by Erica James
‘I beg to differ. You’re wondering what other photographs I might be in possession of. You’re also wondering whether I suspect you had anything to do with poor Pamela’s sudden and very unexpected demise.’
‘I’m afraid you’re bestowing more knowledge on me than I possess. I didn’t know Pamela was dead. What happened to her?’
‘You know very well she’s dead. Otherwise your … your association with her would have continued. But it stopped as unexpectedly as her death occurred.’
‘You’re right,’ Arthur said, thinking fast. ‘I did curtail our association, as you put it, around Christmas time, when I discovered my wife was expecting our first child. I realised then that things had to change.’
‘Well,’ the man said with a sneer, ‘they certainly changed for Pamela.’
‘While this is all very interesting, I would prefer you to get to the point of your visit. What precisely is it you want from me? Or should I say, how much do you want?’
‘There now, that’s more like it, and do bear in mind that I’m only doing this to honour Pamela’s memory. I should add that this is also an insurance policy for you, because by keeping the matter strictly between us, I shan’t feel the need to share with the police any of the private details of Pamela’s busy and unconventional life, and more importantly how it came to such a dramatic end.’
Arthur knew the man had no real evidence to pin Pamela’s death on him, and he’d be damned if this cheap blackmailer was going to get away with implying he had had anything to do with it. It was time to take control of this wholly disagreeable encounter.
‘You’re clearly here on a fishing exercise.’ he said. ‘I have nothing to fear from the police regarding Pamela’s death, only the embarrassment of having my regrettable association with her made public. So keep your veiled threats for some other dupe. Now I’ve kept my guests waiting long enough. Get to your point and then do me the courtesy of leaving. But firstly tell me how the devil you knew where to find me. I never once disclosed my address to Pamela.’
The odious man tapped his nose. ‘Ways and means,’ he said, ‘ways and means.’
His temper and breathing back under control, and after downing a quick tumbler of neat whisky in the drawing room, Arthur made his entrance back into the dining room. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘But it really couldn’t be avoided.’
‘You were gone an awfully long time, darling,’ said Irene. ‘What on earth could the wretched man have wanted?’
‘What, no handcuffs?’ remarked Claude before Arthur could reply to his wife. ‘So we can discount our host getting himself arrested. How very unsatisfactory.’ Everybody laughed.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Claude, but it was a colleague from the office. Very hush-hush, I’m afraid, so I can’t say any more. Careless talk and all that.’
‘Ah, one of your fellow desk Johnnies wanting to know which way he should push the pile of papers next, was it?’ said Raymond, in what presumably he thought was a joke.
‘Raymond,’ Irene chided him, ‘you’re such a tease to poor Arthur. You know jolly well he does an important job at the War Office.’
‘Yes,’ commented Claude with a sly glance, ‘he’s one of Whitehall’s many unsung heroes.’
Arthur could have picked up his fish fork and happily shoved it through the man’s neck. ‘And what exactly would your contribution to the war be, Claude?’ he asked, clenching his fists on his lap. ‘You too, Raymond?’
‘Actually,’ answered Raymond, exchanging a look with Claude across the table, ‘we weren’t going to say anything tonight, but since you ask, we’ve both volunteered and heard today that we’ve been accepted as commissioned officers in the army. We report for duty next Monday in Aldershot.’
Their wives looked on proudly, and in his own wife’s face Arthur detected the unmistakable expression of envy that she wasn’t married to a brave chap like her friends were. ‘In that case,’ he said, raising his wine glass, ‘here’s to Claude and Raymond. May they bring great honour and pride upon their families.’ And may they achieve that by getting themselves killed on the battlefield as soon as possible, he added silently.
In bed later that night, while watching his wife go through her lengthy ritual of tending to her face and hair in front of the dressing-table mirror, his thoughts returned to the odious man who’d come here this evening to blackmail him. His name was David Webster, and in handing over a cheque to him, Arthur had had no choice but to accept that it was the first payment in what would be a regular drain on his bank account. Admittedly the amount was not a large one, but for how long would that be? How soon before David Webster became greedy and upped the sum? And would Arthur ever be able to put a stop to it?
‘You know, darling, I don’t believe you enjoyed yourself this evening, did you?’
‘No,’ he said simply, ‘I can’t say that I did particularly.’
Irene stared at him in the mirror. ‘It’s my friends, isn’t it, you don’t much care for them?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘I’m afraid it is, my dear. You were really quite rude to Claude and Raymond.’
‘Only because they provoked me. They know perfectly well I can’t volunteer to fight, not with being blind in one eye.’
She turned around to face him. ‘Do you mind awfully about that?’
‘Of course I do. Don’t you think I’d give anything to be able to do my bit for the war? You know I hate being stuck behind a desk doing nothing of any great significance.’
‘I’m sorry, my darling. I do so wish things could be different for you; that you could be happier with life.’
‘What on earth makes you say a thing like that?’
She shrugged and went back to applying yet more cream to her face, all the time looking at him steadily in the mirror. ‘I don’t think you know how to be happy.’ She gave another little shrug. ‘I might go so far as to say I doubt you’ve ever really been happy at all.’
So much for his wife being stupid, he thought.
Chapter Fifty-Five
In the weeks that followed Stanley leaving them, Bobby was the one who missed him the most. The poor dog whined continuously while pattering about the house searching for his beloved companion, pacing the landing just outside the room that had been Stanley’s as though guarding it until the boy returned. Even when Romily’s wing commander turned up one day with a parcel of lamb bones from the butcher’s, he showed no interest. Nothing was the same for him any more without Stanley. Allegra didn’t think she’d ever seen a more pathetically sad creature.
Here for tea with them this afternoon, Evelyn Flowerday was saying how she’d regularly found the dog waiting at the school gate for Stanley in the days following his departure.
‘The children all wanted me to bring him inside to the classroom,’ she explained. ‘I must say, I was tempted to do just that, especially when he kept up his vigil in the pouring rain.’
‘I’m sorry if he’s been a nuisance to you,’ said Romily.
‘Heavens no, I rather admire his steadfast loyalty.’
‘He’s settled now for patrolling the garden and keeping watch at the gateposts,’ said Allegra, standing at the window and watching the dog as he slowly circled the pond, his tail between his legs, his tread weary. For heaven’s sake, she wanted to shout bad-temperedly at him, Stanley’s not coming back! He’s gone! Just accept it and get on with life!
God help her, but in her current crabby state she could find nothing to be happy about. At the mercy of violent mood swings, she was contrary for the sake of it and could find no way to stop it. She was even more of a fidget than usual, finding it increasingly difficult to get comfortable. She could only sit down for a few minutes before hauling herself to her feet again and cursing the day she ever met Luigi, blaming him for destroying her once beautiful slim body and turning it into this loath
some, fat, cumbersome carcass. Never again would she make the mistake of falling pregnant. Never! If Elijah wanted children, he had married the wrong woman. She wasn’t going to put herself through this torture a second time.
The baby was late, only by two days, but each day felt like an eternity and Allegra felt as though she had been pregnant all her life. Her ankles had started to swell up and her skin had stretched and felt painfully tight, as if it might burst. In fact her whole body felt like it might burst.
For some weeks now she had had moments when she was absolutely convinced something was wrong with the baby. Other times she was equally convinced that her body wasn’t capable of delivering it. She had a recurring dream of the baby crying to escape her womb only to be trapped, finding no way out of the stifling darkness. Everyone said it was quite natural to feel anxious, but she was not persuaded by their assurance.
To compound her fears, Dr Garland was away on holiday in Cornwall and the doddery old doctor standing in for him was as good as useless, his only advice for her to go into hospital for the remainder of her pregnancy. Allegra had refused point-blank to do that. All she wanted, now that spring had come and the trees and hedgerows were unfurling their tender new leaves, was to be alone at Winter Cottage, but Hope and Romily had begged her not to leave Island House at this crucial stage. She knew they meant well and were probably right, but their constant attention made her feel like a prisoner.
She sighed and rubbed at the small of her back, wondering miserably if there was a greater punishment for a woman than to be pregnant. There was at least one good thing in all this: Elijah hadn’t seen her in this disgustingly repulsive state. In his letters he said he would always love her, that he always had and no other woman came close. He had written of the place where he was now billeted, of the farmer’s wife who cooked for them occasionally in the evening, and of her two daughters who flirted outrageously with the soldiers while trying to teach them French.
The thought of two young, attractive girls flirting with her husband drove Allegra mad with jealousy. Would he be tempted? Miles away from home, living with the daily threat of his life being cut short, could he be trusted not to stray into the welcoming arms of some petite French tart with a flawless body, all lissom legs, a perfectly flat stomach and pert breasts?
From behind her, she heard Evelyn ask if Stanley had written to them.
‘No, and that worries me,’ answered Romily. ‘I’d just like to know that he’s all right. When he first came to us, he was covered in bruises,’ she went on. ‘I can’t bear the thought of that awful mother of his subjecting him to that all over again.’
‘I suppose there’s no reason we couldn’t visit him, is there?’ asked Hope. ‘Just to see if he’s all right.’
‘Funnily enough, I had wondered that myself,’ said Evelyn.
‘What would be the point?’ muttered Allegra, absently, still staring out of the window. ‘It would only upset the boy. Anyway, he was only ever going to be with us for a short time; we weren’t supposed to get attached.’
The room went deathly quiet. She turned around. ‘I’m just speaking the truth.’
‘Which is all very well,’ remarked Hope stiffly, ‘but knowing when to do so is something you’ve yet to learn.’
Allegra rolled her eyes at the priggish tone of her cousin’s voice. ‘Always so quick to put me right. Nothing changes, does it, cara?’
Romily raised a hand. ‘We know you’re as tetchy as a bear with a sore head, Allegra, so we’ll forgive you that comment. Come and sit down and have a cup of tea.’
‘Tea, that’s your answer to everything!’ cried Allegra. ‘As though tea is going to make any of this dreadful nightmare better! You’ll be suggesting next that we offer Hitler a cup! God, how I wish I …’ She was suddenly seized by a gripping sensation deep within her stomach, and snatched at her breath. Then to her horror, something wet and warm flooded out of her. She stared down at the floor. ‘Dio mio,’ she murmured. ‘Arriva … finalmente.’
Quick as a flash, Romily was at her side. ‘Right,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘the baby’s decided to put in an appearance, has it? About time too.’
Allegra gave a yelp as another pain ripped through her, and with it came the enormity of what she was about to go through. ‘O Madonna,’ she cried. ‘I’m not ready! I can’t do this. I can’t be a mother! Non posso! Non posso farlo!’
Hope and Evelyn were also up on their feet now.
‘Time to get you to the hospital,’ Romily said calmly.
‘Shall I telephone for the doctor?’ asked Hope.
‘Do what you bloody well want!’ screamed Allegra.
‘That would be very kind of you,’ said Romily with a smile that thoroughly infuriated Allegra. But before she could summon the strength to make a suitable riposte, her body felt as though it was being torn in two, and she would have fallen to the floor if Romily hadn’t caught her by the arms.
‘Something’s wrong,’ she gasped when the pain had passed. ‘This can’t be right. The pain’s too awful.’
Hours later, Allegra was still calling out the same thing. ‘Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong! Why won’t the baby come?’
It was hard to listen to the poor girl crying out in such pain and distress. The longer the wait went on for Hope and Romily as they sat in the small waiting room just a couple of yards from where Allegra was struggling to bring her child into the world, the more Hope feared something might genuinely be wrong. What if Allegra’s instinct was right?
‘I feel awful now for the way I spoke to her earlier,’ she said. ‘I knew she was just being crotchety, but I couldn’t stop myself.’
Romily patted her hand. ‘I’m sure she’ll forgive you.’
‘It doesn’t exactly encourage one to have a child, does it?’ Hope said, as they listened to Allegra crying out once more.
Romily nodded. ‘It certainly doesn’t. Do you think you and Dieter would have had children?’
Hope had noticed that the better she and Romily got to know each other, the more they each asked the other about the men they had loved and lost. It was, she supposed, a bond between them. It intrigued her to hear Romily talk about a man whom Hope felt she had never really known, despite Jack Devereux being her father. It saddened her that she had missed out getting to know him properly.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘We planned to have a family one day. What about you and my father?’
‘Funnily enough, Allegra asked me the same question, and as I told her, it wasn’t something Jack and I ever discussed.’ Romily paused before adding, ‘But who knows, given time, it might have been something that became important to us.’
‘You’d make a good mother,’ said Hope. ‘You’re always so patient with Annelise, more so than me at times, and Stanley practically worshipped the ground you walked on.’
‘Perhaps it’s easier when the full responsibility is borne by another. I doubt I’d be that good as a real mother. I’d probably get the poor child into all sorts of scrapes, lead him or her totally astray. I think I’d also be worried about becoming bored.’
‘What an odd thing to say.’
Romily seemed to reflect on this. ‘I lose interest easily, that’s my problem. It’s why I never married until I did; previous boyfriends had bored me to tears in no time.’ She smiled. ‘Jack never did. We were two of a kind, always in need of some new challenge, the next big thrill. In many ways, I was his last challenge. And he,’ she added softly, ‘was my greatest.’
At the sadness in Romily’s voice, Hope squeezed her hand gently. Then, as another blood-curdling cry filled the air, she closed her eyes, not to block out her cousin’s suffering, but to focus her thoughts on willing Allegra through her ordeal.
When it went quiet again, she said, ‘Romily, would I be right in thinking that life at Island House must seem very dull for you now without Jack?�
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‘I wouldn’t say that exactly. After all, having you and Allegra around has not been without its moments of drama.’
‘But you need more, don’t you? You’re not the kind of woman who sits at home waiting for something to happen; you’re proactive, not reactive.’
‘How very perceptive of you.’
‘I thought it when I first met you, the way you took charge of us all after the funeral. Especially the way you handled Arthur.’
‘It had the bonus of keeping me busy. Of not dwelling on Jack.’
‘But you can’t have us under your feet as a distraction for ever, can you?’
‘Is this you saying you want to move back to London? You mustn’t ever feel you have to leave, that you’ve outstayed your welcome. Who knows, maybe it will be me who leaves to go and do something more useful than I’m currently doing.’
‘I don’t think life would be half so much fun without you at Island House,’ said Hope. ‘And what,’ she added with a teasing smile, ‘would your charming wing commander do if you left? The man is clearly besotted with you. Do you care for him at all?’
‘He’s not my charming anything. But I’m happy for him to visit; he brightens up the day when he calls. Now tell me how your children’s book is coming along. Are you pleased with it?’
‘I’m afraid that without Stanley on hand, I find I’m at a slight loss. It’s almost as if he were my muse. Him and Bobby.’
‘What can you do to resolve matters?’
‘I don’t know. Other than wait for further inspiration.’
‘It’ll come. You just need to be patient. Don’t force it.’
Another howl of agonising distress made them both flinch. But unlike previous cries when poor Allegra had succumbed to yet another contraction, this one went on and on and chilled Hope to the core of her being. How could anyone go through that amount of suffering and survive?
An hour later Hope left for Island House to put Annelise to bed.
