by Jan Harvey
The drawing was a good one and as I stood back, for the first time in half an hour, she moved her head.
‘Come and take a look,’ I told her. She came to stand beside me so that if I looked down I could see the cleave of her breasts.
‘It is good, Carrick, but my feet are too small.’
I was quite taken a back, criticism being the last thing I expected. ‘I think they are fine,’ I replied tersely.
However when she lay back down and I measured them with my pencil, arm held out straight, I could see that she was quite correct. I altered them, irritated with myself, but made a better job of it.
‘All done,’ I said and she stood up. I moved back so she could see for herself but she had picked up the blouse and was slipping it on. It fell over her form, lightly brushing the contours of her body.
‘Would you like to take luncheon with me?’ I asked tentatively as I saw an opportunity to take things further. After all, we had been intimate; she had been completely naked before me.
‘No, thank you,’ she said icily. ‘I have a good deal to do, I will be eating later at my hotel.’
The rise of anger in me was almost uncontrollable, I found I was talking rapidly, unable to check myself.
‘I saw you stepping out after I dropped you off yesterday,’ I said.
It was clumsy and I sounded desperate and grasping.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said… I simply said that I saw you yesterday, you were meeting a gentleman and–’
‘You are mistaken, Carrick,’ she said bluntly.
‘But your coat?’ I said, scratching around for words.
‘There is a woman in that hotel with one of a similar shade, now if you have finished, I must go.’
I stood back as she pressed past me, she didn’t kiss me nor touch my hand.
Within seconds, she had closed the door behind her, and all that was left of her in the room was my drawing and that lingering scent of her French perfume.
31
I googled “James Grant butler” and all kinds of permutations of the name and title, but it was to no avail. I looked back at the card – Major Henry Amsherst. I entered his name in the search bar. One result:
“Major Henry Amsherst. Born 1907. Eldest son of Sir Reginald and Lady Augusta. A highly decorated British Army officer during the Second World War. He fought with the No. 4 Commando and French Resistance forces. Promoted to Special Operations Executive in late 1943. (Awarded the VC posthumously in 1945 for acts of outstanding bravery behind enemy lines.) Captured and tortured by the Gestapo in Paris, August 1944.”
I looked for an image of him and found one, a handsome noble face. He was in uniform wearing a peaked cap, the picture sepia and very beautiful. He had the most enigmatic eyes. I found myself involuntarily touching the screen. He had such a kind face, but I found it chilling too, because he had been so young and to die like that it was unbearably sad.
My mobile buzzed so I closed my laptop and picked up the phone. ‘Martha, it’s Bob, how you doing?’
‘Bob! How lovely to hear from you. I’m fine.’
‘Have you found your groove?’
‘My what?’
‘Your “raison d’être” in retirement.’
I laughed. ‘I have, Bob, I’m getting up to all sorts, including baking. Nothing like my mother or indeed my grandmother, I’m afraid, but I’ve had a couple of triumphs. It would appear that I’m very good at scones.’
‘I have to say you have stunned me there,’ he said. ‘Way to go, Martha Berry.’ I suddenly remembered how cheerful it was working in an office with all the good-natured banter. I swallowed hard. ‘How can I help you, Bob?’
‘Actually, it’s me that is helping you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, we located an old back copy, very old, I’m talking 1961 here, of a magazine we no longer publish. It’s called “Stately Homes” and in it there is an article on Lapston, its history and all that. I’ve photocopied it and I’ll send it over to you.’
‘Thank you, Bob, you’re an angel.’
‘You can pay me back with that dinner invite and I will look forward to pudding!’
I pressed the phone against my ear, as if it might bring me closer to Bob, to the office, to my former life but it was just cold and hard against my cheek. ‘Will do, Bob, I really appreciate it. Thanks a million.’
He was gone and the room was empty, the clock ticking slowly in the corner and the hum of the washing machine going into spin cycle.
‘Come on, Inca,’ I said with great resolution. ‘I need a walk. We’re both getting tubby.’ She came over to me, nails clicking on the wooden floor of the dining room. I rubbed her head and felt the soft velvety ears between my fingers.
‘What do I do, Inca? Tell me, what do I do?’
32
It was late on Tuesday morning, I had spent the rest of Monday under a cloud. I was exhausted through lack of sleep and felt utterly dejected. The red coat was a mystery to me, but it was no mistake, I had clearly seen her, yet she had denied it.
I stepped out just before noon and was surprised to find it raining again, and quite heavily. I pulled my hat down and the collar of my raincoat up as I walked along the street.
I found myself standing opposite her hotel, drawn by a force to which I could put no name. I smoked a cigarette and then decided, much against my nature, to go in and see her uninvited. I would challenge her and tell her that I had not been mistaken. I would also declare myself to her. There was something very strong between us, some uncontainable passion, and I could barely conceal it.
As I strode in through the revolving doors, the doorman looked me up and down. I’d never been in The Angel before and was surprised to find it quite well appointed, with fresh flowers on a circular table in the middle of the reception hall.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the man behind a large oak desk. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I have come to see Madame Roussell. Please will you tell her I am here?’
He looked at me as if he didn’t understand, then he turned to his register. He ran a finger down the page and then flipped it over and repeated the process.
‘I cannot see a Madame Roussell registered with us, sir,’ he said calmly, frustrating me.
‘Come on, man,’ I said with irritation. ‘Check again.’
He repeated the process, even more slowly, and then shaking his head, and seeming to take a delight in the fact he had not been mistaken, he said, ‘I am afraid, sir, that there is no Madame Roussell registered with us.’ He closed the book firmly and rested his hands on top of it whilst levelling a rather disagreeable stare at me. I looked around at the dark wood and polished floors as if it might present me with some clue.
I turned on my heel and left the hotel. I scanned the street right and left, but where to now? I remembered the telephone box and strode along to it with great purpose. The Jaguar was still there, parked alongside. I dialled the operator and asked to be connected to Lapston.
Grant answered. ‘Grant, could you let me speak to George please?’
‘I’m afraid I cannot, sir. He has gone out for the day.’
‘Alice?’
‘Out riding, sir.’
‘Very well. Would you ask George to telephone me at my flat.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I placed the receiver on the cradle and stood thinking for a moment, trying to work it all out.
Later, at my club, I played a round of cards with an acquaintance, Giles Lewis. He worked for the War Office in some high capacity, all very secretive, but he knew of Henry and his work, this Lewis had let slip to me in an unguarded moment. I found myself staring at him as he held the cards close to his face, whilst carefully studying those I had laid down. I saw her, swimming before my eyes, the blended colours of her skin under the changing morning light. It w
as pale and white one minute, then rich in colour as the shaft of sunlight from the window moved across her.
‘Your go, old man.’
‘What?’
‘Your turn, Carrick.’
I was back in the room in a trice.
Lewis’s eyes were squinting as he drew on his cigar. I found I wanted to tell him everything, ask for his opinion on my situation.
‘Lewis,’ I said as I laid my card on top of his, ‘what do you make of French women?’
‘Whores most of them,’ he said risibly. ‘No sense of morals, gave themselves to the Germans, then the Americans, then it will be our boys without so much as a by your leave.’ He puffed out a long cloud of smoke. ‘You won’t find better than a well-raised Deb if that is what you are after. Thinking of settling down, are we?’
‘No, nothing of the sort,’ I feigned a smile. ‘Just met a Frenchwoman recently, can’t fathom her out.’
‘Have nothing to do with them I say, old boy.’ He threw in his hand and I drew my winnings towards me.
‘I think perhaps you are right,’ I said. ‘If only she were less bewitching, but she is a fascinating creature.’
‘All the more reason to leave well alone, Carrick. One of my colleagues has met one, can’t stop bleating on. He brought her back with him from Paris, besotted.’
I dealt the cards. If only I could forget her, not see her naked body every time I closed my eyes. The smell of her seemed to cling to me and I felt haunted.
She was haunting me.
‘I’m back there myself in a fortnight,’ said Lewis. ‘I tried to absent myself claiming I was more useful in the Department here, but I was shouted down. They want to set up an Anglo-French agreement with the USA for a loan.’
‘Now that we have reached the German border, how long before we can make certain of it all?’ I asked.
‘Not long now, old boy. Hold tight and find yourself a good English rose to marry. I say forget this woman and move on.’
I looked at the new fan of cards in my hand, a Queen and a Jack side by side. I threw them down on the table and told Lewis I was all in.
I needed to go home, have a whisky and an early night. Some part of me had to accept the fact that she was gone, lost to me, the dream had to be allowed to die. I felt a stab to my heart, but I told myself that it was the final pain caused to me by Cécile Roussell.
33
I was walking down to the river, the path threading through the meadows by the church. I threw sticks for Inca who, having made a great effort to run after them, never retrieved any. The sun was high in the sky and I could see a thin crescent moon too, a slice of silver in the blue. There was a sturdy wooden bridge over the river and Inca was clattering across it, bounding through the long grass in the field beyond. I stood, looking out across the brown water, watching it eddy around a stump of reeds.
‘What a lovely dog.’ It was Tom Williams, I hadn’t noticed him coming through the field.
‘Oh hi, Tom,’ I replied, a little startled. ‘Yes, she is lovely, new, Inca.’
‘I’m not a dog person, but I know a nice one when I see one. How are you getting on?’
‘You mean with the book?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have a few files to go through, full of little bits and pieces so I left them to the end.’
‘Are you enjoying it?’
Inca returned. She had been in the river, upstream, and was wringing wet. She stopped and shook herself, the water spattering us both. I stepped back and Tom laughed as he brushed down his pale brown sweater, it was covered in black specks.
‘I’m so sorry, she has no manners where shaking is concerned.’
‘That’s all right, it’ll wash.’
There was a brief moment of silence and I had no idea what to say next. Tom was one of those people who waited for others to talk. He looked slightly awkward when, finally, he did speak.
‘Martha, I wonder if I can have a word about the book?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘It’s just that the committee is a bit worried,’ he said tentatively.
‘About what?’
‘It’s just that they feel you have, shall we say, usurped the project.’
‘Usurped,’ I repeated after him. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘I’m afraid they think you are, shall we say, playing fast and loose with history?’
‘What?’ I was incredulous. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘It’s Camilla really, and Roger, Angela’s much more easy going.’ I noticed a quiver in Tom’s voice, he was obviously very nervous. ‘Please forgive me, and don’t shoot me, I’m just the messenger. I–’
‘You mean you’ve been sent to see me.’
‘No, but I felt you should know in advance because most of the last meeting was about this and I simply didn’t want you to go into it next week like Daniel into the lion’s den.’
‘Right,’ I replied, not making any sense of it.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn.’ His voice was still quite timorous, he was obviously uneasy.
‘So do they want me to stop?’
‘No, no, they just want it to be very factual, that’s all.’
‘Well, it’s not my book,’ I said, my ego bruised. ‘What was said exactly?’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way but you were described as “very modern” and “lightweight.” I knew I was giving him one of my dagger looks and it made him take a step backwards. ‘Just so you know, it’s not me who is saying that. Personally speaking Martha, you’ve been a breath of fresh air, but as you can imagine, they are very set in their ways, that’s all.’
I stepped back, lost for words, feeling blindsided.
‘Perhaps if you just toe the party line, Martha, and do as they ask but no more.’
I was absolutely crestfallen and so I called my dog to avoid eye contact with Tom, as an involuntary sense of rage was rising in me. I didn’t dare give anything away so I made a fuss of Inca as she came trotting towards me, tongue lolling.
‘Thanks for the heads up, Tom, I appreciate it,’ I said as calmly as I could. I heaved Inca away from a scattering of sticks she was trying to reach and I was much too cross with her. I was jerking too hard on her lead and when I glanced up at Tom, who was staring at me, I felt awkward and cruel.
When I arrived home, I shut the door behind me and sobbed.
34
I had consumed too much alcohol. I let myself into the flat as the dawn chorus was underway and was trying numerous times to fit my latchkey in the lock. I fell onto the bed and woke up with a crashing headache at six, my mouth dry as dust.
I filled a glass until the water poured over the rim. I watched it gurgle down the plughole, trying not to think of the blood in Collins’s throat, but my hand was shaking uncontrollably and suddenly the glass fell, shattering into the sink. I looked at the shards, the fine points that could so easily bring me to an early end. The clock ticked on steadily, water trickled in the pipes under the sink, and in the far distance a dog barked, the normal sounds of everyday life. I turned and walked away.
I awoke again at ten, my head thumping like a jackrabbit’s leg. I had to travel over to Lapston, pull myself together and somehow rid myself of this dratted headache.
There were two presents on the side table; the daily maid had wrapped them very prettily for me, both the brooch and the scarf. It was Alice’s birthday, her day. I had a duty to be with her, but the headache was unrelenting, a throb pulsed behind my left eye and, although my stomach was empty, I could not face food.
I arrived at Lapston at twelve. In spite of feeling so utterly wretched, the beauty of the house was not at all lost on me. The honey-coloured stone was almost the same colour as the gold autumn lawn. The horse’s heads appeared over their half-doors and Jester kicke
d a hoof against his to attract my attention. I couldn’t resist so I walked over to the stables and gave his nose a rub, faithful old man that he was.
‘It’s very good to have you home, sir,’ Grant said kindly as he opened the door to me. I looked straight into his eyes, for he always provided a firm reassurance with his welcome. The old man he had replaced, Fellowes, had been so much colder. George’s parents had been badly wounded by all that unpleasantness, but Grant’s loyalty had proved invaluable. I had a great deal of time for him, as did George. The two were often to be found talking together and sharing a joke in these more relaxed times, it was something that would never have happened in Sir Reginald’s day. Grant took my mackintosh and hat, telling me he would carry my suitcase upstairs and unpack it.
‘Please do not trouble yourself, Grant,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it, I’m sure you have much to do.’
‘Very well, sir,’ he said and withdrew. It was only fair on him that we now fended for ourselves. Very often we could see our former maids working the land in their corduroy breeches and thick woollen sweaters when we passed the fields around the house.
‘Carrick!’ It was George, coming down the staircase as fast as his hip would allow. ‘I’m delighted to see you. Grant said you had telephoned yesterday when we were out.’
‘Yes, I seem to keep missing you, old thing.’
‘I was out with Alice. I promised I would treat her to the picture house. There is a new film, Double Indemnity, dashed good plot. Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck.’
‘And where is our birthday girl?’ I asked.
‘She is out shopping with Cécile.’
‘With Cécile?’
‘Oh yes, she has been with us since Monday afternoon. Arrived just in time for afternoon tea, miserable wet day, mind.’
‘I had no idea,’ I said. My head was tightening with a searing pain around the temples as I spoke.
‘Are you quite well, Carrick? You do look frightfully pale.’
‘Bit of a late night last night, caught up with some old chums.’ It was a lie of course, but he did not question me.
