Long Goodbyes Read Online Free Page A

we had declined the Benjamins’ invitation . . . and then the most obvious thought struck me. ‘Jack,’ I said, ‘whatever makes you believe that the Benjamins would offer us the house? From what they said last night they seem to want to forget all about it. It is simply too much trouble for Mr Benjamin to contemplate.’
    ‘Precisely,’ Jack said, with a note of triumph. ‘If we can bring the place up to scratch, surely it’s a gain for them? They can charge additional rent if they wish - that is no issue, my army severance will cover any increase, I am certain.’
    ‘I will give it some thought,’ I said, wishing to curtail the discussion. ‘But Mr Benjamin made it clear, to me at least, that the house is no asset to him. I believe he would rather it was not his at all. And furthermore, that it is left alone.’
    ‘Is that what you think?’ Jack said, his face reddening. ‘Well, I shall prove you wrong.’ And with that he left the room. I heard him pacing upstairs, his footsteps creaking on the boards as he traversed to and fro in the small bedroom.  
    I continued my preparations for supper with a heavy heart. Already, something had come between us.

    During the days and weeks which followed, Jack spent much of his time at the grand house doing I know not what. He would leave during the morning with a half-hearted excuse that he was going to ‘take some air’ or ‘have a look around’ or ‘do a bit of reconnaissance’. I realised, though, that the house and its grounds had, in some way I could not understand, gained some kind of foothold within his psyche. What was abundantly clear to me was this: it was an unhealthy thing. I have no idea why I should have come to such a conclusion; perhaps it is a woman’s intuition. I just knew that, somehow, I had to break the bond between Jack and Sir William’s crumbling estate, and for this I needed an ally. Orla Benjamin, I decided, was as good a person as any with whom I could comfortably share my concerns. Of course, by this stage I had met others in the local community, but they seemed very different to us: outwardly welcoming, but harbouring, I believe, a slight suspicion of outsiders. Orla and myself, on the other hand, had begun to form a strong friendship; we would often walk together, sharing family stories and experiences in an easy manner which Jack and Mr Benjamin, being of the male gender, could neither replicate not aspire to. It was on one such occasion when I broached the subject of Jack’s new obsession.
    ‘Yes, it has that kind of effect.’ Orla Benjamin nodded, as if she had heard a similar tale before. ‘One can become fascinated and then-’ she hesitated, ‘-and then it draws you in.’
      As she said this a gust of wind plucked at my skirts and the sun went behind a cloud. We had just returned from the beach where the day had been warm enough for me to fret over my exposed skin; as a redhead I am most susceptible to sunburn. Now, however, I felt the chill of the Atlantic for the first time and regretted my decision to eschew a shawl. Orla shivered as a fine rain blew in with the wind and we were obliged to walk quickly to a small copse to avoid a drenching.  
    The wood was on a slight rise and gave us a good view of the village and the grand house which presided over it like a ivy-calloused monument to the dead. We huddled together under a lattice of branches, but the chill deluge found its way through the gaps and soon we were both soaked to the skin. Distracted by our predicament as we were, I did not pursue the subject of the house and Orla’s strange comment. By the time the rain eased and we were able to run for shelter I was shaking with cold; by early evening I felt the first flush of fever upon my cheeks.

    My recollections of this period are hazy, but I do recall that Jack was attentive, concerned and insistent that I ate and drank, even though for many days after the fever lifted I had no appetite whatsoever. Orla too