by Kirsty Ferry
Remembering the church perked Becky up briefly. ‘I wonder if Lissy will tell us anything we haven’t already worked out?’ she said.
‘It’ll be good to have clarification, regardless,’ said Jon. He helped himself to more coffee from the pot the waitress had kindly left on their table. By a mutual, silent agreement, alcohol was not going to enter the equation with dinner. Becky sighed and rested her chin on her hands.
She watched Jon drink the coffee, saw him pull a face, and raised her eyebrows. ‘What, a cup of coffee you don’t like?’ she asked. ‘How strange.’
‘It’s gone a bit cold,’ replied Jon. He put the cup down and pushed it to one side. ‘I’m really sorry, you know …’
‘Aaaaahhhh!’ wailed Becky. She covered her face with her hands and shook her head dramatically. ‘Enough! Please. It’s not your fault that Seb saw my coat and followed us here. He’s ruined the night, I appreciate that. But he’s gone now and that’s it.’ She let her hands flop onto the table and she sat back in the seat. ‘I think we’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep, don’t you? It’s been stressful.’ She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘Thanks, Seb, appreciate that.’
‘Yes, it’s probably a good idea to get some rest,’ agreed Jon. ‘We’d best head upstairs then.’ He smiled at her, and despite herself her insides did a somersault. God! Somewhere from her subconscious floated lines from the last verse of Rossetti’s poem: And day and night yield one delight once more …
She quashed the thought and stood up rather too quickly. Had she really been considering … that with Jon? Yes, she thought. Yes, she had been. She looked at Jon and studied him as he pushed the chair back and stood up. Damn Seb! He’d spoiled everything; being with Jon like that really didn’t feel appropriate any more.
Becky was sure Ella was laughing at them as they passed her portrait. She noticed that Jon hung back on the stairwell again and she turned, meaning to ask him if he felt the same as she did about the girl in the picture. She got no further than formulating the question in her mind. There was a strange expression on his face and the Jon she had grown to know seemed to have slipped behind a mask. It was his eyes, she realised with a start. For a brief moment, well, they just weren’t Jon’s. She touched his arm and willed him to look at her. After a moment he did.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘She was always meant to be in that spot in the stairwell, you know,’ he replied. ‘Adam told her the night he asked her to marry him. They were in the gardens, there was some sort of party going on – when they came back, he told her he would have her portrait painted and he would hang it there.’
Jon looked at Becky and took her hand. He still seemed as if he wasn’t entirely himself. ‘And he promised her all of that, when she was standing there; right where you are. And he was here, where I am. And we were at the fireplace in the same positions as they were earlier. And that had good memories for them as well.’
I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell. Rossetti’s words hung in the air between them. When and how were the words that Becky wanted to clarify; yet she could find no words with which to answer Jon.
Jon intended to leave Becky at the door to her room. It really wasn’t how he had hoped or indeed planned for the evening to end, but after Seb turned up – it just didn’t seem right. What if she thought he was trying to take advantage of her?
One thing was certain though: he definitely knew that whatever sort of annoying childhood friend she’d been, she wasn’t that any more. He half-wished Lissy was there, to diffuse his feelings. But on the other hand, he was extremely grateful they were alone. Fate was an incredible thing. If he hadn’t have gone for that coffee; if she hadn’t caught sight of that girl and paused, just in his pathway … would they have met again and found this connection between them?
Yes.
The answer in his mind was emphatic. Of course they would have done.
Jon forced his thoughts back to the present. ‘I’ll be right next door if you need anything,’ Jon told Becky, trying to inject a note of cheerfulness into his voice.
Becky stood, her hand hovering uncertainly above the lock as she apparently plucked up courage to open the door. Eventually, she turned huge, brown eyes up to Jon. ‘Please don’t let me go in there by myself,’ she almost whispered.
It must have almost killed her to ask him, he reflected. She hadn’t really shown any fear of the dead at all so far.
‘Look, I know it’s stupid, but I’m a bit scared. The photo for a start – what if someone was in my room and took it? What if they’ve done anything else?’
She didn’t need to elaborate; they both knew who she meant. It wasn’t the dead she was concerned about, then, Jon realised. He still had an uncomfortable feeling about Seb. He didn’t seem to be the sort of person who would just let things go. Even now, he might be in the gardens, just waiting for a chance to come back into the hotel; possibly book a room in order to sit and stare at them over breakfast. Jon’s imagination began to take flight. He opened his mouth to suggest something, then closed it again.
Instead, he nodded at Becky. ‘Okay. I’ll come in with you, if it would make you feel better.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied. She took a deep breath and Jon found himself doing the same. Becky turned the key and pushed the door open. ‘I just hope they left the writing slope alone,’ she said.
She walked into the room and stood in the centre of it, looking around. It was a little untidy, but no more than was to be expected of a hotel room. Some clothes were folded on top of the chair, a book was lying on the bedside table next to half a glass of water. Becky’s hairbrush and make-up were on the dresser, but nothing looked as if it had been deliberately messed up.
‘Does everything look all right?’ asked Jon, coming to stand beside her.
‘I think so,’ she replied slowly, unfastening her hair from the topknot she’d tied it up in. Jon saw her cast a glance over the room and then she pointed to the writing slope, which was sitting on the dressing table. ‘I left it right there, so it hasn’t moved.’
She hurried over to it, her hair falling now in a dark curtain which obscured her face as she bent over the slope. Jon saw the little kink in her hair where the elastic band or whatever it was had held it in place and longed to smooth it out with a touch of his fingers.
Becky straightened up and turned to him, smiling. ‘The papers are all there, apart from that enlargement. I have no idea how that got down to the fireplace.’ Again, that little quirk where she pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘I think we’re fine.’
‘So, you’re quite happy for me to go to my room, then?’ asked Jon. He didn’t expect her to challenge that statement, but when she paused for a split second, he felt his heart beat just a little faster. Then just as quickly, his hopes were dashed.
‘Yes, you go back. I know where you are if I want you,’ she said.
‘Well, then. Just make sure you knock on the door really hard,’ he said, ‘if you want me, that is.’
‘I will,’ she replied.
Jon nodded and backed away towards the door. ‘You sure?’ he tried.
‘I’m sure,’ she said.
‘Goodnight then.’
‘’Night.’
Before he realised it, Jon was outside in the hallway staring at a closed door. He waited a moment or two, then opened the door of his own room.
It must have been about quarter past one, when he heard the knocking. He woke with a start and for a moment couldn’t place the noise. He realised that whoever was knocking was not about to give up any time soon.
‘Becky!’ he almost shouted her name. He threw back the covers and ran to the door. He pulled it open and she stood there like a wraith; her face was as white as the robe she had flung over her shoulders, her eyes darker even than her hair. Now that
she had a response, she pushed her hands into the pockets of her robe.
‘Jon,’ she said. ‘Let me in. I’m staying in here tonight.’
Jon took her wrist and pulled her firmly into the room. He led her over to the bed and sat her down on it. He was conscious that her gaze never left him as he moved to the wall and flicked on the bedroom light. She squinted a little as the light flooded the room.
‘I had the worst dream …’ Her hands were still in her pockets. ‘It’s definitely something to do with the coast, Jon. I had this horrible dream. It started when I was reading. I picked up a book and I was looking at it, and I read some of that poem we were talking about. “The sweet keen smell, the sighing sound, the lights around the shore.” I thought that I must have remembered the lines. And then, in my dream, I could smell lavender – really, really strong lavender. And I could smell the sea and the fresh air. Then I started to feel all this weird stuff happening. It was dark and stormy and I was scared, and then I had the feeling I was falling and I couldn’t breathe. I woke myself up at that point. And this was on my pillow.’ She raised her right fist and dropped a sprig of lavender on Jon’s knee. ‘And this was on the floor.’ She raised her other fist and opened it. Her fingers spread like a starfish and a stream of golden sand slid out of her hands and piled up on the floor by her feet.
‘What do you think?’ she asked eventually.
They both stared at the sand and Jon poked it with his toe.
‘It was by the chimney,’ continued Becky. ‘I mean, it’s possible that the storm blew it up from Whitby and dumped it down the chimney …’
‘Practical Becky. Well, it’s possible, I suppose. It certainly looks like sand,’ he said.
‘I have no idea where it came from. It was just there when I woke up,’ replied Becky. ‘It was weird when I was dreaming of the seaside though. So, I don’t want to go back in there; at least not until daylight.’ She pulled the robe around her shoulders. ‘So can I share the room? You can have the bed, if you want,’ she added.
‘Don’t be stupid. You can have the bed. I’ll manage,’ replied Jon.
The undercurrents were ridiculous. He knew what they were both trying to say – and indeed trying to avoid saying. The words elephant in the room sprang to mind. But it wasn’t right; deep down, he knew that. God, things must have been easier in the Victorian days. There was no question of it outside of a respectable marriage was there? Somewhere from the left of him came a deep, unamused chuckle. Very wrong, my friend. Jon’s stomach clenched and he quickly looked at Becky to see if she had heard it too. Of course she hadn’t, and anyway, her attention was still on the sand.
After a moment, Becky looked up at him. Jon tried to keep his face expressionless.
‘Okay. I’ll have the bed, then,’ she said. It was so unexpected that Jon just nodded his head. There’s still one of them about! he wanted to shout, and he thinks I’m his friend!
‘Great,’ said Becky. ‘’Night, then.’ She swung around and somehow managed to ease herself under the covers, still wearing the robe. She wriggled a bit, then brought the key to her room out from the depths of one of the pockets. She placed the key carefully on the bedside table and pointed at it. ‘My key,’ she told him. ‘I’m not taking any chances.’
Jon nodded and shuffled over to the edge of the bed, knocking the lavender onto the floor where it landed among the sand. He leaned down and picked up the flower head, turning it in his fingers the way Becky had done with the dusty specimen from the writing slope. It was different to the normal lavender that grew in gardens and the borders in places like Carrick Park. It wasn’t even proper lavender – a mistake many tourists made. Jon hadn’t lived by the coast all these years not to recognise it.
‘Sea lavender,’ he said. He looked down at Becky, expecting a response of some sort. She was turned away from him, the sheet pulled up to her chin. He sighed. He would have to tell her in the morning. No, sod it; he would tell her now. He prodded her sharply between her shoulder blades.
‘Ouch!’ she said. She sat up and glared at him.
‘It’s sea lavender,’ he said. ‘Just so you know.’
She stared at him for a few seconds. ‘Okay. It’s sea lavender. Thanks.’ She shook her head and lay back down, turning over onto her side again, as if to say and what do you expect me to do about it tonight? Nothing. That’s what I’m going to do about it tonight.
Jon sat for a moment, looking at her, then he sighed again and pulled some clothes on. She had taken all the bedcovers, of course. There was nothing to cover himself with. If he didn’t want to freeze, he had two options. One was to go and plead with the night-time receptionist for some extra blankets, or another was to simply raid Becky’s room and strip her bed. But after what she had told him about the room, he didn’t really want to enter it unless it was absolutely necessary. The receptionist it was then.
He grabbed both keys, just in case, and crept out of the room with one last look at Becky. He decided that she probably wouldn’t even know he’d gone. He walked down the corridors, a strange echoing emptiness about them that came with creeping about a mansion house at night when all the residents were in bed. In the olden days, of course, people would be stirring in a few hours; maids making fires and boiling water in the kitchens for instance.
He rounded the corner to the staircase, thinking about how harsh life was for these people and stopped suddenly. Not all the residents were in bed. He saw a figure on the staircase staring at the portrait of Lady Eleanor. Jon would have to walk past that figure to get to the receptionist. It was something he did not particularly want to do. The lights of the hotel had been dimmed and the figure’s features weren’t particularly clear, but Jon had a pretty good idea. He quietly turned around and padded back through the corridors.
Jon came to Becky’s room and wrestled with the key. He managed to get inside and stood, his heart banging in his chest and his back to the door. He dashed across the room and grabbed the covers from the bed as quickly as possible, bunching them up in front of him. The covers smelled of the hotel’s fabric conditioner and Becky’s perfume, which was preferable to the strange lavender scent which still lingered in the room. It was with a sense of thankfulness that he managed to escape and make it back into his own room, switching the light off and preparing to curl up for the night on the sofa.
It might have been about half an hour later when he was eventually dozing off that he thought he heard the doorknob rattling.
When Becky woke up, it was still quite dark and she was conscious of the fact that the room seemed wrong, somehow. Feeling unsettled, she sat up and looked around. She saw a shadowy figure huddled on the sofa and her stomach flipped, until she realised it was Jon. She had no idea what time it was, but the moon was still up – a few rays were slanting through the partially drawn curtains – not enough to see clearly, but enough to tell her it was before dawn. She pushed the covers back and swung her legs out of the bed. There was a gritty sensation between her toes and she pulled a face remembering the sand from last night and the reason she was in this room.
She saw the moonlight shimmering in the mirror above the dressing table and glinting off a silver hairbrush on the unit. She didn’t give any thought to how unusual it was for a man to have such an item in his room; she assumed, instead, it had been provided by the hotel. She padded over to the dressing table and stood before it. She looked at the strange, pale reflection in the glass and shivered. The way the moonlight highlighted her hair made it look as fair as Ella’s. Still staring at the reflection, Becky’s fingers groped for the hairbrush and she picked it up. She looked down at it wondering for a moment what she was doing. Then she remembered a flash of the dream; the shattering of the mirror and the starburst of cracks appearing in the glass. She jumped as she felt hands grasping her shoulders and gasped, dropping the hairbrush. She looked in the mirror and saw Jon behind her.
He looked pretty ghostly himself, the way the shafts of moonlight washed over his face and bleached all the colour out of it.
‘For God’s sake!’ she yelped. ‘Don’t sneak up on me – please!’ She swung round, glaring at him, then stomped away towards the door and the light switch. She snapped it on and faced him. ‘You gave me the shock of my life,’ she said.
‘I doubt that,’ said Jon. He still looked pale, but this time it was more to do with the fact he clearly hadn’t slept that well on the sofa, if the dark circles around his eyes were anything to go by. ‘But may I please suggest something?’
‘What’s that?’ asked Becky. She yawned and squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing the sleep out of them.
Jon waited until he had her attention before continuing. ‘I think it’s a good idea to slip away from the hotel before breakfast,’ he said. ‘No – I’m being serious, Becky. After you fell asleep last night, and I was on that sofa, I’m pretty sure I heard the doorknob rattling.’
‘My guess is that it was the wind?’ she said. ‘Like the wind that deposited the sand down the chimney?’ She tilted her head to one side, hoping that he would agree with her.
Instead he remained silent and simply shook his head. ‘I don’t think that was the wind with the doorknob,’ he said. ‘Seb’s still here.’
Becky felt as if the floor was slipping from beneath her feet; she sat hurriedly on the bed. ‘What? No. He said he was going to get a room so he could keep an eye on me and talk to me when I was feeling more “reasonable” and more “open to his suggestions”. I thought he was just bluffing.’
‘Well, I wish you’d told me that last night!’ said Jon angrily. ‘I would have damn well gone down to the summer house and made sure he couldn’t stay. I would have put him in A & E first.’ His pleasant, easy-going face hardened and Becky could tell he was imagining what he was going to do to Seb if he caught him again.
‘Jon.’ Becky reached up and touched his arm, forcing him to focus on her. ‘That wouldn’t have solved anything. If I can’t stand up to him myself, what does that make me? Then he’s won. He’s battered my confidence, that’s true, after he got me following him around on ridiculous celebrity assignments, sitting in the background watching him flirt with anything in a skirt, then getting me to write the pieces up. But I know now that I can do this myself. I’ve made the break. I’m doing things I enjoy and coming to places I love. I’m with the people I want to be with. I’m learning to be me all over again.’
