‘What does discerning mean?’
‘It means you have good taste and know a rotten apple when you see one.’
Julia frowned. ‘You mustn’t repeat what Ralph has just said, Charles.’
‘Why not?’
‘Your father wouldn’t like it.’
‘But Father’s not here.’
‘True. But he’ll be home soon.’
‘Maybe he’ll get stuck in the snow somewhere,’ said Ralph with a smile.
‘I hope he does,’ said Charles. ‘It’s a lot more fun without him.’
‘Darling,’ said Julia, ‘that’s not a nice thing to say.’
‘Well, it’s not nice some of the things Father says or does. I like it better when it’s just us. I’m going sledging again!’ And off he ran, happier than she had seen him in a long time.
‘As I say,’ muttered Ralph, ‘the boy has discerning taste.’
‘Ralph, please don’t turn him against his father, it wouldn’t be fair or right.’
‘Strikes me that Charlie has made his mind up already. And if you don’t mind me saying, you’re looking and sounding a lot better today than you did last night when I arrived. You have some actual colour in your cheeks.’
‘That’s because of the cold.’
‘No it’s not. You’re beginning to feel alive, aren’t you? And more importantly, strong enough to stand up for yourself. You mustn’t let my father push you around anymore.’
Ralph was right to say she was feeling better; she was. And that was down to him. Being able to tell him everything that had been going on, and him believing her, made all the difference. For days she had been out of her mind with worry, desperately trying to think what she was going to do. Had she made a terrible mistake visiting Hope in hospital and telling her the truth? She had gone to church desperately wanting the power of prayer to calm her nerves, but it had made her feel even worse.
But this morning, after talking late into the night with Ralph, she woke up feeling a lot clearer-headed. Somehow, she had to escape, just as Ralph said. But when she thought how Arthur might react, how angry he would be, a shiver of fear ran through her. It made her wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to make more of an effort to be a better wife to Arthur. Surely she could do that for Charles’s sake, couldn’t she? If things could just be like they were in the beginning, because it hadn’t been so bad then, had it?
‘You mustn’t lose your nerve, Julia,’ said Ralph, as though picking up on her thoughts.
‘But what if loving Arthur more could help change him?’ she said. ‘It’s only when I do something wrong or annoy him that he becomes angry. It’s . . . it’s my fault he does what he does. If I just tried harder to please him, to be a more dutiful wife, maybe he—’
Ralph brought a stop to her words by clamping his hands down on her shoulders and making her face him head on. ‘Listen to yourself! Can you not hear how crazy you sound? Your husband ran his own sister over and is prepared to blame you if it gets out. How will loving him more change that?’
‘It’s because deep down he’s scared.’
‘No, it’s because deep down he’s evil! And trust me, when he’s had his fill of making your life hell, he’ll move on to Charles, if he hasn’t already.’
‘He wouldn’t! Not a defenceless child.’
Ralph removed his hands from her shoulders. ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘he would. He did it to me, so I know what I’m talking about. It’s just a matter of time, I assure you. He’ll never change.’
Her voice cracked as she asked, ‘Did he hit you?’
Ralph looked at her incredulously. ‘Did he hit me? My God, he thrashed me! And took too much pleasure in it, I swear. The man’s a sadist. With a father like that, is it any wonder I’ve turned out the way I have; feckless and with a pathological loathing for him?’
‘Mummy!’ shouted Charles. ‘Do you want to come on the sledge with me?’
Before she could answer, his tone urgent, Ralph said, ‘You must leave him, Julia. Do it for your son’s sake, if not your own. He’s a good kid. It would be the best Christmas present you could give the boy.’
The thought of her precious son coming to harm, of him being thrashed, made Julia feel unimaginable pain. It strengthened her resolve. ‘Will you really help me?’ she asked.
‘I told you last night I would. And I meant it.’
‘But why? Until now you’ve never really liked me.’
He smiled. ‘Call it a Road to Damascus change of heart.’
Her gaze wavering from his, she gave a small gasp.
‘What is it?’
‘He’s home.’
Ralph twisted his head and followed her gaze. There at the upstairs landing window was Arthur Devereux staring down at them.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Ralph
His father’s blatant displeasure at seeing him was matched only by his disapproval that Julia had so obviously been enjoying herself.
‘My wife might at least have made more of an effort to welcome me home properly after the awful journey I endured to be here,’ he complained, his temper simmering darkly in his eyes.
‘We had no idea what time to expect you,’ Ralph said.
‘And I had no idea that you would be here,’ his father snarled across the drawing room. ‘I don’t recall inviting you.’
‘I invited him,’ said Julia. In the dwindling light, and moving silently, almost invisibly, around the large drawing room, she was switching on lamps.
Arthur turned from where he was warming his enormous porcine backside in front of the fire. ‘You?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured, now absently straightening a cushion in one of the armchairs. ‘Christmas is a time for family, so I thought it would be nice for us all to be together.’
It was an audacious lie from Julia and impressed, Ralph went along with it. ‘I accepted the invitation in the hope it would give me the opportunity to apologise to you, Father,’ he said. ‘I was rude to you that evening at your club. I’m sorry.’
His father regarded him with disdain. ‘You can drop the act of contrition; I’m not taken in by it. I’ve seen it too many times before. You can leave first thing in the morning.’