The Forgotten Village Page 6

  He looked at her intently, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘Lunch,’ she said in far too bright a voice and left the room.

  While Anna hastily laid the table and then served, Veronica turned to Freddie and attempted to make polite conversation to counteract what had happened in his room. ‘We’re at sixes and sevens since we had the order to leave. It’s all been rather a rush, packing up and sending things on to the London house. We’re lucky, of course, at least we have another house to go to.’ Veronica knew she was prattling.

  ‘Where is the rest of the village going?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘Those that aren’t going to family are being rehoused around Purbeck,’ Veronica explained. ‘Until hostilities end. Until they can return.’

  ‘They’ll hate that. Most of those families have lived here for generations.’

  ‘Your family has lived here for generations,’ Veronica countered.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He looked around but appeared unbothered by the prospect of his family home being requisitioned. ‘This house doesn’t feel like part of me anymore though.’ He shrugged. ‘Hasn’t in years.’ He looked at Veronica pointedly, but as she opened her mouth to speak, he asked, ‘Any wine?’

  Anna disappeared, reappearing minutes later with a bottle of red. She fumbled with the corkscrew and Freddie leaned forward and delicately took it from her hands with a smile. ‘It’s all right, I’ll do it,’ he said. Anna shot him a grateful look and left the room.

  ‘She’s not used to serving,’ Veronica explained. ‘She’s my lady’s maid. All the male staff have gone to fight.’ Veronica didn’t like to say that the moment war had been declared, every single male member of staff had joined up immediately, as if they couldn’t wait to be gone from the house.

  Freddie nodded. ‘How’s Bertie?’ he asked.

  Veronica’s knife and fork stalled halfway up to her mouth.

  Freddie plunged the needle of the corkscrew into the wine bottle and then started winding.

  ‘Fine,’ she said dismissively and then she asked quietly, ‘When did you last see him?’

  Was it her imagination or did Freddie clench his jaw? He poured wine into both their glasses and then his next words cut through the room. ‘At your wedding.’

  Veronica’s eyes widened. The wedding. The wedding she never wanted to think about ever again. ‘You’ve not seen him since then? Almost five years? That can’t be true.’

  Freddie nodded. ‘We’ve spoken of course. But not often. He likes to know I’m not messing it all up at the factory. But communication has been … sporadic. One year has just drifted into the next. And here we are, five years on and the village is being requisitioned and your house is being taken.’

  Veronica looked away at the dark wood panelled walls, now devoid of any portraits.

  ‘It’s not my house,’ she said quietly.

  Freddie didn’t know then. He had no idea what Bertie was like now; the change that had slowly ravaged him. Although, Veronica supposed she had no real idea if Bertie had always been so violent, so full of hate. Perhaps he had but he had overtaken her senses when she’d met him. It was in the darkest moments of Bertie’s behaviour that she forced herself to remember how he used to be. She’d been swept along in the wake of Bertie’s forceful presence and hadn’t had time to fall in love with him. His intensity had taken her breath away and she now wondered frequently whether the signs of madness had always been there, under the surface. Had he simply hidden them away? Perhaps she was just blind and hadn’t wanted to see the start of the behaviour that would eventually destroy their marriage and almost kill her. She’d never know now.

  A car crunched on the gravel and Veronica’s head rose. She stiffened. Bertie. There were no other cars in the village. Petrol rationing had put paid to that. Bertie, as an MP, believed it was necessary to the war effort that he swan around in his Morris Eight.

  Veronica sat rigidly and pushed her lips one against the other, creating a thin line. She heard Anna run down the hallway to open the front door.

  Anna shouldn’t still be here. Veronica was supposed to be on a train to London and her new life, such as it would be. She had made Anna promise she’d leave Bertie’s employment the very moment Veronica left, come what may. Anna had promised that she wouldn’t stay in the house alone with Bertie. Veronica knew Bertie’s sexual predilections and while, so far, they did not stretch to the staff, if Veronica had gone and Anna stayed, it would only be a matter of time. Veronica couldn’t bear to think about the poor young girl failing to fight Bertie off.

  But Veronica was still here and so was Anna. And now so was Freddie. The nightmare was only getting worse.

  The front door banged and she could hear muffled voices. Moments later, the dining room door was thrown open and Bertie walked in.

  Freddie tossed his napkin on the table and stood, moving towards his brother and greeting him warmly. Bertie smiled thinly by way of reply and reciprocated the handshake. He stood beside Veronica.

  ‘Not going to kiss your husband?’ he asked.

  Veronica stood and he pulled her towards him, placing his lips firmly on hers and clasping her around the waist. Veronica was stunned. This wasn’t for her benefit. Bertie pushed his lips harder onto hers until it started to hurt. She made a small noise and Bertie kissed her harder to mute her. Freddie shifted uncomfortably next to them.

  ‘Well,’ Bertie said to Freddie when he’d finished embracing Veronica, ‘my reprobate brother has returned.’

  Freddie moved back towards his seat. ‘As commanded.’

  ‘Good. All your things are in the attic. Take what you want and anything you want destroyed by the bloody army you can leave here.’

  ‘Understood.’ Freddie sat down again.

  ‘Welcome back, little brother,’ Bertie said. He looked down at Freddie’s wine glass and picked it up, drained it and placed it back on the table.

  Freddie made no comment but waited until Bertie had turned before he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?’ Bertie turned to Veronica.

  As Veronica opened her mouth to speak, Bertie cut in, ‘It was a bloody disaster,’ he said. ‘There’s not a damned thing we can do about this requisition order. We leave as planned.’

  ‘I see.’ Veronica stared at her food.

  ‘Joining us for lunch?’ Freddie suggested when the awkward silence grew.

  ‘No. I ate. I’ll be in my study.’

  A few moments later Bertie’s study door slammed shut.

  ‘The requisition has put him on edge?’ Freddie asked and then stopped talking as another young woman came into the room to remove their empty plates. She stopped short and stared at him.

  ‘Rebecca, Sir Albert’s brother will be staying with us for the night,’ Veronica said.

  ‘Very good, m’lady,’ Rebecca said. ‘Cook has custard and stewed fruit she can offer if you’d like pudding?’ she asked, not meeting their gaze. She removed their plates.

  ‘Not for me,’ Freddie grinned. ‘I’m full. I’ve not eaten this well in a long time.’

  The maid glanced back at him and took in his features with a shocked expression on her face. Freddie smiled back uncertainly at her scrutiny.

  ‘No thank you, Rebecca,’ Veronica replied. ‘Please tell Cook that was delicious, as usual.’

  Rebecca turned and left.

  ‘Well,’ Freddie said. ‘I’m going to take a look in the attic while the light’s still good. See what I’ve left behind from my misspent youth.’

  ‘Freddie?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘About the crying.’ Veronica felt unable to meet his gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He crouched beside her and glanced down the hall towards Bertie’s study. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he whispered.

  She could feel his presence next to her as he crouched. Affability and warmth emanated from him. She’d always wondered what it would be like when she saw him ag
ain. After five long years being married to Bertie, she’d tried not to think about Freddie. It was too painful. She had tried not to regret the way it had all ended between them. It had been for the best. She’d been devastated when she’d learnt he didn’t love her, when she’d discovered he was casually playing her off against other women. But it felt as if her heart hurt even more now he was here than it had ever done in the long absence since she’d wed Bertie.

  She tried to swallow down the uprising combination of guilt and love that she always felt when she thought of Freddie. She couldn’t help it. His head was almost level with hers and she risked a glance at him. The kindness in his eyes only served to wound, not to heal. She’d missed him, more than she cared to admit, but she’d have given anything for him not to be here now.

  Veronica brought herself back to the present, back to the dire situation she’d unleashed upon herself, and tried seeing things through Freddie’s eyes. To the untrained eye, Bertie’s behaviour looked relatively normal. It was the most horrifically believable act. He’d been playing it for years. Freddie would never believe her if she told him the truth.

  Veronica shook her head and looked down at the floor.

  ‘I can’t force you,’ Freddie said gently, taking her hand. ‘But you know where I am if you want to unburden yourself. You know I’ll always listen to anything you have to say, Veronica. I’m sorry for you. And I’m sorry for Bertie. This departure, it must have hit you both very hard.’

  Veronica felt a lump forming in her throat. But it wasn’t tears; it was regret. She’d cast Freddie aside for Bertie. She only had herself to blame. Veronica knew that everything she’d suffered at Bertie’s hands was her comeuppance for leaving Freddie without an explanation. She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’

  CHAPTER 7

  As Freddie ventured upstairs towards the attic, Anna entered the dining room and pushed the door closed behind her.

  ‘You’re not leaving?’ Anna asked.

  ‘How can I get away?’ Veronica threw her hands up in the air. ‘How can I go now? Every time I try …’ she trailed off.

  Anna sighed and glanced towards the dining room door. ‘I don’t know.’

  Veronica pushed out the chair next to her with her foot and gestured to Anna to sit. Anna sat gingerly on the edge, ready to leap up if Bertie entered the room. It wouldn’t do for staff to be seen looking comfortable.

  The women sat in silence. Veronica looked at Anna and felt her heart surge with gratitude that she was there. Bertie had hired her on a whim in place of a regular lady’s maid, reasoning that she was untrained and therefore cheap. Over the years, the young Anna had seen and heard too much to ignore and Veronica had been in dire need of a confidante. It had been a shock to both women that they had forged a friendship.

  ‘The brother’s nice,’ Anna said absent-mindedly. ‘I almost had a heart attack when I caught a quick glance at him in the drive. I thought it was him at first.’ Anna pointed towards Bertie’s office.

  ‘Freddie’s not been back here in a very long time,’ Veronica said.

  ‘What will you do now?’ Anna returned to the subject that was plaguing them both.

  ‘I think I’m going to try to leave on the last day, when the whole village leaves. But I’m going to have to go before anyone notices. I can slip away in all the confusion of the exodus.’

  Anna stood up. ‘Cutting it fine. It won’t be easy. But I can run down to the village and tell William he’s needed again. We just have to get through these last few days.’

  Freddie rifled amongst the detritus in the attic and found a few things he wanted to take as mementoes but nothing that warranted the uncomfortable train journey he’d just made. Although he did whoop for joy when he found his old cricket bat. He knew he’d left it here. He was sad to see moths had ravaged his comfortable cricket jumpers. He was sure he’d left them in his old bedroom when he’d last been at Tyneham House, but Bertie had obviously seen fit to banish Freddie’s possessions to the attic. He threw them back into the dusty trunks. He’d leave them; along with everything else, except the bat. His old school exercise books and sporting manuals were of no interest to him now. The army was welcome to them. He wondered where everything else was. He suspected Bertie had had a clear-out long before he arrived. There was barely anything left. This was classic Bertie behaviour.

  Whistling as he descended the stairs two at a time, he realised the house was eerily quiet. He stopped and listened, twizzling the cricket bat around in his hands as he reached the front hall. There was the faint sound of scribbling in Bertie’s office and Freddie knocked and entered.

  Bertie looked up from behind his desk and glanced at the cricket bat. ‘Found something?’

  Freddie looked down at his prized bat. ‘I brought two suitcases with me, thinking I’d fill them up. But there’s just this.’

  He walked over to the large brown leather chesterfield settee that was situated in front of Bertie’s desk and sat down. He stretched his legs out in front of him lazily and looked around the study. Bertie watched him.

  ‘Sad to see the old place go?’ Freddie attempted conversation.

  ‘Absolutely bloody livid,’ Bertie exploded. ‘I had no idea they were going to take the house.’ Small bits of spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.

  ‘It’s war, they can do what they like,’ Freddie reasoned. ‘You and I are lucky though. We’re both of us here, still alive, not dying in some foreign field.’ Freddie looked around at the shelves wondering why the account ledgers hadn’t yet been packed away. Bertie obviously really believed he could put the requisition off and hadn’t yet packed the smaller items. ‘We’ve got to make sacrifices somewhere.’

  ‘What sacrifice have you made exactly?’ Bertie put his fountain pen down on the table and stared at his brother square in the eye.

  Freddie narrowed his eyes. I left this house, I stayed away and I didn’t fight hard enough when you stole Veronica from me. There was no point hashing all that up now. She’d made her choice and it hadn’t been him. Instead, Freddie said, ‘I got shot, remember?’

  ‘Oh yes, the famous bullet that put you out of the war on day one,’ Bertie said, looking down at his papers again.

  Freddie shook his head disbelievingly and rubbed self-consciously at his chest. The bullet he’d taken fighting in France in 1940 had nearly killed him.

  Bertie looked as if he was spoiling for a fight and as he opened his mouth to speak, Freddie quickly interjected. ‘How’s Veronica? She seems … different.’

  ‘She is. She’s not the same woman I married,’ Bertie said sourly.

  ‘Is it the requisition?’ Freddie volunteered.

  ‘No. It’s been happening ever since we got married. Slowly, here and there, I’ll notice small things about her that make me more than a little curious about her sanity.’

  Freddie’s mouth fell open. The Veronica he fell in love with all those years ago had been a vivacious, energetic woman, full of life and love. He’d fallen head over heels instantly, but he was too slow off the mark at proposing. That had been his undoing.

  ‘I sometimes wonder if I should have just let you have her back?’ Bertie mumbled.

  The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, breaking the silence that had fallen in the room. Freddie knew better than to reply. This was not the first time Bertie had alluded to his less than brotherly behaviour. After six months of stepping out with Veronica, Bertie had used his position as the older brother to full advantage with her father, convincing him to turn Veronica’s head. The lure of Bertie inheriting the estate and the London house was too much for Veronica’s father. No matter which way it was dressed up or justified, Bertie had stolen Veronica – and Veronica had obviously been willing to go.

  Freddie often wondered how different his life would have been if he’d been the older brother; if he’d have held more sway. He blamed himself for Veronica’s switch of affections. He should have proposed the moment he knew he was in lov
e. But he had been too late. Freddie remembered the words Bertie had used when he’d broken their engagement news to him, slapping him on the back. ‘It’s the greatest compliment, old chap. She wanted you. Only better.’

  Choosing not to engage, Freddie stood and picked up the cricket bat. ‘I’m going to pack this and then I’ll walk around the grounds for a bit. Visit my old haunts. Is the beach hut still there?’

  Bertie was writing again and looked up impatiently. ‘What? I wouldn’t know. I’ve not been down there in years.’

  After an hour of walking around the formal gardens and the wood, Freddie decided he needed sea air. He walked towards the long cliff path that led to the estate’s private cove. He stopped at the top of the cliff and peered over the edge. The steps were still there, naturally formed unevenly into the cliff face. He stared out to sea, listening to the waves crashing down below. Glancing around the coastline, he could see across towards the next bay, where a square stone observation post had been built in readiness for preventing a German invasion. His heart sank as he looked below and saw the stone ‘dragon’s teeth’, ruining the beach but forming a necessary part of the coastal defences.

  He stretched lazily and looked about. As a boy, he’d played here with Bertie in summer, had rowed the dinghy to the rocks and they had thrown their fishing nets out, catching nothing. Freddie smiled, remembering how they used to steal bottles of Father’s port from the cellar when no one was watching and throw the empty bottles into the sea, returning back to the house drunk and happy. God, they were tearaways. They’d been so similar back then. Or had they really? It had always been Bertie encouraging Freddie to steal the wine. But somehow it had always been Freddie who got the blame.

  If the little beach hut was still there, it would probably be a miracle. His mother had installed it where the steep cliff met the sand so they could store their belongings, deckchairs, parasols and fishing paraphernalia. It had been Freddie’s safe haven when life in the shadow of his brother got too much and he needed some peace and quiet.