Ocean Child Page 7

  ‘Where have you been?’ Maurice’s hair was ruffled, his eyes wild in his gaunt face.

  Lulu tamped down her impatience as she pushed past him. ‘With Dolly,’ she said shortly. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘What did the solicitor say?’ Maurice followed her down the hallway.

  Lulu dumped her shopping bags and keys on the table and took a deep breath. ‘The papers are genuine,’ she replied, turning to face him in the narrow confines.

  ‘So you’ll be selling the horse?’

  ‘No, Maurice. Dolly and I are going to Tasmania.’

  ‘But you can’t!’ he exploded, his fingers raking through his hair. ‘I need you here.’

  Lulu’s energy was rapidly ebbing. ‘We had this argument this morning,’ she said quietly, ‘and I don’t wish to continue it. I have made my decision, and neither you nor Clarice will stop me.’ She reached out to touch his arm, but he shrugged her off. ‘I’m sorry, Maurice,’ she murmured, ‘but I have to do this. Please try to understand.’

  ‘I don’t understand at all,’ he said plaintively. ‘You’re being selfish, Lulu. You know I can’t function properly without you.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ she said flatly, ‘and if you stopped thinking about yourself for a minute you might realise that it’s you being selfish – not me.’ She turned and headed for the kitchen, all too aware of his heavy tread behind her.

  The silence was oppressive as she waited for the kettle to boil, but she was determined not to be cowed by it. There had been enough drama for one day, and she simply didn’t have the energy for more.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he declared into the silence. ‘It wouldn’t be safe – two girls on their own without a chaperone.’

  Alarmed, Lulu gathered her wits. ‘You know that isn’t practical, but bless you for thinking of it,’ she said quickly. ‘We both know you hate being on the water, and as the journey will take at least six weeks, it would prove far too much for you.’

  His chin sank to his chest and she reached across the table for his hand. She was too kind to point out that he couldn’t afford such a trip, but perhaps she could persuade him to make the best of her absence. ‘Why don’t you consider taking in another artist to share the studio while I’m away,’ she suggested. ‘That would give you a bit of income as well as company, and before you know it, I’ll be back.’

  ‘Bertie suggested I should go to the artists’ colony in Newlyn to get a fresh perspective on things.’ He eyed her through his lashes. ‘He was here this morning.’

  Lulu went cold. ‘And, of course, you couldn’t help but tell him about my plans?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t think they were secret,’ he said defiantly.

  She snatched back her hand. ‘You really are the limit, Maurice. You knew I wanted to tell him in my own time.’

  ‘Well, I saved you the bother, didn’t I?’ He looked away. ‘He’s not exactly delighted you’re leaving him in the lurch, but then you don’t seem to care what any of us feel.’

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘You haven’t rung Clarice as well, have you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Then I’d be grateful if you left me to do it. It’s really none of your business, and Clarice needs careful handling.’ His expression remained mulish. ‘I’m sorry, Maurice, but I can’t live my life with you in my pocket – not any more. It’s time for us both to stand on our own feet and get on with things.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ he muttered. ‘Some of us don’t have your advantages.’

  ‘Don’t do this, Maurice,’ she warned. ‘You’re a talented artist with a private income as well as your army pension. You have a home, and a studio. If you don’t like my suggestion about lodgers, then go to Newlyn.’

  ‘I won’t know anyone there. I was hoping you might come with me.’

  Lulu’s emotions were in turmoil as she looked at the bent head and narrow, slumped shoulders. ‘Oh, Maurice,’ she sighed, ‘you know I can’t.’ Receiving no response, she stood and folded her arms. ‘Newlyn could be a new start – a chance to broaden your talent, and get well again in all that lovely sea air and sunshine. Give it a try, Maurice, please.’

  He shrugged and refused to look at her.

  Lulu’s patience finally wore too thin. ‘It’s late, and we both need a good night’s sleep. Go to bed, Maurice and perhaps tomorrow you’ll see things more clearly.’

  He scraped back his chair and stood before her in abject misery. ‘Don’t go, Lulu, please.’

  Her soft heart melted and she hugged him. ‘I need to go back home, Maurice. I’ve waited so many years to face the demons that have haunted me, and now I have the chance I can’t walk away from it.’ She could hear the rapid thud of his heart through his shirt, felt his arms tighten around her as if he would never let her go.

  ‘Home,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Such an emotive word, isn’t it?’

  She nodded, afraid to speak in case it broke the spell.

  ‘Home means peace, comfort and kind memories,’ he murmured. ‘I can understand why you need to go.’

  Lulu almost smiled at that. Home meant different things to different people, and a great many of her memories were dark and painful.

  He held her at arm’s length, his expression enigmatic. ‘We all need to go home sometime,’ he said quietly.

  Lulu’s pulse raced as she looked up at him. ‘Does that mean … ?’

  He nodded, kissed her forehead and stepped back. ‘Your heart is obviously still there, so you must go, Lulu.’

  ‘And you? What will you do?’

  His smile echoed something of the young man he’d once been. ‘Oh, I’ll think of something,’ he murmured. Pulling on his moth-eaten jacket, he headed for the front door. ‘Goodnight, Lulu. Sweet dreams.’

  She closed the door behind him and leant against it with a sigh. It felt as if she was in the middle of an emotional tug-ofwar, but at least Maurice seemed to have accepted her decision. Independence was far harder to attain than she’d ever thought possible, and she could only pray that Clarice and Bertie would be as understanding.

  *

  The telephone rang an hour later, just as Lulu was about to get into the bath. Clucking with annoyance, she wrapped herself in a towel and answered it.

  Bertie’s voice rasped down the line. ‘We have things to discuss.’

  ‘I was going to call you tomorrow. I’m sorry you heard it from Maurice—’

  Her apology was drowned out by his tightly controlled, angry voice. ‘Come to my house tomorrow. Twelve sharp, and don’t be late.’ He disconnected the call.

  Her hand trembled as she replaced the receiver. Bertie was a man who didn’t appreciate being thwarted. His powerful presence was daunting enough at the best of times, but when crossed, he was truly terrifying. Lulu clambered into the bath and burst into tears. She was sick of being bullied.

  *

  The bright sunlight streaming through the windows seemed to mock her. Lulu hadn’t slept well and had little appetite for breakfast. She dressed in a cotton frock and cardigan, and tried hard to boost her courage for the forthcoming meeting by adding a dash of scarlet lipstick and a dab of her favourite perfume. She had to remain focused – had to stand her ground and try to come to a compromise with Bertie – otherwise her career would be over before it had really begun.

  Haynes, the butler, opened the door to Bertie’s mansion, his expression haughty as usual as he showed her into the panelled library and quietly closed the door.

  Lulu was too restless to sit down, and she glanced repeatedly at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece as the time ticked away. It was past noon. Bertie had obviously decided to keep her waiting, thereby making her even more nervous.

  She eyed the walls of books, the large oak desk and the deep leather chairs. It was a man’s room, redolent with cigars and whisky, the few paintings depicting hunting scenes, the plaster busts of long-dead poets and statesmen adding an almost mus
eum-like quality. The heavy oak door muffled any sound from the rest of the house, but the tick of the clock seemed to emphasise the silence. Restless and uncomfortable she went to the window and stared out at the garden. This was worse than being in a dentist’s waiting room.

  ‘You have a lot of explaining to do.’

  She whirled to face him, her heart thudding. The aura of tightly controlled anger was almost tangible as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the desk. ‘I’m sorry,’ she began.

  His dark gaze never left her as he lit a cigar and leant back in the chair. ‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘Is that an apology for not coming straight to me – or because you’ve been caught out?’

  Lulu perched on the edge of a nearby chair, her handbag grasped on her knees. ‘Maurice shouldn’t have told you,’ she said, ‘I was going to …’

  ‘It’s a good thing he did. Otherwise I would have been made to look a complete fool.’ His dark brows lowered. ‘And I don’t appreciate being made to appear foolish, Lorelei.’

  ‘I never meant—’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps now you have come to your senses and given up on this mad idea of going to Australia, we can discuss the commissions.’

  Lulu licked her lips. Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. ‘I haven’t given up on it,’ she managed. ‘The commissions will be dealt with, but after I return.’

  Bertie rose from his chair, his towering figure blocking out the light from the window. ‘You’re supposed to be a professional,’ he roared, ‘and professionals don’t run off to Australia and leave their clients in the lurch.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll understand,’ she said hastily. ‘The pieces you sold can be dealt with by the foundry, and I’ll do all preparatory drawings for the commissions before I leave and—’

  ‘It’s not good enough,’ he snapped. ‘Those commissions were ordered in good faith. I will not have you letting me down like this.’ He glared down at her as she bit her lip. ‘I am a patron of the arts,’ he growled, ‘and you – you are just one of hundreds of artists scrabbling for success. You should be grateful to be in such a good position.’

  ‘I am,’ she said stoutly, ‘and of course I realise I wouldn’t have come so far without your sponsorship.’

  ‘Then you’d better explain yourself, Lorelei,’ he snapped.

  His use of her full name was warning enough to tread very carefully.

  He sat in stony silence, his dark gaze never wavering from her as she told him everything.

  ‘England is your home – your birthplace,’ she continued. ‘Imagine you’ve been forced to leave it – made to adapt to a different life, forced to change everything, even the way you speak. I have to go back, Bertie – not just because of the colt – but because I need to find who I am, and where I came from, so I can put the missing pieces together and finally be whole.’

  He stubbed out the cigar and rose from the chair, hands in pockets as he turned his back on her and stared out of the window. ‘You have put up a fine defence,’ he muttered, ‘and I can understand why you feel as you do.’ He turned towards her and rested his large hands on the back of his chair. ‘But you are on the brink of great success here. Do you really want to risk everything on a whim?’

  ‘It’s not a whim.’ Lulu stood so she didn’t feel at such a disadvantage. ‘I’ve wanted to go home ever since I landed here.’ She looked into his eyes, silently pleading for him to understand and give her his blessing. ‘My work is important to me, Bertie. I have no intentions of letting this chance slip away.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He dug out his pocket watch, flipped open the casing and stared at the dial for a length of silence. ‘These are wealthy, influential clients who don’t appreciate being let down. Neither do I.’

  ‘You have my word that I’ll fulfil my promises,’ she said evenly.

  Bertie took a deep breath, closed the watch and returned it to his pocket. ‘Have you spoken to Clarice about this?’

  ‘Briefly.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I take it she doesn’t approve either.’

  Lulu shook her head. ‘It seems I can please no one.’

  ‘Perhaps you should heed our advice,’ he said. ‘It’s time you grew up, Lorelei, and faced your responsibilities. Neither Clarice nor I deserves to be treated like this after all we’ve done for you.’

  She balled her fist as the anger shot through her. ‘Do you know what, Bertie? I’m sick of being grateful,’ she retorted. ‘What you and Clarice have done has always been appreciated – and I know how lucky I am – but I’m not prepared to live the rest of my life feeling beholden to everyone. I’m fully aware of my responsibilities and mature enough to know my own mind. This visit home might be inconveniently timed, but there it is. I’m going, and no one will stop me.’

  His dark eyes held a twinkle of amusement as he strode across the room and opened the door. ‘I’m going to my club,’ he said. ‘The chauffeur can drop you home on the way.’

  Elated by her ability to stand up to him, she was nevertheless terrified that she’d gone too far. ‘There’s no need,’ she muttered.

  ‘There’s every need,’ he drawled. ‘If Maurice is ever going to produce something worth selling, he needs to go to Newlyn. It’s time that young man stopped feeling sorry for himself and woke up to the real world.’

  ‘The world in his head is very real,’ she replied. ‘Please don’t bully him.’

  The black eyebrow rose. ‘I hardly think you’re in the position to tell me how to speak to Maurice. You don’t seem to realise just how much work goes into sponsoring you, and frankly, if I have any more nonsense, I’ll wash my hands of both of you.’

  Lulu meekly followed him as he strode into the hall and ordered the butler to have the car brought round. During the silent short drive to her flat she could think of nothing to say, but her thoughts were in a whirl. As the car came to a halt, she gathered her courage. ‘I won’t let you down,’ she promised, ‘and neither will Maurice.’

  Bertie’s stern expression softened. ‘You’re a talented artist, and I’d be a fool to risk you being snapped up by someone else. Take your holiday to Tasmania, Lulu, but on your return I expect great things from you.’

  The relief was immense. ‘Thank you. You won’t regret it.’

  ‘Let’s hope not.’ He frowned as he eyed the house. ‘Perhaps I ought to come in and have a word with Maurice. Newlyn could be the making of him, you know.’

  She stepped out of the car and searched in her handbag for her keys as Bertie joined her on the pavement. ‘I expect he’s in his studio. The light is just right at this time of day.’

  The door opened on to a square hall tiled in black and white diamonds, and the elegant staircase curved up towards the attic studio. Sunlight poured in, sending splashes of colour across the hall from the stained-glass window above the door.

  Lulu stepped inside and froze. The silence was profound – as if the house was holding its breath – but in that silence she could sense an ominous foreboding. She took another step into the hall, the hairs on her arms and neck rising with some unidentified fear.

  There was a long shadow cast across the hall. Lulu followed that shadow fearfully, her gaze travelling upward.

  Maurice was hanging from the top banister rail.

  Lulu’s screams echoed in the white space.

  ‘Call an ambulance,’ shouted Bertie as he pushed her aside and raced up the stairs, digging frantically into his pocket for the penknife he always carried.

  Galvanised into action, Lulu reached for the telephone.

  Alerted by her screams, the chauffeur came hurtling into the hallway. He rushed to take Maurice’s weight as Bertie began hacking at the dressing-gown cord.

  Lulu urged the ambulance people to hurry before racing up the stairs. One look at the colourless face and staring eyes was enough. Maurice had been dead for some time.

  ‘We must try and resuscitate him,’ she shouted as the two men laid him on the f
loor.

  ‘It’s too late,’ Bertie said, pulling her away from the inert figure. ‘He’s gone, Lulu.’

  ‘No, he can’t have,’ she sobbed. ‘There must be something we can do.’

  His hands were gentle but firm as he drew her into his arms. ‘He’s already cold,’ he murmured, as she collapsed against him. ‘He must have done it early this morning.’

  ‘I should have known,’ she continued. ‘Why didn’t I see it coming? Oh, God, Bertie, what have I done?’

  ‘Maurice’s mind was always fragile – it was sadly inevitable that this would happen some day. I suppose the thought of you leaving him behind was just too much.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been more caring,’ she muttered bitterly through her tears. ‘I should have listened to him – really listened and not …’

  ‘Hush now, Lulu. It was not your fault.’

  But it was – it was – and as the minutes ticked by Lulu became ever more convinced that her actions and harsh words had led to this tragedy. She replayed the scenes of the previous day. The signs had all been there, but she’d been blind to them – not wanting to see.

  Her heart was struggling and it was hard to breathe – but her own discomfort was nothing compared to the mental torture Maurice must have experienced to do such a terrible thing. The guilt was overwhelming – surging through her in wave after wave until she thought she would go mad.

  The police arrived at the same time as the doctor. Lulu sat in Maurice’s kitchen, listening to their voices and the tread of their feet as Bertie took charge in his usual, calm and orderly manner. She was numb with shock, unable to think straight or speak coherently. Maurice was dead – and already the house echoed with the void he’d left behind.

  ‘I’ve given them a statement,’ said Bertie some time later. ‘Come, Lulu, I’ll take you back to my place.’

  Lulu let him lead her down the steps to the car, but she moved like a sleepwalker, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, needing only to curl up and blot out the memory of Maurice hanging from the banister railing.