Secrets of the Heart

‘Get her out of here,’ Maud ground out.

Agnes wheeled around. Bea was standing by the window in her heavy winter coat, which was far too hot, her handbag crooked over her arm. ‘Are you going out, Bea?’

‘I’m waiting,’ Bea announced, nervous but confident. She was making a point of occupying the space she stood in, and Agnes suddenly perceived how Bea normally appeared shrunken in the presence of her sister.

‘I can see that. But what for?’

‘I’m waiting for Freddie.’

‘You’re going on one of your expeditions?’

‘I’m waiting for Freddie,’ said Bea, ‘because we’re eloping. I’ve just told Maud who is, as you can see, a little upset. I’ve told her there’s no need.’

Agnes was so stupefied that she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘The whole point of eloping is its secrecy.’

‘It doesn’t alter the fact. I can say a tree is a pond, but it does not change its essential condition,’ continued this new, astonishing Bea. She checked the drive outside and transferred her handbag from one arm to the other. ‘Your underwear is all ironed, Agnes. I think you’ll find it’s nice and comfy.’

Maud cried, ‘Freddie’s mine. He belongs to me. He was going to marry me.’

‘I’ve put a shepherd’s pie in the fridge and you must promise me that you will eat it.’

‘Agnes, tell her she can’t.’

Bea ignored her sister and peered through the window. ‘I can see his car,’ she said, ‘so there isn’t much time.’ She approached the bed, but not close enough to be within reach. ‘I’ve been keeping this quiet, Maud, because I didn’t want to upset you so soon after John and everything else. Or put dear Agnes in a difficult position. But Freddie…’ a clear, happy note crept into her voice ‘… he loves me and I love him in return. He’s been very lonely since Alice died and I want to look after him. That’s what I’m good at.’

Maud pushed ineffectually at her skirt. ‘Help me. Don’t just stand there.’ Agnes did as she was bidden, and as Maud was hauled unsteadily to her feet, she said, ‘Freddie can’t possibly prefer you.’

Bea’s smile was one of quiet, earned triumph. ‘But he does. I do see your point of view, Maud, and I’m sorry for your disappointment. Ah, there he is.’

‘He’ll spend the little money you’ve got.’

‘I certainly hope he does. We want to enjoy ourselves.’ Bea leaned forwards, tapped at the window-pane and mouthed, ‘Just coming.’ She turned back to the two women. ‘We’ve made such plans, you know.’

‘Freddie…’ Maud launched herself towards the door but Agnes caught her arm.

‘Maud, don’t make it worse. It’s obviously quite decided between them.’

‘She’s stolen my -’

‘No I didn’t.’ Bea kissed Agnes. ‘Do take care and…’ she gestured at her collapsed sister ‘… I hope she isn’t too difficult.’ She patted Maud’s arm. ‘I’d better say I’m sorry because I am in a way, but not enough. It’s funny how things turn out. I thought Flagge House would be home for ever, but it’s only a stop-over after all.’

Agnes followed Bea into the passage and helped her negotiate the stairs. ‘Bea, you’re walking a bit oddly. Have you got a bad hip too?’

‘Oh, that,’ said Bea, and hauled up her skirt to reveal a wad of banknotes tucked into the top of her lisle stockings. ‘A little precaution I always take.’

In comforting Maud, who would not be comforted, Agnes witnessed a rage that was terrifying, she told Andrew when she phoned him to tell him what had happened and that it would be impossible to make any decisions at the moment.

Maud knew that she had no options left. ‘What will I do?’ she sobbed, lonely, humiliated. ‘What can I do?’

When Agnes went upstairs to investigate Bea’s room, she discovered Bea’s possessions, neatly bagged up and piled by the window. Every shelf was wiped, every corner brushed. The room was immaculate – but for the large crack that appeared to have spread across the ceiling since Agnes had last been in there.

25

Friday

Kitty was reading.

Bees are excellent home-makers but they are also committed to the good of the colony. When it becomes too crowded and insufficient, they take action. A skilled bee-keeper can always tell when they are about to swarm by the sounds issuing from the hive.

There is a shriek as the useless drones are exterminated [Kitty put down her new half-moon glasses], the starving, ageing queen cries and begs her workers to feed her. But they ignore her and continue to groom her, ready for flight and for her final mating.

When had she faced the truth and known her reign was over? When she had seen Julian’s face as he looked at Agnes? Or the lonely days and nights that had followed without Julian, who had stayed in London to deal with the crisis, and she had realized that summer was slipping away into the flux and change of autumn, and that she must quit the hive for the young, fertile queen? But she wasn’t going to be pushed out, oh, no. Kitty was going to quit on her own terms, when she was good and ready.

For weeks she had been busy and was now putting the final touches to her plans. In the drawing room she talked on the phone, first to the sweet man who managed her finances. Second, she had cancelled her Friday appointment at the beauty salon for the foreseeable future. Instead she drove into Lymouth to shop and to see her bank manager and her lawyer.

The bank manager knew Kitty well and together they talked over the options, pushing them this way and that until they reached a compromise. Eventually, Kitty rose to her feet and thanked him, but instead of bidding her goodbye he asked if she wanted to take a little more time to think over her decision.

She said, ‘No.’ Definitely no.

After a snack lunch, she abandoned her normal routine of planning the menu and sorting the linen, the weekly chores that were required in the maintenance of two houses. Instead she took herself off for a long walk along the seashore. Pink and white and yellow, the little town drowsed under an autumn sun: so pretty and prosperous. By the time she had returned to the car with ruined hair and wet feet it was past five o’clock.

Julian phoned at seven and said he would be late.

‘Fine,’ said Kitty, and sat down with a cheese sandwich to watch a television programme. At ten, she tidied up the kitchen and went upstairs to have a bath in which she lay for a long time.

I am practising to be good at this. I am practising to release my soul.

‘Kitty?’ Julian arrived at the cottage a few minutes past eleven. He let himself into a silent, empty kitchen, expecting to see his supper laid on the table. No supper was evident, and he extracted a can of beer from the fridge and trod, reluctantly, upstairs.

Kitty was in bed, reading. At his entrance, she put down her book. ‘Hallo, Julian.’

He sensed at once that her manner towards him was changed. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes.’ Unlike all those other times – those many times when, scented and sensual, she had pushed herself out of bed and run to kiss him – she made no move. ‘Busy week?’

He sank down on the side of the bed and emptied his pockets on to the bedside table. ‘The worst possible. But I’ll tell you about that later.’

She did not say, ‘Oh, please, tell me. Let me help.’ In the old days, her heart would have beaten extra fast with the desire to comfort him. But tonight there was not the answering thud in her chest. Only the still remnants of an upheaval that had arrived, ripped her to pieces, and moved on.

He was curious. ‘Is that a new nightie?’

She glanced down at the plain Viyella affair she had bought that morning. ‘Yes.’

He assessed it with the care he gave everything to which he turned his attention. ‘Not your usual style, is