The Room Beyond (6 page)

Tristan Whitestone undid the top button of his shirt and found the
whisky.

‘Nice piano.’

‘Thank you. It was given to me by a rich American.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he liked my husband’s theatre and our old piano caved in
when an opera singer sat on it.’

‘I own you an apology,’ he said.

‘How strange, your wife said exactly the same thing in her note.’

He looked confused.

‘Cancelling Hamlet?’

‘Now that doesn’t surprise me.’

She could see the annoyance shifting across his features.

‘So, what do you feel the urge to apologize for?’ she asked.

‘For the tedious company of my wife and her friends last night.’

‘That’s quite unnecessary, I enjoyed myself heartily.’

‘For all the wrong reasons.’

Her eyes lingered on his lips as he pressed the glass to them. He
was more dishevelled than when she saw him last and clearly a little
intoxicated by that pungent cigar he’d been smoking outside. His eyes were
heavy, black rather than blue in this light, and hungry.

‘I find it very strange that you should be married to that woman. Is
there a good explanation?’

‘Our fathers came to an agreement. It got me out of a... a situation
during my time in India.’

‘And what did she stand to gain?’

‘A husband.’

‘How romantic.’

‘And what about you? Why did your husband run off with a younger
woman?’

She felt her face twitch. ‘Because his brain has rotted away.’

She’d been right about him; there was cruelty there, like playing
with a dangerous toy.

They both said nothing and the minutes rolled by until she thought
she might scream. And yet he seemed perfectly relaxed, languid even, sitting
back with his glass balanced against his chest.

Finally he drew towards her.

‘I didn’t come here just to sit in silence,’ he said.

‘Is that so? May I ask the genuine intention of your visit then?’

He clasped her hand between his, pressing his lips gently to her arm.
She held her breath and then raised her other hand to his face, following his
cheekbones with the tips of her fingers. He pulled her closer towards him, but
she drew back.

‘Not yet.’

He let his face fall against her breast. ‘When?’

‘When the time is right.’

‘You smell of ripe peaches.’

‘Go home to your wife.’

‘Must I?’

‘Yes.’

He raised himself up but pulled her against him, greedily kissing
her on the mouth.

‘Don’t leave it too long,’ he murmured.

‘I doubt whether you’ll allow me.’

‘Send for me, at work.’

‘And where might that be?’

‘The Whitestone Shipping Company, Bolter’s Way. How am I supposed to
forget about you tonight?’

‘Don’t. Think about me all the time.’

When the front door had closed again with a soft thud she drew her
hands up to her hot cheeks. From somewhere in the room there came a gentle
tapping sound. It was a moth, fluttering around the lamp on the table. It beat
itself ungracefully against the glass, its dusty wings crinkled and distorted.

‘Stop that now.’

She cupped it in her hands, moved swiftly towards the open window
but then stopped herself.

‘No. You’ll only do it again silly thing.’

And instead she pushed her palms tightly together, crushing the moth
between them.

After a deep luxurious sleep she awoke to bright sunshine streaming
through her bedroom curtains. She pulled down the top sash of one of the
windows to let yet more sunshine in, perching herself on the only chair in the
sparsely furnished room to brush her hair.

This room had none of the comforts of the one she’d shared with
Alfonso downstairs, but the idea of sleeping there again still made her feel
sick. She’d even toyed with the idea of using the room at the very top of the
house, with the small balcony looking out over the park, although it was really
just a servant’s room.

She put on a white dress, wrapped her hair in an amber scarf and
treated herself to a long satisfied gaze in the mirror. She felt so light
today, almost skipping down the stairs like a young girl, sliding her fingers
down the cool banister as thoughts of hot tea with toast and honey swam through
her mind.

Sarah was standing in the hallway below. The girl looked distraught,
wringing her hands and padding from one foot to the other.

‘What on earth’s the matter girl?’

‘You’ve got visitors ma’am.’

‘Oh damn it. I thought you’d paid Mr Burke. He can’t possibly be
wanting yet more money.’

‘No, much worse than that. It’s your husband with his... lady
friend, in the drawing room. I couldn’t stop them coming in, he’s still got his
key.’

Lucinda felt her fingers form into a tight grip around the banister.

‘Thank you. Perhaps you should go out, do a little shopping.’

‘Yes ma’am.’

The two of them were perched unnaturally close together on a large
chair.

‘Get out of my house, immediately!’

‘Lucinda Lucinda, just calm down my cherub.’

He rose up, gesturing with outstretched hands in that way he always
did, as if trying to coax her into submission.

‘
My cherub
? Is it really appropriate to jest at this present
moment? Get out and take that slut with you. I never want to see either of your
faces again. Do you hear me?’

Betsey shot past her, sprinting out into the hallway, Alfonso in her
wake, but she clutched at their heels like a tidal wave. Betsey was wearing a
lime green ensemble. She gave the outfit a deprecating glare and the girl let
out a small scream.

‘Betsey my dear, I think you had better go and sit in the carriage.’

‘Sit in it? She’d be better suited to pulling the blasted thing,’
Lucinda exclaimed.

Betsey burst into tears and the door slammed shut behind her. Alfonso
gulped, letting the silence settle. There were dark shadows under his eyes. He
looked weary.

‘Can we... talk, like adults?’ he asked.

He touched the side of her arm with his hand but she flinched back
and his face screwed itself up into a wince. He looked so pathetic that she
almost felt sorry for him. There was a stain on his waistcoat, a brownish mark
like tea just next to the top button. Something must surely be wrong with her
proud, vain husband.

‘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
between 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.