Jessie Keane - Lawless

‘It’s just so sad,’ she mumbled against his shoulder. ‘That poor man, and that’s my uncle, and I never even knew him. He killed her. That’s so terrible. And they’ve got children, I don’t know them either. And they’re orphans now. It’s… horrible.’

‘Daise…’ Rob was kissing her hair, burrowing his face into her throat.

‘And the dog!’ Daisy stiffened. ‘Oh God, the dog’s going to starve in there, no one knows he’s shut in the kitchen!’

‘Fuck’s sake, Daise, I’ll phone the RSPCA from a phone box later on, say I’m one of the neighbours and I can hear him barking. Don’t worry.’

Daisy slipped her arms around him, cuddled in close. ‘It was awful,’ she muttered.

‘I know,’ he said, smoothing her hair back from her eyes, kissing her salty cheeks.

‘Oh God, Rob,’ she said, and their mouths met, and that was it. He gave up, gave in. There was nothing else he could do. ‘I’m such a mess,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘I cry at anything, and I’ve got this temper…’

‘It’s your hormones, after having the kids. My sister was the same. You can’t help it.’

‘And my breasts leak milk all the time, it’s embarrassing…’

Rob took Daisy’s breasts in his hands. He didn’t give a toss whether they leaked or not, they were delicious, fabulous, deeply erotic.

‘They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous,’ he said, and kissed her again, and couldn’t wait a moment longer. He lifted her, slipped his cock easily inside her. Nothing had ever felt so good.

‘Oh God – Rob!’ she cried out as he filled her.

He’d been fighting this for so long, but now he was lost and he didn’t care. He made love to her, right there in the shower. And it was better than he could ever have dreamed it would be.

Ruby phoned the London place first, but there was no answer. So she called the other house and told them she was on her way. She wrote a note for Daisy and placed it in their usual spot for messages, on the hall table. As she passed the mirror she saw her strained reflection there and thought back to that day when she took the phone call from Bella, and all that had happened since.

Blood will flow…

Maybe this would be an end to it.

She went upstairs and packed the essentials in her small overnight bag and got one of Kit’s boys to drive her to the railway station, where she got the train to Oxford. From there, she took a taxi out to Albemarle House, way out in the Oxfordshire countryside among a vast patchwork of fields and huge stretches of open country.

Finally the house loomed up, very tall, constructed in the sixteenth century, boasting a massive long gallery and a priest’s hole, a knot garden and a ha-ha. The home of Lord and Lady Albermarle.

Vi was expecting her. She opened the front door herself, a broad smile of welcome fixed to her face. She looked the same as always – polished, well groomed, her red bob sleek, her fingernails red, a mist of Devon Violets all around her.

‘Rubes! Well, this is a bit of a surprise. I’d have been back in town next week, you didn’t have to come all this way. What’s happened? Where’s the fire?’ she asked with a laugh. ‘Let me take your coat. An overnight bag! Are you staying in Oxford?’

Ruby nodded.

‘No, you must stay here. No arguments!’

‘I had to speak to you,’ said Ruby, letting Vi take her coat, stepping into the cavernous hallway with its walnut wood panelling and its vast array of hunting trophies.

A myriad of dead deer stared accusingly down at her from the walls. There was no fire in the big stone fireplace today. It felt cold in here, and as usual the place smelled faintly musty. In the winter, it was a freezing house to live in, Vi had told her. Thick cardies and hot water bottles were the order of the day. Good job the aristocracy were tough, she always joked.

‘What, it couldn’t wait?’ asked Vi, leading the way over to the drawing room.

‘It couldn’t wait,’ Ruby confirmed.

They went inside. The drawing room was decked out in damask pink with faded tapestries on the walls. Two hard-backed couches were pulled up in front of the empty fireplace. Vi indicated that Ruby should sit down, and gratefully she did.

‘So!’ said Vi brightly, sitting opposite. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure? You sounded a bit grim on the phone.’

Ruby eyed her friend steadily. ‘I felt a bit grim.’

‘Oh dear. Troubles?’

‘Some, yes.’

‘Come on then, what’s up? That’s what I’m here for.’

That’s what I’m here for. It was so ironic, that statement, that it made Ruby want to laugh. Or cry. She reached into her bag, drew out the record sleeve.

‘What’s this?’ asked Vi, leaning forward, all interest.

‘Here. Have a look,’ said Ruby, and handed it over to her.

Vi kept her face amazingly straight as she looked at the writing on the sleeve: I’m Still in Love with You.

Then she looked up at her dearest, oldest friend, her face puzzled. ‘So? What are you showing me this for?’

‘Because I’d like the truth,’ said Ruby. ‘Also, because that’s your handwriting.’

‘What…?’ Vi was looking from the writing on the sleeve to Ruby’s face. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Rubes.’

‘At first I thought it was Betsy’s. You went to the same school as her and me, but you were a couple of years above us. And they were very keen on us all having that uniform super-neat writing in those days, weren’t they? There was a left-handed girl in our class and they used to tie her hand behind her back to force her to write with her other hand. So everyone came out of class with this same neat, well-formed writing. Although I believe that left-handed girl came out with a nervous stutter too. My writing’s similar to yours, to Betsy’s. But not quite the same; my loops are bigger. Yours and Betsy’s are very alike, I think that’s a family thing. That’s what confused me at first. But now I can see it. That’s not Betsy’s writing at all. It’s yours.’

Vi’s smile had vanished. ‘I don’t know-’

‘It is your writing, isn’t it, Vi?’ asked Ruby, her voice hard.

Vi looked up at Ruby’s face. She swallowed, then nodded.

‘That was in Michael’s record collection.’

‘Rubes…’ Vi was shaking her head.

‘You gave it to him.’ Ruby was staring at Vi as if she had never seen her before.

Vi was notorious – and it had always struck Ruby as amusing, a friend’s foible – for chasing men, for being seen out on the town with her young, handsome ‘walkers’ while her elderly husband stayed here on his estate. It didn’t strike her as funny any more.

‘Rubes, please…’

‘ You gave it to him ,’ said Ruby forcefully, cutting across Vi’s feeble words.

Now Vi’s face became set, mutinous. ‘All right. OK. I did give it to him.’

Ruby took a breath. Vi might as well have stabbed her in the heart.

‘Why?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why would you do that?’

Vi’s eyes slipped away from Ruby’s. She shrugged. ‘Michael was… well, I found him very attractive. You did, why shouldn’t I? And I suggested to him that he and I… well, just a fling, you know? A little bit of fun.’

‘Oh God.’ Ruby stared at Vi’s face. ‘You’re not even his type,’ she said dazedly.

Michael’s taste in women had always been for the dark, the exotic. Like his Italian-born wife Sheila; like Ruby herself. He hadn’t cared for blondes, or redheads.

‘Don’t look at me like that. You’ve no idea what it’s like, married to…’ Her voice trailed away.