Barbara Taylor Bradford - Playing the Game

It pleased Annette that Laurie was as interested in art as she was, and that she had a job she loved, and which gave her a life. Also, she was proud of her little sister, who had made a career for herself with courage and determination. I’ll take her to New York, she decided all of a sudden. I’ll take her to the auction. We’ll go by ship: that would be a nice way to travel for a change, a little holiday. When they went to Europe they used a private plane, so flying was easy, but she was not sure Marius would let her charter a plane to take Laurie to the States. Seven and a half hours was a long flight for her sister. Yes, a sea voyage would do her good.

This decision to include Laurie brought a smile, a sudden feeling of happiness, and Annette finally left her desk, went back to bed, knowing she would soon fall asleep. But she did not … the past intruded; another memory slid out from one of its dark hiding places, and she heard them again, those innocent little girls, heard their voices in her head and floating all around her …

‘My name is Marie Antoinette and I am Queen of France. Come and dance.’ Another lilting voice echoed in the air. ‘I am Empress Josephine, favourite of the French, and there’s my husband Napoleon sitting on the bench. Emperor of France. Come and dance …’

Their voices fell away in receding echoes, and the light changed in the cold and silent house where evil lurked in the shadows … and as night came down, the girls lay trembling in their beds, always afraid now that he had come back. The monster, they called him.

‘He’s coming,’ Josephine whispered, her voice trembling. ‘I can hear him outside the room.’

‘Stay quiet, stay still,’ Marie Antoinette whispered back. ‘Slide down, pull the blankets over your head. Don’t make a sound.’

The door opened. He came creeping in, knelt down next to Marie Antoinette’s bed. He slid his hand under the bedclothes, touching her legs, lifting her nightgown, pushing his fingers into her, harder and harder, pushing them higher, hurting her. Pain shot through her. His head came down on her mouth; she tasted stale beer, averted her face and began to shake all over. ‘Please, please don’t do this,’ she begged. But he did not stop, pushed harder. She cried out again in pain. His head came down next to hers on the pillow. He harshly snarled, ‘If you make another sound, I’ll kill her. Understand?’ Terrified, she took a deep breath, pleaded with him: ‘Don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her. ‘ He did not answer. His response was to pull off the bedclothes, drop his trousers and climb on top of her. He was more intoxicated than usual and could not do it tonight. He fell against her, breathing hard, his weight heavy on her. She tried to push him off, tried to slither out from under him, found she could not. Suddenly, in a rush, the door was flung open and bright light from the hall flooded the room. Alison was flying in, shouting angrily. Their cousin pulled her drunken brother off Marie Antoinette, dragged him out of the room. He was like a limp rag at first. Unexpectedly he came to life. He jumped up, pushing Alison away, but she grabbed him, struggled with him, fought him. She was tall, strong and sober. Even though she was more terrified than ever, Marie Antoinette peeped around the door again. Her grandfather appeared, hurrying out of his room, shouting at Gregory. He was fighting Alison, beating her. They had moved across the landing, were struggling hard, were too close to the top of the stairs. It happened in a flash. Marie Antoinette brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream as they both fell down the stairs. They landed in a heap in the hallway at the bottom. They lay still. Neither moved.

A cacophony of sounds. Grandfather shouting. Gregory shouting back. Not a sound from Alison. She went back to Josephine, crept into bed with her, put her arms around her and held her close … protectively, lovingly. The six-year-old girl was sobbing; she endeavoured to comfort her, stroking her red-gold hair, holding her close, promising to look after her always. And she did.

They had been sent away from that dangerous house after that … those sweet innocent girls … sent to live with their mother, and things got worse …

The scene was so vivid, so real, Annette wept into her pillow, filled with hurt for those tender little girls. She wept herself to sleep. And the memories of that fateful night of long ago stayed with her for days.

‘And I had this fantastic idea. I’m going to take you to New York with me in September. We’ll sail on the Queen Elizabeth and you’ll be at the auction and we’ll have fun. You would come, wouldn’t you?’

Laurie could hardly believe it. Annette was inviting her to go with her to New York, where she’d never been, for the auction! Excitement rushed through her. ‘Of course I’d come. I’d love it, being there with you.’

‘Then it’s a done deal, darling.’

‘Wonderful! I’m thrilled.’ There was a moment of hesitation before Laurie said, now haltingly, ‘But what about Marius? Will it be all right with him?’

‘It really doesn’t have anything to do with him, does it?’ Annette answered swiftly, almost sharply. ‘Anyway, he’ll be pleased, I’m sure. He likes you to participate in things. And, more than likely, he’ll be there himself.’

‘That’s great. I can’t wait until September.’ Laurie had a huge smile on her face as she said goodbye to her sister, and put the phone down.

As she sat at her desk in her flat, her happiness knew no bounds. The trip was going to be a fantastic experience, and her head was reeling. Slowly she settled down, peering into her computer, but within minutes her mind was far away from her work; she pushed her wheelchair back, rolled out of the office, across the foyer and into the kitchen. Angie, her carer and live-in companion, was talking to Mrs Groome, the housekeeper who came every day to clean and cook.

They both glanced around, as she paused in the kitchen doorway, and saw Laurie. Her face was flushed, her expression reflecting her enormous happiness.

‘Annette’s going to take me to New York in September!’ she exclaimed. ‘When she has the next auction.’

‘Isn’t that wonderful!’ Angie cried, beaming at her.

Mrs Groome looked surprised, but sounded pleased when she interjected, ‘It’ll be a really special trip, going there with your sister. And isn’t she the one, a proper darling, she is, always thinking about you, caring about you. She’s an angel.’

‘That’s true and there’s nobody quite like her in this whole world,’ Laurie agreed. ‘But I’d better get back to work, I just wanted you both to hear my exciting news.’ The two women smiled at her as Laurie headed back to her office.

It took Laurie a few minutes to settle down, to calm herself; then she finally returned to her desk and her computer, to tackle the last three pages she had to write. She was completing an in-depth study on Manet for Malcolm Stevens, and he was coming to collect it later in the day. In the past six months she had done a great deal of research for him, and they worked well together. Malcolm was a lovely man, and part of the business ‘family’, in a certain sense. Laurie knew he was one of her sister’s admirers, in a platonic way, and a good friend, forever reminding them all that he watched Annette’s back at all times.

An unexpected cold shiver trickled through Laurie, and she sat back in her chair, stared blindly out of the window in front of her desk. Her thoughts went to the phone call Annette had received from Malcolm, who had told her sister that someone was looking for Hilda Crump, was asking questions about her. This had alarmed Annette and she understood why. They did not need someone delving into their past. Their past spelled trouble for them.