by Bloom, Anna
He grins. “Come on. Let's see how incredibly ostentatious my brother really was.”
We are walking up the stairs when the door opens and a woman in a twin-set with pearls opens the door and nods to Elijah. “Not quite what I was expecting as a live-in lover.” I whisper under my breath. His lips flicker a smile, but he has his lawyer/Fairclough face on, and I know my Eli has slipped away again.
“Miss Beesley.” He reaches a hand out for her. She looks strict, like a school headmistress who’s sucked on too many lemons.
“Elijah. I’m sorry to meet you again under these circumstances.” She talks like the queen. Her gaze falls on me and Eli clears his throat.
“Miss Beesley, I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé, Faith Hitchin.” I offer my hand, but she can’t take her eyes off my ink and my greeting is extended for an awkward moment too long. Great start.
Eli turns to me, his face formal, but under the regimented professional facade I can spot laughter in the depths of his eyes. “Faith, Miss Beesley is the housekeeper at Thirty-Six Chesham.”
“Thirty-Six Chesham?” I ask.
“Yes, my dear.” It’s Miss Beesley that answers, cutting Elijah off. “Thirty-Six Chesham is one of the most sought after addresses in London. For two hundred years it’s been the epitome of society and standing.”
I just about manage to hold in my groan. “Great, I shall drop off my calling card and pop around on Thursday for cribbage,” I mutter under my breath, and Eli snorts none too politely for society.
“Calling card?” He lifts an eyebrow, oblivious to the member of staff stood right next to him with a face carved from crumbled rock.
“Hey, I’ve read Austen.” I raise my own eyebrow. “And Bronte, all the classics.”
His smile widens. “Favourite?”
I grin back. “You’ll have to guess.”
Miss Beesley clears her throat. “I assume you are here to inspect your new home, Mr Fairclough?”
“No.” Eli’s voice snaps, all warmth evaporating. “I’m here to see my brother's belongings. I assume they haven’t been touched?”
Miss Beesley has the grace to flush slightly, although her demeanour doesn’t change. A woman of middling years, she’s of a slight build and put together with a sharp edge. Not the sort of woman you’d want to get too close to or give a hug. Definitely not like Elaine back at Bowsley. I wonder, if we move in here, whether I could swap?
“Of course.” She steps back and allows us in. The hallway ceiling goes all the way to the attic, a spiralling staircase leading up to the other floors. Beneath our feet are black and white marble flagstones, much like the floor in the ballroom at Bowsley. My mouth is hanging open, and there is nothing I can do to shut it. Above our heads hangs a chandelier which is bigger than my kitchen at my flat. Probably twice the size. I crane my neck to look at the thick gilt chain which hangs metres long.
“Miss Beesley, if you could provide us with refreshments in the sitting room please. It’s been a long drive.” I manage to hold in my laugh. Provide us with refreshments? Where is the man who was fucking me against the wall only a couple of hours ago?
He grabs my hand, knotting our fingers tightly together, and leads me up the first flight of stairs where the whole of the middle floor is opened up into a wide and bright living space. High arched ceilings curve above our heads. It’s very, very far from an Austen novel.
“Where on earth do we start?” I ask. I had no idea Peter’s home was going to be this big.
Eli shrugs. “In the study?”
“It’s a place to start, I guess.”
He’s quiet as we stand in the middle of the study. It’s exactly Peter: leather and black furnishings, sleek and extravagant. The Baroness’ son to perfection. “It looks like no one comes in here,” I say when the silence is once again unbearable. The desk is immaculate. A desk blotter and a Mont Blanc that looks similar to my own is the only thing on its surface.
“Peter is private. And tidy.” Eli stops himself when he realises he’s spoken in the present tense again, and I watch with a sharp pain twisting my stomach as his shoulders sag and his head drops. Shutting the door for some privacy, I step up behind him and wrap my arms tight around his waist, breathing in the scent of his soft jumper and moulding myself to the solid shape underneath.
When a splatter of cool water lands on my arm I hold in my gasp and squeeze him tighter. I’d take the pain from him if I could. I’d take those tears and draw them into myself, so he’d never have to experience them. I’d cry for the both of us if it would make him better. But I know it won’t. This is grief, and it comes in shocked waves and hits you endlessly until you can’t take anymore.
I know. It was only a couple of months ago Al went and left behind a strange and alien emptiness in his wake. Like he’s there, the shape of him still carved in the air, but he’s no longer there to will it.
“I’m sorry.” Eli lifts an arm and wipes at his face. When he’s done, I turn him in my arms, pressing my face against his chest. Inhaling him.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“It’s all wrong. I keep thinking I could punch him for ruining this. We should be out celebrating, drinking champagne and shouting from the rooftops that we are together, united.” His gaze falls on my face and my stomach tightens. “Or in bed with champagne, screaming one another’s name and celebrating what the future holds.”
“I know.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Instead, the future has twisted, the path has moved, and what I promised you yesterday no longer exists.”
My fingers reach for his chin and I tilt his head down so he has to meet my gaze. “Paths change all the time, Eli. I know this more than anyone. What’s important is that we walk it together.”
His eyes swim with shining water. “And you’re going to live here? Going to be happy being sent out on engagements, and to dinners, and fucking parties, and all the things that Peter did at the word of my mother, while hiding himself the whole time.”
My fingers pinch his skin tighter. “I’ll do it all. But I won’t hide, and neither will you.”
We stare at one another, our gazes fierce. I want him. I’ve never known a desire like it. Even in the midst of heartbreak, the thought of having him, touching him, having him fill me from the inside out, overrides everything else.
“There is nothing in here.” I drop my hand. “Let's try his bedroom. Maybe there is something there.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe there is nothing here. Not one personal effect.”
Eli’s face drops and he shrugs.
“My love,” I say, the words surprisingly comfortable. “It won’t be like this for us. We will fill this home with laughter and love and passion. We’ll have paints and mess and life itself to fill its walls.”
The blues rest on my face. “We’ll have you.”
“And you.” My hand reaches for his. “Come, let's move on.”
We take every room, but we still don’t have any names to call, any people to tell. My heart is heavy, beating with a hollow boom for the eldest Fairclough child. And it aches for Elijah, who is realising all too late the life his brother had.
I shake my head. “No.”
The blues flicker in my direction. “No, what?”
“I just can’t believe it.”
“What, Faith?” He’s tired, his edges jagged. It’s been a long day. We shouldn’t have driven all the way back to London on a wild goose chase. Another Faith Hitchin cracking idea. He must ache, although he’s trying not to let it show.
“I had lunch with Peter just days ago. A man who lives in a museum with nothing of his own was not sitting across the table from me.”
I sit down on the bed. This isn’t right. This place isn’t a home. The heating isn’t even on despite the fact it’s a chilly October day. Absentmindedly, I pull on the bedside cabinet drawer. I’ve already looked in here and found it empty of anything other than a manly manicure kit—I didn’t even know such things e
xisted. The room is empty apart from the furnishings and a handful of Tom Ford suits hanging in the walk-in closet.
“Eli, how many suits do you have in the Mews?”
He shakes his head; his temper is fraying. I can sense it even from ten paces away. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his face pale beneath his bruises. “I don’t know. More than I should. Twenty?”
I slide the drawer again, lost deep in thought until Eli cuts through my musings. “Faith, let's get back to Bowsley. I don’t want to leave Tabs by herself, it’s not fair on her.”
I sigh. “Sure. We should tell Miss Beesley we won’t be staying.” I’m turning when I spot a small white envelope stuck to the inside of the drawer. Leaning down, I peel the square from where it’s stuck out of sight.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know.” I stare at it trying to make sense of the scrawl. “It’s addressed to you.”
Eli steps closer, sitting on the bed next to me, his weight dipping the mattress. “Here.” I pass it over into his outstretched hand.
His lips purse as he opens it and unfolds a piece of thick cream paper. “It’s a note from Peter with an address.”
“What does it say?”
He coughs, clearing his throat, and his fingers shake until the piece of paper is fluttering like ruffled feathers in a breeze.
“To my prodigal brother. I’m sorry. I know one day you will understand.” He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Uh, then there is just an address.” He studies it for a moment. “I know this address. Peter asked me to get a colleague to help with some conveyancing. It was for a friend who wanted to make sure the sale of the property went through quicker than usual. I think some palms were greased.”
“Now that sounds like Peter.” I offer Eli a small smile and a smile spreads on his own face.
“Yeah, it does.” He chuckles. “Why has he left me a letter here? There is literally nothing else in this whole house.”
“I’m going to go and ask Miss Beesley.” I stand.
“Faith, it’s probably nothing.”
I shrug. “I doubt very much that your brother would leave you a note apologising for something if it wasn’t for a reason. So, there's only one way to find out.”
We find the housekeeper in the sitting room, which is palatial and extravagant in cream and gold. She’s laying a silver tea service out on a walnut coffee table. “Sorry for the delay in your refreshments, Mr Fairclough. I realised the milk wasn’t right and sent out for more.”
I stare at her. Her cheeks are red, her hair not as smooth and as angled as when we arrived. She didn’t send anyone for milk. There is no one else here.
The penny drops.
“Peter didn’t live here, did he?” I say.
Elijah’s gaze falls onto the note in his hand and his mouth pops open a little. “Miss Beesley?” he prompts.
“I just do what I’m asked to do. That’s what good housekeepers do.”
Eli nods understandingly. He’s about to take to the floor and interview a witness for the court. I can sense it. “Of course. You are a wonderful housekeeper. How long have you been here?”
“Ten years.”
“And you love Peter? You are loyal to him?”
Her cheeks redden, but she juts out her chin. “I love this house, and yes.” Her voice cracks a little. “I’m loyal to Peter, he’s a kind boss.”
Eli’s shoulders relax. “But he didn’t live here. You’ve been keeping up the pretence for him? Hiding it from everyone, even me?”
She shakes her head. “He slept here on Monday’s and Tuesday’s. He said he didn’t like me rattling around the place by myself.”
“So where was he the rest of the time?”
She nods at the note. “With Jeremy… his husband.”
I think Eli is going to fall. He wobbles, unstable, like a ship about to keel in a turbulent wind. “His husband?” His voice is low. Dangerous.
A tear slips down Miss Beesley’s cheek. “I called him and told him the news.”
Eli and I both stare at the brief letter while Miss Beesley’s quiet sobs fill the air. Peter has a husband? A flat in Battersea? I watch as Eli’s face contorts into an excruciating mask of pain. Peter had a whole life that no one, not even his brother knew about.
Five
The Land Rover idles on the small street and we both stare at the grey-bricked suburban semi. “I don’t think I can do this, Faith.” Eli’s voice is low. I reach for his hand and squeeze it tight.
“I know. But how can you not? Eli, this is messed up. So messed up.”
“I can’t believe he kept something this big from—” He cuts off his own words.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Not as sorry as me. I thought we were more than brothers. Comrades rather, in the obscurity of the life in which we had to live. But it turns out while I was toeing the line, battling to try to keep everyone happy and safe, Peter was living a life here. A life away from me.”
I turn to face him, lifting my hand to run it through his short hair. “You know the Faircloughs wouldn’t allow him to have a husband, or to be openly gay.”
When Eli’s eyes meet mine, they steal my air. Dark and swirling with distrust. They look the way they did the other night on the pier when he walked away from me. When he reached the limit he could take with me. “So that means he thought I was a Fairclough through and through. He didn’t trust me, either.”
“We can’t sit here all night. We’ve got to get back to Tabitha. I’m going in, are you coming?”
Eli’s hand tightens on the steering wheel. “I don’t know.”
Shaking my head, I turn for the door. He’s in shock. Everything he knows is slipping out from under him. He must feel like I did when my life disintegrated the day my dad didn’t believe my claims of abuse. It was like the universe vanished from around me. It left only space and unfamiliar territory everywhere I looked.
I turn back as I push on the door. “Maybe it’s time to decide what sort of Fairclough you want to be.” I slip out of the car without looking back and make my way up the path, to ring the buzzer for Flat One.
“Hello?” Even from the behind the static of the security system I can hear a broken depth to the answering voice.
“Hi. My name is Faith Hitchin. I was,” I hesitate, “I was a friend of Peter’s. I am a friend of Peter’s.” I correct myself at the last moment. My heart is pounding in my chest. I’m almost sure reality has taken a vacation.
Nothing else is said but the door clicks and I’m able to push it open. As I do, I glance at the gold and diamonds on my left hand. Champagne and shouting from rooftops feels a long way away. I’m about to walk through when the air moves next to me and Eli’s arm brushes mine. I turn and smile. I know exactly what sort of Fairclough he is, even if he doesn’t himself.
The old Victorian house has been converted into flats and the first one, Peter’s, is on the ground floor behind a shiny, black wooden door. My fingers tangle in Eli’s and I don’t know who is squeezing one another harder.
I have zero expectations of who might be the other side of the door. I hardly knew Peter, but my lasting memory will be of him in a navy three-piece, flashing gold cufflinks. So when a guy in a grey tracksuit, with skin the colour of milk chocolate and curly, short black hair opens the door… Well. Eli and I freeze like statues.
Actually, on closer inspection they aren’t tracksuit pants, but pyjamas. The guy pushes his rectangular glasses back up his nose. “Jeremy?” I ask.
The guy’s eyes are red and swollen and I could almost blink myself and remember all too keenly how much they would hurt. He watches at Elijah, but he doesn’t say anything. His body hangs defeated like he no longer has the energy to stand.
“I’m Faith.” I fill the awkward gap. Jeremy, the guy with the chocolate skin and inky hair nods blankly.
“Jeremy?” Elijah’s low voice pulls in my stomach. I want to hide, want t
o dive under a cushion and cut myself off from the horrific emotions zapping through the air. “I’m Elijah.”
Jeremy seems to pull himself together. “I know who you are.”
I think for a horrible moment he’s going to turn us away, that we will leave never knowing the truth, but he pushes open the door and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Come in. It’s a mess.” Jeremy makes room for us to pass him into the small hallway. “I would apologise, but…” He tails off, his words cracking like a fine pane of glass.
“I’m sorry to turn up unannounced,” Eli says. He walks in and stares about the place; it’s like he fills the entire room. How on earth did Peter, who was broader than Elijah, even fit in?
“It’s fine.”
Uncomfortable silence settles like a shroud over us all.
This is ridiculous. It reminds me of Al's funeral and all those people standing in his front room waiting for him to arrive and lead the way to the funeral. It’s like time doesn’t exist; that it’s particles of reality that no longer fit together.
I can’t stand it.
“So, I’m Eli’s fiancée,” I stumble to fill the void. “And we didn’t know about you. I’m sorry, it sounds awful saying it out loud, but it seems Peter has been keeping secrets.”
Jeremy’s red eyes flash. “Because he had to.”
“How long have you been married?” I glance into the lounge. It's nothing like Thirty-Six Chesham. A faded and worn cream sofa is covered in throws and cushions. The walls are pale, lined with paintings and sketches, and there are mugs and paperwork stacked everywhere.
“Three years.”
My eyes flit over Eli, who is turning a hazy shade of green like grass drying under an August sun.
“Three years?” It’s Eli who speaks. “How has he never told me? He lived here with you and I never knew.”
Snapping to action, Jeremy beckons us into the lounge and motions for us to perch on the sofa. We sink down onto the soft cushions while he straightens some paper on a coffee table.
“Believe me.” Jeremy pushes his glasses back up his nose as he glances at Eli. “I wanted him to tell you. He talked about you all the time. Back in the beginning, I resented the fact he didn’t introduce us. But I guess eventually it just became the norm.”
