moment, however, the kitchen door swung open and Tom careered inside.
‘That’s enough, Mr Miller,’ he cried, ‘that’s enough, for God’s sake. It does you no service to beat her about like that.’
Giles struck her again.
‘And who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my own wife, and in my own house? Get out. Get out before I throw you out. I need no preaching from you.’
‘She’s a good woman, Mr Miller. She don’t deserve it.’
Giles swung round and took a step towards him.
‘How dare you tell me what to do? How...’
‘Look at her, Mr Miller. Look at what you’ve done to her. Look at her face – all black and blue already with what you’ve done to her. She’s your own wife, sir – your gentle wife. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Remember yourself, man. You’re doing yourself no favours by acting like a monster.’
Giles turned to look at her. Kathryn had fallen into a crumpled heap on the floor, whimpering and shaking so violently that her teeth chattered. He looked again at Tom, in horror.
‘Oh my God, what have I done?’ he asked. ‘May God forgive me for what I have done.’
And so saying, he took his wife into his arms, carried her up the stairs, and placed her gently and tenderly into her bed.
Chapter 18
The next day dawned warm and sunny – the perfect summer’s day. It was Bob’s birthday. He was six years old (no quarters now) and feeling that life as a grown man was not as joyful as his childish imagination had hitherto led him to believe. His mama had not emerged from her bed (though she had called for him to be fetched for her, and given him such a close, long cuddle that he had thought that she would never let him go) and though Sally had baked him a special cake he was not to be allowed any of it until later, so he was feeling just a little, just a tiny bit – well, flat.
Giles had been in to see Kathryn. They had said nothing, though he had tried to show his remorse through his actions, and he had even bathed her bruised and swollen face in vinegar for her. Kathryn would have risen had she been at all able to, but the pain from the kicking, and the dull, intense throbbing in her head were such that, like it or not, she was totally unable to move.
The afternoon felt insufferably hot, but at about half after three a slight breeze began to make its way through her open chamber window. It revived Kathryn somewhat, although in some ways she would almost rather it had not. For now that she had a chance to think, rather than just feel, the thoughts that entered her head were so unwelcome and so distressing that she would have given almost anything for them to let her alone again. The beating, the threats from her husband – they were bad enough. But they were as nothing to the pain that the news of Mr Berkeley’s engagement had brought her. She could not blame him, of course. He was a young man still. He would naturally be in need of a wife and she had made it entirely clear to him that she felt morally obliged to deny him herself, whatever her own personal wishes might be. Even so, it was hard, and particularly hard so soon after the almost magical afternoon they had spent together in her garden. For although it had distressed her – nay, distressed them both – she had felt that afternoon that they had reached such a perfect understanding of each other that everything else simply paled into nothing against it. The thought that he would go off and so immediately transfer his affections to somebody else – why, it was less than a week since they had spoken – well, it would never even have entered into her head.
The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) Page 14
