A Bitter Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

decorated with horse brasses and coaching horns. But the food was very good, consisting of vegetables from the owner’s own cold cellar, and meat from his farm, and the service was impeccable. We sat at a table where the bruised side of her face was turned away from the other guests, although from time to time she raised a hand to shield it, so conscious of it was she. Still, before very long, she was telling Simon about growing up in Suffolk.
    He said, “Were you sad to leave Suffolk when you married?”
    To my surprise, she answered him readily. “I’d seen my new home first in high summer. It was winter that I found almost unbearable. Have you ever lived at the edge of a heath? It’s extraordinary, and each season is so different.” She realized then what she was saying and changed the subject almost at once. “My brother inherited the house in Suffolk, but he’s dead now, killed in the war. His widow and two sons live there. I’ve visited sometimes, but it isn’t the same without him.”
    Which told me she couldn’t turn to them in her distress.
    The meal went well, and I did justice to the slice of ham that I’d ordered, small by comparison to the generous portions we were used to before the war. We had cabbage and steamed apples, and onions stewed in a cheese sauce, with a flan to follow. Lydia ate with an appetite but afterward seemed to be a little pale, as if the food sat heavily in her stomach.
    We took our tea in the lounge, and then there was no excuse to linger. Simon went to find the motorcar.
    Lydia said, “He’s a very nice man, isn’t he?”
    “Yes, he is,” I agreed. Turning to look out the windows, I added, “It will be dark before very long. And another cold night, I expect.”
    Lydia was silent, and then, pressing her fingers to her swollen face, she said, “Bess, you’ve been so kind. In spite of the fact that you know nothing about me.”
    “How could I turn you away?” I asked. “But I wish there was something I could do to make whatever is troubling you easier to face.”
    “Do you mean that?”
    “Of course I do.”
    I hadn’t seen the request coming. I was totally unprepared.
    “Would you consider going with me to Vixen Hill? I think it would be easier to face Roger and his family if I had moral support. You’re stronger than I am, Bess. I could take my courage from you. Besides, it will be easier to explain to Roger and his family that I had come to London to stay with a friend. What I did would seem less—rash, ill-considered.” She made a deprecating face. “It would only be a small lie. No one would know that it was.”
    “My parents are waiting for me in Somerset,” I began, and then realized that it was the wrong thing to say. “Lydia. Perhaps if you told me why you quarreled and how it was that your husband struck you—if I understood the circumstances a little better, perhaps I could help you see your way more clearly.”
    She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s presumptuous of me even to think you could come with me.”
    “Lydia—”
    But Simon was walking through the restaurant door to fetch us, and we followed him out to the motorcar without speaking.
    The drive back to London began in silence. Simon, concentrating on the road as the rain began again in earnest, was taciturn. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see that Lydia was anxiously smoothing her gloves, as if regretting broaching the subject of my traveling with her to her home.
    Finally, as the rain let up a little, I said to Simon, “Lydia has asked if I’d go with her to Vixen Hill. That’s her home.”
    “Where is Vixen Hill?” he asked, raising his voice a little so that she could hear him.
    “It’s in Sussex,” she replied after a moment, her voice reluctant in the darkness.
    “Tomorrow we’ll drive you there, shall we?” he suggested. “It will be no trouble.”
    “No—that’s lovely of you to ask, but I think—I’d rather not take you so far out of your