A Class Apart (19 page)

There was another knock on the door, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to see anyone. She knew her friends would be waiting for her out front, but she couldn’t face even them right now. If only she could see her father.

She knew she was fooling herself. Her father would be horrified to think that she had been committing a sin of the bible with a married man.

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Again there was a knock at the door. “Ellamarie! Ellamarie! Can I come in?”

It was Ashley. Poor Ashley, who had suffered, like she was suffering now. Who had tried to put a brave face on things, like she had done tonight.

“Ellamarie! Are you in there?”

At last she got to her feet, and unlocked the door. She turned away, and let Ashley open it herself. But it wasn’t only Ashley who came through the door. There were bundles and bundles of flowers as well, with Ashley tucked in behind them.

“What were you doing?” said Ashley. “I was beginning to think you weren’t here.”

“Just taking my make-up off.”

Ashley dumped the flowers on the tiny couch in the corner, and went to sit beside Ellamarie at the mirror. “The others are in the bar getting a drink. They’ll meet us out there. Thought I’d come and give you a hand, and tell you how marvellous . . .” She stopped as she saw Ellamarie’s red eyes. “What’s the matter, Ellamarie? Have you been crying?”

“No. Just got cream in my eyes.”

“Oh.” There was a brief silence before Ashley spoke again. “He’s waiting outside, you know. He wants to know if it’s all right to come in.”

Ellamarie looked at her, hardly daring to believe her.

“Well, what do you say?”

Ellamarie looked towards the door. Then her hands flew to her cheeks and she turned back to the mirror.

“Here,” said Ashley, passing her a tissue. “Blow your nose, and wipe the make-up from under your eyes. I’ll go and tell him the coast is clear.”

Ellamarie stared at her reflection in the glass, doing nothing to cleanse her eyes. She wondered what he was going to say. He would have calmed down by now, Bob never stayed mad for long. But did he want to see her just to finalise everything? To make things more civilised, so that they could continue to work together? Maybe he was going to ask her to quit the production. Her understudy could take the part until they found someone else. Oh God, not that. Please not that.

She turned round in her chair and saw that he was standing in the doorway. She looked at him, tall and dark, with fine grey lines through his beard and around his temples. His face was inscrutable, but she noticed that his jaw was set and his knuckles showed white on the handle of the door. He looked back at her across the room, and she knew she had never loved him more.

She looked down to her hands, and found that she had pulled the tissue into tiny pieces. “I know I can’t expect you to forgive me,” she whispered, “but I am sorry for all those things I said. I wish I’d never said them. You must hate me now . . . and I can’t blame you, but I’m sorry, oh Bob, I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“I love you, Ellamarie.”

She looked up. “What did you say?”

“I said, I love you, Ellamarie.”

In a moment she was in his arms. “Oh Bob!” she cried. “I love you too. I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know what made me say it. Oh Bob! Don’t ever leave me, I’m sorry.”

He held her tightly, and let her cry on his shoulder while he stroked her hair. “Sssh, now, don’t cry, hen.”

She looked up into his face, and he smiled. “You look terrible,” he said, tracing the little white valleys that her tears had made through the make-up on her cheeks. Taking her by the hand he led her back to the mirror, and dipping the tissues in the cold cream, he wiped her face, sometimes kissing her, and sometimes laughing at her as she pulled faces at him, or cried. Then he pulled her to her feet, and undressed her.

“Did you bring something to wear for dinner?”

She nodded, and pointed to the dress hanging on the back of the door.

He took it from the hanger, and slipped it over her head. Then he turned her round, and zipped her up.

“Shoes?”

“Over there.”

He pushed her back into the chair, and replaced Maria’s shoes with Ellamarie’s.

She was looking down at him, and reached out her hand to stroke his face. “I don’t deserve you.”

“It is I who don’t deserve you,” he said. “It was my fault, Ellamarie. It was all my fault. I should have realized. Things haven’t been easy for you lately, and I have been selfish, and uncaring. It’s a lot for you to put up with, what with the play opening, Christmas, and not seeing your parents. And me. It has all been too much of a strain on you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner. And I’m sorry that I haven’t said anything to my wife. But I will, my darling, I promise you, I will.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Bob,” she said, throwing her arms round him. “As long as we’re together, at least some of the time, it’s enough. I shouldn’t have tried to push you. I tried to make you do something that I know is against your nature. I understand now. You don’t want to hurt your wife, I can see that now. And I love you for it.”

He kissed her, tenderly, tracing her lips with his, and his heart was full of love.

“Are you ready for dinner?”

She nodded. “Do I look OK?”

“You look beautiful.”

“You’re biased.”

“Of course.”

As he led her out of the dressing room, he leaned back inside the door to tum off the light. He didn’t see Maureen Woodley slip back into her dressing room. And he missed the look she gave Ellamarie.

TWELVE

Kate braced herself and waited for the next blow. It came. Followed by another. And then another. She cried out, then stifled her scream with her hand, biting into her flesh until she could taste blood. And then she felt his lips on her skin, and his fingers, gentle and soothing, as he stroked her buttocks. She turned over and looked up into Joel’s eyes. They were bright and excited. He pushed his hips forward, and grabbing hold of her hand he rubbed it against his penis. It was hard, like rock almost.

He turned her over onto her face again.

“No,” she whimpered, “please. No more.”

She felt his weight sink down on the bed beside her, and then over her. Using his knees he parted her legs, then moving his hands round to her belly, he lifted her from the bed and with one quick move he had entered her. Thank God, the sadistic pantomime was over.

Later, lying together in the darkness, Kate rested her head on his shoulder and listened to his breathing. She tried to stop the tears spilling over onto his chest. He would be cross if he knew she was crying.

She had no explanation to offer, not even to herself. He had asked her if he could beat her, and she had agreed. But when he had asked he had seemed timid, embarrassed almost, at even suggesting it. And she had put her arms round him and told him that she would do simply anything he wanted her to. Anything to please him.

She had had no idea then that he would use such violence. Sometimes, when he had finished with her, she found it difficult to walk the following day. She wished that she had the courage to tell him to stop, that she couldn’t take any more. But she was afraid she would lose him if she did.

Finally, she fell asleep, the crescents of angry weals dealt by the cane he had used on her burning into her flesh.

The telephone woke them the following morning and before she could stop him Joel had reached out to answer it. To Kate’s relief it was Margaret Stanley from
Gracious Living.
She shuddered to think what he might have said had it been her father.

As she listened to Margaret’s voice at the other end of the phone she felt Joel reach out round her body to fondle her breasts. Her nipples were sore, and she twisted away from him.

“Are you listening to me, Kate?” Margaret said.

“Yes, yes,” Kate answered. “What angle were you looking for exactly?”

“Come into the office first, we’ll talk it over. You don’t have to be there until three thirty. I’ve made all the arrangements. And Kate, I’m sure there’s no need to remind you, but this is royalty you’re going to be speaking to. Best behaviour and all that, eh?”

“Royalty?” said Kate.

“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?” Margaret bleated. “Have you got someone there with you? No, don’t answer that, it’s none of my business. But get him out of your bed and get your ass over here. This is a biggy,” and she slammed the phone down.

Kate stared at the receiver. Who exactly had Margaret been talking about? She had mentioned royalty. But who? Suddenly she sat bolt upright.

“Holy shit! The Queen!”

Joel reached out and pulled her back. She shrugged him off and ran out of the bedroom.

“What the hell’s going on?” he grumbled, following her into the kitchen.

“The Queen. I’m going to interview the Queen.”

“In China?”

She looked at him blankly.

“The Queen is in China.”

“Then the Prince of Wales. Princess Diana. I don’t know. This afternoon. I must ring my father and tell him. He just won’t believe it.” She rushed for the phone.

Joel strolled into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Kate shouted after him. “I’m actually doing an interview with someone from the royal family.”

“I’m impressed,” he called back, then closed the shower door behind him.

Linda McElfrey got up early that morning, as she did every morning. She took Moonlight down to the gallops at six thirty, then pointed him towards the open countryside where she gave him his head and allowed the drizzle to wash across her face, and the wind to tear at her hair. It was her favourite time of day. The stable lads would just be taking the other horses down to the gallops now. She wanted some time alone. Time to think.

Bob had been distracted lately, not quite himself. If she asked him what was on his mind, he would only laugh, and say that she was imagining things, and that nothing was on his mind. But she knew him too well. She knew when things weren’t right. And she also knew when it was a production that was getting him down. He didn’t always talk about it, he was a private person really, didn’t like people trying to delve too closely into his thoughts. But it was that inner person, the drive that was powered by solving things for himself, that had made him what he was today. Linda knew that, and she never interfered.

This time it was different. All over Christmas he hadn’t been irritable exactly, but neither had he been relaxed. By the time he left to return to London, Linda felt that somehow they had grown apart. He returned, as promised, for New Year’s Eve and they had a quiet evening at home with his mother, just the three of them. They talked and laughed, and toasted one another at midnight. But whatever had been on Bob’s mind over Christmas obviously hadn’t gone away. And it was still there, all these weeks into the New Year.

Linda was a strong woman, in both mind and body. She prided herself on her well-run stables, and her equally well-run marriage. They had been together for eleven years now, eight of those years married. They had shared a closeness from the very beginning, their different interests keeping them together, rather than pulling them apart.

Now, for the first time, Linda wondered whether she was doing the right thing. Perhaps she should take more of an interest in his work, and in him. Perhaps they had led separate lives for too long. She knew that Bob wanted a family, but she had always resisted. She was thirty-eight now, and maybe she should stop resisting.

It was past eight thirty when she returned to the stables, and she was famished. Her mother-in-law, who was staying until the end of the month, was waiting for her at the kitchen door, peering out through the misty rain.

Moonlight trotted into the stable yard, steaming and wet through. He flicked his back hooves, his way of saying he had enjoyed the morning’s exercise. Linda stroked his neck.

“Time for breakfast now, eh?”

Her mother-in-law waved to her. “I’ve got the kettle boiling,” she called.

“Be right there.”

Barry, the stable lad, ran over to take Moonlight, and after asking about the other horses, Linda went inside to have her breakfast. The kitchen was warm and cosy, and the smell of sizzling bacon and eggs was mouthwateringly welcoming.

“There’s a towel warming by the fire,” said her mother-in-law, “go and dry yourself off, and I’ll dish up.”

Linda picked up the towel and began to rub her hair.

“There’s a piece in the local paper about Bob,” said Violet McElfrey. “I’ve left it there on the table for you to read.”

“Thanks.” Linda brushed her tangled hair. “What does it say?”

“Oh, the usual,” said her mother-in-law. “Local celebrity, rave reviews, another masterpiece; you know, the same as they always write.”