Long Goodbyes Read Online Free PDF

you, and Mr Benjamin is a kind soul.’
    ‘He’s a good chap altogether. Well connected. Did you know that he’s a personal friend of Lloyd George?’
    ‘Goodness. We have greatness in our midst.’ I laughed and saw the pleasure in Jack’s eyes. He seemed better, almost normal.
    ‘I’m sorry I’ve been preoccupied,’ he said quietly. ‘Forgive me. It is just a distraction, something which interests me - the house, I mean.’
    ‘Of course you are forgiven,’ I immediately responded. ‘You must have interests, hobbies. Ambitions even; it’s only natural.’
    ‘It’s good to pursue things which are - mundane - you see,’ he explained. ‘I spent so long living like a rat underground, surrounded by death and destruction. I suppose I see a rebuilding project as just that: rebuilding. Putting something to rights again. And, in a wider context, that means our lives, doesn’t it?’
    I took his hand. ‘You are a sweet man and we shall be so happy together.’
    ‘We shall. Now you must rest.’
    After Jack had left me I found myself in more cheerful spirits. Perhaps the nervous strain I had been under had indeed provoked the whole episode. Would that I had trusted my faculties and insisted on abandoning our new life altogether there and then - but, as it was, I allowed myself to be lulled by Jack’s rational explanation. I gave no further consideration to what I thought I had seen in the parlour and made every effort to put it as far from my mind as I was able. We would indeed, I resolved, continue to build our lives here and in time be as content as any young couple could wish to be.
    If only I had known how little time we had.  
     

chapter five

    For the next day or so the grand house seemed to be forgotten, and Jack was himself again. We went to see the smith who agreed to our sharing a fine chestnut mare with his own daughter, who, being a minor, was obliged to attend school weekdays, which left the animal free for us to enjoy. I myself had not ridden for over a year - since my departure to Belgium in 1915, and so it was a joy to feel once again the strong seat beneath me, the wind blowing in my untied hair as I took Maisie through her paces around the smith’s paddock, and then, having gained the beast’s confidence, out through the lanes and finally down to the shore. Jack was not as keen a rider as I and was content for me to enjoy a daily gallop along the beach, something I found exhilarating and quite addictive. Jack would follow me on foot and watch me from a favoured position on a nest of rocks where the land ended and the pebbles opened out towards the foaming surf.
    Returning from one such outing Jack offered to take Maisie home which allowed me the opportunity to arrive at the cottage ahead of him to wash and prepare lunch. As soon as I opened the cottage door I felt it; something at odds. I withdrew the key from the lock and entered cautiously. There was an unusual smell in the air, not the usual scent of pot pourri or woodsmoke but something - different; there was a tangy, savoury quality about it. I went into the parlour, nervously, although I did not sense the presence of another, and saw immediately that in the centre of the dining table, there was a tray I had not seen before. Upon it stood a large silver tureen.  
    My first thought was that Jack had prepared a meal earlier and had set it out prior to our departure -   but that being the case, why would he have agreed that I should go ahead of him and begin preparations for our lunch? And why would he have set out but one meal?
    I approached the table and placed my hand upon the lid; it was warm. I opened it and fell back, my gorge rising in disgust; maggots writhed upon the rotten meat within. The lid fell, clattering onto the flagstones as I staggered to the door and lurched outside, hand over mouth, only avoiding the embarrassment of being violently sick by taking frequent gulps of fresh air. All at once Jack was at the gate, his