I remembered it being particularly windy that night. Laurie and I went for a long walk from Venice to Santa Monica. I had long hair then. Earlier that day, Lizzie came over and insisted to style it into neat waves, claiming she had always wanted to try it out on me. The wavy curls had turned untidy in the wind and covered my face. I could barely see.
"You look silly," Laurie laughed.
"You too," I replied, pointing at his wind-blown curls.
We made it to the pier in the late hours of the night. I had refrained from going there since I moved back to the county, but I couldn't refuse when Laurie asked me to accompany him. The sound of the ocean, the darkness of the night, and those wooden benches remained unchanged. I could see Neil sitting there, sketching on his notepad as if he was an innocent man.
Laurie paid no mind to my silent and short-lived reminiscence. He stepped on the railing and leaned forward, ignoring my disapproval and protest.
"Be careful," I held onto his arm. "Don't fall over."
"I won't. You're worrying for nothing." He stepped down and stood facing me. There was a smile on his face, a nervous but excited smile. "You see, I've been thinking. Five years have passed since we first met. I'm extremely thankful we've come this far, and to have you here with me tonight."
My heart sank before it started to race. I wasn't ready for what to come next, though I had rehearsed countless times what I'd say.
"You'd think I'm crazy, and Thomas will lose his mind, but, well," his shyness soon changed into ecstatic happiness, "Anne Bedford, will you marry me?"
He got on one knee, looking at me with hope and anticipation. The ring box in his hands was open, and I could tell he went at length to find out what kind of ring I would've liked.
"I have a shameful past, and I was married," I held back my tears. "You're too young and too good for me."
"I don't care about your past, not even the tiniest bit," he was ever-so sincere. "I'm only two years younger than you, so don't talk like you're older than you actually are."
"You know I can't," my voice broke. "You know Thomas won't let it happen."
"But you don't even know each other," he was still on one knee. The keenness in his eyes died down and was replaced by despair. "Why would you want to agree to his terms?"
"Because that'll be the best for all of us," I lied. Red-eyed and equally heartbroken, I said: "I love you more than you'd ever know. It'd be different if we aren't who we are and if I'm a better person. I'm sorry."
"I see," he said somberly. Getting back on his feet, he turned away from me. I was expecting him to have a stronger reaction. It'd been better if he raised his voice, demanding to know how I could treat him the way I did.
He proceeded to throw the ring box into the ocean. He didn't drop it from where he stood, instead, threw it as far as he could in his quiet rage.
"Laurie!" I called out for him as he put his hands in his coat pockets and walked away. He didn't look back.
-----
Sometimes when I looked at Victoria, I wondered how she looked underneath the luxurious jewels, the beautiful dress, and the perfectly styled golden curls. I wanted to see beyond those long-lashed grey eyes and pry into her soul.
The woman was in the dining room, sitting next to the head of the table, waiting patiently for her dinner to be served. I was opposite her, stood up to get the crystal ashtray from the mantelpiece, and lit a cigarette as soon as I was in the chair again. She raised her eyebrows in dismay. She thought I was rather meek in smoking what she called the lady cigarettes. In her eyes, I wasn't and would never be her equal. It wasn't a competition. It was pride.
She didn't know I only smoked those cigarettes in front of her to annoy her.
In silence, the starters were finished, and I enjoyed the butternut squash soup. During the void of voices and silverware clatters, I was sure she and I had thought about what would be said.
After the main course was placed in front of me, I decided to speak:
"Shall we speak frankly?"
"Haven't we always been?" She smiled. A political and diplomatic one that could fit in any impersonal occasion. I hated that smile.
"You're here to tell me something," I ignored her question. "Please, go ahead."
She squinted and scanned around the room. I shook my head, telling her there were no meddling ears.
"Just me. Though you'll have to judge whether to trust me in keeping your words within these walls," I added.
"No, dear," she said. "You're to decide what you'll tell."
She snickered. I remained inexpressive. I breathed in, slowly breathed out, and took a puff of the cigarette.
"How's Neil?" I asked.
"I'm glad it finally got to you. He's worried," she said jeeringly. "He doesn't understand why you won't see him or call."
"Sure," I scoffed.
"What's so funny?" She asked as if she was serious.
"You should just tell me the truth," I dusted my cigarette. "What happened between you and Neil?"
"I'm not sure if I know what you mean," she crossed her arms.
"Let me guess," I put my elbows on the table and laced my fingers, "it's oblivious that you knew him before I did. Perhaps you loved and still love each other. Something barred you from being together. Then he met me. He made a hasty, irrational decision and took me to Chicago. He thought he'd be fine with me but quickly regretted his decision. So, he left. And here we all are, pretending like we aren't all ridiculous and pathetic."
The twitching of her eyes almost went unnoticed.
"Great imagination." She picked up her wine glass. "Too bad you aren't a writer."
"What I don't understand is," I carried on, "why you agreed to marry Laurie. You're too smart to sell yourself the way you did."
"I was in a dire situation without hope after my father died," she took a sip of her wine. "I thought being in the Murphy family could give me hope, and I could achieve something. But I realized that I'm too jaded for any of that."
"And?"
"And I'm here to confess to you that I conspired against Edmund Murphy." She put her glass down, clasped her hands, and rested them on the table.
"Why speak of it now?" I leaned forward with my elbows still on the table and the cigarette between my fingers.
"I've decided to seek a passage out," she said casually. "I want to be freed."
"So that you can leave with Neil?" I pressured her. "Did he come back to the county for you? He's clever enough to know he shouldn't show his face when he's made influential enemies."
"Oh dear," she laughed, "let go of your wild thoughts, will you?"
"All right," I scorned. Trying to get any truth that mattered out of her was impossible. She was resolute in guarding her secret until the end. "I suppose I can ask you why you wanted Edmund dead."
"I didn't like him," she pursed her lips. "He never liked me either. Plus, as I said, I want to be freed."
"Well," I sat up straight again, "don't you think that was too risky?"
"Please," she rolled her eyes, "you know no one can be freed easily when our darling Tommy-boy is in charge. Not even himself. One must take a risk."
Some words were only meant to know and not heard. I felt small and blank, like a sheet of raw linen. Life was drained from me as time passed, and I could no longer keep a straight idea of freedom. I envied her. She had a plan, a vision of breaking away, while all I had was a mind of nothingness.
"What happened to Mary?" I thought to ask.
"She's unharmed. I asked her to stay away for a while," she picked up her wine glass again. "Do you want her back? She crossed you, remember?"
"I don't care about her. She's irrelevant," I shrugged. "Send her back. Clarence has been asking about her."
She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
"Why don't you speak to Thomas directly instead of through me?" I steered the conversation back while fixating my sight on the burning cigarette.
"I need a witness," she finished her wine. "Especially when the time comes."
I frowned.
"You see," she pushed her chair back as she stood up, circled to where I was, and leaned against the table. She was intimidatingly close to me, "there's no better way to say this, but Emma is sick. She's ill in the head, and I'm afraid it's incurable."
She tapped her temple twice with her index finger. She spoke half-mockingly, half-empathetically, and I couldn't tell her intentions behind those words.
"Are you going to kill her too?" I said coldly. "Have you no heart?"
"Having a heart in this game only makes you go round and round, like a mill donkey," an expression of disgust appeared on her pretty face.
"Is this a game to you?" I put out my cigarette by smashing the remains against the bottom of the ashtray, rigid and forceful. "Did you marry into this family to prove you can win the game?"
"No, sweetie, don't be foolish," she squeezed my shoulder, and I shook her hand off.
"I won't let anything happen to her," I bit my dry bottom lip.
"Don't get so worked up. I'm not planning anything," she gasped as if offended. Her theatrical tone then returned to her usual nonchalant way. "I pity her. She reminds me of myself."
"You're fluttering yourself," I sneered. "You aren't half the woman Emma is."
She tilted her head.
"Emma is sensitive and vulnerable. But at least she's true to herself," I maintained my gaze. "You, on the other hand, stay in your web of lies and patch your lies with more lies. You make everyone around you miserable."