The Lie (32 page)

‘You don't need me,' Emily told her. ‘You manage this house so well, Amelia.'

‘But you help in small ways, and I like having you here. I should miss you if you left.' Amelia gave her a look of appeal. ‘I don't see that it makes a difference just because Simon is dead  . . .' She bit her bottom lip. ‘Oh, that sounds awful. Of course you must be upset over all this but it doesn't mean you have to leave.'

‘Yes, of course I am upset, but I think you know our marriage wasn't all it should be, don't you, Amelia?' Emily looked her in the eyes and she blushed. ‘You know why Simon asked me to marry him – and why it could never have worked.'

‘Yes, well, we thought it might change him, being married,' Amelia admitted as she led the way into the front sitting room. A huge bunch of fragrant hothouse lilies was overpowering the air with its heavy scent, and the fire was throwing out a great deal of heat. ‘I had guessed something was wrong a while ago and then I saw Philip at the hospital when I visited. I wasn't sure if you knew or not and I almost told you. I'm sorry if it was a shock to you.'

‘It was certainly a shock,' Emily said, as she helped herself to a glass of sherry from the sideboard. She might not have been in love with Simon, but the news had still made her feel shaky and it was very warm in here. ‘It's a bit early but I could do with this – will you have one?'

‘No, thank you,' Amelia said. ‘I've had a few since it happened, I can tell you. I thought Vane was going to die and it frightened the life out of me.'

‘Yes, it must have been awful, coming on top of Simon's death like that.' Emily sipped her drink as she stood in front of the widow. It had stopped raining now and looked as if it might turn foggy that evening. ‘Have any arrangements been made yet?'

Amelia looked awkward. ‘I didn't know what to do, and Vane couldn't tell me – so when Philip asked if he could do everything I said yes. I hope you don't mind? It's going to be a quiet service here at our own church in the village, and he will be buried in the family plot.'

‘Good, as long as everything has been done that needs to be done,' Emily said. She felt relieved that Philip was seeing to things; it seemed fitting, somehow. ‘Will there be an inquest or anything?'

‘I shouldn't think so. Apparently, these clots do occur quite frequently when someone has been through an experience like Simon's.' She dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of lace that wafted lavender water towards Emily. ‘To think of it happening like that after all Vane has done – all those specialists and doctors – and he dies like that.'

‘Yes, it must have been terrible for Vane. Simon meant so much to him.'

‘It means there won't be an heir for all this  . . .' Amelia waved her hand to indicate the house and grounds. ‘He hoped for so much when you and Simon were married.'

‘But you're still young  . . .' Emily stopped as Amelia shook her head.

‘Impossible, I'm afraid,' she said. ‘I daresay Vane hoped I might give him children. I am a lot younger than he is and it might have happened but it didn't; apparently one of us can't. The doctors haven't gone into it thoroughly because we didn't want that, but they incline towards it being less my fault than his  . . .'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry,' Emily said. ‘Were you very disappointed when they told you?'

‘It stung a bit, because it was what Vane wanted,' Amelia admitted. ‘I don't mind much for myself – always been fonder of horses and dogs than babies, though if you and Simon had had one I might have enjoyed being a grandmother. All the pleasure and none of the bother.'

Emily smiled, though she sensed that Amelia was putting a brave face on things, and that she minded more than she would admit. ‘I'm sorry I wasn't able to oblige, but we didn't really have much chance.'

‘No, I suppose not. It has been a pretty rotten go all round, hasn't it?' She got up and went over to the sideboard. ‘I think I will have that sherry after all.'

‘Yes, it has,' Emily agreed. ‘So where do we all go from here?'

‘I have no idea,' Amelia said. ‘If Vane recovers we all soldier on as best we can, I imagine. If he dies his private fortune goes to whoever he has named in his will, but the estate and title carries over to a distant cousin I expect.'

‘It is odd that neither his son or daughter had children,' Emily said. ‘If there had been any kind of heir  . . .'

‘Vane says it's his curse,' Amelia said, and laughed oddly. ‘I used to say he was imagining things, but now I wonder  . . .'

‘Oh no, I doubt that,' Emily said. ‘It is just all rather sad.' She put her glass down. ‘I think I shall take a little walk.'

She felt restless as she left the house and began to walk towards the lake. It was bitterly cold but she had put on a thick coat, scarves and a wool hat that covered her ears. She walked with her head down, deep in thought, hardly noticing the beautiful grounds, or the ancient trees with branches that dipped down to sweep the earth. In the distance a heron fished at the side of the lake, and a squirrel bounded ahead of her, racing for safety to the tallest branch of an ancient oak, but Emily was lost in her thoughts. She shivered as the mist started to curl through the park, giving it an eerie feel.

Simon's death was a terrible shock, even though she had accepted that their marriage was over. Divorce was one thing, but death was so final. Now she was remembering the good things, the way his smile had made her heart leap in those first days when she had thought they were falling in love. She wished that things had been different. Why hadn't he been the man she'd imagined when they married? It all seemed so sad and unnecessary. Why couldn't his family simply have accepted the way he was and let him be happy? He had been trying to please his father and in the process he had denied his own nature. What a mess! Poor Simon, he'd tried to be a proper husband the few times they'd been together, but it would never have worked in the longer term.

She discovered that all the bitterness had gone now, the regret and hurt had melted away, and she was able to shed a few tears for Simon, to pity him for a wasted, unhappy life. He had tried to do his duty towards his father and the estate, and perhaps he had cared for her in his own way.

He had been tired to the point of exhaustion when he came to her that day in Liverpool, desperate to give his father a grandson because he knew that he might be killed at any time. And perhaps he had been lonely, feeling at least a kind of affection for her in his need. No, Emily couldn't hate him, and she was glad that the feeling of resentment had gone away.

Despite everything that had happened to her, she was lucky. She had Terry and so many women had lost the men they loved. She thought about her brother, Daniel, missing in action, and about his wife. Alice was so young. Too young to be a widow.

Alice saw Jim Wright at the social straight away that evening. He was talking to some of the other men, having a glass of beer and laughing, but when he saw her he smiled, made an excuse and came over to where she and Frances were standing.

‘Can I get you two lovely ladies anything?'

‘On, yes please, I'll have a glass of lemonade,' Alice said. ‘What about you, Frances?'

‘I'll have a sherry if there's any going,' Frances said. ‘Oh, there's Millie Richardson over there. Excuse me, I want a word with her.'

‘I'll get your drinks then,' Jim said. ‘They're having a bit of a dance here later, just to records, you know – or there's the whist, if you fancy that?'

‘I'm not much good at playing cards,' Alice said. ‘I'll just sit and watch you play if you like, have a good gossip.'

He nodded and went off to fetch a drink for her and Frances, but he didn't join in the card game that soon got going in the smaller room. Instead, he sat with Alice and several others, talking about things in general until someone put a record on the gramophone.

‘Would you like to?' he asked. ‘This is a barn dance. I can just about manage that. I shan't tread on your toes, Alice.'

‘Oh, I don't know. I don't think I ought  . . .'

‘Go on,' Frances urged her. ‘Dan would want you to enjoy yourself and the barn dance is fun.' One of the older men came to ask Frances for a dance and she got up with him. Faced with her desertion, Alice decided she might as well join in.

She enjoyed the dance, which was a progressive and meant that she passed from one partner to the next. Some of them were men she had known all her life, some old enough to be her father, and some of her partners were women, because there weren't enough men to go around.

Alice relaxed as she got into the swing of it. She wasn't doing anything wrong, and Dan would understand that she couldn't sit at home all the time, wouldn't he?

She danced three progressives, because it was good fun and everyone was joining in, but when it came to the waltz she sat it out. Somehow it wouldn't be right to do that with anyone but Dan.

She couldn't help thinking about him, wondering where he was and whether he was thinking of her.

When the German patrol suddenly swept into the farmyard it took them all by surprise. It was early in the morning, the household just beginning to stir, and no warning had come this time. Daniel was in the sheds tinkering with a truck he had rescued from an old barn, using parts from the British Army lorry which they had sent crashing into a ravine after unloading its dangerous cargo. He was dressed in clothes that smelled of goats and looked as much like a Greek farmer as it was possible to achieve, his hair greasy and hanging about his ears, but he knew he would never be able to fool the Germans if they questioned him.

Mikkos put a finger to his lips, pointing to a pile of straw, meaning that Daniel should crawl under it and hide. He was about to do so when he heard the shots from outside, and a woman's scream. The bastards were killing indiscriminately!

Daniel knew they were looking for him. Mikkos had told him that reports of a British soldier hiding out had reached the Germans, and they must have been told to come here. He walked towards the barn door. Mikkos tried to catch his arm, to hold him back, but Daniel shrugged him off.

‘Do you want them to kill all your family?' His eyes met and clashed with those of the young Greek, and then Mikkos let him go. He walked out into the yard with his hands above his head, seeing the bloody bodies of a young woman and a boy lying on the ground, his stomach churning. ‘I'm the one you want,' he said. ‘Kill me, you pigs, not women and children. I'm the one who has been causing you trouble.'

‘Britisher?' A German officer moved towards him, his eyes going over Daniel, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he caught the stink of him. ‘You stink like a goat, Britisher. So you are the one we want. Good! You are a spy and a saboteur and an enemy of the German people.'

‘I'm a soldier left behind in the retreat from Athens,' Daniel said. ‘And I demand to be treated as a prisoner of war under the Geneva Convention.'

‘You demand nothing,' the officer said, and took a pistol out of the holster at his waist. ‘We shoot spies and saboteurs.'

Daniel knew he was going to die. It was in the officer's eyes and he clenched his mouth shut hard, refusing to scream or beg for mercy. All he could think of was Alice, his lovely Alice, who had been his for such a short time. The officer's finger was on the trigger when the shot came from behind Daniel. He saw the German shudder and fall face down in the farmyard mud, blood pouring from a hole in the side of his head. All hell broke loose suddenly as the men tried to fight their way out of the yard, and several shots were fired.

Daniel had no weapon, but he used his hands, picking up a spade and going for the nearest German soldier. He never knew what hit him, simply felt the blow to his head seconds before everything went black and he too fell into the mud close to the body of the German officer. He was unaware when more German soldiers arrived with a new young officer in charge, nor did he feel anything when his body was piled into the truck carrying the prisoners away. The knock on the head that caused his unconscious state would bring on an illness that kept him wandering in his mind for a long time, and it was also what saved his life. It was only weeks afterwards that he began to be aware of his surroundings once more, to know who he was and to remember Alice.

The first few days after her visit to London were too busy for Emily to have much time to think about her own life. She wrote to Terry to tell him that Simon had died suddenly, explaining that it hadn't changed things as far as her commitments went for the time being. She couldn't leave while Vane was ill, because she knew she was needed. The very least she could do was to continue in her post until Vane was on his feet again, and then she would have to find a replacement to take over her job.

Amelia seemed to rely on her far more than she ever had before, and she realized that Vane's wife had leaned on him heavily for support. Now that he was ill, she needed someone else's shoulder.

Vane was home by the time the funeral took place. He was wheeled into church in an old-fashioned bath chair for the service, and afterwards he sat silently in the drawing room at Vanbrough House, receiving the condolences of his friends and family but saying little. Emily had cried her tears for Simon the night she walked alone and sorted out her feelings, finding understanding and forgiveness for him and for her. She was conscious of a feeling of heavy sadness for the life that had been cut short – and for the father who had lost everything. Vane might not have been understanding as far as Simon's personal life was concerned but he was suffering now. She wished there was something she could say to comfort him but nothing could bring back his hopes and dreams.

Vane's daughter stayed for two days after the funeral. Emily found her pleasant enough, and infinitely more capable than Amelia. She was older than her stepmother, and completely wrapped up in her husband's life and work. She made all the right noises towards Emily and her father, but clearly didn't feel involved in the family's affairs.