The Room Beyond

by Stephanie Elmas

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And I’m so glad that Gladys set up this meeting because I wanted to ask a favour. What are your plans for Christmas?’

  ‘Um, I don’t have any right now. I usually spend it with my aunt but I think she’s quite keen to go away this year.’

  ‘Fabulous! We always spend Christmas at Druid Manor, the Hartreve family seat in Wiltshire. You’ve probably heard of it. Edward’s brother, the current Lord Hartreve, lives there with his family. The place is a mess as they have no idea how to look after it but it’s a lovely house and I wondered whether you’d like to join us. Beth is the only child and sometimes gets a little bored, I’m sure she’d love your company. And it’s also a charming place to spend Christmas.’

  My mouth burned with the one question I wasn’t able to ask: would Seb be coming too? Christmas in a big old country house with Seb would be just perfect and if anyone could sneak an invite then he could.

  I stole a glance at the photograph of Raphael on the wall. He looked back at me with bemused interest, like the hero of a silent film.

  ‘I’d love to come. Thank you for asking me.’

  ‘Excellent!’

  Down through Arabella’s window the climbing rose had totally consumed the wall at the end of Marguerite Avenue; a cascade of blushing pink blooms.

  ‘I think you have the best view from this room, of the rose.’

  ‘Yes, glorious isn’t it. I see how much you admire all the beautiful things we have here.’

  My neck burned beetroot.

  ‘Oh I didn’t mean to embarrass you my dear! On the contrary, I’ve been quite taken by the way you’ve adjusted to us... We wouldn’t want to lose you.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of going.’

  There was a sudden knock and Robert twisted his head around the door.

  ‘We have to go. I’m on in two hours and have to get warmed up.’

  Arabella shot out of her chair, tossing a pashmina around her shoulders. ‘Must scoot!’ she cried back at me as they raced downstairs together.

  I hovered on the landing, waiting for the sound of their footsteps to disappear, and then backed away, up to my room. Beth’s bedroom was empty; she was still out with Raphael. I dashed past it, up the last staircase to the top, stroking my hair back as I reached the final step.

  ‘You’re three minutes late.’

  Seb was already lounging on my bed, his shirt half unbuttoned.

  ‘Well I couldn’t exactly excuse myself because I had someone waiting for me in bed upstairs. She’s my boss; some of us have to work for a living.’

  ‘How do you know I don’t work for a living?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Can’t say I’m afraid. If I told you I’d have to kill you. Is Beth back?’

  I peeled my clothes off.

  ‘No. Anyway she’s Raphael’s until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I love your afternoons off.’

  ‘So do I. Hey I was thinking, why don’t we try to go away together somewhere for a couple of days?’

  ‘What’s wrong with here?’

  ‘Nothing really, just all the sneaking around I suppose. We could do what we liked if we went away. What do you think?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Oh and you know what, Arabella’s asked me to join them at Druid Manor for Christmas. Do you know it there?’

  He didn’t reply and his face went all straight and serious, as if the usual jokey humour had all at once been sucked right out of it.

  ‘What’s wrong? Isn’t it nice there?’

  ‘Oh it’s a lovely old place. Full of happy memories.’

  ‘Then why don’t you come too! We could sneak along creaky corridors to each other’s rooms in the night.’

  ‘I can’t. I... have to spend Christmas with my father.’

  ‘OK, I’ll tell Arabella I can’t go either and I’ll join you.’

  ‘No. It’s miserable with him and besides, if you’ve already said yes to Arabella then you shouldn’t back out. Beth will love having you there.’

  I felt myself sink down into the bed like a deflated cushion. Images I hadn’t even been aware of yet came crashing down around me: the perfect country Christmas, snowball fights with Seb on the lawn, curling up next to him by a log fire.

  He stuck his lower lip out at my glum face like a toddler and I couldn’t help but grin back at him.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Why the hell are we talking about Christmas? It’s summer! I’m in your bedroom, the sun is shining, the air smells of jasmine...’

  ‘Ahhh, so it is jasmine! I was wondering about that. Smells wonderful.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some of the flowers.’

  His eyes were astonishing. So blue it felt as if I were being carried away by their gentle current.

  ‘I love your eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like yours before. Have I told you that yet?’

  He drew me towards him, tantalisingly close.

  ‘Many many times. But do you know what I love about you the most?’

  ‘Oh don’t tell me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ll get all self-conscious about it.’

  ‘Well I’m going to tell you anyway.’

  ‘OK.’

  He drew a line with his finger from the curve of my right hip up to the bottom of my ribcage.

  ‘It’s this bit of skin here. So smooth and impossibly warm.’

  I cringed away. ‘No Seb, you’re joking right?’

  ‘Why?’

  I swallowed. ‘Because that’s where my scar is, silly. I hate the bloody thing.’

  He bent closer and examined the long silky line that cut down through the right side of my torso.

  ‘I genuinely hadn’t noticed it until now,’ he murmured.

  ‘You’re a very good actor.’

  I tucked the bed sheet around myself. The scar still made me wince, even after all these years. I closed my eyes and carefully squeezed the thought of it away again, compressing it right down to the smallest speck. It was a process I’d got good at over time; so good I’d nearly forgotten about the scar’s existence altogether. Nearly. But before I knew it Seb had pulled off the sheet again and was kissing the old wound with a softness that was almost painful.

  ‘Can I tell you something?’ he said. ‘It’s taken me such a long time to learn this, such a long time, but it’s absolutely true. Sometimes people just don’t notice things. Their lives don’t stretch out enough to allow everything in I suppose, particularly the stuff that might upset them. We all do it; it’s a natural instinct to cringe away from pain or suffering. And sometimes people begin not to see such things at all. They can stare them in the face and gaze right through them. It softens life you see. No scars, no pain. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s alright, better to see me for the nice things. I prefer it that way.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said, kissing me warmly on the cheek and then tilting his head up at me.

  ‘I love you too. Hey, wait there. Don’t move.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have to draw you, just like that.’

  ‘What? Again?’

  In the morning Seb had gone. I had a blurry memory of him leaving some time during the night, kissing me on the shoulder before disappearing. The morning sunshine shot spears of light across my ceiling and a feeling of warmth, like rich golden honey, rose up through my limbs.

  I threw on a light summer dress and padded downstairs barefoot, the soles of my feet relishing the cool wooden floors and bristly carpets along the way. Robert was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a piece of toast in his hand. I hadn’t seen much of him since the party but whenever I did his strange words that night came back to me like a niggling little tick.

  He was talking to a man at the kitchen table. I recognized him from the day of my interview in Arabella’s office. Sasha.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the man with a bird-like nod of the head. His Russian accent was deep and r
ound and his body was similarly spherical. In fact he was so round that I think he could only have rolled himself into the patched tweed suit that stretched about him. I thought back to the way Eva and Raphael had spoken about him at the party.

  ‘Hello,’ I shook his hand. ‘We met briefly once. I’m Beth’s nanny, Serena.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, turning straight back to Robert. ‘So when do you leave?’

  ‘On the fourth,’ Robert replied. ‘We’ll be performing at two concerts in Vienna before moving onto Salzburg.’

  I sat down quietly at the table, trying not to intrude anymore and Robert seemed to throw me an apologetic glance.

  ‘Ah, Vienna! One of my favourite European cities. I lived there once you know, for two years when I was completing my studies.’ Sasha twitched his head about and waved his little arms enthusiastically as he spoke.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere if percussion doesn’t get it right.’

  ‘Surely they’re not all that bad.’

  ‘They have no concept of the piece. And just when I think we’ve turned a corner they play like baboons!’

  It was hard not to giggle at an angry Robert, particularly when the subject of his rage was drum and cymbal players. I grabbed a piece of toast from the toastrack on the rather mucky looking table and plunged a knife into some melting butter. Of course, it was Gladys’s day off. That explained why they were down here, making a mess of her usually spotless kitchen.

  Sasha clasped his little hands about his protruding stomach. ‘Well you must upbraid them then for their failings, over and over again if you have to.’

  ‘I do! God, I even trashed their instruments once.’

  I spluttered laughter into my toast, fighting back the crumbs as they battled hard to surge down my windpipe. But Sasha shook his head sombrely, ‘No dear Robert, no. This is not the way to approach the situation. I have seen this time and time again at the Moscow Conservatory: musicians getting, how shall I say it, hot under the collar during times of artistic crisis. I have been brought in on many occasions to deal with such issues, yes silly old Sasha here...’

  ‘Pasha!’ came Beth’s voice suddenly, breaking him off mid-speech.

  She flew through the doorway and, quite ignoring the rest of us, climbed straight up into Sasha’s arms. He balanced her on the small space on his lap that his stomach allowed for his knees and patted her hair contentedly.

  ‘Ah my little Bee. Look, I have a small present for you in this little box in my jacket here.’

  ‘Amethyst crystals; my favourite!’ she squealed. ‘I’ll just put them in my room. Thank you! Hi Serena.’

  Beth squeezed back out of the room past Raphael who was leaning languidly against the inside of the doorway. He was wearing his customary black: a T-shirt with faded jeans and there were deep shadows under his eyes.

  ‘Coffee?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Oh it’s Raphael. What a treat for us all to have you here,’ interjected Sasha with a smile that almost purred. ‘We should all have coffee together then. In the drawing room.’

  The mugs rattled threateningly against the tray as I teetered across the drawing room floor. Robert and Raphael were standing by the mantelpiece whilst Sasha appeared to be holding court before them, gesticulating wildly with his arms as he spoke. Raphael seemed distracted, moody even, staring down at the carpet and saying nothing.

  I put the tray down on the coffee table and then caught sight of the couple, entwined in each other’s arms on the sofa. They didn’t even seem to notice I was there.

  Eva was wrapped around Seb like a cat. She was wearing a fuchsia pink evening dress and tired make-up, as if she’d only just got in from a party and Seb was lying with his head in her lap, utterly at ease. It was like a painting. The two of them looked so painfully exquisite lying there: Eva a model of sculpted diffidence and Seb like a beautiful young boy, his face a picture of idleness and innocence.

  I stepped back shakily and my leg knocked against the table. Seb started and then smiled up at me. ‘Hello!’

  Eva arched her neck as well to look. ‘Oh, you’re here.’

  ‘Eva!’ chimed in Sasha, barely before she’d closed her mouth. ‘And there I was thinking you were asleep.’

  He scurried towards her, closely followed by the others.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ said Raphael quietly with a long grateful glance.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for a while my dear girl,’ Sasha continued with a look at Eva that lingered a little too long. ‘Although I did have to go to New York for some time. Always coming and going, coming and going.’

  He stepped forward to help himself to a biscuit, thankfully obscuring my vision of Seb and Eva together. ‘But for now I intend to remain in London for several months. I have much work to attend to with Arabella. Your mother is a cruel taskmaster. I have found myself travelling to the British Library for her already twice this week...’

  He edged to one side bringing Eva back into view and I felt my eyes widen. She was sitting bolt upright now and her usual demure demeanour had been replaced by a grimace. The skin around her mouth had even turned a greenish hue, as if she was going to be sick.

  I tore my eyes away from her and found Robert and Raphael just staring vacantly at the floor. Seb was also sitting up now, unusually quiet and still although he kept looking over at me with long sideways glances. I ignored him and his face drooped down with a hurt look.

  Sasha was still talking, now about Arabella’s Africa projects it seemed:

  ‘We have to grapple with the heart of the problem, go out there if needs be. I have many connections with the royal family of...’

  The room had become sticky and unpleasant. I ached to leave but couldn’t quite drag my bruised limbs away. Seb wasn’t even trying to look at me now. Sasha scooped up another biscuit.

  ‘Now, on a different note,’ he exclaimed, posturing towards Eva again as a grin tweaked at the corners of his mouth. ‘A little bird told me that our young princess Eva here cannot sleep without an arrangement of lilies by her bed.’

  There was a long dramatic pause as he wiped his moist lips with a handkerchief. ‘When I observed a vase of wilted blooms in her room yesterday, I took it upon myself to ensure that our fine lady’s sleep is secure for at least a few more days. I hope the flowers I chose are to your taste.’

  He made a little bow that would have been amusing if it hadn’t seemed quite so lecherous and she seemed to turn even greener.

  He sidled up to her, breathing heavily by her ear. ‘And furthermore, I was wondering whether to ask you to play Beethoven or Bach today, Robert. But it is such a fine morning outside! Am I correct in thinking that Eva would hate both in this weather? She would much rather have Mozart I am sure.’

  Eva stood up without a word and walked stiffly out of the room, our eyes meeting for one brief moment.

  ‘Ah, she doesn’t look well!’ said Sasha in response, biting into his biscuit with thick yellow teeth. ‘I will check on her later to see how she is.’

  My own mouth went dry as I watched the small crumbs sticking to the tip of his tongue.

  He now turned to Robert and they launched into a new line of music themed discussion, but Raphael was still staring at the carpet. Only the shimmer of a nerve along his jawline gave away something of what he was feeling.

  I leaned towards him. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  His eyes met mine; they were so dark that I almost backed out.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Why did Beth call him Pasha in the kitchen earlier?’

  Raphael produced a wry sort of smile. ‘It comes from her old baby name for him, Papa Sasha. She just amalgamated the two words over time... unless he did it for her.’

  I slipped quietly out of the room to the now empty kitchen. Some clean glasses were drying by the sink and I grasped one of them, holding it under the tap until the water frothed up to its brim.

  The image of Seb lying ther
e with his head in Eva’s lap loomed up at me from the bottom of my glass. Even when I screwed my eyes up it ran on, repeatedly.

  ‘Serena.’

  I jumped so violently that the glass slipped from my hand, crashing against the porcelain sink into countless spinning shards.

  ‘No, don’t!’ I cried.

  Seb was moving me away by the shoulders, poised to plunge his hands down into the sink. The air went thin.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll clear the pieces up.’

  ‘Don’t, please.’

  I pushed his hands away and yelped at a stab of fire in my thumb. Almost in slow motion, it seemed, a sliver of crimson dripped into the sink and exploded like a firework in the puddle of water around the plughole.

  ‘Oh Christ.’

  ‘It’s alright, ’ he mouthed, pressing his own thumb down on the wound. ‘It’s just a tiny scratch. You don’t even need a plaster.’

  His tender voice felt like an echo; his other hand squeezed my side.

  ‘No, no... you’re right. It’s just, I’m slightly phobic.’

  ‘Phobic of what? Of blood?’

  ‘Oh no, of broken glass. It’s stupid really.’

  ‘No, it’s not stupid at all,’ his blue eyes seemed more piercing than ever. ‘It’s perfectly reasonable. Go away, go for a walk. When you get back it’ll all be gone. Don’t worry; I’ll make everything go away.’

  I found my way to the front door, breathless and practically falling over my own feet as I pushed myself forward. Outside it was easier and I speed walked down the street to get away. Around the corner I bought some cigarettes from an off-licence and lit one immediately. I felt my lungs relax and fan out with the smoke. Less than a month in Marguerite Avenue and I was hooked on those bloody things once more. My heart began to beat at its normal pace again, the sunlight combing warm fingers through my hair.

  But still that image of Seb lying in Eva’s lap looped in and out of my head and then it jumped to Beth climbing onto Sasha’s knee and that revolted look on Eva’s face.

  Papa Sasha.

  I watched the smoke curl up into the air. So, was that the answer then? Was Sasha the father of Eva’s child?

  I tried to picture how it must have happened, how maybe Sasha had sneaked up on her one night in the discreet upstairs corridors of the house. Perhaps she’d allowed him out of juvenile rebelliousness, perhaps he hadn’t given her a choice. I shuddered at the thought of those small hands running themselves over her young body. But if that really had happened, then what on earth was he still doing in their house?