The Room Beyond Page 6

  ‘Darling, what can I do to make things better?’

  She pretended to think for a moment. ‘You could die. That would be a start.’

  ‘Come now, you don’t really mean that do you?’

  ‘My dear dear man, if I were to read of your death in a newspaper tomorrow, I would dance barefoot down this road and throw a riotous party to celebrate.’

  A cloud swept across his face, acknowledging his forty-six years.

  ‘She’s not doing you any good, is she?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Is it not quite what you imagined it to be? Is that young, flighty little thing too much for you, or perhaps not enough? Have you found that she is, in fact, a little bored by her rich gentleman, or has she realized that you’re not quite as rich as she thought?’

  He peered at his feet. But when she walked away to the drawing room he followed her submissively.

  ‘Does she know that the business barely pays for itself and that your wife has always propped you up with her fading bits of inheritance?’

  ‘Please stop.’

  ‘Oh, I apologize! I must have touched a nerve. Why did you come here?’

  ‘Merely to pick up a few odds and ends and, to see you.’

  ‘And did you have to bring the whore?’

  ‘Betsey is not a whore. I had hoped that by putting the two of you in the same room, well, it might just make things a little easier.’

  ‘Easier for whom? For your guilty conscience? Goodness, how marvellous, Lucinda and the little dancer girl are such good friends! They had afternoon tea together today and...’

  ‘Stop it, please! Easier, if you must know, to see the true error of my ways.’

  Alfonso pulled a handkerchief from out of his pocket and mopped his brow.

  ‘I miss this house. I’m so... tired.’

  He dragged his feet over to the window.

  ‘There’s a young woman waiting out there in that carriage for me and quite frankly, however hard I try, I cannot even picture her face. All I see is you, Lucinda. I forced the two of you together and she lasted no more than a few seconds. You’re a magnificent woman and I have been an awful fool.’

  ‘Running out of money?’

  ‘Don’t, please don’t...’

  He raised his hand as if to ward off the attack and she paused. How wretched and alone he looked over there by the window, with his stained old waistcoat and the beginnings of a stoop. She joined him and he drew her even closer by the hand, stroking it repeatedly as if she were a pampered cat.

  It made her smile and his face immediately turned into a soft sponge of relief; a spark of his old self already glinting in his eyes. And suddenly they were back at the theatre again, ten years younger, she waiting for him backstage whilst the crowd roared on. Ready to dance all night long at the after-show party.

  But then two blue eyes suddenly blinked back at her, as if from nowhere, sending a deep, dangerous thrill up her spine. You smell of ripe peaches. The words washed over her again like treacle.

  She freed her hand from Alfonso’s clasp.

  ‘I have a lover.’

  He started, his eyes round and huge. ‘Who?’

  ‘The man next door, Tristan Whitestone.’

  ‘I... I could tell his wife this moment,’ he spluttered. He clutched at his shirt collar.

  ‘Do whatever you like, it doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘He will never leave his wife for you, they are decent people.’

  ‘And we aren’t?’

  ‘We come from a different world!’

  ‘No, you come from a different world which I have nothing to do with anymore. You’ve had your pleasure and now you want Lucinda back. Well you can go to hell. You’re a self-proclaimed fool. I have a beautiful man in my bed now and I wouldn’t take you back for all the money in the world. Now get out of my house, take your slut with you and never, under any circumstance, visit me again.’

  When the sound of the departing carriage had finally melted away, she ripped the amber scarf from her hair, tearing it to shreds as she flew back up to her room. The tears poured out relentlessly; her pillow and even her dress were soon drenched.

  And yet all the time, as the tears kept flooding out of her, she could hear something in her distant mind, a child’s voice imploring her to stop.

  ‘I’ll try,’ she told it eventually, biting at the pillow. ‘Who are you?’

  But the voice disappeared and she was left alone again.

  When at last she knew that she couldn’t cry any longer she changed her dress, smoothed her hair and checked her face.

  ‘Sarah, are you back? I’m going out now!’ she called.

  She raced downstairs and scribbled the word NOW across a piece of paper, addressing it to Mr Tristan Whitestone, The Whitestone Shipping Company, Bolter’s Way.

  Sarah came bustling in with her things.

  ‘Quickly please. I have an extremely urgent letter to deliver,’ she told the maid, glancing at herself in the mirror just one more time. Her eyes were resolute, her chin a little raised. ‘And I’ll buy a new hat whilst I’m at it.’

  SERENA’S STORY

  ‘You’re invited to dine with the family tonight.’

  Gladys was pounding a spoon into a beige substance in a metal bowl. I raised my chin a little to try and see what it was but she suddenly spun round to attend to something in a pan at the same time.

  I allowed my jaw to drop behind her turned back. The kitchen appeared to be heaving under the weight of its production: pans frothed and sizzled on the rings of two separate ovens, the work surfaces overflowed with vegetable laden chopping boards and clusters of ingredients, nestled by yet more bowls, ramekins and saucepans, patiently awaited their turn. It felt more like the kitchen of a smart restaurant than a family home.

  ‘Is it going to be a large dinner party?’

  ‘No.’ She turned the metal bowl out onto a baking tray and a large mushroom of dough appeared. ‘Just the family.’

  I retreated to my room to get changed, although my sketchbook found me first. I began trying to recreate the view from my window, just as I’d intended, but for some reason my pencil wasn’t behaving itself and I tore the page off, scrunching it up into a tight ball before hurling it into the bin.

  I began to scribble again on the next page, thinking about what to put on. Did the Hartreves dress for dinner? The scribble started to take shape, my hand now moving effortlessly across the page. Within a few short minutes I had the beginnings of a face.

  Portraits had never really been my forte, particularly from imagination. But this face, with its high-cheeked slender lines just fell off the tip of my pencil. I watched with stunned fascination as Seb unfolded in front of me. I’d caught his image perfectly: the soft sweep of his lips and those beckoning eyes. It was only a small thing but probably the best and most accurate drawing I’d ever done. I actually found myself grinning proudly at it.

  Finally I put the drawing to one side and threw on a dress. It was a blue one with small pink flowers on it that I’d had for years and was nothing particularly special, but it fitted well and showed off my legs; the only part of my boyish figure I was prepared to forgive. I peered at myself in the mirror.

  ‘Good evening everyone,’ I said in clipped English, the corners of my eyes wrinkling up at my reflection. ‘I’ve been at my club all day and I’m afraid I’ve had one too many Margaritas...’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  I jumped round to find Beth lying on my bed. She was all limbs, like a small white kitten.

  ‘Beth! How did you get here? You really should knock before coming into people’s rooms.’

  ‘Really? Oh. But I was sent up to get you because dinner’s ready. This is a really good drawing.’

  I snatched the sketchbook from her feeling my face turning scarlet.

  ‘And you shouldn’t go through people’s things!’

  Her chin dropped down so that I could only see the top of her
head. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh don’t worry,’ I said, ruffling her soft hair. ‘I’m sorry I snapped.’

  She beamed up at me. ‘What’s a Margarita?’

  Edward Hartreve was already in the dining room when we entered, reading a newspaper at the head of the table. His hair looked freshly combed and he was wearing a crisp white shirt that was open at the neck; just as trim and dapper as when he’d opened the door to me in his tennis whites on the morning of my interview.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, eyeing me over his newspaper for a little longer than felt comfortable. His eyebrows were arched high. ‘We meet again.’

  ‘Yes... it’s very nice to be back.’

  He seemed about to answer but the clatter of approaching footsteps made him hesitate and suddenly Eva, Seb and Robert were in the room. I instantly felt the urge to melt into the wall; just like being the new girl at school.

  Seb’s blue eyes captured me instantly in their frame, intense yet full of humour. I looked away, but he pulled out the chair directly opposite mine. Eva sat down at the other end of the table without offering me a single glance.

  I tried again to avoid Seb’s gaze and in response he leaned towards me, even closer, his elbows comfortably resting on the white tablecloth and his chin in his hands.

  ‘Hello, glad you’ve joined us tonight,’ he said. ‘How was your first day? I’ve noticed that Beth hasn’t eaten you yet – a good sign.’

  ‘Took a week for her to digest the last nanny,’ murmured Edward from the end of the table. His eyebrows were still unnervingly high.

  ‘Well she did say she wasn’t hungry today,’ I replied. ‘Although we’re both looking forward to dinner, perhaps with some pickled ex-nanny on the side.’

  Beth took no notice. She was busy folding her napkin into a complex series of folds, tongue poked out in concentration. But Seb’s face filled with laughter and I began to giggle infectiously. And then I met his eyes head on, their blueness lapping me up in a millisecond. My mind turned somersaults in the sky.

  Who are you? I thought to myself. Why do you look at me like that?

  Just trying to get to know you better.

  The door flew open with the crash of a trolley and I physically jumped, upsetting the cutlery at my place-setting. Beth leaned over to set it straight and suddenly the room was full of Gladys and her trolley, napkins on laps and, ‘Don’t touch the plate, it’s hot.’

  Had Seb actually answered me out loud just then? I tried to recall the act of him opening his mouth and forming those words, but got nothing.

  ‘I thought you’d like them,’ said Gladys, as a plate of noodles suddenly materialized in front of me. ‘Considering your recent Asian tour.’

  ‘Which gave her a dodgy tummy, didn’t you know?’ came Eva’s voice. She was picking away at a small plate of canapés.

  The colour drained out of Gladys’s face. ‘Oh I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No please don’t be! I’m fine now. I love Thai food.’

  I peered back again at the dainty plate of canapés.

  ‘She had to come home in the end Grandpa, because of her stomach. Didn’t you?’ added Beth.

  ‘Yes, but I really am fine now.’

  A plate of fish and chips landed in front of Beth as Edward regarded me, hawk-eyed, from the head of the table.

  ‘Some kind of worm in the gut perhaps? Happens abroad,’ he said.

  I turned to Seb, hoping that he might change the subject of my intestine, but he seemed to be too absorbed by the arrival of his soup.

  ‘Delicious, thank you so much.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure my boy, there’s freshly baked bread as well,’ Gladys murmured back.

  ‘Robert now Gladys, give my son his food!’ Edward bellowed, finally discarding his newspaper. ‘Feed the children first, that’s what I always say.’

  Robert didn’t look very much like a child, but he did seem like someone who needed feeding up.

  ‘Now you didn’t add salt did you?’ he stammered, poking at a bowl of what looked like brown mushy peas.

  ‘No, I’ve done your lentils just the way you like them.’

  A different meal for everyone. So, that explained all those pots and pans I’d seen bubbling in the kitchen earlier.

  ‘And now for me!’ Edward grasped his knife and fork in anticipation as Gladys wheeled the trolley round.

  ‘Roast beef with all the trimmings just the way you like it,’ she said.

  ‘Exactly what I was hoping for. Delicious!’

  The door flew open again and Arabella floated into the room. She was wearing an electric blue kimono style dress that made her look remarkably like an exotic bird.

  ‘Darlings! And we have Serena with us tonight I see.’

  She enveloped me in a long, searching gaze and then smiled briefly. But by the time I managed to smile back she’d flourished around the table, enveloping us all with the heady scent of patchouli whilst brandishing something in her hand.

  ‘You must all listen to this, it’s hysterically funny!’

  It was an old cassette tape and she slid it into an ancient looking tape recorder on the sideboard. There was something so fluid about the way she moved. One action simply seemed to retune itself into the next and before I knew it she’d clicked a button and was meandering back towards the door.

  ‘I’ll have my chicken salad upstairs Gladys. Africa work to be done!’

  The tape made a loud belching sound and then exploded into brass band music.

  ‘Enjoy!’

  And she disappeared with a chiffony flourish and a final whiff of patchouli.

  We raised our knives and forks to the reverberations of the brass band music. But before I’d swallowed my first mouthful of noodles, the music came to an abrupt halt and two men started to talk to each other - in German. Immediately the faces of everyone around me, including Beth, began to crease up with hilarity. Edward exploded into raucous laughter every time one of the men made a joke, Seb and Eva exchanged mirthful glances and even Robert spluttered out some of his lentils mid-snigger, which made everyone laugh even louder.

  I swallowed hard. Why had I given German up at school in favour of dance and drama? Peering round at the sniggering faces I felt a stab of loneliness. I hadn’t been that bad at the drama though... I’d actually pulled off a pretty mean Lady Macbeth at the end of year show.

  The German men were singing a comic song now and Edward was actually guffawing into his roast dinner. Seb was gripping his sides. There was nothing else for it but to put my fork down, throw my head back and laugh hysterically. It wasn’t hard at all and as soon as I started it seemed to spur the others on even more. I scooped the noodles up into my mouth between outbursts and before I knew it the play was thankfully over. All I had to do was pray every night that none of them would ever attempt to address me in German.

  ‘How are the plans for the party going?’ Edward asked Eva afterwards, wiping his tears of laughter away with the corner of a napkin.

  ‘Well, I think. Are you coming?’

  ‘Me? Oh no,’ replied Edward. ‘Your mother might put her head round the door but I’ll leave you lot to it. When’s he arriving?’

  ‘Not sure. He’s been rather busy out there.’

  Edward looked down at his empty plate, a momentary cloud crossing his face, and then he glanced up at Beth with a large smile.

  ‘Now I’m pretty sure I know someone who can’t wait for her Uncle Raphael to come home.’

  By the time dinner was over it was almost dark outside. It was Beth’s bedtime and our shadows accompanied us up the stairs as we went; mine long and dark and Beth’s a little lighter and more scattered with her flitting about. Up in her room I tried to find some bedtime reading, but the bookshelf was mostly crammed with a lot of grim looking spines embellished with gothic writing.

  ‘You do have quite a collection of ghost stories here,’ I said.

  I managed to tug out an abridged edition of Peter Pan from be
tween them and she listened to the opening pages with unblinking concentration.

  ‘Who’s your favourite in the book?’ she asked after I’d finished reading.

  ‘Um, I don’t know. Tinker Bell probably. Now get into bed, do you like your lamp on or off?’

  ‘Off. My favourite’s Peter.’

  ‘He is fun, isn’t he? It’s a shame we can’t all be young like him forever.’

  ‘Some people can. I know that for a fact.’

  ‘Yes, of course you do! Now, sweet dreams.’

  I kissed her cool forehead and she seemed content to be left.

  It really was dark now. I couldn’t find a light switch so had to feel my way up the narrow stairs to my room. My shoulders started to relax; it was so quiet and peaceful up here. I closed the curtains but opened the balcony door behind them just a little to let in the cool evening air. It carried the scent of flowers with it, jasmine maybe.

  Now, Jessica. I didn’t really feel like ringing her yet. She’d probably start to worry if I attempted to describe all the German comedy and guffawing to her, so I sent her a text instead:

  Am fine. House still lovely. Hartreves unusual but nice. Will ring in a few days when settled. Love Serena

  I tossed the phone onto my bed; it was time to unpack properly, but then a sudden sound from the balcony stopped me in my tracks. What was it? A shoe scuffing against the floor? The closed curtains rippled gently with the breeze. No. Nothing more than a deranged cat would have braved a jump like that.

  The noise came again and I could feel the whirr of blood start to rise up in my ears. I tiptoed over to the windows and, with one sharp tug, pulled the curtains back to scare whatever it was away. Instead I came face to face with Seb.

  ‘Fancy a smoke?’ he said, offering me a crumpled pack of cigarettes whilst lighting one for himself.

  ‘Oh my God! How the hell did you get up here?’

  ‘Ah, now that would be telling.’

  I pushed past him and peered over the balcony at the spine-crunching drop to the garden. Even the flat roof of next door’s extension seemed dangerously out of reach, although not impossible.