The Silent Woman. Terry Lynn Thomas

Cat through squinted eyes, staring at her with that inscrutable glance that was her trademark.

      ‘Why are you looking at me like that? It’s just a black eye. People get attacked in London every day.’

      ‘Maybe. But they rarely get attacked in Kensington. It just isn’t done. And something’s different. You’ve lost that haunted love-is-lost look.’

      ‘Haunted love-is-lost look? I don’t know what you mean.’

      The kettle whistled. Lydia poured steaming water into the pot, grabbed two cups, and set the lot down on the table.

      ‘I know that things haven’t been good between you and Benton for a long time, Cat. And don’t bother to deny it. You’re a horrible poker player. You wear your feelings on your face for all to see. It broke my heart when you lost your baby, and the two that came after.’ Lydia grabbed Cat’s hand and squeezed it tight, as if she knew she was treading into dangerous territory.

      Cat resisted the urge to pull away. That familiar knot of grief, the anguish that she made it her life’s work to hide, shimmied to the surface. It pushed on her heart, contracted her lungs, and threatened to take her breath away. She had loved Benton. He had been her first. She believed he would be her only. They lost three children together, each tragedy adding another brick in the wall that grew between them. After the third miscarriage, Benton had forsaken Cat and turned his love to another. Devastated, Cat waited for him to return to her, return to the love they shared when they first married. That would have been enough for Cat. It was not enough for Benton.

      When she was hospitalised with influenza, Benton hadn’t even come to see her. He sent a bouquet of yellow and white roses to her with a trite get-well note written in his secretary’s hand. Why had she ever thought they could rekindle the spark that burnt itself out so long ago? Yet here she was now, desperate for any scrap of affection he might throw her way. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

      ‘Why do you stay, love? Just answer me that. I don’t know how you handle it in that house. Your husband’s never home. Your sister-in-law is an ogre.’

      Cat smiled at the apt description of Isobel.

      ‘Thank for not saying I told you so. Never once,’ Cat said.

      ‘He swept you off your feet, love. That’s what men like Benton Carlisle do. Then you marry them, and the prince on the white horse turns into a spoiled child who doesn’t want to get his shoes dirty. I call it a fairy tale in reverse.’ Lydia sipped her tea. ‘How do you share a roof with Isobel and her trained lapdog? I truly believe that house made you ill.’

      ‘You’re right about Benton,’ Cat said. She met Lydia’s eyes, surprised at her words. The honesty was a revelation. Giving voice to this truth galvanised it into reality. ‘He doesn’t love me. I doubt he’d even notice if I left.’

      ‘Isobel would notice, though. Let’s be clear about that. And once you leave, she’ll do everything in her power to keep you from returning.’ Aunt Lydia took the cigarette out of her mouth and set it on the table. ‘I’ve never understood the relationship between Isobel and Benton. And that secretary of hers, Marie. Why does she stay? How long has she been with Isobel – twenty years? Remember when you first married, how Marie was so kind and pretty. Now she looks like a startled fawn, facing down a wolf.’ Lydia pushed a lock of Cat’s hair behind her ear. ‘It might do you good to step away and get some perspective.’

      The gesture touched Cat’s heart. Aunt Lydia – who was famous for wielding her honesty like a blunt instrument and not caring who she offended in the process – hadn’t spoken to Cat in that tone of voice since her parents’ deaths twenty years ago. They had been sitting at this same table, when Lydia said, ‘You’ve a home here, my love. Get yourself sorted and decide what you want to do with your life. You’re a clever girl. There’s money for university, if that’s what you want.’

      Cat had been seventeen at the time. She tried to find a calling, something she was passionate about. Then she met Benton, and realised all she wanted was a family. She had the house; she wanted to fill the rooms with Benton’s children. When the children didn’t come, Cat wanted him. And he had rejected her.

      ‘Are you listening to me, love?’

      Cat pulled herself out of her daydream.

      ‘I was saying that you could just come here for a few days.’ Lydia was rummaging through a drawer. ‘Here it is.’ She walked back to the table and plunked a key along with a whistle on a heavy chain on the table. ‘I had the locks changed when I replaced the front door. This is for you.’

      It was made of heavy brass, attached to a thick chain. The words ‘MET’ where etched across the top.

      ‘A blast from this beauty will surprise any assailant and effectively summon any policeman who happens to be nearby. Put it on and keep it handy. Why don’t you come and stay here for a few days or a week, as long as you want – no, let me finish before you say no.

      ‘I’ll set up the guest room for you. You can come and go as you wish and I promise not to bother you. I’ve Hector drawings due next week, so I’ll be working.’ She pushed the key towards Cat. ‘You can get away from those people, have a rest. You can take the car if you want, and go to the sea.’

      ‘Thank you, Aunt Lydia. I’ll think about it.’ Cat reached across the table and took the proffered key. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

      ‘You’d figure something out.’

      Cat stood.

      Lydia stood too. She placed her hands on Cat’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. ‘You’re still keeping something from me, love. Don’t think I can’t see it.’

      Cat remained silent.

      ‘Ah, well. I’m here when you’re ready. Now I’m going to ask you a question. Don’t answer me. I just want you to think about it. You’ve told me that Benton doesn’t love you. Do you love him? Is that why you stay? I don’t think you love him. Not any more.’

      Cat splurged on a taxi, using some of the money from Reginald to pay the fare. The driver took one look at her torn suit and swollen eye and jumped out of the car to help her into the back seat. He didn’t speak during the ride, but when the car slowed at the traffic lights the driver looked back at Cat, concerned etched into the lines on his forehead. She ignored him, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

      She thought about her aunt’s offer. What would happen if she just left? Would they even miss her?

      By some stroke of grace, the house was quiet when Cat let herself in the front door. She noticed the empty chairs, still arranged in a half circle from the morning’s meeting with Alicia Montrose. Clean cups and saucers remained on the table, next to a stack of neatly folded linens. The silver tea service was polished and ready to be put away, the coffee pot suspended over a small flame, which had gone out ages ago.

      Cat heard movement down the hall, so she crept up the stairs, hoping not to see anyone. Once in her room, she reached behind the armoire and pulled out her purse. She added the money Reginald had given her that morning to the growing pile of notes and slipped it back.

      She was about to head into the bathroom for a flannel doused in cool water when she noticed that the top drawer of her bureau was opened ever so slightly. Cat went over to it and pulled it open all the way. Her undergarments, which she folded and arranged in perfect rows, were stuffed into the drawer without method, as though someone had taken them out and tossed them back in again. Isobel. Snooping. Again. Cat sighed and made a mental note to find a new place to hide the purse where she kept her money.

      She lay down on the bed, the flannel over her throbbing eye. She forced herself to think of something positive, of freedom, of a life that didn’t include the Carlisle house or any of the people who lived in it. This thought brought Cat peace and gave her the smallest glimmer of hope. She whispered, I’m going to leave Benton, as if saying the words out loud gave them weight and meaning. The utterance