The Room Beyond Read online

  ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘Come on, relax. I practically grew up in this house,’ he said and then he rolled his eyes mysteriously. ‘I know its ways.’

  He sat down on the balcony step, exhaled an impressive array of smoke rings into the night sky and then beamed at me in a way that made me want to giggle like a schoolgirl. I perched next to him and we smoked in silence, my first cigarette in ages. I was supposed to have given up the habit.

  It seemed surreal sitting up there high above the rooftops with him, as if we’d been picked up and placed into an alcove in the night sky. Seb’s body was tantalisingly close and a pleasant shiver ran through me.

  ‘Who are you, really?’ I asked.

  ‘Well that’s a very good question. Some say that an itinerant group of cockle gatherers found me on a beach one day...’

  ‘No, seriously, although I see that seriousness might not count as one of your major pastimes.’ He flashed me a delicious smile. ‘You’re not one of the family, I know. I thought you were Eva’s boyfriend, but you don’t seem to be that either... are you? I mean I... I just don’t really understand where you fit in.’

  The muscles around his jawbone tensed up and shifted about.

  ‘I went to school with Eva’s brother Raphael,’ he said slowly. ‘I got to know the family and they sort of accepted me as one of their own.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Just... somewhere.’

  ‘Right.’

  His face softened apologetically. ‘Sorry, you just don’t want to see where I live. It’s not very nice, that’s all. I only use it for sleeping and a lot of the time I stay over here anyway.’

  ‘I’ve lived in a few places like that. Pretty lonely eh?’

  ‘Yes, pretty lonely.’ He tossed the stub of his cigarette over the balcony and turned to face me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘How did you enjoy your meal with the family?’

  ‘Um... very pleasant: charming, interesting... eclectic... German.’ He frothed up with laughter. ‘Can you all really speak German?’

  ‘Yes of course. And French. Doesn’t everyone?’ he asked, laughing even more.

  ‘OK then.’

  My legs had gone slightly numb and I shifted sideways, pressing my spine flat against the door frame. He gazed back at me, his eyes suddenly more sober and almost purple in the half-light.

  ‘You look very beautiful like that,’ he said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Sitting stretched up like that in the shadows. You look mythical, like an elf or something.’

  ‘My father used to call me his little elf. It’s because I was all scrawny like a boy, with wispy hair and pointy features.’

  ‘But did he tell you that you were beautiful as well?’

  ‘Oh God no!’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you have absolutely no idea how to take a compliment.’

  His fingers knitted themselves together with mine; they felt so long and elegant.

  Let me stay with you tonight.

  It was just like before, over dinner. I heard his voice and yet he hadn’t said a thing.

  Not yet.

  He seemed to nod his head as if he’d actually heard my reply, but his hand remained firmly in mine.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Go on,’ he replied.

  ‘What is the situation between you and Eva?’

  Maybe I was imagining it but his cool fingers seemed to tense up a little in my hand.

  ‘There is no situation, why ask?’

  ‘It’s nothing really. I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry. It’s just that this morning, when Beth brought me into the drawing room... I think that Eva was watching you sleep.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about her. She’s a great thinker, that’s all, she feels things very deeply. They would have called her poetic a hundred years ago, or something like that I suppose.’

  ‘It was a bit of an icy reception that she gave me.’

  Seb made as if to speak but then hesitated; he seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

  ‘She does things her own way, she’s unconventional,’ he shrugged.

  ‘I can see that. To be honest I was a bit surprised when I found out that Beth’s mother was so young. Who is Beth’s father?’

  My throat went dry as soon as I said it, as if bereft of the words that should have stayed firmly tucked inside. Seb took his hand from mine to light another cigarette.

  ‘No one knows, she’s always refused to let on,’ he answered in a deep, hushed voice. ‘But everyone seems to have a theory about it. What do you think?’

  It sounded like a test. And was that the hint of something bitter in his voice? Whatever it was it didn’t suit him.

  ‘I don’t have a clue. I knew nothing about the Hartreves until this job came up.’

  ‘What, you haven’t even read about them, they’re in the press sometimes?’

  I shook my head.

  He looked thoughtful. ‘Well, I supposed it’s been awhile and it’s only really Eva doing the whole society bit now.’

  ‘In that case I better start buying the right magazines!’

  His shoulders softened a bit and the corners of his mouth turned up.

  ‘So tell me about your family; where do your parents live?’ he asked.

  ‘Hmm, do you really want to know?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  ‘Let’s talk about it some other time.’

  ‘No,’ he said, as if suddenly spurred on by my reluctance. ‘I want to know.’

  ‘OK. My parents both died when I was young.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They were in an accident... their bus veered into a shop window. I was brought up by my aunt instead.’

  He didn’t respond and the moment died. This time I reached for his hand. ‘Look, let’s just change the subject. We’re bound to fall on a good one if we try hard enough.’

  Seb squeezed my hand back gratefully and then a spark of light came back into his eyes.

  ‘Do you want to come to the party this weekend? Raphael’s coming home for a bit after a stint abroad and we thought we’d celebrate.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude. Where is it?’

  ‘Here in the house. And no you wouldn’t be intruding, you’d be my guest.’

  ‘Alright then.’

  ‘Hey, I better leave you to it.’ He pulled me up from the step with both hands and we faced each other. ‘Thank you for letting me into your room tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice!’

  He linked his arms around my body and gathered me close to him. In a second my cheek was pressed against his chest and my eyes tightly shut.

  The last person who’d held me like that had been my father. I’d forgotten all about it until that point but the memory suddenly came back so powerfully that I could even smell the musty scent of his jumper as it had scratched slightly at my face.

  I’d been playing in the garden and had fallen badly with a loud scream. Dad had come running out of the house, his face etched with concern and before I knew it I was in his arms, the safest place on earth.

  I felt Seb’s face smile above me.

  ‘What is it?’ I murmured.

  ‘We’re breathing at the same time, like soldiers falling into step.’

  He released me and a deep sigh unleashed itself from my chest. I felt the brush of his lips against my mouth and before I even realized it, he’d gone.

  For a moment I could barely tell where I was. Around me everything seemed askew, as if I’d walked into a macabre crooked house in a fairground somewhere.

  The curtains against my balcony door had been closed. I walked over to the window and peered between them, half expecting, hoping, to see Seb standing there again. But only the dark silhouettes of chimney pots and branches remained.

  Before I fell into bed I snatched up a pencil and within minutes a near perfect
likeness of Seb’s face was laughing up at me from my sketchbook. His eyes bubbled with good humour, just like they had done over dinner. Next time I would try to catch their sober side, the serious part of him. Because it was there, whether he liked it or not.

  I spent the night lost in a heavy dreamless sleep and, when my alarm clock proceeded to yell at me the next morning, the journey to switching it off was no worse than clawing my way out of a deep blackened pit. I rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes. Beth wasn’t in her room, so I carried on downstairs.

  ‘Hello,’ she said from behind a large bowl of cornflakes. She was sitting at the kitchen table, legs tucked up under her on her chair. Gladys was making tea.

  ‘Hello. How are you this morning?’ I replied.

  ‘Fine. Shall we go to the museum today?’

  ‘OK.’

  I obeyed Gladys’s nod to sit down.

  ‘I’ll put some toast on,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind, but look I’ll make it.’

  ‘No that’s alright.’

  Her lips were pursed as if to say, ‘This is my kitchen. Leave it well alone please.’

  Beth helped herself to more cornflakes, tongue poking out in concentration at the side. She was wearing a pale yellow gingham dress with a matching ribbon in her hair.

  ‘Raphael’s coming home soon.’

  ‘Yes I know.’

  She munched on and eyed me over her spoon. ‘He’s an artist like you know. Raphael sees magic in everything. He loves beauty, that’s why he’s an artist. He says he could never work in an office like Grandpa.’

  ‘Here’s your toast, would you like tea with that?’ Gladys asked.

  ‘Yes please, thank you so much.’

  I half got up from my chair to help but a sharp look from Gladys forced me right back down again.

  ‘Would you like milk or lemon with your tea?’

  ‘Milk please. But I can...’

  ‘Brown sugar, white sugar or sweetener?’

  ‘Nothing, thanks. Um, would it be alright if I ate in the kitchen with you tonight? I don’t really want to get in the way of the family too much.’

  She nodded her head as if the question came as no surprise to her.

  ‘I’ve got a nice bit of salmon for Mr Hartreve tonight; should be enough for us too.’

  Before leaving for the museum I raced upstairs to grab my bag from my room. It was a workout in itself running to the top of the house and I was panting breathlessly by the time I pushed my door open. Eva was standing in there, holding my sketchbook in her bony hands. I spluttered in surprise.

  ‘Are you... alright?’ she asked, scanning me up and down.

  ‘Yes,’ I panted. ‘You just shocked me a bit.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I imagine I should have knocked, although you weren’t here anyway.’

  She held the sketchbook towards me and then all at once her face seemed to melt into an expression I wouldn’t have thought possible. For the first time I saw real gentle beauty in her features.

  ‘Beth told me about your drawing. These pictures of Seb are very skillful. Extraordinary. You have a good eye. I never thought...’ she trailed off and her eyes flitted across me again, differently this time, like a frightened little deer.

  I took the sketchbook from her. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind. Would you like me to draw something for you? I love it when people enjoy my work, it’s the main reason I do it I think.’

  As soon as the sketchbook had left her hands she seemed to stiffen, hold back again. The angular bones of her face regrouped.

  ‘No that’s fine. I have to go now,’ she swept past me but paused to take a final glance around her. ‘Funny little room, this. Isn’t it?’

  Beth seemed to be in her element at the Victoria and Albert Museum, springing from one exhibit to the next like a small excited lamb. She led me around the four-poster beds and grand castle furniture first, saving her cherished costume exhibits for the grand finale.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she whispered, gazing with loving eyes at a Victorian wedding gown.

  ‘Would you like to wear something like that one day?’

  ‘Oh yes!’

  We ate sandwiches in the museum’s sunny courtyard, peeling our shoes off afterwards to have a quick paddle in the ornamental pond. It was a gorgeous day and this was a perfect oasis from the city beyond. We skidded about in the water, pink and giggling with the sunshine. But then quite suddenly, just as she was scooping a cup of the water up into her hands, Beth staggered, as if she were about to pass out. I caught her elbow, her face was white as a sheet.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Hmmm, I think I’m getting one of my headaches.’

  ‘Headaches? I didn’t know you got those.’

  Her cheeks felt cool and clammy.

  ‘Come on let’s take you home.’

  Beth didn’t utter a word for most of the journey back. Her hand felt small and limp and she rested against me in the bus like a wilting flower, so vulnerable that I clung on to protect her from being crushed. But by the time we got to Marguerite Avenue her hand began to respond to my grasp again. It felt warmer, more full of blood too. When we were just a few houses away, she released herself altogether and galloped past the last few houses to her own.

  ‘Number 30!’ she squealed back at me.

  ‘Well done, you are good at reading your door numbers.’

  ‘32!’

  ‘Even better! How did you get to be so clever?’

  ‘34!’

  The ribbon in her hair had untied itself so that the two ends streamed behind her like tails on a kite.

  ‘No Beth! There isn’t a 34, it’s missing. You’re nearly right, but your house is actually...’

  ‘36! Yes I know that!’

  She was still running, the ribbons skirmishing behind her in the breeze. She must have made a mistake although my feet began to move faster nonetheless. Number 30, yes. Then 32. And after that... only one house left, 36.

  Beth swung herself to a stop on the last corner railing of the terrace, the ribbons finally deflating. The extreme paleness had gone from her face and there was now the faintest blush of rosiness again across each small cheek.

  ‘We’re home now,’ she gasped. ‘Let’s go in, I’m thirsty!’

  1892

  The brougham clattered to a halt outside the railings and a tatty-looking boy hopped down. Jane’s cases were already waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Jane, your carriage is here!’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Miranda crossed her arms and then uncrossed them again. Her foot tapped with a life of its own against the floor tiles.

  ‘I think I’ve got everything,’ said Jane, clutching a handkerchief to the side of her face as she descended the stairs shakily. ‘Ah it still hurts; my whole face feels as if it’s been trampled on.’

  She did look a little wan and her hair had been tied back rather shoddily, but her eyes glimmered brightly enough.

  ‘Well then perhaps you shouldn’t travel. Not yet anyway,’ said Miranda.

  ‘No no, I’ve overstayed my welcome with this illness as it is. You must be keen to get rid of me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll call the boy in to get your bags.’

  ‘Yes do, but before I leave I’d rather like to have a word with you please.’

  Jane swept her eyes from one end of the hallway to the other as if in search of spies and then craned her neck towards her.

  ‘Now, as our own mother is dead I feel it my obligation as a woman, and of course as your sister, to talk about what happened at that dinner party last week. As you know I’ve been far too ill to discuss this with you until now.’

  The handkerchief had disappeared and suddenly Jane was looking awfully healthy.

  ‘Yes,’ Miranda replied. ‘It’s quite extraordinary how quickly your cold came on after that night...’

  ‘But you have been at the forefront of my mind and I h
ave to tell you that I’m extremely concerned.’

  ‘Concerned? About what?’

  Jane pulled a pair of grey gloves out of her pocket and carefully drew them over her fingers.

  ‘I think that Mr Whitestone, your husband, enjoyed Mrs Eden’s dining room antics a little too much the other evening.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that Tristan has a roving eye and I think that as his wife you need to learn how to rein him in a little better. There, I’ve said it. Now come on! Help me with my things.’

  Miranda clenched her fists so tightly that her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands.

  ‘No.’

  Her voice felt dry and husky. Jane paused and turned back round.

  ‘I’m sorry dear? Come, surely you’re not upset. I’ve given you my opinion, that’s all I have to say on the subject.’

  ‘Yes and that is all you will say on this subject and on any other for that matter.’

  ‘Are you alright my dear?’

  ‘Not really. I’m afraid I don’t take too kindly to being insulted in my own home.’

  Her sister’s eyes bulged so forcefully back at her that they seemed in danger of breaking free from her face and Miranda fought back a sudden irresistible urge to laugh.

  ‘Are you... sniggering at me?’ Jane stammered.

  ‘I have to ask, do you really have a cold or was it something you just made up so that you could stay and witness the aftermath of that hideous dinner party?’

  ‘Have you gone mad?’

  ‘I don’t really blame you because, after all, Mrs Eden behaved like a Soho slut and my husband, as you noticed, seemed to enjoy every minute of it.’

  ‘Miranda!’

  ‘But not much has happened since, has it? I have to applaud your patience; five whole days of waiting for nothing in return. You must have been awfully bored.’

  Jane screwed up her face in a way that brought back Miranda’s worst childhood memories of being a younger sister.

  ‘You say nothing’s happened!’ she spat. ‘So tell me, why has your husband moved his desk up to that empty servants’ room at the top of the house? What does he do up there all day? Why hasn’t he been going to work? The two of you have barely exchanged a sentence since that night although I wonder whether that’s anything new from what I’ve seen.’