Dishonored (13 page)

“I saw you,” she said, “I saw you tonight, with someone, with…” She broke off and the few seconds Phillip waited seemed
to last forever. “I saw you with another woman, Phillip!” she cried suddenly. “My God, I couldn’t believe it, I saw you kiss
her, I saw…”

“Stop it, Suzy!” he hissed. “Stop it!” He could sense the hysterics in her voice; he knew the signs. “Calm down! Please.”
He kept his voice steady, his breathing controlled. He didn’t want her to catch his fear. “Suzy, listen to me, listen, just
for a moment.” He looked down the hall at the bedroom, still dark, and willed Jane to stay in bed. He took a deep breath.
“Suzanna, I made a promise to you, only a few weeks back, I promised you something, didn’t I?” He waited, holding his breath.

“Yes, but…”

“I said that I wouldn’t let you down, that I’d find a way for us. Did I say that, Suzy?”

“Yes.”

“Suzy, you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing and I won’t disappoint you, I promise. Please, you have to trust me!” She
was crying still, he heard her sniff but she was calmer, he could feel it. “You will trust me, won’t you? You know that I
want what’s best for both of us?” His voice had changed, he was cajoling, persuasive. “Please? Hmmm?”

Suzanna lay her head back against the sofa as she held the receiver and closed her eyes. She trusted him, she always had,
and she knew, she knew from the sound of his voice that he loved her, she didn’t need any more words, any more talk, she could
tell. She had always been able to tell.

“I trust you,” she said quietly. She felt the room spin for a moment and opened her eyes quickly. “You won’t let me down,
will you?”

Phillip heard her words slur. “No, I won’t let you down.” He shivered again, more from relief than cold. “Go to bed, Suzy,”
he said. “You’re tired; go and tuck yourself in bed and try to get some sleep.”

“Yes, yes I’ll do that. You always look after me, don’t you, Phillip?” She closed her eyes once more and felt the spinning,
only she was too tired to open them again. She swallowed down the faint taste of nausea and let her head flop to the side.
“Goodnight, darling,” she murmured. “I love you, I…” She dropped the receiver back into its cradle and curled on to her
side. “I love you so much,” she whispered, but Phillip didn’t hear her; she had cut him off.

Phillip held the phone for a few moments longer, then quickly replaced the receiver. He rubbed his hands wearily over his
face and turned toward the bedroom. He felt sick, sick and cold and miserable but he knew he had to go through with it. He
walked down the hall and softly clicked the door open.

“Jane?” He heard the rustle of the sheets and moved toward the bed. “I’m sorry about that, Jane,” he whispered. “It was business.”
And he sank gratefully into bed beside her and curled toward the warmth and comfort of her body.

T
HE WEATHER HAD STAYED WARM THROUGH
M
ARCH AND INTO
the beginning of April but the middle two weeks it began to rain. It rained almost continuously for seven days and as Jane
sat at the table in the dining-room, the soft light of the candles flickering on the polished wood and the hum of conversation
around her, she watched the water run down the long panes of glass in the sash windows and make complicated vertical patterns
that merged into each other and disappeared as quickly as they formed. They fascinated her but as she glanced up around the
table, she saw that her father was watching her and quickly tuned back into the conversation, smiling briefly at him for catching
her out. She turned her head toward Phillip on her right, holding court, with Clare, her mother and Teddy all focused on him,
absorbed in his story, and felt a glow of satisfaction. She took a sip of wine and listened.

“So what happened next?” Clare demanded, a mixture of horror and curiosity on her face.

“Well, the bird Colonel Mills had found was apparently one of a pair and the Indian had the other one. When he fled the state,
he swore vengeance on the British and on Colonel Mills and his family for splitting the pair, killing his father and ruining
his life.” Phillip stopped to take a sip of wine before he finished his tale. “And, as far as we know, this oath still exists
to this day.”

“Ooh!” Clare shivered. “How incredible! Weren’t you terrified going to India, Phillip? I would have been.”

Phillip smiled. “I should think it’s all forgotten by now, Clare. I’m the first Mills to go there since the whole episode
‘supposedly’ happened and I’m not sure there’s any real truth in it.” He shrugged. “I should think it’s pretty safe and, of
course, I’m terribly brave!”

Clare laughed and turned to Jane. “Isn’t that the most amazing story, Janey?”

Jane smiled. “Of course, but then Phillip has great skill at story telling.”

Phillip placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice, Jane Bennet?” He smiled.

“No, me?” The whole table laughed.

“And you’ve seen the bird have you, Jane, in the British Museum?” her father asked.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful. Stunning in fact.”

Clare shook her head. “I’m surprised that you ever went to India, Phillip! I wouldn’t step foot anywhere near danger like
that.”

“That’s why you’re not in the army,” Teddy said, smiling.

“Did your family’s connection with India have much influence with your present job, Phillip?” Brigadier Bennet asked.

“No, I don’t think so, sir. Of course it was useful that I had been to India when this appointment came up and that I’d some
experience of the customs and culture but I don’t think I was appointed as equerry for those reasons.” He shrugged and finished
his glass of wine. “Jane, that was a superb dinner,” he said, patting his mouth with his napkin. “And an excellent Burgundy,
sir. Thank you.”

“Jane is a very good cook,” Mrs. Bennet said. “She always cooks for us when we entertain, doesn’t she, John?”

“Yes, yes she does.” He smiled at his daughter. “And Clare washes up usually. Clare is an excellent washer-upper, isn’t she,
Teddy?”

Teddy laughed. “Excellent.”

“Now, would you like a brandy, Phillip, or a glass of port?” Brigadier Bennet stood and went to the sideboard. “Teddy? You’ll
join me in a port, won’t you?”

“Please.”

Phillip went to stand as Jane got up to help her mother with the plates. “Don’t get up,” she said quietly, her hand on his
shoulder. “We’ll leave you to it,” she called across to her father.

“Don’t you want a brandy, Janey?”

Jane shook her head.

“What about your mother? Caroline? Like a glass of something?”

“No thanks, John. I think we’ll do the dishes and put the coffee on.” Mrs. Bennet had started removing the plates and handing
them to Clare. “Make sure the fire’s stoked in the sitting-room will you?” she said, as she held the door open for the girls.
‘We’ll join you in there in half an hour.” And she followed her daughters out across the hallway and along the passage to
the kitchen.

“Isn’t he divine?” Clare whispered to her mother as Jane stood across the kitchen from them covering leftovers in tin foil
and packing them in the fridge. “He’s besotted with Jane as well!”

“Hardly besotted,” Jane called over to them. “We get on well, that’s all there is to it!”

Caroline Bennet shook her head and continued stacking dishes by the sink. She didn’t want to get involved; it was Jane’s business
and it should stay that way. She put the last plate on the pile and turned the taps on full blast to fill the sink, squirting
a measure of Fairy Liquid under the running water. She hoped it wasn’t serious with Jane and Phillip. He seemed a nice enough
man, she thought, as she watched the sink fill up, but Jane hardly knew him and before long he’d be off again to India and
Jane would mope around the place making everyone’s life a misery. She wrenched the taps off and reached for her rubber gloves.
What on earth was Jane doing inviting him down on Mrs. Jones’s day off, it really was too much. Dinner parties were all very
well but only when the help was in, any other time simply shouldn’t be considered.

“Pass me the plates, will you, Clare?” Caroline said, turning to her daughter. “And, Jane? You can dry.”

Jane started and looked around. She had been staring out at the rain again, at the remains of it drying on the window. “Yup,
sure!” She bent in toward the fridge, placed the last wrapped packet in and then closed the door. “Just coming,” she said
as she straightened and she walked over to join her mother and Clare.

“So I start feeding them in about May, as soon as the weather turns really, but I’m always careful. I measure each feed and
catalogue it so I never lose track.” John Bennet broke off and took a puff on his cigar. Phillip had asked him about his roses
so he’d told him, pity the young man didn’t have the courtesy to listen to the answer. He waited, finished his port and turned
toward Teddy. “Pass the port please, Teddy.”

“Certainly.” Teddy reached for the decanter and passed it to his left. Phillip glanced up.

“I think the rain’s stopped,” he said as the brigadier poured himself another small glass of Taylor’s. “I wonder if you’d
mind me asking Jane to show me your roses, sir? See what all this careful feeding has produced.”

John Bennet smiled. He had been listening, just looked as if he hadn’t. “It’s John,” he said. “Please, Phillip, call me John.
And not at all, I think Jane would love to show you the roses, she’s almost as good with them as I am.”

“Thank you, John.” Phillip stood. “If you two gentlemen will excuse me?”

“Certainly.”

Phillip moved toward the door. This was a lovely room, the French cherrywood table was so finely polished that the wood glowed
in the candle light and reflected the image of the rose bowl, heavy with David Austin’s Old English roses. He glanced at the
seventeenth-century Dutch paintings on the walls, only knowing as much because Jane had told him so, and then at the long
sash window where the garden trailed on seemingly forever outside. This was a lovely house, it was the perfect background
for him, and it added to his determination.

“We’ll be in for coffee,” he said, and John nodded. Quickly, before he lost his brandy-fueled nerve, he left the dining-room,
crossed the stone flagged hallway and found his way along to the kitchen. He knocked and then walked straight in.

The garden did go on forever, Phillip thought, as he followed Jane on past the rose beds and through an arch in the box hedge
to another level of lawn, edged either side by an English country garden border, the scent of budding lavender and sweet peas,
hollyhocks and honeysuckle strong in the damp, rain-filled air. He reached for her hand and she turned to glance at him over
her shoulder.

“The kissing seat is down here,” she said. “Right at the very end of the garden.”

“Is it especially for kissing?”

Jane smiled. “No, not especially.” They continued on, Phillip’s shoes getting increasingly wet from the grass and his socks
beginning to feel clammy, until they reached the white wrought iron bench against a hedge of wild roses that grew over a bramble
bush. Jane took the tea towel she had brought in her pocket and wiped the seat down.

“Here you are.”

“D’you mind if I stand?” Phillip dug his hands in his pocket and moved away from Jane. He glanced down at the longer, thicker
grass and felt the hem of his trousers saturate. Not quite what I’d pictured, he thought. “Erm, Jane?”

Jane had sat and was looking behind her at the bramble bush to see how much fruit it would bear that September. She turned
to look at him.

“Jane, I wanted to speak to you about something,” he said. “Something important.”

Jane put her hands in the pockets of her Barbour and crossed her legs, the top of her welly hitting the bench as she did so.
“I thought as much,” she said quietly. “It’s very unlike you to ring at the last minute and invite yourself down.” She shrugged
and smiled to cover her disappointment. “What is it?” She had been waiting all evening for this, it was probably the old elbow
but at least he had the decency to tell her to her face.

“Well, I feel a bit embarrassed to be honest,” Phillip said. “I’m not really sure where to start.”

“Just say it,” Jane answered. “Get it out in the open.”

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “OK.” He cleared his throat and Jane thought, oh boy, how to make a right dog’s dinner of it. She
switched off.

“Jane, will you marry me?”

“That’s OK, I was expecting it anyway.”

“Sorry? Jane, did you hear what I said?”

Jane raised her head; she was sick of humoring people. “No, what did you say, Phillip?” she asked with weary sarcasm; he obviously
wanted to make things absolutely clear.

“I said, will you marry me?”

Jane narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “You said what?”

Phillip held down an irritated sigh and wondered briefly if she was making fun of him. “I asked you to marry me, Jane.”

Jane stared at him. “I see,” she said.

Phillip stood where he was, his socks now sodden, and felt a spot of rain on his face. “Is that all?”

“Well, no, it isn’t.” Jane bit her lip. “Why?” she asked.

Phillip came over to the bench and sat down next to her. “Why do I want to marry you?”

“Yes. Why?”

This was the part he had rehearsed: perfectly. “Because we make a good couple. Because we get on very well, we have a lot
in common.” He took her hand. “You’re intelligent, witty, attractive, kind and I think you’d make a very good wife for me,
Jane.” He kissed the palm of her hand. “We’re compatible in bed as well, that’s very important.”

Jane took a breath and held it, then she let it out very slowly, in one long exhalation. She felt momentarily shocked by what
he’d just said; she felt dizzy, she tried hard to think straight. Phillip hadn’t mentioned love, but then why should he? They
couldn’t possibly fall in love in a matter of weeks, love took years, it took marriage and children. What he had said made
sense, they did get on well, they did have friends in common and they were certainly compatible in bed, that was something
she had never expected! Love would come, surely? Love would grow. That’s how one would view it rationally. Was it possible
to view it rationally, she thought, putting her hand up to her flushed cheek. She looked at him.