Daughters of Castle Deverill (26 page)

‘Go on,’ she said encouragingly.

‘I knew I had to do my duty and marry. I’ve given Charlotte two children and if the shock of discovering me and this man last night doesn’t bring on a miscarriage, I’ll
have given her three.’

Kitty stopped walking. ‘Oh Harry.’ She let her hands fall at her sides. ‘How did it happen?’

‘I didn’t realize she had retired early. The bedroom was dark. I pulled Boysie inside . . .’

Kitty gasped. ‘Boysie Bancroft?’

‘Yes, didn’t I say?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘I should have guessed. The two of you are inseparable.’

‘Charlotte turned on the light and saw us.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She didn’t say anything. Boysie left as fast as he could. I tried to comfort her but she just put her head under the pillow and sobbed. She sobbed all night. She still hasn’t
spoken to me.’ He raised his palms to the sky. ‘For the love of God tell me what I should do.’

Kitty began to walk again. This time her pace quickened and her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. Harry strode beside her without speaking, hoping that she’d find the answer
there in the sand. At length she stopped and turned to face him again. ‘Charlotte loves you, Harry, so this betrayal will have cut her very deeply. Firstly, you have to give her time to
absorb it. She’s made two terrible discoveries: one, that you’ve been having an affair, and two, that it’s with a man, which as you well know is against the law and punishable by
imprisonment. She will be wondering whether you ever loved her, whether you only married her to do your duty. She’ll be wondering whether you hated every minute of making love to her.
She’ll be feeling bruised, humiliated, hurt and worried. When she comes to terms with those two discoveries, she will talk to you.’

‘What will she say?’

‘She’ll either ask for a divorce or go public and you’ll have to endure a scandal that will put my own scandal with JP into the shade. Mama will probably have a seizure, of
course, but that’ll be the least of your worries.’

‘God help me,’ he groaned.

‘Or—’

‘Or?’ he asked eagerly. ‘What’s the or?’

‘Or she’ll forgive you.’

‘Why on earth would she do that?’

‘Because she loves you, Harry. But you must persuade her that you will give up Boysie. You’ll have to convince her that it was a moment of madness. Blame it on the champagne. Tell
her you love her. You love the children. You’re a family man and you’ll do nothing to jeopardize your family. You can do that, can’t you?’

‘I can’t give up Boysie,’ he gasped, horrified.

‘You’ll have to. It’s either Charlotte or Boysie. You can’t have both, Harry.’

‘But I love him.’

She put her hand on his arm. ‘I know you do. But sometimes you have to give up the person you love for the greater good.’ Kitty’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘It’s
hard, it’s almost impossible, but it can be done.’

Harry stared at her, unaware that she was speaking about herself. He hadn’t anticipated having to give up Boysie when he had dragged him into his bedroom. He had willed himself to get
caught only to release him from the burden of lying, not to force him to sacrifice the one person he loved above all others. What a fool he had been. He grabbed his sister by the arms and thrust
his head onto her shoulder. As he wept he didn’t notice that she wept also, for Jack O’Leary and her own desolate heart.

When Harry returned to the castle he found Charlotte and Deirdre playing croquet with Boysie and Celia. The Shrubs were strolling around the gardens in floral dresses and sunhats with Lord Hunt,
who held his hands behind his back and was listening attentively to both. Laurel and Hazel had made a great effort with their hair and make-up and the results were surprising – they each
looked far younger than their years. Digby, Archie, Bertie and Ronald were playing a men’s four in long white tennis trousers and V-neck sweaters while Beatrice and Grace watched them from
the bench, or at least,
pretended
to watch, sipping from tall glasses of mint and lemonade.

‘Papa is leading the Shrubs a merry dance,’ confided Grace, watching the unlikely trio. ‘He’s a terrible old rogue and I fear Hazel and Laurel have been totally taken in.
I feel very bad about it.’

‘Oh, don’t feel bad,’ Beatrice replied. ‘He’s giving them such a lot of pleasure. I don’t think they’ve ever had such attention from a handsome man like
your father.’

‘He’s enjoying himself immensely, but it’ll be disastrous when he bores of the game, which he will. The minute it’s no longer fun he’ll move on to someone else. I
know
him. My mother was an exceptionally tolerant woman.’

‘I’m sure they take him with a pinch of salt,’ said Beatrice, watching Digby prepare to serve.

‘They absolutely don’t, Beatrice. They’re smitten. They’re like a pair of debutantes. I hope they don’t fight over him. That would be dreadful.’

‘Good shot, darling!’ Beatrice clapped as Digby aced his cousin. ‘They’re grown-ups, Grace. I’m sure they’re perfectly capable of looking after themselves,
and each other.’

‘I hope you’re right, but I fear the worst.’

As Harry approached, Charlotte glared at him from her position beside the third hoop. Boysie watched them both warily while Celia, in a long diaphanous ivory skirt and blouse, cloche hat and
pearls, lined up her ball and swung her mallet. Deirdre, who had tried and failed to find out what their fight had been about, stood beside her husband, pleased that her own marriage was free of
that sort of drama. ‘Harry, I’m playing so badly, why don’t you come and give me a hand,’ said Celia. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’ she asked the
others.

Charlotte dropped her mallet. ‘No, he can take
my
place. I’ve had enough.’ She began to stride off towards the castle, taking her sulk with her.

‘Oh dear,’ said Celia, watching her go. ‘I was never that bad-tempered when I was pregnant.’

‘Shall I run after her?’ Harry asked uncertainly, but he was afraid to hear what she might say. He glanced at Boysie and for a moment their eyes locked. How could he give him up? he
thought desperately. He would rather be dead than live without Boysie.

‘No, don’t break up the game,’ said Celia, whose self-obsession had ensured that she missed the subtle tensions that coursed between certain members of the group. ‘Your
turn, Deirdre. Leave Charlotte, Harry darling, she’ll feel better after a little nap. She’s probably just tired after last night, I know
I
am and I’m not carrying a
child.’

Harry glanced at the French doors that led from the terrace into the drawing room but his wife had disappeared. Later, when he at last plucked up the courage to talk to her, he found her lying
on her bed, staring into space with a miserable, defeated look on her face. He closed the door behind him and approached her. He saw her body stiffen like a cat’s, but he sat on the edge of
the mattress regardless. ‘Darling, we have to talk about this,’ he began, feeling sick to the stomach with nerves. He knitted his fingers and stared into them as if working out how to
un
knit them. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. When she didn’t reply he cleared his throat and tried to remember what Kitty had told him. ‘I love you, Charlotte. I know
that you won’t believe me, after . . . after what you saw last night. I promise you, it was a moment of madness. The champagne, the excitement, the nostalgia, I wasn’t in
my right mind. I wasn’t myself and I’m ashamed.
Deeply
ashamed and I beg for your forgiveness.’

Now she turned her head and looked at him. Her face was impassive. He longed to know what she was thinking. ‘Do you love me, Harry?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Yes, my darling, I do. I love you, I love our children, I love our family life. I’ll do anything not to put in jeopardy all those things that I love so dearly.’

She stared at him for a long moment. Her lips were thin and tight, her eyes large and round and very shiny. ‘I cannot forgive you or Boysie. I’m ashamed on your behalf. What I saw
you doing was unnatural.’ She turned her face the other way as her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I won’t tell anyone. I’d rather die than tell anyone. But you won’t see
Boysie again, will you? You can’t . . . after . . . after . . .’ She began to cry hysterically.

Harry slipped off his shoes and lay on the bed beside her, putting his arm around her and drawing her close. How could he exist if Boysie was no longer part of his life? ‘I want you to
take me back to London,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be here another minute. Say what you will, but you have to take me back to London. We’ll spend the rest of the summer in
Norfolk with Mama and Papa and you’ll put Boysie and this shaming episode behind you.’ She lifted his hand off her pregnant belly. ‘And I don’t want you to touch
me.’

‘Charlotte,’ he gasped.

‘I mean it, Harry. I need time. I can’t easily forget what I saw. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’

‘It was a moment of madness.’

She turned her head and her expression was hard and sharp. ‘And what if I hadn’t been here? What then? What would you have done?’ Her body shook as she began to sob again.
‘What would you have done, Harry?’

‘Nothing. I would have done nothing. It was a kiss. That’s all. A kiss.’ She turned away brusquely, making it clear that she didn’t believe him.

Harry explained to Celia that Charlotte was suffering so much with this pregnancy that she wanted to spend the rest of the summer with her parents. ‘Jolly bad sport,’ said Celia
sulkily. ‘She’s ruined our summer. The first summer we’ve all been together here at Castle Deverill in nearly ten years. This was meant to be special and she’s gone and
ruined it.’ She folded her arms crossly. ‘Boysie won’t be happy you’re going. He’ll be furious too. You’re breaking up the party.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’

Then Celia’s face brightened. ‘I know, she can take the children to Norfolk and you can stay here. Oh, do stay, Harry darling, it’ll be just like the old days. If we could get
Deirdre to go with her it really would be marvellous!’

‘No,’ said Harry firmly. ‘I can’t do that to her.’

‘Well, you’re a spoilsport too and I’ll find it very hard to forgive you.’

‘But you will, of course.’

‘Of course. Next time leave her at home. I don’t think she likes Ireland anyway.’

The car was packed and waiting on the gravel with Celia’s chauffeur. Harry and Charlotte said their goodbyes, managing to put on a convincing show of unity. Everyone was sorry to see them
go, but none was sorrier to be going than Harry. Outside at last he helped his wife into the back seat, tucking her skirt in carefully before closing the door. Then something made him look up to
the window above the front door. Boysie was standing on the landing, gazing down on him with a forlorn expression on his face. Harry’s stomach gave a little flip as he remembered what Kitty
had told him about Joseph. Boysie looked like a ghost too. His face was white behind the glass, his eyes like two black holes, resonating with sorrow. A lump lodged itself in Harry’s throat
and he remained a moment, gazing up, wanting to wave but knowing he couldn’t, knowing that if he did he’d break down and cry like a boy. He wrenched his eyes away and walked slowly
round to the other side of the car. As he opened the door he glanced up again. Boysie was still there. His hand was now spread on the small rectangular pane and he had dropped his forehead onto it
so that his breath misted the glass in a cloudy stain. Harry inhaled deeply and forced himself onto the back seat. He slammed the door then he put his finger in his mouth and bit down hard. If he
gave in to tears Charlotte would know the truth: that he loved Boysie most of all and always would.

New York

After Jack O’Leary had slipped into the dawn Bridie had plunged into a deep hole of despair out of which she had no desire, or will, to climb. She had believed that their
wandering souls had at last reached the end of their searching and come to rest in each other, like a pair of blind creatures who have suddenly found the light. Yet he had gone, leaving her heart
in shattered pieces about the space where he had lain, and her longing for home more acute than ever. It was as if he had taken Ireland with him and now she was completely lost, cut adrift and
afraid.

She had sought solace in alcohol. Bridie discovered that a different sort of happiness could be bought in a gin bottle. She drank it on waking, when the pain of loss was at its most severe, and
continued to drink it throughout the day to prevent that pain from returning. But the effects of intoxication only gave her a shallow, bitter kind of pleasure. It was like putting a ragged plaster
over a seeping wound; the poison still bled through.

Elaine did everything to entice her out of her pit. She flushed the gin down the lavatory, she tempted her with shopping, new clothes and parties, but Bridie refused to be tempted and stayed at
home, finding new bottles she had hidden in places that even Elaine, with her thorough searching of Bridie’s apartment, had failed to find. ‘You’re young and beautiful,
Bridget,’ Elaine had shouted at her one afternoon, when she had found her friend still in bed with her hair matted and greasy and her eyes bloodshot and distant. ‘You can have any man
you want.’

‘But I only want Jack,’ Bridie had replied, sobbing into her silk pillow. ‘I’ve loved him all my life, Elaine. I’ll never love another. Not for as long as I
live.’ And in her inebriated state her Irish accent was more pronounced than ever.

‘You have to pull yourself together.’

But Bridie had shouted back, ‘I’ll do as I please. If you don’t like it, don’t come here!’

After months of steady decline Elaine was so worried about Bridie that she discussed it with her husband. ‘There’s only one solution. You have to get rid of the bottle,
Elaine,’ Beaumont told her firmly.

‘She won’t listen to me.’

‘She will listen to
me
,’ he said confidently. ‘
I
will talk to her.’

And so it was that on a particularly windy spring morning, Elaine and Beaumont Williams rang the bell to Bridie’s apartment on Park Avenue and made their way up to the top floor via the
elevator. Bridie’s maid opened the door and the two stepped into the immaculate hall where a large mirror seemed to open on the facing wall like a shiny silver fan. Elaine caught her anxious
reflection, splintered in the various sections of the glass, but Beaumont didn’t hesitate and, after giving Imelda his coat, strode straight into the airy sitting room for he was a man who,
having made a decision to get something done, was inclined not to waste time dithering. He walked over to the windows to look down onto the street below. It was a mighty fine view and he was
satisfied that he had made a good decision in advising Mrs Lockwood to rent the apartment.