A Well Kept Secret (28 page)

He tried to think about the whole question objectively. If it had been lust and nothing else he might have felt it easier to understand; only he knew instinctively that it wasn’t just a physical thing. He had no choice than to admit it to himself that there was something about the woman that drew him now like a magnet, something he had not experienced since he had first met Alicia. What was it? It couldn’t be love; he loved Alicia, and he still loved her. He would love her to the day of his own death, so how could he possibly have fallen for another woman? No, it just had to be lust and nothing else! It was the logical explanation and yet try as he might, he could not convince himself of the fact.

He thought again and again about those few brief seconds in the kitchen when he had placed is hands upon her shoulders, when their eyes had met. He recalled the shock that had gone through him as he finally recognised that he wanted her, not just in the physical sense, but in every sense! He knew in his heart that if she had shown one sign of being drawn to him in equal measure they would have embraced, and from there on God alone knew what might have happened!

He knew that June had seen this latent desire in him much sooner than he had recognised its existence within himself; she had certainly sensed it the day she had invited him briefly into her home. He had thought at the time it was only something purely physical, and that was shocking enough, but she had recognised something he had failed to see for himself. No wonder she had been wary of him. Whatever it was he was feeling, there was no future in it; the stark truth was that she didn’t want a man in that sense at all. From the little she had told him, physical contact with any man was the last thing in the world she desired. She was developing a trust in him because he placed no demands of that nature upon her. In a brief moment of madness he could so easily have destroyed all of that hard-won trust. The thought made him grow cold inside.

As far as he knew, it was quite possible that the 'Mrs' was not a courtesy title, and that she really was a married woman. Maybe she had not as yet made any reference to a husband, but until he knew that she was a widow or a divorcee he had to accept that she was married to somebody else, and thus beyond his reach even if she could ever be interested in him. What seemed to him to be the one important factor in the whole business was that she appeared to be developing a degree of trust in him, and he knew instinctively that she only gave trust warily, and to very few. If he once betrayed his baser feelings, that trust would inevitably evaporate. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to cope with that; to see the look of betrayal in her eyes would be more than he could bear.

He worked on in a mechanical and desultory fashion for maybe an hour, and then finally gave up and went for a shower. As he was getting ready to descend for the evening meal he heard the girls clatter up the stairs to their own room. Just hearing them made him feel suddenly guilty; instead of mooning about June Brent or Cassandra Carpenter or whoever she really was; someone whose problems he could so easily add to, he should be concentrating on his daughter. There was no question but that was what he ought to be doing, only of course it was one of those decisions more easily made than adopted!

Some while later they all foregathered at the table, and both girls seemed delighted that June was joining them for the meal. The youngsters prattled on about their cycle ride around the local lanes, the things they had seen and where they hoped to go to on the morrow. They went on at some length about the complexities of butterfly hunting, and even more about their plans for the tree house they were building. Their chattering helped to ease away any tension that may have otherwise existed between Martin and the housekeeper, and for that he was glad. He looked at her covertly from time to time, and was pleased to see that she had either recovered her spirits or was being extremely good at hiding her feelings. She entered freely into the discourse of the girls, suggesting to them several places of interest within easy reach of young cyclists, even offering to pack them a picnic lunch to take with them in the morning should the weather appear suitable.

“Mrs Brent,” said Beverley suddenly as they sat at the table at the end of the meal, “May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” was the immediate response, “and can we please drop this ‘Mrs Brent’ business? You are making me feel at least ninety years old, you must both call me June.”

She glanced quickly at Martin as she spoke, as if expecting him to disapprove.

“Alright then, if you insist, June,” Beverley answered. “I was wondering; do you have a computer in your flat? I mean, there doesn’t seem to be one in the house, I’ve left my lap-top at school, and-”

“And naturally you want to catch up on your homework?” June asked innocently, yet with a mischievous smile on her face.

“No way!” the girl exclaimed hotly, “I just wanted to look something up on the Internet, that’s all.”

“I see, well yes, as it happens, I do have one. I’ll tell you what; if you both come and give me a hand in the kitchen once we have finished you can both come with me to make use of it. Is that a deal?”

Both girls chorused instant approval, and presently they trooped off together, leaving Martin to his own devices. Still feeling unsettled, he returned to the upper landing and continued with the slow methodical sorting of the remaining rooms. Much of what he uncovered was of no conceivable value, and put aside for disposal. A certain amount he put with the stuff that might perhaps be auctionable, and he was mildly disappointed that he uncovered of personal interest. He was virtually at the end of the task when tucked away inside an old box he had earlier put to one side and subsequently overlooked he came across an expensive-looking tooled-leather presentation case. He opened the catch and looked inside and saw that it contained of all things a stethoscope. He was no expert in matters medical, yet to him it looked fairly old, of good quality and as far as he could tell, unused. There was an inscription on the lid, and he peered at it to read the small gold lettering.

‘Presented to Dr Henry Lloyd Marston’ he read, ‘from his colleagues at Charterhouse Hospital.’ It was dated the first of June, 1970.

He sat there looking at it for a few moments, and in an odd sort of way just seeing that token of appreciation somehow brought him even closer to the uncle he had never really known. He wondered what outstanding service he had rendered to warrant an award of such a nature. More than ever, he wished that he had known the man in life instead of through the eyes of the few who had had that good fortune. After gazing at it thoughtfully for a few moments, he closed the case and picked it up, deciding that of all the things he had uncovered in the house, this forgotten presentation was the only thing of real importance as far as he was concerned. Everything he had heard about his uncle since he had been at Springwater House had slowly built up an image of him in his mind, and somehow, this presentation brought it all together. He was determined to keep it as a permanent memento.

As he descended the stairs with the case under his arm, he heard the girl’s voices emanating from the kitchen. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was already half past nine. He crossed over to the study, placed the case on the desk, and then went across to the kitchen where he saw that June was preparing a light meal for the girls before they retired.

“Had a good time?” he asked as he entered. “I hope you haven’t made too much of a nuisance of yourselves’?”

“Hi Dad,” Beverley responded excitedly. “Georgie and I have had an absolutely fabulous evening; June’s got some great CD’s; she’s even got a copy of the ‘Barbecue Boys’ latest release!”

The weird cacophony of discordant noises that appeared to send Beverley and other youngster of a similar age into raptures of delight never ceased to amaze Martin. He had tried more than once to make sense of it before reluctantly accepting that it was completely beyond him.

“I have mixed tastes,” June explained, catching his expression. “I think there is more to the lyrics of some of them than meets the eye, so-to-speak!”

“I’ll take your word on that!”

“And there were some really great games as well,” Georgie interposed.

“I thought you only wanted to make quick use of the computer?” Martin said, seating himself at the table, “I didn’t expect you to monopolise all of June’s free time!”

“Oh, we took care of that as well,” June answered, looking up briefly from her preparations. “All very interesting as it happens.”

“Oh? Not more pop music I hope?”

“No, we were doing a bit of important research on the internet,” Beverly said.

“I thought you said that you weren’t interested in catching up with your homework?”

“I’m not, at least, not directly,” his daughter answered seriously. “I just needed to check up on something.”

“Like what?”

“Butterflies.”

Martin blinked at her. “Now, why on earth would you want to do a thing like that?” he asked curiously.

“Well, it was something that Mr Edwards said; it didn’t seem quite right but I wasn’t sure enough to say so. We are studying entomology at school as part of the biology programme this year. By sheer coincidence Miss Jenkins, she's our biology teacher, was talking about Macroglossum Stellatarum; you know, the Humming Bird Hawk Moth, the one Mr Edwards has been going on about. Well, what she was telling us didn’t tie in with what he was saying.”

“Well, you must have heard your teacher wrong; the man is a scientist and head of entomology at some university; Sussex I think he said. If he doesn’t know what he is talking about on the subject, then who would?”

“That’s what
we
thought,” Georgie agreed, supporting her friend. “We talked about it after he had left, because it would be great if we could shoot Miss Jenkins down in flames, and that is why we asked if we could look it up on June’s computer just to make sure before we went and made idiots of ourselves.”

“So, how did your research go?”

“Well,” Beverley said in a conspiratorial tone. “I sneaked one of his specimens when he wasn’t looking, and kept it. When I looked it up on the computer, I discovered that he was confusing the Hummingbird Hawk Moth with the Privet Hawk-Moth, Sphinx Ligustri. The two might look similar at a quick glance, yet when looked at closer they are obviously quite different.”

“She’s quite right,” June interposed. “I checked their results; on the face of it, it really does look as if our expert has got his lines crossed.”

“And that’s not all,” Georgie announced, obviously keen not to be left out of the discovery of the error. “We looked up Mr Edwards on the computer as well. He is not on the list of staff at Sussex University, which is what he said, nor is he listed on the sites of any other universities we could think of. We couldn’t find any trace of him at all!”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Martin asked doubtfully.

“June checked our results; there’s no mistake.”

“It is true,” June confirmed, laying food and drink on the table for the girls. “On the face of it, it would seem that Mr Edwards is a bit of a fraud!”

After the youngsters had eventually been persuaded to retire, Martin settled down in the lounge. He wasn’t sure if June would come in to talk to him, yet something seemed to tell him that she would. He had said that he would be there if she decided that she really wanted to, and in a way he rather hoped that she would, because he badly wanted to clear the air. He found it increasingly difficult to imagine that there was anything sinister about the woman, and he felt convinced that the question mark that hung over her would be quickly dissipated, either from what she would tell him, of perhaps from the researches being undertaken by Charles’ investigator. In the brief time he had known her he had become aware of her natural integrity and goodness and could conceive of nothing that would shake that strong inner conviction.

As he sat there quietly waiting, he sought to distract himself by musing over what the girls had uncovered about the ‘mad butterfly hunter’, as he now thought of the man. June had certainly verified the girl’s findings, and on the face of it there seemed little doubt that the man was not exactly what he claimed to be. It was far too easy to jump to conclusions and imagine all sorts of things, and as he had assured the girls whilst talking on the subject, more than likely there was a simple explanation. He could be, for example, an enthusiastic amateur who had invented his background in order to follow up what he may sincerely believe was a major breakthrough, thereby gaining fame and fortune as a result. Certainly he had not attempted anything beyond his avowed interests. All he had talked about was Lepidoptary, and even if he was wrong in his assumption about discovering something quite new, it didn’t make him a criminal. He finally decided that if the man returned as promised, he might perhaps have a quiet word with him to get at the truth.

Any further thoughts he may have had on the subject vanished abruptly when he heard the lounge door open, and on glancing up he saw June entering the room. She had shed the apron she had been wearing for clearing up after the girls had retired, and seen in the soft light of the standard lamp she looked somehow younger, and her sheer natural femininity came through quite strongly. She walked over towards him, and he could see the determined set of her jaw. He didn’t need to be a genius to realise that she had been screwing herself up to face whatever it was that lay in her background by relating it to him. He rose to greet her as she approached.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” he said. “Sit yourself down; you have had a rather long and tiring day.”

She gave him a fleetingly rapid smile of acknowledgement, and sat on the chair opposite the one he then resumed for himself.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You wanted to know about Mrs Collins,” she said tautly.

“If you want the honest truth I very much regret having asked you,” he responded. “I don’t need to be a genius to see that my words are still causing you considerable stress, and truthfully, that was never my intention. Even though you are here, and I am pleased that you are, you still don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Only you
did
ask, and if I fail to answer, you will always wonder.”

“Look, I guess this must be as difficult for you as it is for me,” he answered. “As I have said to you before; it’s none of my business, and I can see only too clearly that satisfying my idle curiosity is not something you would do willingly. If you decide to say nothing, I can only repeat the promise I have already made; I will not raise the subject again, nor will I ever think any the worse of you.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt you would keep your word,” she responded in an almost ironic tone. “Only human nature being what it is, you would always be wondering. Maybe I shouldn’t care about that, because in a very short while you will be gone from here, and we will never come across each other again, yet I do. Whether I should care or not is beside the point; as someone who has been as straight with me as Dr Marston was, I believe you have a right to know. I have thought about this a lot since you asked me, and for better or for worse, I’m going to give it to you straight whilst I still have the courage to do it. The answer you seek isn’t nice, yet there is nothing I can do about that. Perhaps I am being illogical, I just want you to try to understand about me, why I do what I do, and why I am like I am.”

He could see the effort it was costing her, and his heart went out to the woman who was proposing to bare her soul to a comparative stranger. “June, I am not judgemental, and I promise you that no matter what you tell me I will do my best to understand and to accept.”

She fidgeted in the chair, glanced around the room and then looked directly back at him. “Talking about, well, things, isn’t going to be easy,” she said in a taut voice. “All I ask is that you will allow me to finish before you say anything.”

“Certainly,” he assured her quietly. “You have my word that I will say nothing until you have finished.”

She took a deep breath, took another glance around the room and then directly back at him, and then she commenced.

“Mrs. Collins is my true married name.” She announced it coldly, as if the very name was distasteful to her. She glanced across at the fireplace as if gathering her full determination ready for something that was never going to come easy. For several moments she didn't speak, and Martin wondered if her nerve was failing her at the last moment.

“I half suspected as much,” he commented at last in an effort to encourage her to go on. “I know I promised not to interrupt, and you must forgive me if I incorrectly infer that perhaps your marriage is not as happy as you would like it to be?”

She appeared not to resent his words, instead she suddenly laughed, a short, bitter laugh that had no humour in it at all. “You might well say that,” she agreed, almost as if talking to herself, “Yes, not a bad description of it really, now that I come to think of it.”

She paused, as if still weighing up how best to unburden her mind of whatever it was that was eating away at her.

“Look, are you absolutely certain that you want to know all about me?” she blurted out at last, “I mean, do you really want to know every last sordid detail?”

“June, I repeat, you don’t have to tell me anything,” he assured her. “If it helps, I have the feeling that you have been carrying something around with you for far too long. If you decide that now is the time to get it off your chest, then so be it.”

“Even if it means that you will no longer want me in this house?”

“I’m quite sure that there is nothing you can tell me that would make me wish anything like
 
that,” he said quietly but with firm conviction. “As far as I’m concerned, whatever is past is past; I prefer to make my judgement of people based upon what I have discovered about them for myself.”

“And all that you have discovered about me so far is that I’m living a lie,” she commented bitterly, “and people who live under a false name always have something to hide, isn’t that true?”

“Possibly.”

“I very nearly didn’t come tonight,” she continued after a moment. “If you want the truth, I was very close to packing a case and slipping away without saying anything to you. But that’s a coward’s way, isn’t it? Even now I’m not sure why I didn’t. I suppose I stayed because I knew that you were right; sooner or later I’ve got to talk to someone. I’m doing it, even though I fully expect that by the time I have finished you will never want to speak to me again. I keep asking myself why that fact should bother me; I’m only an employee, and can soon be replaced. You pointed out that we both have to be honest, and I agreed, didn’t I? So I have to tell you that it
does
matter; in fact it matters very much to me that you should at least know, even if you can neither understand nor accept. Whether you can understand or not it is too late to change my mind now, and you cannot say that I didn’t warn you.”

He sat there watching, trying not to show that her words describing herself as only being an employee had somehow struck deep into him. Quite without realising the gradual metamorphosis in his attitude towards her, he had come to look upon her as so much more than just a housekeeper, and that amplified the mixture of guilt and uncertainty that already seethed within him. So he just looked and waited.

She sat there, with a determined yet vaguely uncertain expression on her face, and he knew that whatever it was she wished to unburden herself of, it was costing her all of her resilience and courage to reveal it.

“Everything I have told you so far about my background is true,” she continued at last. “I have not lied to you in any respect. At the same time neither have I told you everything; no, certainly not everything.”

She eased her position in the chair, and glanced absently round the room once again.

“I suppose it all goes back to the time that I left the children’s home,” she said at last. “Thanks to the training I had received there I was taken on as a general-maid-come-general-dogsbody at one of the local hotels. It wasn’t much of a job; I was at everyone’s beck and call, yet for me it represented my first taste of freedom. Luckily, hard work has never frightened me, and at the end of the day I actually had some money of my own. It was a new sort of freedom I had never known, and it gave me a chance to see life as it really was.

I guess I was unbelievably green in those days and some of the other girls used to laugh at me, but one or two became friends of sorts and with their help I gradually settled in to the life of a lowly hotel house-maid. I imagine I must have given my employers satisfaction because I managed to keep the job, even when some of the others were sacked for various reasons. Being accustomed to hard work for as long as I could remember I automatically kept my nose to the grindstone, so-to-speak, and eventually gained promotion, and with it a bit of extra money. Working in the hotel and catering industry isn’t going to make anyone’s fortune, yet in a way I was quite happy there, and I made sure that the management never had anything to complain of. I was eventually provided with my own room in the staff quarters of the hotel, I acquired some decent clothes for the first time in my life, and for a while I even managed to forget about those long years of abuse in the children’s home.

Looking back on it, I know I was embarrassingly naïve; I really didn’t know much about anything beyond my work. I went out on my days off, yet I wasn’t one for drinking or having a good time; I wanted to save as much money as I could so that one day I could go off and search for my father.”

She paused in her reminiscence, her expression betraying the fact that in her mind she was back in those early days, reliving again what may have been one of her happiest times. Martin watched her, wondering what she was leading up to.

“That was when I met Paul,” she resumed suddenly. “I quite literally bumped into him one day as he came out of his hotel room where he had stayed overnight, and we collided right outside the door. I was knocked off balance, and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me.”

She essayed a twisted smile, and continued; “Paul was a real charmer. He couldn’t apologise enough for what he claimed was his clumsiness, and in spite of all my protests, insisted on buying me a drink when I came off duty. For me, it was love at first sight. I couldn’t believe that such a dashingly handsome man would be the slightest bit interested in very plain and frumpy me. But he was, and I soon became the object of envy of many of my colleagues. He told me that he was an area sales manager for some international corporation; certainly he never seemed to be short of money, and always drove a late model car. He would sometimes disappear for days, sometimes weeks, explaining that it was the nature of his work. Maybe some of it was, but not all the time, as I only discovered very much later. It was a relationship that developed rapidly, and I never had any doubt that we would marry in the near future, and I almost collapsed with happiness when he proposed.

Like I said, I was so incredibly naïve in those days. I had stars in my eyes, and could only see what I wanted to see. Only the signs of an ominous future were there, if only I could have read them at the time. Still, love is blind or so I’m told, and I failed to heed the warnings of my own senses, and even less of my closest friends. Oh yes, I was warned; I was told by more than one person that he was not all that he appeared to be, and fool that I was I thought the girls who tried so hard to warn me were simply jealous! The stories I heard simply didn’t relate to my experience of him, because to me at that time he was in every sense a perfect gentleman. Once we were engaged, matters started to change, yet not alarming so for me because I was still blinded by loves young dream. Very gradually he became increasingly familiar with me, and because we were to be married I accepted this shift in his behaviour as being normal. The odd kiss and cuddle and hands that seemed possessed of a mind of their own, yet he never went as far as attempting to engage in full sexual intercourse. I know this sounds daft and old fashioned in an era when people sleep together at the drop of a hat, you just have to understand that having been reared in the children’s home, and even though I had been raped many times as a child, I still had very outdated ideas on the subject. In my eyes it was a mark of his character that he never once tried to force me to yield to him in this respect. I later discovered to my cost that in this belief that he was a man of honour I was totally deluding myself.