Too Close to the Sun (39 page)

‘I’ll tell you the rest of the story,’ he said. ‘As I say, we became friends, Fairman and I. There we were, not too far apart in age, two ambitious young men who had come up the hard way – but now had all the world before us,’ he laughed here, ‘ – or so we thought. And we had other things in common as well. Not least the fact that he knew Corster, having stayed there when he was younger. So – we said we would keep in touch. He would contact me when he and his wife were back in London, and then I should go and stay with them.’

‘And did you?’ she heard herself say.

‘He never wrote. And after a time I thought, well, that was it – another of those ships that pass in the night. I thought not a lot more about it, and there were no hard feelings. Things were happening to me, I might add, so I had plenty to occupy my time. I met Mrs Spencer, and we married, and moved here to Asterleigh House. Oh, my own life was very full.’

‘How did you know about – about Mr Fairman’s situation changing …?’

‘Well, I was going up to London – oh, it was some time later – four years or so, and I found myself right in the area where he was living – in the very street – and on the off-chance I called at his address. He was at home, and he invited me in. He made no mention of his wife, and there was no sight or sound of her whatsoever. As a matter of fact I don’t recall even seeing a photograph of her. It seemed to me that she was no longer a part of his life, and I was very hesitant to ask about her. When I did eventually mention
her he spoke of her having died. I had guessed at something like this, some tragic happening. I didn’t go into it any deeper, however; I could see it made him very uncomfortable. Later I heard from somewhere that she had died of cholera while they were staying in Naples on their trip. I never did speak to him of it directly, of course. It isn’t the kind of thing one does.’

‘But – but you say that it’s not so – that his wife did not die of cholera.’

‘She did not.’

‘But – how do you know this?’

‘Because I’ve seen her myself.’

‘You’ve seen his wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where? How?’

‘I saw her in London.’

‘You remembered her? You recognized her after all this time?’

‘Yes, I did, and of course I recognized her name.’

‘Bellafiore.’

‘It isn’t a name that one comes across commonly.’

Grace’s hands worked agitatedly in her lap. The whole thing was like some nightmare, and still she kept telling herself that there was some mistake. Mr Spencer was mistaken, that was the only explanation for it all.

‘You met her in London, you say, and you recognized her name.’

‘Yes. I had an appointment with a business client. We met for drinks in a hotel and to discuss our business matters. He said that when our meeting was over he was meeting someone for dinner. I gathered of course that it was a certain young lady. Then she arrived and we were introduced. Even before I heard her name I knew her face. I could never forget such a face. She was not going under the name of Fairman, but another name that I can’t remember.
An Italian name, I recall. And then he addressed her as Bella – and that confirmed it. Bellafiore.’

‘You’re absolutely sure of it? It was Mr Fairman’s wife?’

‘Absolutely. And
she
knew
me
, I could see that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I could tell. I could see the recognition in her eyes. It was almost immediate. And after all, it hadn’t been so long, and I wasn’t changed so much.’

‘What about her? Was she changed much?’

‘A little. She was still beautiful, though it looked as if the intervening years had not been too kind to her.’

‘What was she to your friend?’

‘He was not a friend – a business colleague, that’s all. I don’t know what she was to him. I didn’t ask.’

Grace sat there in silence. There were no further questions she could ask, not of Mr Spencer. He had told her all that was necessary. After several moments she got up and started across the room. Mr Spencer moved towards her.

‘I’m sorry – to have given you such news. Such distressing news.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m really sorry, but you had to know.’

She opened the door in silence and passed through. On the other side she turned and said, ‘I have to go out. I have to get to Upper Callow.’

‘You’re going to see him?’

‘If Mrs Spencer should ask for me, will you tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can?’

‘I’ll tell her. How will you get there?’

‘I’ll walk into the village and take the train.’

‘Mr Johnson is off on an errand but Rhind is around. He will take you.’

‘No, really, thank you.’

‘I’ll call Rhind. He’s got nothing much else to do.’

Grace opened her mouth to protest once more, but said nothing. What did it matter how she got there?

Ten minutes later she was in the carriage and Rhind, having helped her in, was climbing up into the driver’s seat. He had already been given directions by Mr Spencer, and with a questioning glance at Grace, flapped the reins and started away.

No word was exchanged between herself and the man, and they rode in complete silence for the short journey to the station. When they arrived Grace was getting out even as Rhind jumped down and moved to her. She thanked him, hardly without looking at him, and hurried into the station. There she bought her ticket and moved to the platform to wait for her train. When it came in she climbed on board and sat back in her seat. Her palms were damp and her heart was thumping.

On arrival she took a fly from the Upper Callow station and reached Birchwood House fifteen minutes later. There she paid the cab driver and stepped across the gravel to the front door and rang the bell.

Grace’s ring was answered by the new young maid Emma who welcomed her with a smile saying that Mr Fairman was in the back garden. ‘Would you like me to tell him you’re here, miss? Or will you just go through?’

‘Is he alone?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Then I’ll go through, thank you.’

Grace went through the hall towards the rear of the house and out at the back door. Crossing the first lawn at the rear, she moved around a privet hedge and saw Kester there before her, crouching over one of the herbaceous borders with a trowel.

Seeing her approaching figure in the periphery of his vision he turned and, seeing who it was, beamed with pleasure. ‘Grace! What a lovely surprise.’ He tossed down the trowel and got to his feet. ‘Sophie’s in her room, having
her afternoon nap.’ He was in his shirt sleeves, with a pair of old, stained corduroy trousers, and a battered felt hat on his head. His fingers were grimy from the soil in which he had been working.

Grace’s answering smile was pale, barely moving her mouth. Seeing him now she could scarcely believe what Mr Spencer had told her. How could it be true what he had said?

‘Grace –’ Kester held out his hands as if expecting her own to reach out to him. But they did not and, frowning, he let his hands fall back to his sides. ‘Grace,’ he said, ‘is there something wrong?’

Lowering her eyes, unable to meet his gaze, she said, ‘This is something that you will know better than I, Kester.’

‘Grace? Grace, look at me.’ He waited till she had raised her eyes, then said, ‘Tell me what it is. Please.’

It was all she could do not to weep. She glanced quickly around to ensure that she could see no one in earshot, then said, ‘I believed you loved me, Kester.’

‘You believed I loved you? I
do
love you.’

As if he had not spoken, she said, ‘You told me you loved me. You let me believe that – that what we had was something to last. You never said it in so many words, but you knew that I inferred as much. You knew it, didn’t you?’

‘It’s what I wanted you to believe. Because it was the truth.’

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘the truth. Now we come to the truth, do we?’

‘Grace,’ he said, his lips barely moving, ‘what is happening? Tell me what it is.’

‘I believed,’ she said, ‘that in time we would marry. I believed that you would be mine, and I would be yours. We would make our home together, the four of us. We would be happy together. For you loved me, and therefore you
would want to marry me.’ She paused. ‘Was I such a fool to believe such a thing?’

‘No, you were not.’

‘Really? That’s something, then, I suppose.’ She turned away, and then immediately looked back at him. ‘You know why I’m here, don’t you?’

He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘No, I don’t.’

‘No? No? Think about it, Kester. Think about it.’

She gazed into his face and saw his skin grow paler. She nodded. ‘Yes, I think you do know why. And that gives me the answer I must have. It isn’t the answer I wanted, but I think it’s the only one I can get.’ A little sob burst from her lips. ‘Oh, Kester!’

They stood on the grass, some four feet apart, hands hanging down at their sides, tears streaming down Grace’s cheeks, Kester’s face white.

‘I spoke of your wife,’ she said, ‘I even made a reference to her – her death, and you said nothing to disabuse me of my misapprehension.’

Kester remained silent.

‘You have not been widowed, Kester, have you?’ Grace said at last. ‘Your wife, little Sophie’s mother, is very much alive.’

His face looked deathly pale, and for a moment her heart reached out in sympathy. But she held herself in check; she did not move.

‘It’s true, isn’t it, what I say?’

‘Grace –’ he began.

She broke in, cutting off his words, ‘It’s true, isn’t it? It’s true.’

‘Yes.’

‘There was no death from cholera, was there? There was no illness at all. It was all a lie. It was a lie, wasn’t it?’

Silence. Somewhere, unheard by either one, a bird sang in the beautiful afternoon.

‘Wasn’t it?’ Grace said.

He nodded, the barest gesture.

‘I was sorry for you,’ she said. ‘I saw you as having suffered a tragedy, having lost your wife in the most dreadful circumstances – and it was all a fraud. And you let me go on, making a fool of myself. Yet you were mourning no one. Did it give you amusement, seeing me behave like a fool?’

‘Never. Never even suggest such a thing.’

As if he had not spoken she went on, ‘I expect you saw me as some poor, naïve creature who hasn’t the sense to come in out of the rain. Is that how it was?’

‘Never,’ he said. ‘Please, don’t.’

‘Oh, I want to believe you,’ she cried. ‘I want to, but I – I’ve been on such a fool’s errand.’

‘Grace –’

‘Don’t you see? How can I believe anything any more?’

‘Grace, I must talk to you. Please.’

‘What is there to say? You are a married man. You have a wife, living in London.’

‘Who told you this? How do you know it?’

‘Does it matter? It’s not important how I know. I
know
, that’s what counts. And thank God I found out – before I got in even deeper and made an even bigger fool of myself.’

‘Grace, I can tell you about it, I –’

‘You can tell me about it? What is there to tell? You’ve lied to me. You said you would never lie to me but you have. And you didn’t care about me. In the end you would have had to tell me, and what then? Was it not enough for you to break my heart? Did you want to ruin me as well?’

‘Grace, please –’

‘There is nothing more to say, Kester. Nothing at all.’

‘No, it’s not so,’ he said. ‘There are many things to say. It isn’t exactly the way it looks.’

‘It looks very clear to me,’ she said. ‘You let me believe
you were a widowed man, when in fact your wife is very much living.’

He said reluctantly, ‘There is more to it than that, Grace.’

‘More? Whatever it is, does it change the situation?’

A little silence, then he said, ‘No.’

Another silence. He stood looking at her, and she stood with her eyes downcast, fixing on her agitated fingers. Then she said simply, ‘I loved you, Kester. For the first time in my life I loved. And I loved you.’

‘Oh, Grace –’ taking a step forward, ‘don’t put such words in the past. Don’t say it like that, I beg you.’

‘What else can I say?’

‘Grace, to hear those words from you. You never spoke them before, and now when I hear them you’re speaking of something in the past. Grace, please.’

‘And what of you?’ she said. ‘What were your feelings for me? Did you love me as I thought you did, hoped you did? Or was this some kind of game? And did you play the same game with Miss Lewin?’

‘Don’t bring her into this. She has no part in my life.’

Sadly, Grace shook her head. ‘And I’m afraid that I have no part in your life either.’

She turned then and started back over the grass, around the trimmed privet and onto the first lawn. Seeing with a glance over her shoulder that he was following, she said, ‘Please, don’t come with me.’

‘But I can’t let you leave like this.’

‘Please.’ She stopped and turned to face him. ‘You must tell Sophie that I’m sorry I cannot give her lessons any more. You can find some reason. I’m sorry to be leaving her, but there’s nothing else I can do.’ She paused, then said, ‘Goodbye,’ – avoiding his gaze – and turning again, hurried around the side of the house.

Grace could recall little of her walk back to Asterleigh House from Berron Wick station that late afternoon; so little of it stayed in her memory that it might just as well have happened to someone else. It did not matter that the occasional carriage driver slowed to offer her a lift along the road, or that others, younger men in a group, called out provocative comments; if she had been aware of them in the first place, she did not care enough to heed them.

By the time she got back to the house it was after 6.30. On arrival she went straight up to her room, praying as she did so that no one would appear to say that Mrs Spencer required her presence. All she wanted was to be alone. She wanted to see no one, no one at all.

Lying on her bed, on her back, the tears ran down the sides of her face onto the pillow. She would never be happy again, she knew.

Later, she went along the landing to her brother’s room and tapped on his door. He called out to her to come in and she entered and found him stripped to the waist and drying himself. He had just got in, he said, from helping Mr Johnson with the horses. She could smell the stable on him. He looked at her closely, seeing the redness in her eyes, the puffy flesh around them. ‘Grace,’ he said, ‘what’s the matter? Why are you upset?’