Dangerous Decisions (11 page)

‘You're hurting me!'

He let her go. She rubbed at her wrist, about to protest her innocence again, but Oliver was already striding out of the room. Utterly miserable, Helena watched the door close behind him. She slumped back on to the piano stool.

That stupid, stupid man! How could he have put her in such a compromising position! To mistake what she had offered as friendship, a shared enjoyment in music. What had he said, that he was madly in love with her? Hoping for patronage was a more likely scenario and if Oliver had not appeared, Helena would have dismissed the tutor herself.

However, what hurt most was the injustice, her husband's lack of trust. How could he even think that she would betray him at Graylings, while he lay ill in bed? How could he have looked at that chaise longue and imagined …

Helena's eyes began to sting with tears of humiliation and she brushed them away as her anger rose. She deserved an apology and unless it was forthcoming and soon, Oliver would find she had her own way of expressing her displeasure.

Molly, on her way to dust one of the rarely used bedrooms, found herself almost physically brushed aside. Mr Faraday, his face like thunder, was storming out of the music room. She watched him stride away along the corridor and hesitated. Should she tap on the door to see if Miss Helena was all right? It didn't do to intrude, not between husband and wife; she'd be overstepping the mark. Besides, what if Mr Faraday came back? He struck the fear of God into her, that man.

So she continued on her way to the well-furnished room to begin its routine clean, and looking at its emptiness thought of the cramped cottage where she had grown up. The whole of the downstairs could have fitted into this little-used bedroom. It was unfair that many families had to struggle to lead decent lives in such conditions when others were born into great houses like this. Nor did they have the chance of a decent education. Poverty bred more poverty, but then it always had done. She shook out the dustsheets before beginning to polish the dressing table, headboard and footboard, all the time thinking of her own life, her own ambitions. Very few managed to escape the class they were born into, but she still had the hope that she might be different. One day to have a home of her own with a proper water closet – never again did she want to use a smelly outside privy next to a pigsty.

Oliver was in a quandary. According to the small leather notebook he kept in a bedside drawer, Helena's monthly date had been due during his illness. If she
still
wasn't pregnant, which is what he suspected, then the chill between them needed to be thawed, and soon. As for James Longford, he had already ensured with a veiled hint of unsuitability that man would never again find employment among decent families in Hertfordshire.

And so eventually one evening, Oliver went over to sit beside Helena on an elegant silk-cushioned sofa. ‘My dear – please say you will forgive me.'

She turned to him. ‘And exactly what do you want me to forgive you for?'

‘I can only plead that jealousy unbalanced my reason. I should never have accused you of wrongdoing. I'm sorry.'

‘You didn't trust me.' Helena's voice was tight with suppressed anger.

‘I promise it will never happen again.' He reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny leather box. ‘I thought – to make amends …'

‘I cannot be bought Oliver.'

‘Helena, that was not my intention; I was at fault and I admit it. But this atmosphere between us, surely you agree that it cannot continue.'

For a moment she was silent, then said, ‘I know.'

‘I wish you would accept this.' He opened the lid of the box to reveal an antique cameo ring. ‘My father gave it to my mother on their first wedding anniversary. Won't you at least try it on?'

She slipped it on to the third finger of her right hand where it fitted perfectly. It was undeniably beautiful.

‘So – please,' Oliver said, ‘are we friends again?'

Helena, aware what the question entailed, also knew that she had no alternative. She nodded.

However, when later he went through the connecting door to try again for an heir to Graylings, even he could see that Helena's bare shoulders were rigid beneath their slender pink lace straps. As he extinguished the lamps, Oliver, conscious that their honeymoon was overdue, decided to delay no longer. They would go to Italy. Surely in such a romantic country Helena would respond with the passion necessary to conceive.

At Broadway Manor, the kitchen was a hive of activity, with Cook in her element as she barked orders at her helpers.

‘I've never cooked for an MP before,' she said, putting one floury hand up to her damp forehead.

‘Yes, and this might well be a significant occasion as he's a senior member of the new Liberal Government,' the butler said. ‘There's been much talk of politics in this house during the past few months.'

She stared at him. ‘You're not saying that Mr Standish …'

He shook his head. ‘Forget I said anything, I spoke out of turn.'

But when he had left, one of the young footmen said, ‘Glory, that'd be a turn up for the books, wouldn't it. Which party do you think he'd represent?'

‘Don't be daft!' Annie glared at him. ‘He'd hardly invite a Liberal if he was a Tory!'

‘I didn't know you were interested in politics. Unusual for a girl, isn't it?'

‘There's a lot you don't know about me. I believe in women having the vote, for one thing!'

They both glanced round as Enid Hewson came in, carrying some sewing. ‘I thought I might come down here for a bit and have a cup of tea with you all.' She settled herself into an armchair.

‘I could do with a sit down too,' Cook said. ‘What news have you got? I know there was a letter from Miss Helena.' Enid sucked on the end of a piece of cotton before threading a needle. ‘Apparently they're going to Rome first for their honeymoon, then travelling on to Florence and Venice, so I suppose it'll be several weeks.'

‘It must be wonderful,' Annie said, arranging slices of cooking apples in an oval dish, before sprinkling them with lemon juice. ‘I'd just love to travel and see other countries.'

The two older women exchanged glances.

‘I think you're better off where you're known, love,' Cook said gently.

‘Where people are used to me, you mean? I certainly wouldn't want to frighten the natives!'

A new voice joined in. ‘It took me about ten minutes to get used to your scars, Annie, and you've got lovely eyes and hair, and a nice smile. I wish I had.'

‘Charlotte, you're—'

‘Homely.' The new parlourmaid gave a toothy grin. ‘Don't worry, I know. I don't mind, really. I think a nice nature's better than good looks.'

‘Well, talking of honeymoons, Ida said they had a lovely time in Colwyn Bay.' Annie went to wash her hands at the sink. ‘And it's who you're with that's important. I liked her Charlie much better than Mr Faraday.'

Elsie, the other new parlourmaid, was pouring out everyone's tea. ‘I think I've got a bit of a tummy upset.'

Cook glared at her. ‘There's always something wrong with you! If it isn't the miseries it's your health. You'd better take a drop of Indian Brandy because there's no time for you to be ill, not with eight courses to help with.'

The following morning, Jacob Standish went back into the hall of Broadway Manor feeling quietly confident. After dinner the previous evening, the conversation over port and cigars had flowed well and his views on the Irish Question and the recent formation of Sinn Féin had found favour. There had definitely been an inference, almost a promise of advancement accompanied by a promise of an introduction to Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman himself.

Seated on the sofa in the morning room, her fingers busy with embroidery, Beatrice looked up at him. ‘Can you think how proud Papa would have been – for you to shake the hand of the Prime Minister? We've come a long way, Jacob.'

As she bent her head again to her sewing, Jacob noticed that she looked a little pale. ‘Are you feeling well? You haven't got a headache?'

She shook her head. ‘I think it's just that I miss Helena. You are often away on business and … I thought, Jacob, that if you have no objection, I would rather like to have a little dog of my own, for company.'

Jacob glanced to where his own two dogs were lying, one on each side of the marble fireplace. ‘You don't suppose Caesar and Nero will object?'

‘They're getting old; you must have noticed that they sleep most of the time now. And I would have a basket for it in my own rooms.'

‘Do you have a preference for any particular breed?'

‘I'm not sure, perhaps a West Highland Terrier?'

‘I'll make some enquiries for you.' Jacob looked down at his black Labradors. ‘Poor old boys, they've been loyal friends.'

‘Did you not think it unusual that there wasn't a single dog at Graylings? A great country house like that.'

‘Actually I did query it. Like you, I thought it rather odd.'

‘And what did Oliver say?' Beatrice put down her embroidery.

‘That he didn't care for them, he found their habit of slobbering repulsive.'

‘I think Helena's husband has rather distinctive views on many things. She told me, for instance, that he will only employ good-looking servants.'

Taken aback, Jacob stared at her. ‘Are you sure?'

‘That's what she said.'

He frowned, trying to quell a feeling of unease, then became distracted as Beatrice wondered aloud about the sights Helena would be seeing in Rome. ‘Just think, even at this moment she could be standing in the Sistine Chapel. I would so love that glorious Michelangelo ceiling.'

Jacob felt a stab of guilt, knowing that he had allowed his own life, his business and political ambitions to dominate his thoughts. ‘In that case, when Helena returns, you must ask her recommendations and as soon as it is feasible I will take you.'

‘Isn't it wonderful? Look, isn't that church the Trinità dei Monti?'

Oliver came out to join Helena on the terrace with its panoramic view and gazed in the same direction. ‘Indeed it is. I see you've been doing your homework.'

‘I did read up about Rome before we left. There's a wealth of information in the library at Graylings.' Rested after the wearying journey, Helena's face was alight with enthusiasm.

‘And you like the hotel?'

‘Who could fail to?' Once a noble residence, the Grand Hotel Plaza was one of the most prestigious in Rome. The ancient city was drawing Helena deep into its heart. She even, to Oliver's amusement, tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain. ‘I want to see everything, even the Colosseum. Although I shall never understand how people could have regarded such cruelty as entertainment.'

‘But not the Catacombs if you don't mind, Helena. As an atheist I have little interest in a Christian burial site.'

Here in the midst of such piety where priests in their cassocks were a regular sight and the sound of church bells so frequent, she had realised the depth of her husband's antipathy towards religion. Helena sometimes wondered whether he had felt a hypocrite when making his marriage vows at the altar. ‘I had thought of suggesting that we attend one of the Masses while we're here. It seems a pity not to.'

‘Certainly not. I think we should leave Catholicism to the papists.'

Helena glanced away. Oliver's arrogant habit of dismissing her own wishes increasingly infuriated her. She had wanted to lunch at a small and intimate trattoria in one of the small squares, finding its red-and-white-checked tablecloths appealing, but he had insisted on returning to their cool hotel.

Before ordering her favourite dessert of zabaglione, Helena allowed the waiter to refill her glass. Her aunt might advise that a young lady should limit herself to one glass of white wine in the evening, but Beatrice had never indulged in lovemaking during a siesta.

Later as she dressed for dinner, she glanced at Jane Forrester's reflection in the mirror. ‘You've got a glow to your cheeks. I believe you're just as excited as I am about being in Rome.'

The softly spoken maid expertly pinned up Helena's hair. ‘Indeed I am. To be so near to His Blessed Holiness …'

Helena twisted round. ‘I didn't realise you were a Roman Catholic. I mean, if you'd been Irish …'

Jane smiled. ‘Oh, there are plenty of English people who are Catholic. The whole country was before the Reformation.'

With some embarrassment Helena said, ‘Of course, it was a silly remark. And Jane, you must take every opportunity you can to explore.'

‘Thank you, Madam. You're very considerate.'

‘But I do think that as this is a strange city, it might be wise to ask Mr Hines to accompany you.'

Helena saw her maid hesitate. ‘I insist, Jane. Please tell him that I suggested it then he won't be able to refuse.'

The glorious beauty of Michelangelo's ceiling in the Sistine Chapel almost moved Helena to tears and she lingered in the incense-laden atmosphere to watch an elderly woman in the eternal black of the widow, her lips moving in reverence as she fingered her rosary beads. Oliver was studying the 13th century gold mosaics and as she joined him he murmured, ‘Remembering how you admired that sculpture in Lichfield Cathedral, I'm looking forward to showing you Michelangelo's Pieta in St Peter's Basilica, but maybe we will do that tomorrow.'

She followed him past the colourful Swiss Guards and out into St Peter's Square where almost immediately she shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun and exclaimed, ‘Oliver, look – isn't that Johnnie Horton over there?'

‘Good heavens so it is, and with his mother.' A few seconds later after threading their way through a cluster of Dominican nuns, Oliver tapped his friend on the shoulder.

Johnnie swung round and his face lit up. ‘Well I'll be blowed! Mama, you remember attending Oliver's wedding a few months ago?'

Camilla Horton, a tall, aristocratic woman with silvering hair and the affectation of a lorgnette, inclined her head beneath her white parasol.

‘I'd heard you'd come to Italy for your honeymoon,' Johnnie said, ‘but I never imagined …'

‘We're at the Grand Hotel Plaza,' Oliver said. ‘And you?'

Johnnie told him where they were staying. ‘You must both join us for dinner tonight, don't you think so, Mama?'

‘Perhaps, John, these two young people would prefer to dine alone.'

‘Nonsense, they've been married for six months. They're probably bored with each other by now.'

The evening they spent with the Hortons was not the most convivial one, the conversation being mainly of Rome's historical sites; Mrs Horton told them of her earlier visit to the Pantheon, advising Oliver and Helena to visit the Cimitero Acattolico. ‘The graves of Shelley and Keats are in such a tranquil spot. Yet I was saddened to see the house where Keats lived – the Casina Rossa near the Spanish Steps – in such disrepair. There is a move afoot to turn it into a hotel of all things!' She appealed to Oliver, ‘The American poet Robert Underwood Johnson is trying to raise money to save it.' Oliver's expression remained bland.

Helena was enjoying her ricotta cake. ‘This is one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten. Your hotel has an excellent chef.'

‘Naturally, I'm always very careful where I stay.'

And her subtle coolness towards Helena continued.

‘She obviously thinks you married beneath you, because Papa is in trade,' she said to Oliver later when they were back at their apartment in the Grand Plaza.

Oliver was scornful. ‘She's an anachronism. I despise the woman.'

‘Why didn't her husband accompany them?'

‘He suffers badly from gout.' Oliver hesitated. ‘I thought you might be a little tired after our long day.'

‘I am a little.'

‘That's why I arranged to meet Johnnie for a drink. I think he needs bolstering.'

‘Having just spent an evening with Mrs Horton, I can understand why.'

The two men met in a bar in the Palazzo Venezia. ‘Did you know,' Oliver said reflectively, ‘that they call this area “the heart of the city”.'

Johnnie said, ‘To be honest I've had enough of hearing about foreign culture. At least this time next week I shall be back in London. I mean, how would
you
like to spend three weeks with Mama?'

Oliver's reply was diplomatic. ‘Well, you will have done your duty.'

‘I didn't have much choice. Don't laugh, but the person I'm really missing is Cora.'

‘Not that girl at Belle's you're always talking about? She's just a whore for heaven's sake.'

‘She's more than that, Oliver; to me anyway.'

‘Then why share her? Why not set her up?'

‘I've thought of it.' Johnnie looked morose. ‘But I'm scared of it getting out and the scandal reaching my parents. The pater's already decided it's time I got married.'

‘It won't get out if you handle it properly. I happen to know of a lease in St John's Wood that is vacant.' Oliver held up a hand. ‘No questions! Suffice it to say that I can put you in touch with someone who will arrange the whole thing – for a fee, of course. But he's totally trustworthy.'

Johnnie stared at him. ‘My word, you're a dark horse and no mistake.'

‘You're interested, then?'

‘You can bet on it.'

Oliver lit a cigarette. ‘But if you decide to go ahead, I suggest you wait until I return to England and then we can discuss the matter in the seclusion of the club. Johnnie, you must understand that this is strictly between the two of us. I want no mention of it at Graylings, or at Faraday House. Is that agreed?'

Johnnie put a finger to his lips. ‘Absolutely, old boy.'

The following morning as they enjoyed a stroll, Helena suddenly raised her parasol, peered further along the pavement and then, moving swiftly in front of Oliver, took his arm and pulled him into the shadow of an awning.

‘Whatever is the matter, Helena?'

She put a hand to her forehead. ‘I'm sorry, I just feel a little dizzy.' Over his shoulder, she could still see the two figures, the man's arm around the young woman's waist as they strolled along the Via Sacra. Helena let her hand flutter, her body slump slightly. ‘It must be the heat, Oliver. Would you mind terribly if we …'

‘Of course not, my dear, we shall return to the hotel immediately. A cool drink and a rest is what you need.'

Guessing that he would immediately assume – wrongly – the reason why she felt unwell, she felt a fleeting stab of guilt about her deception.

It was a delicate matter, but Helena knew that she had to mention it. That evening she waited until Jane had finished dressing her hair, and then met her gaze in the oval mirror. ‘I saw you this morning in the Via Sacra.'

Colour flooded into her maid's face. ‘I only took your advice, Madam – you thought it safer for me to be accompanied.'

‘Yes and I still do think that. However, I couldn't help noticing that you and Mr Hines were – how shall I put it – rather more than friends?'

Jane said nervously, ‘I'm sorry, Madam, I've always liked him, and spending so much time together and in those wonderful places, well …'

‘Romance blossomed?' Helena looked at her with sympathy. ‘Don't worry, I shall keep your secret. But if Mr Faraday had seen you, it would be a different matter. You will have to be more careful, Jane, especially when we return to Graylings.'

‘Oh Madam, thank you, and we will.' Helena watched the straight-backed young woman leave the room. The indoor staff knew that if any of them became involved in a relationship they would lose their jobs. Opinion was widely held that among servants only the threat of dismissal prevented promiscuity. Helena might feel the rule harsh, but she would be helpless to prevent its application.

Then a few days after meeting the Hortons and shortly before they were due to leave Rome, Helena began to suspect that she might be pregnant. Once they reached Florence, she began to grow ever more hopeful. Strangely, the inter-connecting door between their bedrooms remained closed and she wondered whether Oliver too suspected. To her relief, her feelings towards him
were
beginning to soften; she did so long to be able to love him as a wife should, and if she really were carrying his child then surely that would bring them closer together …