The Intimates (18 page)

Barbara responds very quietly, with menacing restraint. I lean out further to catch her words. “What is embarrassing, daughter, is how out of your depth you were this evening. Did you not notice that?”

A pause.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

I hear the clatter of cosmetics, the scratching of a hairbrush. “Did you not look around you at any point Georgina? Did you not notice how many achievers there were at the party? Did you not feel even a little out of place?”

There is silence for a moment and then the sound of repetitive pacing. “You don't get it, do you?” Georgina replies. “You have no idea why I brought you here this evening. You just can't work it out for yourself, can you?”

“I don't have time for this.”

“Well I'll make the time for you mother. I'll work it out on your behalf. I brought you here tonight because I wanted you to see the effect of that little agreement you parents made all those summers ago. When you all decided to push your little children to each achieve something great. I wanted you to spend just one evening with the people whose lives were wrecked by that decision. You're too pig-headed to look beyond their achievements and glamour; but every one of The Intimates is a ruin. A decaying, crumbling ruin, twisted by self-hatred. Permanently dogged by the idea of what they
think
they should be. Not people at all; just petri dishes for you to all plop your ambitions inside.”

“As usual, I have no idea what you are talking about Georgina. All I know is that everyone here has gifts that they have used to a greater or lesser degree. Everyone except you. Because you have no talent.” The final words are whispered in a deadly monotone.

When Georgina replies her voice is raised, slightly hysterical. “You're so pathetic! As if that matters. You're still living in the past. You think you're a movie star, but you were never one in the first place. You were just a piece of cinematic fluff. And yet you carry on like you're Greta Garbo, embarrassing yourself day after day. Can't you see that?”

Barbara is silent.

“Every second of the day you're living this failed dream. When you realised your time had passed you tried to channel your ambitions through me. But then something occurred to you, didn't it? That it would be easier to take all of your bitterness and spite out on your daughter. I can't believe that I brought you here tonight to try and get you to see the consequences of your actions. To try and perhaps mend things between us. That could never happen. You're too pig-headed!”

“How dare you!” Barbara screams, and half a beat later I hear the shattering of glass.

There's a smattering of muffled shouts, the sound of rinsed glass. “Don't blame me if your career is over. Don't you dare blame me!”

Barbara curses something inaudible back. It sounds understated but viciously sharp.

“Let's not go there.
Let's
not go there,” Georgina hisses. “Your boyfriend was right, he was right all along. I've read your diary mother. The one you left in the garage? I know what happened.”

Barbara seems to have fallen silent.

“Oh yes, you listen to me now, don't you? Because you know that I know the truth. And that is what makes me right, and you wrong about all of this. It was you that let my brother die. You wrote in the diary that you knew very well the au pair would not be experienced enough to handle two young babies. You knew that before you even employed her. And yet you pursued employing her and her alone. And then after only a few weeks she left both of us unattended in the bath – and only I survived it. And yet in your diary you don't express grief, you don't mourn. No, nothing like that. You just mention how much more
manageable
your life will now be. I won't ever know if you planned the whole thing, if you wanted both of us out of your life. But what I do know is that you hired that au pair with your eyes wide open. You knew only too well how inexperienced she was. You knowingly neglected both of us until one of us died. You killed my brother.”

The last words are barely completed when the air is filled with a terrible scream, followed by the sound of more shattered glass. Then a sickening thump, as if a body has been thrown against furniture. I hear the trickling of shards, a series of pleas which seem threatening but edging towards apology. “You've – ” Barbara starts, and then she screams agonisingly, a scream that turns to an anguished sob as if she's consumed with pain. Has Georgina lashed out at her? Stabbed her?

I realise that I have to intervene. I have to separate them. I have to see if Barbara is alright, to find the source of that terrible scream. I wonder if it is all in my mind, but the awful chill in my blood tells me that it is very real. I stagger to the entrance, look wildly around me for the stairs.

“Barbara?” I fly downstairs, to the room directly below. But it's empty, curtains flying with abandon at the window.

“Barbara!” I shout, wondering if the two of them are perhaps slumped in the corner, but scouring the room I see that it is empty. I tear outside, and a voice catches my ear. It is a short, sharp scream which punctuates the still air.

“Get away from me!” it screams. “Get away from me right now!” It's accompanied by a protestation that's indisputably male.

The sound has come from downstairs, from the library where James and I were, earlier that evening. But as I run in the direction of it, through one of the doorways to my side I see a flash of dark hair that I'm sure is Carina's. Then that male voice again.

“You destroyed me! You rejected me, reduced me to nothing – and now I'm going to do the same to you.” There is a sickening curdle to the voice which it takes me a moment to recognise. Finding the room it emanates from I see James, brandishing a large fire poker at a cowering figure in the corner of the library. My blood stops as I see it is Carina. James' other hand is pulling at his belt, his shirt looks unbuttoned. Carina is trembling against a wall of books, her eyes wide with fear. She sees me behind him as I enter the room.

“He's gone mad! He's trying to – he's trying to – ”

With Carina's dress torn, and the hand James now has clasped to her thigh, I can see exactly what he is trying to do.

“Don't try and trick me into thinking there's someone there,” James leers, taking a step closer to her. “It's just you and me, and I'm going to get what you've been promising me for years.”

On a small table by the doorway is a half-empty bottle of champagne. As I grab it James turns towards me with a triumphant leer in his eyes. He swipes the vast poker in my direction, dashing a drinks trolley. I leap back, inches from its terrifying arc. I dash the bottle against the wall and raise its jagged edges at him. The sound of it breaking shocks James, who steps in my direction with the poker. I see now that it's so hot, the tip is glowing.

“Get away from her,” I say, as confidently as I can. “Get right away from her James; you're not going to do this.”

“Vincent? You have no idea how pleased I am that it's you who's come to her rescue. After all, it's you that has thwarted my destiny so far. Do you not feel even slightly ashamed for all the false advice you have offered me through the years?”

“James come on, this isn't you,” I whisper.

“Are you really threatening me with something?” he asks, turning fully towards me for the first time. “I thought perhaps you had accidently broken a bottle, but now I get the impression you are actually trying to threaten me with that little weapon.” His whitened eyes shine in the light from the chandelier above. His hair is wild and his shirt open enough to reveal a scarred, naked chest.

“I'm not threatening you with anything. I just want you to let Carina go. Come on James, the poor girl is terrified.”

“Poor girl? Your poor girl? She is not yours – she is mine.”

Carina screams, tries to wriggle to her feet. James roars in fury and swipes at her with the poker. It tears across a row of books, scorching them in a jagged black line. Some of them start to smoulder as Carina crawls towards me. “Vincent, stop him!”

“Don't you touch her!” James roars.

He raises the poker above his head and smashes me across the chest. I collide with the door in perfect time with Carina's scream. I clutch my chest, doubling over, before thrusting a desperate hand towards the bottle I've dropped. I don't even have time to brace the extraordinary pain as James brings the poker down on me again. But Carina's screaming makes him miss, and he only just catches my neck with its end. As I roll on the floor beneath him, he tears it across the back of my shoulders, and bending over with cautious precision he smashes it again into my chest. A horrible cry emanates from my throat, one of begging rage. My hands tremble for the bottle, finally grasping it and jabbing it in his direction. I need to threaten him with something, something that will frighten him off me. My mind is still with me but my body is now moving much more slowly.

“Leave him James!” Carina cries.

“Come here!” he orders her, as I cower into myself. My head spins; I try to gather composure. As I come to, I see that James is pushing Carina onto the floor, trying to pull off her dress. I launch myself into him and throw him against the bookcase. He raises the poker to swipe me again as I elbow him in the face and his hand opens. Bending over to retrieve the poker I kick him back into the wall of books, and his head catches against it. His body drops unconscious for a few precious seconds.

I grab Carina's hand and pull her behind the wall of books. Too late I realise this hiding place allows him to block our way out. Carina lunges towards a light switch, hoping the semi-darkness will work in our favour.

Leaning against one of the book stacks, we both hold our breath. Carina clutches herself to me. I hope desperately that when he comes to he'll believe we've fled the library. But then through a chink in the shelf I see that James has found his feet, and the poker, and that he is now turning in our direction. His deathly white eyes look possessed.

“Carina, are you in here? I want to apologise. Vincent, let me know if you're in here!”

I see his glazed eyes try to determine shapes in the darkness, and he fumbles towards a light switch that he cannot find.

“Vincent, Carina, tell me where you are. I'm sorry, I was jealous of the two of you. I had a moment of madness.” The light comes on, throwing bright colour into the room. With one hand I beg Carina to stay silent, but she lets out a small plea of fear. We hear him move nearer, desperately hoping that she has not given us away. But now James seems to know where we are. The slow rise of his eyes also suggests that he knows he has us trapped.

“Be reasonable, you two,” he pleads. “I have seen you both, snuggling up to each other in the summer house, exchanging affectionate little glances. And you Vincent, pretending to be my friend. That wasn't right, was it? Both of you have taken me for a fool for a very long time. Come out now and show yourselves, so we can resolve this once and for all. My temper has subsided, I promise. Let us now be friends.”

I count off three, two, one on my fingers to gesture when we should rush to the back of the library, to find an exit there. When I clench my fist the two of us rise to run away. But with a triumphant smile James rounds the corner, appearing at our side with the poker above his head. He swipes me across the back with it, as I crash to the floor. He grabs Carina by the wrist and throws her against a wall, books tumbling all around them. I look up, struggle to my feet. She ducks from his grip but with unerring precision James grabs her wrist and throws her back against the books. I launch myself at him, throwing him against the wall. A shelf of books collapse onto his head, bringing him to the floor. But a second later he is flailing to find his feet.

I grab Carina's wrist and pull her towards the other end of the library. We round bookcases, streaking up and down aisles to try and lose him, the metallic clutter behind us suggesting that James has not only found his feet but also the poker.

“I'm not going to hurt either of you. It was just a moment of madness. Come back here so we can resolve this!” His voice is now a raw scream. Carina runs ahead of me, but as we reach the back wall of the library I realise there is no exit there. We are trapped. The clattering in our direction, followed by his confused shouts, suggests he will be with us in only a few moments.

“Where do we go?” Carina cries, her voice hysterical.

Suddenly I remember. My eyes frantically scan the top shelf. It is on the third anxious sweep that I see it. Ayn Rand's
The Fountainhead
, as shown to me by Francoise. Jumping up I grab the spine of the book and pull it back. In one fluid movement the bookcase opens to reveal the tunnel. Another roar confirms that James is almost upon us, just rounding the bookcase as I propel a startled Carina into the passageway, before tearing the bookcase closed behind us, sealing the entrance just as James throws his body against it. The electric candles within illuminate, revealing the secret passageway.

“What the hell is this?” Carina asks, frantically pulling the tear-streaked hair from her eyes. The musty smell of the tunnel fills my nostrils and I suddenly feel trapped. But we can hear James pummelling against the bookcase and I check quickly that the entrance is sealed, noting with satisfaction that it seems to be.

“It's The Fountains' secret passageway.” Taking her hand I guide her into the semi-darkness. I wonder if I am taking her down a dead end. My senses, inflamed by the warmth and the colour of the house, are suddenly dulled by claustrophobia. It invokes a sense of panic, heightened by Carina's clear reluctance to go any further.

“This isn't safe, we don't know where we're going!” she pleads, but then we hear James battering against the entrance.

“There isn't time to argue. Francoise tells me this will take us to the very bottom of the garden. We'll be safe from him down there; he can't open the bookcase because he doesn't know how, and we're not going back outside. It's our only choice.”

She shakes her head in fear, but the smashing of James' fists and his wild shouts resolve her. I guide her into the tunnel, wondering if my assertiveness is really so well-founded.