The Room Beyond (9 page)

‘Stop!’ He slammed his hand down over hers.

She froze, her eyes now fixed on his. A hazy film had set across the
blueness, as if he were blind.

‘I am going upstairs now and will probably sleep in my office
tonight. Under no account will you disturb me or badger me about my business
again.’ He withdrew his hand from hers and stood up. ‘Oh and get that Hubbard
woman to clear up this revolting mess. It’s nothing short of a pigsty in here.’

The door was almost noiseless now: loud enough for her to hear the
promise of its click but without all that dreadful scraping and grating. Lucinda
threw a shawl around her shoulders and found Tristan half way over the narrow
cast iron railing between their two balconies.

‘Hello... be careful. How was your meal?’

‘Disgusting.’

And then his lips were caressing her neck.

‘I accused her of having a snout.’

‘Goodness. What did she feed you?’

They fell into the small room together and she watched him peel off
his shirt.

‘We could go downstairs into the house, it’s empty now.’

‘No, I like it here. Come to bed.’

During his short absence she’d ached for the warm hard certainty of
his body against hers and now it felt as comforting as moonlight in a dark
forest. She turned on her side and glided her finger in circular movements over
the skin just beneath his ear.

‘I love this part of you the most. I love it so much I want to eat
it. Can I eat it darling?’

‘No you cannot.’

His eyes were smiling under their lids.

‘Spoil sport. Shall we have some wine?’

‘Go on then.’

She glugged some wine into the smudged and dirty glass they shared. Tristan
balanced two cigarettes on his lower lip and lit them.

‘I was going to ask you something Lucy. This morning I heard someone
knocking on your front door. Must have been loud for me to have heard it from
all the way up here. You were still asleep; I was a bit worried it might have
been your dastardly husband, so I crept downstairs and had a look out of the
window... ’

He paused to smoke, his eyebrows raised in a bemused arc.

‘And was it?’

‘Well, either old Alfonso’s grown two foot and dressed himself as a
court jester or you’ve got some vagrant witch-doctor knocking on your door.’

‘Oh! What day of the week is it?’

‘Tuesday, I think.’

‘Yes. That’ll be Walter Balanchine.’

His eyes narrowed. Oh good, she’d caught his interest, and with a
surprising helping of jealousy thrown into the pot.

‘And who is he?’

‘Just an old lover of mine.’

He lurched towards her, catching her by the hair and she heard
herself explode with laughter. But she could feel the blood draining from her
face at the same time.

‘Say you are joking,’ he whispered, his face so close that she could
see small pearls of sweat forming on his brow. His body pressed down on her,
she could barely breathe.

‘I never thought that being grappled by an enraged lion would be so
exciting.’

‘Say you are joking.’

She dug her elbows into his chest and pushed him sharply away, but
the sudden loss of his touch gnawed straight back at her and she pressed
herself hard against him, greedy for his skin.

‘Do you really think I’d get into bed with a man like that? Of
course not. Walter Balanchine is a freakish and abhorrent man who works as a
sort of assistant to my father. He arrives at the same time every week to try
and bribe me back home.’

‘And what do you tell him?’

‘Nothing. The servants are under strict instructions never to let
him in.’

‘And yet he still comes?’

‘Religiously.’

He flopped back against the pillows, his eyes glassy, staring
straight past her through the window.

She waited for her heart to stop pounding in her ears. Perhaps she
should try and make him angry again, just to see if it was always quite so easy.
But then her groaning stomach interrupted her thoughts instead.

‘I’m starving. Sarah should have left a tray by the door.’

Outside she found a platter of ham, bread and grapes and a bottle of
wine. They picked away at it together on the bed.

‘Does defying your father’s wishes ever upset you?’ he asked.

‘A little. I adored him when I was young, but he is so controlling. He
hated Alfonso, wanted me to marry a man with, well, a little more to his name.’

‘Perhaps he was right. You didn’t make the wisest of choices did you
darling?’

‘Not really, but anything seemed better than dying of boredom like
my mother in a damp country house.’

She filled her mouth with wine and let its velvety bitterness lap against
her teeth and down her throat. ‘I could have done the same as you, married some
ghastly halfwit and then conduct myself exactly as I pleased.’

‘There was no other way; I couldn’t have gone back to soldiering and
my father would only let me join the company if I married. Not easy when most
families in our circle wouldn’t let me within a mile of their daughters.’

‘I don’t blame them!’

He pinched her cheek and pulled her towards him, her head locked
neatly under his chin.

‘So how then did you hunt poor old Miranda down?’

‘Oh, her father was parish priest to a family acquaintance. So
tucked away in rural Shropshire that they knew nothing of me.’

‘Good heavens darling, you married a daughter of the cloth!’

‘My father-in-law was an avaricious baboon of a man who used God
only as means of getting everything he wanted for as little work as possible.’

‘And did his daughter regard him in the same light?’

‘Miranda? Of course not, she worshipped the old sod; never even
suspected that he spent most of his time fornicating with one of the servants.’

‘You discovered them together? Was she a silly young thing?’

‘Yes I did and no
he
wasn’t particularly. It was a little gem
of information that served me rather well.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, news of my reputation arrived in the village just days before
the wedding. He wanted to shy away, save his daughter from my wicked clutches,
but I soon put him back on track, stupid old brute.’

His eyes seemed smaller suddenly, pinched with cruelty.

‘Did Miranda find out?’

‘God no. They kept it all as quiet as possible, although I think the
ghoul-faced sister had her suspicions.’

She wriggled out of his arms and took his face between her hands. Every
inch of his flesh was so lean; she could feel each sinew tighten beneath her
fingers. She could even trace the warm veins of racing blood beneath his skin.

‘Darling, will you promise me something?’ she asked. ‘Let’s not talk
of our past lives. They’re over now, something to be packed away and forgotten
about. Do you promise? And you will never be cruel to me, will you? Can you
promise me that as well?’

His eyes filled with tears and she felt as if she should turn away,
but couldn’t. He began to stroke her hair, over and over again.

‘I promise,’ he said.

‘Me too.’

‘You’re my saviour Lucy,’ his breath felt wet and urgent against her
face. ‘All my folly, everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life has served only
as a way of getting me to you.’

‘Then let’s not talk of it anymore. Let’s enjoy what is now, the two
of us locked together. Like this, see.’

She wrapped herself around him and he clutched her back so tightly
that his fingers cast deep grooves into her skin. Her body trembled. His mouth
was by her ear, his confiding whispers probing softly in.

‘Does this feel like cruelty?’ he murmured.

She yelped; the cry of someone she barely knew.

‘Don’t ever leave me.’

‘No.’

She closed her eyes and found that she was falling again; just like
in that dream she’d had in the park. But this time she landed against forest
earth: rich and black and all-consuming. She thrust herself in, plunging her
fingers into its darkness. And then she let herself disperse; let it take hold
of her, laugh and cry out with the pleasure of it. How could there ever have
been a time before this man? How could she ever not have known him?

Morning arrived with barely a moment passing. Outside the treetops
looked grey. In a few hours the mist would clear and the leaves would polish up
emerald green. She dragged a filthy sheet over her naked body.

Tristan was still asleep, his long eyelashes curled together in a
kiss. If only they could go out, to the park perhaps, and roam about in the dew.

There were a few dregs of wine left in the bottle; they splashed
meekly into the glass. Tristan stirred.

‘Save some for me.’

‘Alright.’

The small clock on the mantelpiece began to chime the hour. He
stretched and peered over at it.

‘I should really go to work today.’

Those were the words she’d been dreading. She squeezed the glass
hard in her hand until it snapped. One swoop of her right arm and the rest of
the glass exploded in the clock’s face. It was a good aim; the clock landed on
the floor in a flurry of tinny sounding chirps followed by silence.

Tristan glared at the red splattered sheets. ‘Is any of that your
blood?’

‘No, just wine.’

‘Damn it darling. You’ve broken our only glass.’

‘I’ll get another... Why don’t we go to Italy together?’

He didn’t reply.

Her lungs felt dry and gritty.

‘I have to go outside,’ she murmured.

Out on the balcony the morning breeze brushed her hair away from her
face. In the distance London would slowly be waking up. All that chaos: armies
of men weaving their way to work, the shouts of market traders and the clatter
of hooves filling the air. Somewhere in the midst of it was Alfonso, still fast
asleep like a big baby no doubt.

Had it only been a week since the first time Tristan had climbed
over these railings? The door on his side squeaking so loudly, making them both
cringe in the darkness and then into bed within a minute, drowning out each
other’s laughter with their kisses.

His hand fell softly on her shoulder and drew her back into the
room.

‘You’ve fixed the door, it didn’t make a sound last night... I was
serious you know.’

‘About what?’

‘About going to Italy.’

His face was empty.

‘Don’t you want to go away with me darling?’

‘I’m happy here.’

‘Well so am I, but we can’t remain in this room forever. Do you realize
that we’ve been almost constantly drunk in here for an entire week?’

‘And you wish to throw this paradise away?’

‘Of course not. I just thought that it might be quite nice to be
drunk together somewhere else. People will start to suspect if we stay here. Your
wife will start to suspect, if she hasn’t already. Wouldn’t you just love to
run away from it all?’

‘We’d be outcasts.’

‘Well that’s nothing new to either of us.’

‘And we’d have no money.’

‘I have a little and I could sell the house. It would last us for a
while.’

He turned away. ‘I have to show my face at work.’

‘Tristan, please. Just think about it. Imagine us in a beautiful
exotic place.’

‘Full of exotic admirers to take you away from me.’

She poured herself against his back and he pulled her arms around
him. Rays of sunshine had started to flood into the room and beyond them the
mist was rising.

‘We really could be anywhere up here in the trees, couldn’t we?’ he
said.

‘How long will you be at work?’

Her heart was pounding like an angry jealous child.

‘Not long I hope. I’ll show my face, make a few noises. I don’t do
much in that place as it is; it bores the hell out of me.’

‘Come back soon then. I’ll get us a nice meal: oysters and quails
eggs and masses of chocolate. Oh and lots more wine of course.’

‘Stop talking or I won’t be able to leave!’

His eyes flashed. And then they were kissing each other again: eyes,
cheeks, arms, falling out together in a scrambled mess onto the balcony.

‘Watch this!’ he cried, suddenly grasping the railings with one hand
and jumping over sideways.

‘Be careful, you might fall!’

‘But I didn’t.’

‘Fine. If you do that again, then I’ll follow you, in a dress.’