Chapter Forty-Nine
Venetia wished she had never given in to the whim of returning to Hope Hall in the foolish belief it would bring her closure and peace of mind. If she’d only stayed where she was, her beloved Bon-Bon would still be alive and she wouldn’t be cursing herself and that wretched boy, Finlay.
She didn’t care what the child’s mother said, or how vociferous her denials were, Venetia knew in her bones that Bon-Bon was dead because of something that boy did.
And the sheer nerve of the woman shouting at Venetia the way she had and dismissing Bon-Bon’s death as being of little importance compared to losing a child.
How dare she say that Bon-Bon could be easily replaced! To Venetia, a life was a life!
All life, so Lady Constance used to say, was sacred and equal in the sight of God.
‘Including nits?’ Venetia had asked during a Religious Instruction class which Lady Constance was in charge of. They’d just had a few weeks when all the children were lousy with nits and poor Edie Buckle was beside herself while waging war on the beasts and eggs that infested their heads.
‘Perhaps we could make an exception in the case of nits,’ Lady Constance had said with a smile.
‘How about fleas?’ someone else had asked.
‘And rats?’ piped up another.
And what about bullies like Terry Sands? Venetia had thought.
Closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, Venetia cast that memory from her mind, and thinking how quiet the apartment was, she looked around the sitting room wondering where Bon-Bon had got to.
Her body responded before her brain did and feeling as though she had been punched in the chest and the air knocked out of her, she reached for the back of an armchair to steady herself and then sat down heavily, a tremble running through her.
It was not the first time something like this had happened since Bon-Bon had died, but the pain of it didn’t lessen with each occurrence.
She knew that it was going to take time to break herself of the many habits and rituals that had developed between her and Bon-Bon.
Like the way he’d see her tote bag and immediately hop into it because he knew they were going out.
Sometimes he even went in search of her bag and dragged it towards the door because he’d decided it was time to go somewhere.
She missed the way he’d comically pricked up his ears when she was talking to him as though he were hanging onto her every word.
She missed how he had loved to sit on her lap, and would sometimes jealously nudge the book or newspaper she was reading out of her hands so she would give him her full attention.
She missed the way he’d circle round and round in his basket, arranging himself and his blanket until all was just right before settling down to sleep.
She especially missed his presence on her bed at night.
Oh yes, she’d been one of those dog owners who had proclaimed at the outset that no dog, no matter how sweet, would ever sleep on her bed.
That rule had soon fallen by the wayside and now more than anything she wished she could still be woken in the morning by a small black nose nudging at her cheek.
Seized with a wave of tearful emotion, she went over to the drinks cabinet and with a shaking hand, poured herself a tumbler of whisky.
She was just about to toss it back in one large restorative gulp when there was a knock at the door.
She debated whether to answer it. But then, and following what she’d overheard earlier, or imagined she’d heard, she wondered if it was Cassie wanting to explain and apologise for the noise.
Venetia had fallen asleep in the armchair that afternoon – sleeping so badly at night these days a daytime nap often crept up on her.
This time she had been woken by strange noises coming from Cassie’s apartment above hers.
She couldn’t be sure, the walls and floors were so thick and solid, but it sounded like something being thrown.
Then there had been a cry, or possibly a scream.
But equally it could have been a piece of furniture being moved and emitting some sort of squeal of resistance, like the castor of a chair or sofa.
It had fleetingly crossed Venetia’s mind to text Cassie to see if everything was all right, in case it had been a cry she had heard, but she really didn’t want to be that kind of neighbour, the type who poked her nose into other people’s business.
There was another knock at the door and downing the whisky in one long swallow, she went to see who it was.
It was Nina. ‘I shan’t mind if you tell me to go away,’ she said, ‘but I wondered if you might like some company and something to eat. That’s if you haven’t eaten already.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be the best of company right now,’ Venetia said.
‘You don’t have to be. And I understand that you might prefer to be alone. I’d have hated anyone turning up unannounced like this on my doorstep when Hugh died, so send me packing and I won’t take offence, I just wanted you to know that—’
‘It’s fine,’ Venetia interrupted her, not wanting to hear the words I was thinking of you one more time. ‘I haven’t eaten,’ she said. In fact, she couldn’t remember if she had eaten anything that day.
‘How does poached salmon with lemon rice followed by Waitrose’s finest frangipane tart sound?’ Nina asked.
‘It sounds delicious,’ replied Venetia and meaning it. ‘But are you sure you have enough for two?’
‘More than enough.’
There was something irresistibly soothing about being in Nina’s company, and her apartment.
As Venetia had noted before when she’d been here previously, there was no clutter, and no extravagance of design on show, just an unpretentious palette of soft hues of sand and cream with a hint of silver here and there.
On the walls there were, as you’d expect, a collection of beautiful paintings, a mixture of watercolours, acrylic and oil that included bucolic landscapes, seascapes and still lifes.
Nothing jarred on the eye, or the senses, and Venetia imagined that nothing in the apartment had been placed there by chance, and yet the artful simplicity of it all combined to create a beautiful oasis of calm.
It had an oddly cleansing effect on Venetia, as though allowing her permission to take a moment to hit the reset button and clear her mind of all its turbulent disorder.
Then there was Nina herself who looked so right in this oasis of tranquillity.
There was nothing about her that jarred either.
Softly spoken and dressed in what modern parlance referred to as lounge knitwear – loose-fitting silvery-grey trousers and a matching hoodie top, probably made of cashmere – there was a pleasing economy to her flowing movements as she steadily went about the business of preparing their meal, rhythmically chopping, mixing, stirring, and seasoning.
In what seemed like no time at all, she was soon placing two appetising plates of food on the table and inviting Venetia to sit down.
Their wineglasses filled from a bottle of chilled Sancerre, Venetia said, ‘Thank you for inviting me to join you. Much to my surprise, I feel better already for being here with you.’
Nina smiled. ‘I’m glad you agreed to come. But please don’t feel under any obligation to say yes another time. In no way does this set a precedent.’
‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness,’ responded Venetia. Then: ‘When we were coming up the stairs you mentioned that you wanted my advice. Was that true, or was it a ruse to lure me here?’
‘It was true,’ said Nina. ‘I wouldn’t dream of insulting your intelligence by lying to you. However well meant,’ she added.
‘So how can I help you?’ asked Venetia after she’d eaten a few mouthfuls of the salmon and lemon rice and declared it the best meal she’d eaten in days.
‘I have a situation which requires careful handling, very careful handling and I’m hoping you might be able to offer some advice.’
‘Is this something to do with you and Jakob?’
A faint blush instantly adorned Nina’s beautiful face – she really did have the loveliest of cheekbones – and she shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing to do with Jakob.’
Regretting the assumption she’d made, Venetia was annoyed with herself. ‘I’m sorry for jumping in like that, only I know how nervous you were about taking things further with him. Forgive me, please.’
‘You have nothing to apologise for. I’m happy to say all is well in that department of my life.’ The blush on her face intensified. ‘Although the age gap is never far from my thoughts, I can’t deny that.’
‘But if the gap was the other way round, you probably wouldn’t give it a second thought, would you?’
‘I know what you’re saying, but what troubles me is when I think of the long term and how the gap might feel then.’
‘Is anyone talking about long term?’
‘No,’ Nina said with a frown, ‘but I don’t want to waste time investing myself emotionally in something that might not go the distance.’
‘Good grief, do you think your twenty-year-old self would have thought like that? That young girl would have just looked forward to the next date and that would have been enough. Wasn’t that how it was when you met Hugh, you simply put one foot in front of the other and took each day as it came?
Can’t you do that now? Because take it from me, don’t let an opportunity to be happy pass you by or deny you the chance of an adventure.
Life is full of toss-of-the-coin moments. And regrets.’
‘You should know me well enough by now that toss-of-the-coin moments are really not my thing, I always err on the side of caution.’
‘But you took a risk on Hugh, dare I suggest?’
With a small moue of bemusement, Nina said, ‘I often wondered what he saw in me as I was the complete opposite to him; he was such a daredevil and a serial risk-taker.’
‘Maybe you were his greatest risk and challenge, the one that really gave him the biggest thrill. Did you fall in love with him straight away?’
‘No, anything but,’ Nina said, her face brightening with a smile. ‘I thought he was arrogant and had far too big an opinion of himself!’
Venetia smiled too. ‘I knew somebody like that a long, long time ago. Somebody I grew to love very much.’
‘Did he love you in return?’
‘Yes,’ she answered in a faraway voice. ‘He did. Sometimes I wished he hadn’t because then …
’ She swallowed, not sure she should continue, not sure that her emotions were strong enough right now to recall the loss she’d felt all those years ago.
First love, as they say, is the love you never forget or get over.
She sipped her wine before going on. ‘Because then he wouldn’t have run away and in so doing broken my heart. ’
‘Was this Lucien who you mentioned to me before, your special friend when you were here as a child?’
‘Yes,’ said Venetia softly.
‘Why did he run away?’
Because, Venetia said silently in her head, we both did a terrible thing and by him disappearing it made it look as though only he was guilty.
‘It’s a long story,’ she murmured.
‘I’d like to hear that story,’ Nina said in a tone that Venetia found beguilingly persuasive, ‘if you’re happy to share it with me.’