A Life Unknown Pt 05

Authors note: What follows is a work of fiction based on real-life events. None of the characters depicted are real and any similarity to real people living or dead is purely coincidental.

The previous four parts of this series have been published in the category of romance but in a comment made about Part 4, one reader asked why it had not been placed in the erotic couplings category whilst another suggested it might have been better described as a loving wives story. Whilst the previous parts of this story have been reasonably rated they have not had a significant number of reads and I wonder whether this is, in part, a reason.

This part of Victoria's story perhaps contains a little more sex than other parts may have had, and so, I have listened to what Oralinator and Demosthenes384bc had to say. Thank you.

A Life Unknown (Part 5)

I was tired and dirty when, in the mid-afternoon, I arrived at the Ritz. I had not slept particularly well the previous night. The crossing from Rosslare to Fishguard had been a rough one and the ship had lurched violently all night.

Having booked in, I asked the concierge to send someone to my room to hang my clothes in the wardrobes, whilst the bullion I was carrying was placed in the hotel safe.

A little later, and alone, I sat in a hot bath, relaxed, and contemplated my next moves.

Now that I had made my mind up over a future with Lionel, I needed to book a passage back to North America and decided to make it my priority. I would need to visit a couple of banks to squirrel away my gold, but that would take no longer than half a day. Only one other thing remained for me to do. I resolved to try to contact my sister, Emily.

We had not parted on the best of terms and my last contact with her had been in 1917 when I had telegrammed her with my address in Newton. She had not bothered to reply to me and when she didn't I had forgotten about her and moved on with living my own life. I had never really forgiven her for taking all of our inheritance after Mother died and for the lecture on morality she had delivered when she discovered husband George was alive and I was sleeping with Edward. After all, she knew nothing of my life with George and what a brute he had been. I was reminded of the proverb; "Never judge a man until you have walked a mile in his moccasins."

Despite all of this, she was my only living relative and I was aware that, for some, life can be very short.

I had not seen Emily since August 1916 when I was twenty-six years old and she was twenty-one, and we had not had any contact for almost fourteen years. Over the years I had occasionally wondered what she was doing, and even if she was dead or alive. I wasn't even sure if she would want to see me. Soon I would find out.

I waited until early evening before I tried to contact her. I knew that she was likely to be still living In the family home in Ripley and I was able to discover the telephone number for the White House in Ripley from the operator, although I was informed that nobody called Emily White lived there and the number was now registered to a Col Henry Graham. Then the operator asked me if I wished to be connected, and I was about to say no when a thought came to me. Surely Emily would be married by now.

"Yes. Please connect me," I replied.

The phone clicked and crackled and then started to ring.

After the fourth or fifth ring, I heard a familiar voice.

"Ripley 451."

"Hello Emily," I said.

"Who's speaking?" she replied.

"Don't you recognise your sister's voice?"

"Victoria?.... Is that really you... I thought you were dead."

I laughed.

"I had the same thought about you but I'm still very much alive and back in England for the first time since I left. I arrived in London today. I'm here for a short while before I return to America."

I paused.

"What brought you back? Not me I guess?" said Emily.

"No. Edward is dead. I wanted to sprinkle his ashes over the wreck of the Lusitania. But since I was here I thought...."

Emily interjected.

"I imagine you want to meet? It's the sisterly thing to do."

"That's why I called. Yes"

"Where are you staying?"

"The Ritz."

"The Colonel, my husband, isn't home yet. I'll talk to him and telephone the hotel this evening. Will you be there?"

"I'm not planning on going out."

"Good. We'll talk shortly. Oh, and Victoria, I'm sorry about Edward."

After I put the phone back in its cradle, I sat and pondered what had been said. Emily's tone had been cold and aloof. She had commiserated with me over Edwards's death as an afterthought. It was she that had not replied to my telegram after I told her where I was living in Boston and had then decided I must be dead. Now she could not agree to meet me, her sister whom she had not seen for over a decade, without talking to her husband first.

Shortly after I returned to my room from dinner, the telephone rang. It was Emily. Her manner was brusque.

"I've spoken to Henry; We are having guests for dinner tomorrow evening. Why don't you join us, and you can stay the night. On Sunday, you and I can spend some time together."

"That will be lovely. What time shall I come?"

"Anytime in the afternoon. You can change for dinner here. Dinner will be at eight. We'll see you then. Goodbye."

And before I could reply the phone went dead.

***

I arrived at Ripley just after four o'clock the following afternoon. I had taken a train to Guildford and a taxicab from the station. I carried a small valise containing my evening dress, spare underclothes, and toiletries.

The last time I had visited, Emily had greeted me but this time Morton the butler met me at the door. Although he had aged, it was unmistakably him.

"Welcome home Miss Victoria," he said. "The Mistress has asked me to show you to the drawing room. May I take your case? I will have it taken to your room."

I sat in the drawing room and waited. Shortly the door opened, and Emily entered the room. In the fourteen years since I had seen her last, she had changed. I had left behind a slightly plump, happy-go-lucky, young lady. Now standing in front of me was a serious-looking, thin, middle-aged woman. I had to remind myself she was still in her mid-thirties and younger than I was.

She crossed the room and we embraced.

"You look well," she said. "America must have suited you."

"How are you?" I asked.

"Tired."

Emily rang the bell and a servant appeared with tea and biscuits and for the next half hour or so we talked.

Once again I found myself lying. I told her that George had been murdered and that my wealth had been left to me by him, and I told her that I had married Edward and he had died in a car crash.

I believe that Emily was more truthful. She had married in 1920, three years after I had left England. Her husband was an army colonel who lectured at the Royal Military College in nearby Sandhurst. They had two children, both boys: Thomas was nine and David was seven years old. Neither of the boys was at home having been sent away to boarding school.

"I miss them dreadfully, but Henry insisted they get a public school education. He is a military man and quite set in his ways. He believes it will provide them with the discipline to make something of themselves."

Something about the way she said this made me believe that she didn't necessarily agree with him but that her opinion did not matter to the Colonel. I started to believe I wouldn't like him. I was right.

Shortly, Emily made her excuses and returned to supervise preparations for the evening dinner party. I understood that a fellow officer and his wife would be attending together with two of the Colonel's old-school -friends, their wives, and the son of one of the couples. There would be ten of us at the table.

As Sarah, the maid, cleared away the teacups and plates, Emily spoke to her.

"When you've finished clearing up will you show Mrs Jefferson to her room?"

I realised with a start that Emily had assumed that I had taken Edward's surname when I married him.

"I still use the surname, Cameron," I explained.

"No matter," said Emily dismissively. "Would you like Sarah to draw you a bath?"

"Yes, please. I can wash off the dust and have a nap before I dress for dinner."

***

Just before 8 o'clock, I descended the main staircase of the house. I was wearing a long, blue, pleated satin skirt with a white silk jacket. This showed off my body and I know I looked good. Heads turned as I entered the drawing-room where folk were standing around chatting and having a pre-dinner drink. Emily introduced me as Mrs Victoria Cameron to each of the guests in turn. I cannot remember the names of many of the people I met that evening although two new faces impressed me in very different ways.

Colonel Graham was older than Emily, somewhere in his mid to late forties, thin, of medium height, and prematurely balding. His facial features reminded me of a lizard. He appeared completely indifferent to me when we were introduced and showed no inclination to talk to his wife's long-lost sister. This didn't deter him from eyeing me up from across the room when he thought I wasn't looking.

The second guest whose company I remember arrived late. We had sat down to dinner when I noticed the chair to my left was empty and there were only nine of us at the table. We were on the first course eating our cream of asparagus soup when one of the guests spoke up loudly.

"I'm sorry Emily. That damn boy's late again. Jolly rude. I wonder what excuse he'll come out with this time."

"Don't worry Walter. I'm sure he'll be along soon."

A minute later I heard the doorbell ring.

"That'll be him now," said another voice.

"About bloody time," said the Colonel.

A few seconds later a tall, blond, slim, fresh-faced young man of perhaps twenty years old rushed in and sat down in the seat next to me.

"Dreadfully sorry to be late Colonel. Very sorry Mrs Graham," he said.

"

There was a bad accident at Brooklands today. A car left the track, and several spectators were hurt. I had problems leaving the meeting,"

Colonel Graham puffed out his chest and spoke.

"There is never a good reason for being late. You need some discipline young man. A dose of army life would do you a world of good. Bring back conscription's what I say."

I heard Emily speak.

"You're right as always, Henry, but it's not important. Really it's not."

After a brief lull in the conversation, the mood lightened.

"My tardy neighbour turned to me and spoke."

"I'm Charles but everybody calls me Charlie. I'm jolly pleased to meet you...?"

"Mrs Cameron," I replied.

"Don't mind the Colonel. He's a crusty old beggar," he whispered conspiratorially. "He's an old friend of my father. They went to school together. I think he's angry that Papa earned a fortune prospecting for gold in South Africa and all he's got is a commission in the army and a house that belongs to his wife. He gets at Father through me. I'm sure he thinks I'm an idler and should get a real job.... shooting guns and maybe people. He's a soldier. I guess he doesn't think a few dead civilians matter. What an unfeeling prig he is."

"Do you mean people may have died at the racetrack?"

" It's possible. I don't know. I didn't see the crash but there were a lot of injured people on the ground whilst the race just carried on. Best not to dwell on it. I'll know when I get back to the track tomorrow."

He sat deep in thought for a moment and then changed the subject.

"What does your husband do?"

"He's dead."

"Oh gosh. I'm sorry. I seemed to have put my foot in it.."

"That's alright. You weren't to know. He was a good man. I'm visiting to bring his ashes home. We were living in Boston for the last ten years or so. I'm Mrs Graham's sister."

I smiled as I said this and saw him put his hand to his mouth.

"So that's two

faux pas

I've made. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn about her husband, the Colonel."

"You've nothing to apologise for. It's he who should be apologising to you. You were only a few minutes late for a jolly good reason and his outburst was completely inappropriate."

The main course had been served when I heard raised voices at the end of the table. One of them was the Colonels. He was almost shouting. I couldn't make out who, or what, had set him off.

"Really," I heard him say. "You can't possibly believe that all women over twenty-one years old should have a vote, can you? That's stuff and nonsense. A woman's place is in the home supporting her husband and having his children whilst he does what a man does.... keeping the wheels turning. She doesn't need a vote. Most women won't know what to do with it anyway. Women voting will make a complete mess of things. They are simply too stupid.

And now, some of them don't even take their husband's name when they marry."

For a moment nobody said anything, but I was incensed by his comment, and I heard myself start to speak. I spoke clearly and very coldly.

"Colonel Graham, The Great War, in which your wife and I lost two brothers and my mother lost two sons, was caused by the stupidity of men like you. Men who made a complete mess of things. Then when the war continued hundreds of thousands of ordinary men were slaughtered because of the stupidity of the officers who led them.... privileged and living in the past.... like you.

I am every bit as capable as any man I have ever met, and more capable than most, and I will call myself by any name I damn well please.

Furthermore, I did not come to your table this evening to be lectured at and insulted by you and neither I suspect did the other ladies who are sitting here tonight."

I stopped and for the first time looked around the table. Most of those present appeared slightly embarrassed, although one of the ladies was trying hard to suppress a smile, The Colonel sat with his mouth ajar in surprise and it occurred to him that there was ordinarily nobody in his life in a position to stand up to him. Emily also looked completely shocked by my reaction.

I stood and faced Emily.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you. It was not my intention. Not having a husband to tell me what I can and can't do I have decided to leave. Thank you for the invitation."

Then I nodded to the table.

"Ladies, gentlemen, Colonel, Good evening."

I hurried out of the room into the entrance hall and heard the sound of footsteps on the marble floor.

"Stop a minute, Victoria."

I turned.

"I just want to say goodbye properly," she said. "He can be a difficult man. He's had a little too much to drink."

"Don't make excuses for him Emily," I said. "You're the one who has to live with him, not me. Good luck with that. I would give you some sisterly advice if you would listen to me but now is not the time or the place. I'm at the Ritz for the next few weeks before I return to the States. You can telephone me at the hotel if you wish. I won't be returning to live in Boston when I get back Stateside but will telegram you when I'm settled. Let's not lose touch again. We're sisters."

I kissed her on the cheek and hugged her.

"Now can you ask one of the servants to quickly pack and fetch my valise, and call me a taxi to get into Guildford? It's still early. I should be able to get a train back to London tonight."

"Don't bother with a taxi," said a new voice. It was Charlie. He had followed us into the hall, and I turned towards him.

"I was planning to drive back to London later in the evening, but now that all the drama for tonight is over I'm leaving early. I've got room for one more if you like."

"What about your parents?"

"They came in their own machine. I don't live with them. I have my own flat in Knightsbridge."

***

A little later I sat beside Charlie in his Austin Seven as we sped down the road toward London.

Just before I left, Emily and I had embraced and said our goodbyes. I thought she had a disapproving look on her face as Charlie put my valise in the boot of his car. If she did, she knew me better than I knew myself.

"Where to?" enquired Charlie.

"The Ritz."

"You have style," Mrs Cameron.

"Victoria," I replied.

As he drove, Charlie explained a little more about himself. He was studying at the Chelsea School of Art but outside of College spent most of his weekends at the Brooklands racing circuit near Woking where he worked as a mechanic in a team servicing Sir Henry (Tim) Birkin's racing Bentley.

"There are two twelve-hour endurance races this weekend. One was today and the other is tomorrow. Despite the accident, it will not be cancelled. The original plan was that I stay at the house in Ripley overnight and travel back to Brooklands from there. After you stood up to that boorish bully I decided to sleep at home and drive back in the morning.

Besides, I like you. I wanted an extra hour or so in your excellent company. I would invite you to the race tomorrow, but I fear you wouldn't enjoy it and I'll have to leave Knightsbridge at around five in the morning."

It was at that moment I made my decision. I didn't think the racing would be uninteresting and I was enjoying Charlie's company, but I didn't want to be seen out and about with him and cause scandal for Emily. I suddenly wanted to enjoy him in private and away from public scrutiny. I started to make my plans but first I needed to know something. I did not want, or need, another dead lover."

"Do you think you'll ever drive one of those cars competitively?"

"Heavens no. They are beautiful machines to watch and work on, but the drivers have a death wish. It's too dangerous for my blood even if I could afford one, which I can't."

He didn't know it, but he had just earned himself the offer of a good fucking.

"Thank you for asking me to come with you tomorrow," I said. "But I fear you are right. Five o'clock is rather early for me. Besides, I know I'm a little older than you, but I wouldn't want to make your girlfriend jealous."

"I don't have a girlfriend right now," he said. "I was engaged to be married for over a year, and then she got cold feet."

"That's a shame," I said. "I'm sure you'll find someone."

I paused as if a thought had come to me.

"Why don't you come to the Ritz tomorrow night after the race? I'll buy dinner to thank you for your kindness in driving me back this evening. What time's good for you?"

"Nine-thirty," he said hopefully.

Gotcha, I thought to myself.

Lionel was three thousand miles and five times zones away. Besides, I wasn't married to him. I was honest enough to admit to myself it would have made no difference if I had been.

***

Just after half past nine in the evening, Charlie turned up at the Ritz. I was sitting in the hotel bar with a cocktail when he arrived. I wore a tight-fitting evening dress that emphasised my bum and tits and which was designed to keep me both covered and naked at the same time. I wanted him to know what was on offer.

We were shown to our table by the Maître de and I requested a bottle of white wine be brought to the table. I sensed that Charlie was both hopeful and nervous in my company. I thought a little wine would help him to relax. We ate smoked salmon as our starter, and I ordered a rack of lamb as a main whilst Charlie opted for a steak.

Early in the meal, I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Charlie," I said softly. "Have you ever slept with a woman?"

He swallowed and his face flushed slightly.

"Not properly."

"Would you like to come to bed with me later?"

He nodded.

"Good," I said. "Now that's settled we can enjoy our dinner."

I had already asked him about the race which had been won by other members of the Bentley team at an average speed of over eighty miles per hour over the full twenty-four hours of the event. It seemed very fast to me and explained how two people were now known to have died the previous evening.