The Forgotten Village Page 9

  There was silence and Melissa felt a slow tension. ‘Anyway. Enough about my crap love life. How was your afternoon?’

  He raised his eyes and looked at her. ‘Pretty diabolical actually. My gran was taken to hospital. She’s broken her hip.’

  ‘Oh no, Guy, I’m so sorry. I’m rattling on about being dumped and … Will she be okay?’

  ‘I hope so. She can’t move. She’s waiting for surgery. But she’s elderly, she’s already got heart disease and I’m not sure the doctors like the idea of operating on her. I’ve just extended my hotel booking for a week so I can be nearby. I’m going back to the hospital again tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If my gran’s up for talking, I’ll see if I can find out where the Standishes went, if you like?’

  ‘Oh no, don’t do that! Let her rest. Oh your poor gran. I’m so sorry,’ Melissa repeated.

  ‘Thanks,’ Guy said.

  Melissa sipped her gin. ‘I did have a little look on the internet and I found a fairly boring newspaper cutting that showed Sir Albert in London standing down as an MP a month after they left Tyneham.’

  ‘Really?’ Guy mused. ‘I wonder why he did that.’

  ‘It didn’t say, but then I didn’t look any harder after that. I was too busy being dumped.’

  Guy gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Any mention of the frightened-looking Veronica?’

  ‘No. I tried on the net, but I didn’t get anywhere with her and, to be honest, I’ve got enough on my plate right now. I’ve got to get back to London and sort out a job. My holiday is over.’

  ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I’ve got to. I’ve seen the tariff sheet here and at £200 per night exclusive of breakfast I need to get the hell out of here and back to my life.’

  Not that she really knew what her life looked like right now.

  Melissa refused the offer of the main bedroom and Guy helped her pull the sofa bed out in the sitting room of his suite, protesting almost the entire time that he didn’t mind if she took the bedroom. With the lateness of the hour, both were grateful the sofa bed was already made up and just needed pulling into place. Guy found two extra pillows in one of the wardrobes and he handed them to Melissa as the two said an awkward goodnight.

  He pulled together the little doors that separated the bedroom from the sitting room and she gave him a grateful smile. God, this was weird. As he closed the doors all the way with a soft click, she felt incredibly embarrassed. What was she doing here? Walking into his suite with him had been the height of humiliation. No one had been about to witness, but going into a hotel room with a man was usually indicative of something untoward. It said everything about Guy that there weren’t any crossed wires and that he was being an absolute gentleman. She’d only known him two days, but he was incredibly easy to be with. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was hot. She put that thought to one side as she climbed in to the sofa bed, reminding herself that she’d only been single for a matter of hours.

  Melissa rubbed her eyes and blinked in the morning sunshine. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was. The doors dividing the sitting room from Guy’s bedroom were open. His bed was empty and tidy and he appeared to have gone. She glanced over to the coffee table in front of her sofa bed. In the middle of the table was a large silver tray bearing a basket of fruit, croissants and Danish pastries with an assortment of little pots of jams and preserves and a pot of coffee. Melissa put her hands around the coffee pot and rejoiced at finding it still warm.

  She looked around the room as she poured herself a coffee.

  Her eyes fell on a little note on the hotel’s headed notepaper. She picked it up.

  Melissa,

  I hope you slept well. I’ve gone to the hospital to see Gran. I didn’t want to wake you. I won’t be long. Please don’t leave until I’ve had the chance to say goodbye. Also, I had a look at some archives online and found something interesting out about both Sir Albert and Lady Veronica. There are no death records for either of them!

  Be back soon, Guy. X

  CHAPTER 10

  Tyneham, December 1943

  After they returned from the beach hut, Freddie went off to fix himself a drink and Veronica went upstairs to have a bath and choose a dress for dinner. Veronica’s feelings about Freddie’s arrival were so mixed that she didn’t quite know what to think. With Freddie now among them, it would be the only night in recent memory that she and Bertie wouldn’t be alone at dinner, taking part in a silent charade of a marriage, one where she sat in fear waiting for him to verbally destroy her, or hit her in a temper caused by a storm of alcohol to his system. Veronica prayed that with Freddie here, Bertie might control himself. For show. But, likewise, with Freddie here, she felt even more of a wreck than she had been over the last few weeks, especially as she wasn’t even supposed to be here. She should have been long gone, halfway to her new life. Whatever that would be. Wherever that would be.

  She pulled out her bedroom key from her pocket to unlock the door. Bertie was a stickler for tradition and the ingrained idea of separate bedrooms in a house this size was one Veronica hadn’t fought against. Keeping hold of her key had become a necessity against Bertie’s drunken arrivals in the dead of the night. But the door was already unlocked. Perhaps Anna had forgotten to lock it with her key after her toing and froing this afternoon. Or perhaps Veronica had. Which of them had been the last to leave? She couldn’t remember now.

  Veronica entered her room and stopped. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what. She looked around the room slowly, finding nothing obvious. She locked the door behind her, took her shoes off and went to her bathroom, throwing in some bath salts and stirring them into the hot water with her foot as she sat on the side of the tub. She waited for it to fill up to its regulation five inches, slipped her clothes off and slid into the scalding water.

  After a few minutes of lying in the claw-footed bath, she heard her bedroom door handle start to turn. She held her breath. The handle rattled a little and Veronica sat up straight in the bath and listened. Her heart thumped. The door was locked. But that fact had not always stopped Bertie before. It had been weeks since Bertie had tried to gain access to Veronica’s bed. But before that his attempts had been becoming angrier, more violent. And often in the past, just when she dared rejoice, thinking he had given up permanently, the inconsistent, frenzied attempts would start all over again. She felt as if she was living on the edge of a breakdown, teetering on the precipice of going utterly mad with fear.

  The door handle rattled again louder and more forcefully. She was silent, her fingers gripped the edge of the bath. He knew she was inside. Suddenly the noise stopped and she heard movement outside the door. From the end of the hall, she could hear Freddie hailing Bertie, who moved away from her door.

  Veronica lay back against the cold of the enamel bath and breathed out slowly, wondering what would happen now. Her heart was racing. Bertie would try again, later, after dinner. She knew that. The thought dripped fear into her heart.

  After her bath, Veronica dried herself and, trying not to shake through cold and panic, mentally evaluated her wardrobe, intending to pick out her cream silk dress. Bertie always expected her to make an effort. She’d never been one for being dressed by a maid, but as she lined up her hairpins on her dressing table and let her auburn hair fall down about her damp shoulders, she knew she’d have to ring for Anna to help her style her hair. She could climb into the dress all by herself.

  Veronica held her towel in one hand and rubbed at her eyes in the mirror with the other. She looked haggard, and it was no wonder. She closed her eyes. How was it possible, after all the weeks of meticulous planning, that she was still here? She’d pinned her hopes on leaving today, ever since Bertie announced his intention to visit his solicitor and fight the requisition order for the house. Neither Bertie’s fight nor her departure had been successful. Both had come to nothing. Ironic, that it was only now, at the very end, that they
shared common ground.

  Tugging on the bell pull with one hand, Veronica opened the top drawer of her large chest of drawers with the other and gasped. It was empty. No. She yanked it out and threw it out onto the floor in her haste to check the very back of it and saw that the one underneath was also empty. Had Anna done this? She couldn’t have. She’d only just unpacked from earlier in order to stave off any suspicion. But the entire unit had been emptied. Every drawer in her bedside tables, bar one, was bare. Her furs, her jewellery box and the expensive trinkets she’d kept ready and waiting – gone. The room had been cleared.

  She pulled the cord again, harder than before, and listened for the sound of Anna’s light steps. Anna declared herself at the door and Veronica unlocked it and threw it open.

  Anna looked at the empty drawers scattered on the floor. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘All my things … all my things are gone,’ Veronica said, sitting on the bed. ‘They’ve all gone.’

  Anna opened the mahogany wardrobe doors. Inside were enough day and evening dresses to see Veronica out until the planned departure. The remainder of the wardrobe was barren; only a handful of discarded wooden hangers remained. Anna fumbled on the floor of the wardrobe to check what else had been left, while Veronica ransacked the rest of the room. Veronica’s anger and fear were growing in equal measure. Anna stood rigid, realisation clearly dawned on her face, and Veronica came to the same conclusion. When Veronica finished fumbling under the four-poster bed for any trace of her suitcases, she stood and stared at Anna. Bertie had taken everything.

  ‘He knows,’ Veronica said. ‘He knows I’m leaving him.’

  Freddie was buried in a good book and a gin and tonic by the time Veronica appeared for pre-dinner drinks. He put the book down and stood to greet her, pulling at the collar of his dinner suit. ‘No Bertie?’ he questioned.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘He’ll only be a few minutes, I’m sure. It’s not quite six yet.’ She glanced at her watch and braced herself for the arrival of her husband. She felt hollow, unsure as to what he knew about her plans. It was the uncertainty that worried her the most.

  She glanced at Freddie out of the corner of her eye. He had resumed reading his book, only she noticed his eyes weren’t moving. He was staring very hard at a place at the top of the page. His gaze lifted very gently towards her and both of them quickly averted their eyes. She couldn’t help herself. A few moments later, she looked back at Freddie, who glanced up and smiled this time. And then the smile fell from his face completely as he looked past Veronica. She turned to see what he was staring at. Bertie had arrived silently and was leaning against the door frame, arms folded, watching them.

  ‘You’ll have noticed some of your things have gone, darling,’ Bertie addressed Veronica, his face impassive.

  ‘Yes.’ She winced at his false term of endearment, clamped her teeth shut firmly together and waited for the inevitable bilious lies. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They’ve gone up to London,’ he said innocently, a hint of a smile on his face. ‘No point waiting until the bitter end. Most of mine have gone too. I had Rebecca do it. I’ve kept back what we need for the next few days.’

  ‘My jewellery, my furs? My suitcases have gone too.’

  ‘You don’t need them, do you?’ his tone was innocent. ‘The jewellery has gone to the bank, where it should have been all along. I don’t trust it at the London house. It’s too susceptible to bombs and looting – people taking things they shouldn’t.’ He looked pointedly at Veronica, who thought quickly of the clock on her bedroom mantle that she’d chosen to leave behind. She steeled herself against anything further, but there was only an accusing silence.

  Dinner was a mute affair. Veronica pushed her food around her plate as Bertie drank glass after glass of wine, ringing the bell for a fresh bottle. Veronica had lost count of the amount of glasses she’d watched Bertie sink.

  When dinner was over, Bertie sat back and watched Anna clear the plates. Veronica’s expression turned to a worried frown as she noticed his glazed eyes resting on Anna as she moved around the table.

  ‘Port? Cigars?’ Bertie asked Freddie, his eyes still trained firmly on Anna.

  ‘You sly dog. How are you still getting hold of those?’ Freddie asked. But Bertie offered no reply. ‘No, thank you,’ Freddie continued. ‘I thought I’d wander down to the pub actually. See if William and some of the old lot are down there. I assume they’re all away fighting. It’s been too long.’

  At the mention of Anna’s brother, Veronica’s head shot up.

  ‘Most of the farmers are here. Reserved occupation,’ Bertie said, his words coming slowly. ‘But I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you exactly who’s still here. Why do you want to mix with them?’ Bertie made a disgusted face. Veronica threw Anna an apologetic look.

  Freddie laughed. ‘They were my friends once upon a time.’

  ‘Heaven knows why,’ Bertie said and refilled his glass.

  The front door closed with a loud, satisfying thud and from the dining room Veronica heard Freddie’s feet crunch on the gravel towards the village in the chilled December night.

  ‘I don’t like you smoking, you know that.’ Bertie’s voice was thick with warning. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’

  ‘I wasn’t smoking,’ Veronica lied. ‘Freddie had a cigarette earlier and I—’

  ‘Don’t lie, Veronica. I could smell the smoke. It lingers.’

  Veronica didn’t reply. She would have liked to have closed her eyes and counted to five to calm herself and formulate a better lie, but she didn’t trust him not to hurl himself at her. Like last time. She looked up and met his gaze. He was staring blackly at her. He looked halfway to a snarl, his top lip curling back ever so slightly from his teeth.

  ‘I tried your bedroom door today. I couldn’t get in.’

  It was not phrased as a question. Veronica tried to get away with ignoring it.

  ‘You appeared not to hear me.’

  ‘I was in the bath,’ she said.

  ‘So you did hear?’

  ‘I—’

  He cut her off. ‘Cook asked me an interesting question yesterday.’

  Veronica stopped breathing.

  Bertie continued. ‘She wanted to know if I would be needing my ration book too. She wanted to know if I was accompanying you on … what did she call it … your short trip.’ Bertie angled his head to one side. ‘Where were you going, Veronica?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ she said quietly, clenching her fists in her lap, poised for his attack. She could feel the blood draining from her face. She could no longer hold his gaze.

  ‘I’m sure you are right. I’m sure Cook was simply mistaken. I’ll be coming to your room again tonight, Veronica. This time I expect you to open the door. I expect you to oblige.’

  Veronica watched him drain his glass and then refill it. He started slowly drinking it again. With any luck he’d be far too gone to perform, which had been her salvation for the past few months as Bertie descended further and further into his alcoholic stupors. She would not ask him if he’d had enough. She knew better. Let him drink. Let him be unable. She could deal with the hate and the venom he hurled towards her. She could even deal with his fists, which, when drunk, sometimes missed their mark. It was his sexual taste for inflicting pain and distress that Veronica feared the most. What he wanted to do to her, what he wanted from her … She would rather be dead. A husband wasn’t supposed to want to hurt his wife with such severity. She was past wondering what she had done to deserve this.

  Suddenly Bertie stood and Veronica pushed her chair back slightly, bracing herself, expecting a reprisal for the ration book fiasco. But, instead, Bertie staggered past her and towards his study without a word.

  She only had to make it through the next few days, then she would be gone from him forever.

  If there were no further setbacks.

  Veronica went to her bedroom, pulled the key from her pocket and firmly locked the do
or behind her, listening over the sound of her heart beating faster than ever for the noise of Bertie’s footsteps outside her door.

  She wouldn’t let him touch her anymore. Not tonight. Never again. The thought repulsed her. But more importantly it frightened her to death. If it was the last thing she ever did, she would stop him.

  Hours later, Freddie left the pub with William and staggered a few paces. Anna’s brother lurched to try to support his old friend, but it was no use. The two men were as inebriated as each other.

  Freddie leant against the wall of the old stone pub, pulled his cigarette case and lighter out and lit two cigarettes as he hummed Vera Lynn’s ‘We’ll Meet Again’. As he offered one through the darkness to William, the younger man baulked, cutting Freddie’s tune short.

  ‘You can’t light that out here. The blackout. What if we get seen? By them?’ William pointed up to the sky.

  Freddie waved his cigarette in a circle above his head. ‘Oh, they can’t bloody see us from all the way up there. We’re like a needle in a … something. Can’t remember the phrase.’

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ William said.

  ‘No, that’s not it,’ Freddie joked.

  William laughed. ‘The wanderer returns.’

  Freddie inhaled on his cigarette and his mouth changed shape as he blew a series of smoke rings.

  ‘You’ve been away too long,’ William said. ‘You’ve been missed.’

  ‘I doubt it, but I appreciate the lie.’

  ‘Why have you been keeping away?’ William probed. ‘Is it her? Them?’

  Freddie shot him a warning look.

  ‘Your brother …’ William started. ‘I’m not entirely sure …’ He stopped speaking and shook his head, clearly struggling to find the right words. Eventually he sighed and gave Freddie an apologetic look.

  Freddie pushed himself away from the wall, patted William’s shoulder amicably and started to stagger in the direction of the Great House. ‘Goodbye, old friend,’ Freddie called over his shoulder, waving his cigarette around.