The Room Beyond

by Stephanie Elmas

  ‘That’s the library,’ Beth said, catching my glance. ‘But it doesn’t have any books in it and no one ever reads in there. Robert uses it more than anyone.’

  ‘Robert?’

  ‘My younger uncle. He’s a musical genius you know.’

  ‘Is he indeed? Actually, I think it must have been him playing here last time I came.’

  ‘Yes probably. He plays the piano mostly, but he also has an outstanding flair for the flute, violin and harp.’

  ‘Did you hear someone say that once?’

  ‘No. Come on, this is the drawing room over here.’

  Beth grasped my hand, pulling me across the hallway through a door with a bulbous doorknob like a paperweight. The drawing room was expansive and high-ceilinged and was the perfect realization of warm wallowing comfort that I must have craved for at a thousand dreary bus stops. It had the exact chair I’d always wanted to curl up and hide in and the sort of all-encompassing sofas for which most people would trade in their beds.

  The room ran along the full depth of the house, with a bay window looking out over the street in the front and an ornate raised conservatory at the back. It had wooden panelling on the walls and a Turkish carpet on the floor. In the middle two huge sofas sat opposite each other like basking hippos, with a table between them and piles of books, newspapers and magazines all around. I watched Beth walk over to the sofas and then realized that two heads were lolling and half buried in the cushions there. One of them rested against the back of the sofa facing away from me and revealed nothing more than a mop of dark blonde hair. The other, which belonged to a woman on the sofa opposite, was only just discernible from the nose up.

  Both figures were slumped so low that there was something almost secretive about their intimacy. It felt as if we’d caught them in the act of disclosing confidences across the coffee table between them and I immediately felt awkward. An instinctive urge made me pull back, but Beth grabbed me by the hand and drew me further into the room.

  As we came closer I caught sight of her properly, the woman in the sofa opposite. She had an attractive, doe-eyed sort of face, but it was so cold and so thin. The corners of her mouth and her eyes sloped downwards at the edges in perfect parallel, like two rainbows, making it one of the saddest expressions I’d ever seen.

  I felt myself staring at her, rudely perhaps, but her face was a riddle, and as approachable as a shard of broken glass. And beneath all of this her fingers ran repeatedly along a string of pink pearls she was wearing around her neck. The action reminded me of Arabella, although these hands were much bonier.

  ‘Bethany, come and give me some of your big fat kisses,’ she said in a quiet and considered voice. But Beth ignored the request and tucked her legs up in a leather-bound armchair close by instead. I was left alone in the middle of the room, not even sure whether she had noticed my presence at all.

  ‘What should I do?’ Eva continued. ‘Daddy wants me to go to university, but where on earth am I meant to go with two Es and an F?’

  ‘I don’t know. What about Cambridge?’ Beth replied.

  ‘No sweetie, you’ve got to be clever to go there.’

  ‘What if you pay them?’

  ‘Um, maybe, I’ll ask Daddy,’ she mused, toying with her pink pearls with renewed vigour.

  So, Eva was young, barely out of her teens. In my naivety I’d never made a connection before between underage sex, teenage pregnancies and the privileged upper classes. And now it all fell into place: why Arabella had taken the responsibility for interviewing me, Beth calling Eva by her name, the reason for the whole family living under one roof. She threw a glance in my direction.

  ‘You must be the new nanny.’

  ‘Yes... my name’s Serena; it’s nice to meet you.’

  I moved towards her a little but she didn’t move an inch.

  ‘We had a nanny when I was small,’ she continued, her attention back on Beth. She stole one of my bracelets so Daddy sacked her.’

  ‘Was it an antique?’

  ‘I don’t know, probably.’

  Beth screwed up her nose. ‘Disgraceful.’

  It was hard to believe that Beth was really only four years old. In contrast to her mother she appeared like a little wizened old soul. There was some similarity between the two faces: Beth was far blonder, her eyes much bluer, but they both had the same beautiful fair skin, faultless like spilt wax.

  Eva lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and began to smooth out the ruffles in the silky slip of a garment she was wearing. It was just long enough to pass for a dress and yet suitably short to reveal the infinite length of her slender legs; just like the legs on my old Barbie doll, even down to the pointy feet.

  Something suddenly moved in the corner of my eye. It came from the other sofa. I’d completely forgotten that someone else had been present all along and I now turned to find a male figure there, slouched as comfortably as a cat.

  The deep cushions obscured his face from where I was standing, but his body was long and lean and although he was dressed only in scruffy jeans and a faded old T-shirt, his lolling posture suggested that he was totally at ease in this place. He moved again, this time with a dramatic stretch and the sigh of a long waking-up yawn.

  Who was he? What was the name Beth had murmured when we’d been up in my room? Seb. He shifted forwards and his profile came into view. It was lithe and high cheeked, in need of a shave and framed by unruly dark blonde hair.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at nursery Beth?’

  His voice was still drowsy although tinged with playfulness.

  ‘I tried it a few times but I’ve decided not to go anymore,’ she replied softly.

  ‘Oh, didn’t know you could do that.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ I added.

  The corner of his mouth curled up into a smile at the sound of my voice and, slowly, he turned to face me.

  His eyes were glacial; so translucent that they barely passed for blue. And in that first brief moment when they met mine, they seemed to sear right through something deep inside me. It made me want to draw my stomach up into my chest. I wavered a little, betrayed an anxious laugh and the eyes instantly softened in response; all that lucid blueness mellowing into a more apologetic grey.

  But the side of my cheek felt the onslaught of yet more eyes: Eva watching me like a hawk, her face wide with interest, astonishment even. Her mouth was actually gaping open a little.

  ‘This is Serena, she’s my new nanny.’

  Beth’s voice sounded cautious, as if she were testing tricky waters.

  ‘Well thank God you’re here. We’ve been waiting for someone like you for ages, haven’t we?’

  Beth didn’t reply.

  He shook my hand and his skin felt cool against mine. ‘I’m Sebastian White, friend of the family.’

  ‘But we all call him Seb and he’s always hanging around here,’ said Beth.

  He hurled a cushion from behind his back in her direction. ‘I’m a big favourite of hers, as you can see.’

  His eyes met mine again and then he scanned my body up and down. I felt my face turn scarlet.

  ‘So how did Arabella find you?’

  ‘Oh, a friend of hers does amateur dramatics with my aunt.’

  ‘How very straightforward!’

  ‘You know what Mummy’s like,’ interrupted Eva.

  ‘Oh yes, and we love her for it. Have you been a nanny long?’

  Somewhere on the periphery I could still feel Eva’s stare boring into my skull like a series of cold, grey bullets.

  ‘No, actually this is my first job as a nanny,’ I shrugged and tried to smile beneath the onslaught. ‘Not really selling myself here, am I?’

  ‘Don’t worry, you don’t need to,’ he beamed. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course, and if you find Beth too difficult just tell us and we’ll swap her for a Labrador.’

  The cushion instantly came hurtling back in Seb’s direction
, but this time Beth did betray a giggle.

  ‘What did you do before this then? I mean, you must have done something?’ asked Eva, cutting the merriment with the precision of a scalpel. Although her mother had already employed me, it was quite obvious that for Eva my interview had barely begun.

  ‘Yes, I’m an artist, although I’ve always had to work to keep myself going. I’ve brought my materials, perhaps Beth might be interested in some lessons...’ Eva blinked but said nothing. ‘I’m always looking for inspiration... actually I’ve just been to Thailand on a sort journey of discovery.’

  ‘And what did you discover?’ asked Beth, wrinkling up her forehead.

  ‘Oh, not much in the end,’ I laughed. ‘How to live on ten dollars a day I suppose, how to avoid a lot of other tourists attempting to do exactly the same thing. But you could say that a pretty vile stomach infection discovered me, so I came home.’

  ‘How remarkable.’ Seb seemed as wide-eyed and innocent as a little boy. ‘Why on earth did you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘You know, go so far away by yourself? Where did you live?’

  ‘In a hut on a beach for most of the time.’

  ‘Everyone does it Seb,’ said Eva, wryly. ‘It’s the thing to do nowadays,’

  ‘Well anyway, I’m in awe,’ he answered, standing up and stretching his body to its full height. As he raised his arms I caught a glimpse of flesh above the top of his trousers. ‘Eva’s just come back from Morocco, haven’t you darling?’

  He brushed his hand softly against her cheek and my heart sank. So that’s why she’d been glaring at me.

  ‘Do you... live here?’ I asked.

  He unleashed an enigmatic grin. ‘No, I just spend A LOT of time here. It’s the best place in London after all, don’t you agree?’

  ‘It seems beautiful, although I just arrived this morning. I haven’t even unpacked yet.’

  ‘Oh you’ll love it, you’ll just love it. It’s paradise here isn’t it?’ he exclaimed, attempting to encompass both Beth and Eva in his enthusiasm with a wave of the hand. Beth ignored him completely and Eva just raised her eyebrows until they formed two perfectly plucked half-moons.

  ‘And you simply can’t beat the Hartreve women for their unfettered energy and enthusiasm.’

  I burst out laughing and then swallowed hard to stop myself as Eva actually turned her face away despondently.

  ‘I’m bored. Can we go to the park?’ said Beth.

  ‘Yes, although shouldn’t you be having some lunch?’

  I looked at my watch, it was nearly one o’clock.

  ‘I don’t like lunch.’

  ‘What does Beth usually eat for lunch?’ I asked Eva.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied with a blank look. ‘I thought she just said that she didn’t like it?’

  Beth slipped out of her chair and dragged me away by the hand. I felt a warm, grateful rush at her acceptance of me.

  ‘Have fun!’ said Seb.

  ‘We will.’

  I felt his eyes watch me leave and fought hard not to return the glance. Eva Hartreve was quite clearly the last person I wanted to get on the wrong side of.

  I took Beth to Holland Park. We went to the playground first but she only looked bored there, kicking her heels around in the sand nonchalantly and eventually sitting down on a bench by herself.

  ‘What would you rather do?’

  ‘I’d like to go over there and look for insects.’

  We flopped down under the large tree she’d singled out at the edge of the park. It was a secluded spot, cloaked in mottled sunlight that filtered down through the canopy of the tree. A subtle breeze teased the leaves above our heads.

  ‘Sounds like silver foil, or new clothes wrapped in pink tissue paper,’ she said. I looked at her face and noticed that her eyes were closed, tightly wrinkled up in fact. She seemed to be feeling the sounds around her, tuning herself to the environment. A dog whined in the distance.

  ‘What does that sound like?’ I asked.

  ‘A bear in a cave, or maybe an unhappy ghost.’

  She opened her eyes and they lit up suddenly.

  ‘Look Serena, there’s a ladybird on your arm!’

  We placed it carefully on a leaf and counted its spots as it waved its antennae furiously at us: a small conductor with two batons. And when eventually it flew away, scooping pools of sunlight up into its wings, Beth’s face was a picture of delighted fascination.

  ‘Does Eva bring you to this park?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t really do parks. Raphael does sometimes.’

  ‘Ah yes, I saw a photograph of him.’

  ‘He’s Eva’s twin brother,’ she added, pulling her dress over her knees and resting her chin on them. ‘Grandma and Grandpa have three children: Eva and Raphael, and then Robert, the musician I told you about. Oh and then there’s Seb, who’s like a sort of family member. Raphael’s not around very much, he lives abroad mainly.’

  ‘You must miss him.’

  ‘I do. He buys me nice presents, beautiful interesting things. And he tells good stories about his travels.’

  Yes, stories. I’d forgotten how important they were to childhood. My parents must have told me stories when I was a little girl but I couldn’t remember a single instance. I blinked hard at the sky: didn’t all children have some sort of memory of sitting on their mother’s lap being read to? I could remember Jessica reading to me, from a large hard backed edition of Alice in Wonderland, her favourite book as a child. Perhaps she’d wanted to share her feelings of nostalgia for it with me. But as a ten year old I’d found it rather juvenile and actually quite distressing. I couldn’t really grasp the charm of a small girl all alone, constantly changing size and running into weird characters who wanted to chop her head off.

  ‘What sorts of stories do you like?’

  ‘Spooky ones.’

  ‘What, ghost stories?’

  ‘Yes. I have a large collection of them at home.’

  Was this normal for a four year old? But this was Beth, and although my knowledge of young children was limited even I could tell that she was unusual for her age; a small eccentric in the making.

  ‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ she asked, cautiously.

  She’d picked up an ant and was watching him circumnavigate her bent knee.

  ‘Not really. I might have heard one once, though.’

  She looked up.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘OK then. It’s a silly thing really, probably not half as impressive as your stories at home.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Well, when I was a little girl, probably about seven or eight years old, I went for a sleepover at my friend’s house. Her name was Sally, Sally Davies. She lived on a farm in a big old squeaky house that I was a little bit scared of. That night we stayed awake in her bedroom talking for ages until we got really tired and closed our eyes to go to sleep. Suddenly I heard whispering, so quiet that I couldn’t understand the words. “What did you say?” I asked Sally, but when I listened to her breathing I knew she was fast asleep. I heard the whispering again and again. It scared me so much that eventually I pulled my covers over my head to block it out. The next day I told Sally about it, thinking she’d probably laugh at me. “Oh don’t worry,” she said instead, “that was just the ghost.” I never stayed at Sally’s house again after that.’

  Beth brushed her fingers through the long spears of grass around her feet. Her forehead had wrinkled up. She’d clearly taken my story quite seriously, maybe I should have kept it to myself.

  ‘It’s a bit of a rubbish ghost story.’ I stroked her shoulder. ‘And it was such a long time ago I don’t really remember it properly.’

  ‘I liked it.’ A cloud had momentarily obscured the sun and her eyes darkened.

  ‘I hear voices all the time,’ she murmured.

  A flurry of cool air rose up my arms, like a flock of birds swooping over the horizon.

>   ‘Where do you hear them?’

  ‘In my room.’

  I pictured the scruffy walls of Beth’s room and its endless piles of collected artefacts.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not imagining things?’

  ‘Oh yes. I hear this one woman crying mostly. She just cries and cries and cries and cries.’

  I shuddered inside. I couldn’t help myself, even though it felt so foolish to be freaked out by a young child’s colourful imagination.

  ‘And when do you hear her?’

  ‘Usually during the day when I play there on my own. I just tell her to stop crying; sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t.’

  ‘I think you’re making things up.’

  ‘Think it if you like, but it’s true.’

  Her face looked open, sincere. She wasn’t challenging me or trying to get a reaction of some sort. That was the problem.

  ‘Come on Beth, you must be hungry by now. Let’s go home and find ourselves something to eat.’

  She put her small hand in mine and together we prowled back through the grass towards Marguerite Avenue.

  1892

  Lucinda planted herself firmly in the middle of the bench. It was in a perfect spot: set back under a large shady tree and away from the throng of the pathway. A ladybird landed on her knee, a droplet of blood against her violet skirt.

  ‘Where did you come from?’

  It crawled onto her finger and then suddenly spread its wings and hurled itself back into the sky.

  ‘Goodbye little man.’

  She closed her eyes against the world and let the orange sunlight wash coaxingly against her lids. How long had it been since she’d last ventured so far? A month or two perhaps, it was difficult to tell. Her senses gradually softened, like taught strings being unhooked one at a time. The noises in the park merged into a gentle hum and the glow of the sunlight spread about her.

  Tristan Whitestone.

  That name just kept coming back to her again and again and every time her lips automatically curled into a smile. How on earth had that chinless fidgety woman found such a husband for herself? Yet he was cruel enough; he’d enjoyed her bad behaviour a little too much the other night.