‘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.’
Chapter Fifty
May 1960
Venetia stared in petrified horror at Terry Sands, his open eyes shining glassily in the fiery orange light of the flames.
‘He’s alive!’ she gasped, clutching Lucien’s arm to drag him away, not just because the fierce heat of the fire was now blazing dangerously close to them – already the exposed skin on her hands and face felt like it was being scorched – but because she was terrified Terry might rear up and grab them.
But as though turned to stone, Lucien didn’t react. His expression was mask-like as he stared at Terry lying on the floor, the flames now licking around the man’s body. Venetia knew they had to do something, and fast. They could either run like the devil and leave Terry to burn to death or … or they could save him and face the awful consequences.
The fire was spreading. Flames were devouring anything in its path, the hearth rug, the fabric of the armchair and the flimsy curtains at the window. And with smoke rapidly filling the room, Venetia made the only decision she could. Using all her strength, and noticing that Terry’s eyelids had closed again, she gripped his ankles and began hauling him out of the room. Lucien still hadn’t moved, and she screamed at him to help her, but it was as if he couldn’t hear or even see her. When she’d managed to drag Terry as far as the relative safety of the hall, she went back into the smoke-filled room and yanked Lucien by his arm. Only thendid he seem to realise where they were or what was happening and as if in response, his chest heaved with a series of debilitating wracking coughs that had him bent double.
‘We have to get out of here!’ she yelled at him, spluttering as flames and thick choking smoke made it virtually impossible to see, but thankfully he did what she said. In the hall he seemed to come to his senses and helped her to drag Terry outside, down the garden path and beyond the gate where there was no danger of the fire reaching them. Terry’s body was such a heavy dead weight it took them an age to cover the distance. His eyes had remained shut while they’d wrestled with his body, and there’d been no flicker of life from him. Frightened to do it, but needing to know, Venetia dropped to her knees and put her fingers to his wrist.
‘Is he alive?’ wheezed Lucien.
‘I can’t find a pulse,’ she said, shaking her head, then putting the palm of her hand on his chest to feel for a heartbeat.
Lucien got down onto the ground and just as she had, he pressed his fingers to Terry’s other wrist. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
They looked at each other. ‘It’s best this way,’ Venetia said.
‘Did I imagine his eyes opening?’ Lucien asked.
‘No,’ she murmured, ‘I saw them open too. It must have been what they call death throes, a last—’
Before she could finish, there came a succession of loud splintering sounds followed by a crash as the roof gave way and the cottage began to disintegrate. In the fading light of the evening, and now that the cottage was entirely engulfed in flames, the sky glowed as with a blazing setting sun.
‘We should call for help,’ said Venetia, her throat scratchy from the smoke.
‘Too late,’ said Lucien hoarsely, ‘it’s on its way.’
He was right. Running towards them were Miss Selby and Mr Grafton.
‘Leave the talking to me,’ she instructed Lucien. ‘Don’t say a word.’
‘What the hell’s happened?’ demanded Mr Grafton.
Ignoring his question and deliberately sounding like she was about to burst into tears, Venetia said, ‘We did our best, but we were too late.’ She coughed for extra effect and immediately regretted it; her throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper. ‘The smoke,’ she managed to say, ‘the flames … it was too much … we were too late.’
At that Mr Grafton and Miss Selby turned away from the burning cottage and saw Terry’s body on the ground behind Venetia and Lucien.
Miss Selby let out a shrill cry and staggered against Mr Grafton. ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
Maybe it was shock she was now experiencing, but Venetia began to shake and in a genuinely choked voice she said, ‘He was on the floor inside when we found him … there was an empty bottle by his hand and the fire … there were flames everywhere … it was so … so scary and so very hot.’
‘God! This is the last bloody thing we need!’ Mr Grafton said furiously, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘A fire and a death on top of everything else!’ He suddenly fixed his eyes on Lucien. ‘What were you two doing here in the first place? You should have been in your dorms!’
‘We know it was wrong, but we just wanted to go for a walk,’ said Venetia, ‘and then we saw the fire.’
‘Can he not speak for himself?’ Mr Grafton said.
