A Well Kept Secret (32 page)

“I suppose so,” she sighed. “I’m just being silly. I expect I’ll be all right in the morning. It all just sort of caught up with me tonight. June tucked me in just like mum used to, and I think that’s what did it. I couldn’t get to sleep; all I could think about was mum, and I wanted to cry, but crying wasn’t going to bring her back, was it?
 
I’m sorry I‘ve gone on about it; you have enough things to worry about without me being so babyish.”

“You are not being ‘babyish’ as you put it, at all,” he assured her as he give her another affectionate squeeze, “I’ve told you; that’s what dads are for; to share things with, both good and bad! I really do understand how you feel, because I feel very much the same. Maybe what you suggest is a good idea, or maybe it isn’t, I don’t know. Look, I’ll make you no promises, but I really will give it a lot of thought; maybe I can find a way round all this. There, does that help?”

She nodded, and slipped off his lap. “I’d better drink my cocoa,” she said, giving him a shy sort of smile as she returned to her seat the other side of the table. She took a few mouthfuls and then set the mug carefully down in front of her as she fixed her father with a watchful eye.

“Why don’t you marry her, dad?” she asked slowly and deliberately. “I’m pretty sure she likes you, and I think she’s great!”

“
What?
” he exclaimed in astonishment.

“Then she wouldn’t have to go away, would she?”

“Bev,” he said, hastily gathering his scattered wits together, “you can’t just go around marrying people off just because you think it might be a good idea!”

“You agree it’s a good idea then?” she asked hopefully

“No it isn’t! For a start, you are forgetting that June is already a very respectable married woman!”

“Oh,” Beverley said, immediately looking crestfallen. “I guess that makes it a bit awkward? I don’t know why, I just thought that, well, maybe she was a widow, or divorced, or something?”

“She is a married lady, and I am quite sure that if I suggested to her what you are suggesting to me, she would be most offended!”

“But you do like, don’t you?” she persisted.

“Yes, of course I like her, but that’s not the point is it? I mean, I like lots of people, but I don’t go round expecting to, well, you know!”

“Then if you can’t marry her, I wish she was at home, and not Mrs Croft,” she said defiantly.

Martin looked at her reproachfully. “Oh Beverley,” he said sadly. “I know what you mean, but that is not a very kind thing to say, now is it? Mrs Croft has been a real rock for us since your mum died. I think she would be terribly hurt if she could hear you say that.”

“I know; I’m sorry,” she admitted unhappily. “I just don’t know what I’m saying tonight; I just miss mum so much.” She picked up her mug and drained the last of the cocoa. “Sorry I’m being such a nuisance,” she said, trying to force a little smile onto her sad face. “I’ll be ok in the morning. We both miss her, and I don’t make life any easier for you, do I? I’m really sorry.”

“I keep telling you, you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he said kindly, and as he spoke she rose from the table and came and flung her arms round him once more. “I’ll go back to bed now,” she whispered after a few moments. “Don’t sit down here brooding too long, will you dad?”

“Good night, Bev; no, I’ll go up myself in a few minutes once I’ve cleared everything away.”

She finally released her hold and went over to the door. “Goodnight, Dad,” she said quietly, and she disappeared, closing the door quietly behind her.

Martin sat staring at the door for some minutes after Beverley had vanished through it. If he had been unsettled before she had come, he felt ten times more so now that she had gone. It didn’t help that he also now felt terribly guilty about not having considered her feelings more when tragedy had overtaken them. Viewed in retrospect, it had been so incredibly selfish and unfeeling of him just to assume that she was coping. The girl had lost her mother, and that had to be so much worse than a man losing his wife. It was also painfully true what she had said about their home; it was alive with echoes of Alicia. Everywhere one went, there were reminders of her. He would never be able to forget her, but maybe Beverley was right, living in her shadow only made matters worse. But could he really ever consider selling his home;
their
home? It was like acknowledging that she was gone, never to return. But she
was
gone, and he was clinging to the past in seeking to deny it. The question he continually shied away from was could he ever bring himself to let go? He didn’t know, and he mentally backed away from trying, even though his common sense told him that at some stage he would have no choice than to move on. Alicia was dead, and pining for her would never bring her back, and meanwhile her shadow hung over everything. Somehow, he just
had
to let go of the past; he had to make a new life for Beverley and himself.
Somehow
!

He thought again of Beverley’s words that had so shaken him: ‘why don’t you marry her?’ Was that what he really wanted; a replacement for Alicia?
 
It was cruel even thinking that way, June couldn’t be a replacement for anybody, she was an individual in her own right, and even if it ever became possible, it could only happen if he wanted her for herself. Suddenly, he wished that he had never decided to come to Springwater House, that he had never met June, that he didn’t have to face up to these unanswerable questions. But wishing that was pointless; he had come, and now he really didn’t know anything about anything anymore.

He rose from the chair with a feeling of self-disgust and mechanically set about washing up the cocoa mugs and putting everything away before finally wending his way up the stairs once more. At the top of the landing he tiptoed along to the girl’s room, and he quietly opened the door just a crack and peered in. He could see the dim form of his daughter snuggled under the bedclothes, and as far as he could tell she was asleep. He closed the door again and returned to his own room. Sleep was still as far away as ever, and he stretched out on the bed, picking up a novel that reposed on the bedside table. He tried to focus on what was written and soon found that although his eyes were scanning the words, they were conveying no meaning. Finally he put the book aside in despair and lay gazing at the ceiling, his mind still revolving in the same endless circles.

He had been lying their fruitlessly pondering for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when he was brought back to reality as he heard the faintest of clicks, and glancing across the room, he saw that his bedroom door was slowly opening. His mind immediately leapt to the possibility of an intruder, and tensed himself ready to leap from the bed to deal with the situation. The door opened slowly and quietly, and then to his complete astonishment he saw June’s head peering round at him.

“I saw your light on,” she said softly.” I hope you don’t mind; I need to talk to you. I know I should wait until the morning, but I can’t rest until I have.”

For once in his life, Martin was completely taken aback; June was the very last person he expected to see at his bedroom door. His first thought after the possibility of an intruder had been that Beverley was still having trouble sleeping. That it might be June had never crossed his mind. He could see the uncertainty on her features, and he pulled himself together with an effort as he swung himself off the bed to stand upright.

“Come on in,” he said at once. “I hope nothing terrible has happened?”

She slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her as she turned to face him. She wore a light dressing gown, tied neatly at the waist with a cord, over what appeared to be silk or nylon pyjamas, with her feet in small slippers. She leaned back against the door as she closed it, doubt and uncertainty written large on her face.

“Are you quite sure you don’t mind?” she asked. “I shan’t be offended if you would rather I left?”

“Of course not,” he responded encouragingly, wondering what on earth could have tempted her into venturing into his room at such an unearthly hour. “I can see that you are worried or upset about something; come over here and sit in this chair and tell me what’s on your mind.”

He pulled the bedside chair into position adjacent to the side of the bed, and moving hesitantly, she came over and sat gingerly on the edge of it. As soon as she was seated, he sat himself down on the edge of the bed facing her.

“I won’t say I’m not surprised,” he said lightly, hoping to put her more at ease. “I wondered if it might be Beverley.”

“I just couldn’t sleep,” she said, flashing a quick self-conscious smile of acknowledgement. “I had so much on my mind. Telling you about, well, things, it brought it all back. I thought that since I got away I had come to terms with what had happened, but I haven’t. It was like reliving that nightmare all over again. I’ve been pacing up and down in my room all night. I eventually gave in, and went downstairs to make a drink. I got as far as the kitchen, and then I heard voices.”

She stopped and looked at him, obviously finding it difficult to say what she felt she needed to.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she continued hesitantly, “but when I heard you and Beverley talking, and my name mentioned, I couldn’t help myself. I’m very sorry.”

“I don’t see that there is anything to apologise for,” he said, soothingly. “It’s the sort of thing that might happen to anyone.”

“Maybe, but it is what I heard that made me worry even more, and that is why I had to come and talk to you. I know I should have waited until the morning, only what with everything else, well, I just couldn’t, and then when I saw that your light was still on.” She fidgeted uncomfortably and added; “Perhaps I really should go now? I’m being particularly stupid and I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you.”

She made as if to rise from the chair, but Martin put a light restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Please don’t go,” he asked quietly. “I don’t quite know what you heard, but if it was anything you have taken offence at, I’ll apologise here and now.”

She hesitated for a split second, and then slumped back in the chair again.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” she said sadly. “I’m so mixed up, I just cannot see my way clear to do anything.”

“I can appreciate only too well how you must feel,” he responded, thinking of all the sordid details she had poured out earlier. “I’m sure it will come right in the end.”

“You think so?” she asked bitterly. “I would so much like to believe that you were right, only I doubt it. I doubt it very much indeed”

“I’m so sorry to hear you say that. If you will only let me try, perhaps I really can help?”

She looked at him, and he could see the doubts and worries flitting across her features. It was so evident that she wanted to say something, and yet lacked the courage to come out with it.

“Can I be disgustingly blunt with you?” she blurted out suddenly as she watched for his reaction with anxious eyes.

“Of course.”

“I’ve told you; I know how you feel about me,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes and I can read it in your manner. I will even admit that I feel for you as I have never felt for another man in my life. What you need to understand is that even if I was a free woman, I cannot be yours; no matter how much either of us would like it to be otherwise, because it simply isn’t possible. I know you must think I’m utterly stupid; I’ve been pacing my room for hours, actually yearning for you, yet at the same time fearing and hating you!”

“Please, June,” he protested. “I’m sure it cannot be as bad as that?”

“But
it is
, don’t you see?” she said in an anguished voice. “The plain simple truth is that I don’t think I’m capable of 'normal' feelings anymore; I’ve been abused by men all my life, and the thought of you touching me both thrills and yet repulses me so much that I feel physically sick!”

She jumped up from the chair, turned as if to run from the room and then stopped. She took a deep breath and deliberately sat back in the chair again and faced him with an anguished expression on her face. “Shall I really shock you?” she whispered, “Do you know why I
really
came to you tonight? I’ll tell you; I came to your room with the intention of getting into your bed, to make you believe I was eaten up by physical desire for you, to force myself to go through with it just to prove to myself that I was a woman and not a freak! And do you know what is worse than that? Once I was inside your door I knew that
I just couldn’t do it
!” She paused, looking at him as if expecting some sort of shock or recrimination.