The Sixth of September The Beginning

By Alicia Wright

Sophie, a woman who has been nurtured in luxury-in comfort and wealth-struggles, in her own way, through adolescence as she soon becomes aware of the harsh realities of life. She faces and conquers similar life experiences-and appalling losses-with

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alicia Wright
• Release date: Jan 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987607510

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A Journey To The Unknown

She had known nothing but warmth and light and soft wools and silks since her earliest years. She had been fed all sorts of food—even in the years of wartime when people were suffering shortages, for there had been connections and backhanders that helped them. Her Nanny, in her crisp blue-and-white uniform, ordered and arranged her days and nights. She was dressed in carefully laid out garments of the best materials: soft to the touch, warm or cool, as the season demanded. Her friends were chosen for her. She, her sister, and their Nanny would step into the big car, and the chauffeur, Barry, would drive them to other large houses set back in large gardens with long driveways, where butlers and maids opened doors, took coats, hats, and gloves, and ushered them subserviently to large rooms with log fires and Labradors sprawled before them with gently wagging tails. They would go up to nurseries with their friends and be entertained.

She rarely saw her parents. At night, her mother and stepfather would come up to the bedroom where she and her sister slept in two huge, walnut-framed beds. These were covered with large feather mattresses, duvets, and soft cotton sheets that smelt of lavender and were edged, as were the pillowcases, with lace. Lying there in her cotton nightdress, embroidered with flowers and covered in lace and ribbons, she would await the arrival of her mother. Her stepfather was a shadowy, domineering presence whom Sophie would rather not have to acknowledge. Her mother, on the other hand, would come in dressed for dinner.

Sophie’s favorite dress was the soft, black velvet tight-fitting dress with red velvet rose on the shoulder. With it, her mother wore deep blood-red rubies around her neck, ears, wrist, and finger. Her mother had black, shiny hair and pale skin. She had a snub nose and slanted eyes of deep brown. When her mother leant over to kiss her goodnight, Sophie breathed in that wonderful odor of Chanel No. 5 that always evoked her mother’s presence, and which Sophie remembered in the long periods of her life when she was parted from her. Her stepfather planted a cold, begrudging kiss on her cheek, and Sophie always turned her face away, instinctively stiffening up. She knew this was not the man she wanted to father her or to be in her life or her family. Her own father was discussed in a secretive tone as if he were some kind of shameful secret. Later, Sophie learnt that her father had been a war hero, killed when she was barely three. But this was a subject never to be raised, as her stepfather was jealous, and her father’s name was anathema to him.

Sophie was a plain child, unremarkable with her slightly slanting eyes, turned-up nose, and straight hair with that beautiful shade of dark, coppery red known as Titian. From her earliest days, she had been very short-sighted and was so used to her world that she could walk around in the dark even in strange houses, feeling the presence of furniture, walls, doors, and stairs as a palpable warning force. She wore steel-rimmed spectacles, which she often broke or lost; she was always being berated for this. She was remote; she spent hours reading or trying, with one finger, to pick out the melodies she had absorbed from her wind-up gramophone and its wax records. She sang loudly in strange places, and elicited surprised looks. She was frequently absent or late for meals. Then she would be lectured by her hated stepfather. Sophie feared and hated him with a deep burning resentment.

Her only sister was four years older than Sophie, and she was an unemotional, hard child with a personality like that of their mother. She was brittle, judgemental, and unforgiving. Sophie sometimes wondered whether she—Sophie—had been left with this family by other people, but then she would remember her dead father. Her sister, Rachael, was slim and had high cheekbones; so had Sophie, but they seemed inferior to her sister’s. Rachael’s eyes were deep green and huge, and her eyebrows arched delicately above these eyes. Her lashes were long, while Sophie’s were sparse and thin. Rachael’s hair was a sheet of shining brunette curls. She was elegant and sociable, and was approved of by her mother and stepfather. She seemed to tolerate Sophie with ill-concealed malice and amusement.

The two sisters were cared for by a Nanny and staff. Sophie often thought that it would be quite pleasant to be able to choose her own clothes and shoes and her own daily routine. Their lives were organized and choreographed. The house was large, elegant, and warm, smelling of polish. Sophie had her books and music. They lived in a glass bubble that was not allowed to contain the common things in life, and Sophie was frequently amazed at what she saw whilst out in the car with either Barry or her stepfather.

Sophie was taken up to London with her sister and Nanny, where they spent hours buying uniforms and underwear.

School , thought Sophie vaguely. Until now, she and Rachael had been tutored at home, but now, they were to be launched into a large school. Sophie dreaded the thought of hordes of noisy and unintelligent children and irritating teachers. Her friends had always been chosen for her and, if she did not like or approve of them, could be made to disappear from her little life stage.

Rachael and Sophie were driven to the school with their parents and Nanny, dressed in their navy and Saxe-blue outfits with new leather lace-up shoes and blue ribbons in their hair.

They drove up a long, winding driveway surrounded by sinister-looking tall trees, and arrived at the front of a large building with white pillars beside a thick wooden door. The door was opened by a woman—or at least that’s what Sophie assumed by her voice enveloped in dark, coarse robes with an elaborate headpiece of white and black. There was a large rope of beads with a wooden cross on the end hanging down from her skirts, and her shoes were like those of a workman. She had a hard, mean face and a faint mustache that fascinated Sophie. She led them into a room with a desk and several uncomfortable chairs and beckoned them to sit, which they did, sitting stiffly and expectantly.

You are Rachael, the heavily gowned woman said menacingly to Sophie’s sister.

Yes, Rachael replied, looking uncomfortable.

When you speak to me, you will address me and begin and finish your sentences with Reverend Mother, growled the person who Sophie now confirmed to be female.

Yes, Reverend Mother, Rachael swallowed hard. Reverend Mother showered Rachael with questions, most of which Rachael managed to answer to the woman’s satisfaction. Sophie swung her little legs and kicked the chair.

Reverend Mother frowned. Please stop that, child. Sophie stopped, but then began to fidget.

You are quite right. The nun was addressing Sophie’s parents,

She needs a great deal of discipline.

Sister Mary Margaret will take them to their dormitories.

Reverend Mother rang a bell on the wall, and soon, a small nun with darting, shifty eyes like those of a rat, came in and curtsied to her superior. She asked them all to follow her and led them out into the tiled hall, where there were paintings on the wall and an overpowering smell of lilies and polish.

Sophie noticed that Barry had placed two large trunks in the hall whilst they had been in that room.

Why? She thought. Why do we need all of these just to go to school? We will arrive in the morning and go home in the evening anyway.

Then, they were led up several large, carved wooden staircases and taken into a room with rows of beds covered in uniform blue bedspreads and surrounded by curtains of the same color. By each small bed in its small space was a wooden cupboard, on top of which was a large bowl with a jug in it, a soap dish, and an upturned glass. Barry and the convent’s gardener and handyman brought up the trunks and deposited them beside two of these cubicles.

Sister Mary Margaret will help you unpack, said Reverend Mother. You may say goodbye to your parents now.

In that second, Sophie realized with a knife-like pang of pain that she and her sister had been abandoned to these austere and cold women.

No! she shouted, flinging herself at her mother’s legs. No, I want to go home, Mummy.

Her mother unfolded Sophie’s arms from her.Stop this nonsense, Sophie, she said coldly, and make sure you do exactly as you are told and work hard. And then they were gone, and Nanny and Barry were gone with them.

Sophie ran to the window to try and see them, but the window was too high, so she threw herself on the bed instead, weeping.

Sister Mary Margaret loomed over her. Get up from your bed, be quiet, and unpack this trunk immediately. Sophie, still sobbing softly, unpacked her belongings. Her gym shorts and shirts had already been taken to the games room.

Sophie awoke during the night. Where was she? This was not her soft, large bed. She felt that something was wet, so she put her hand down on the bed, and realized her nightdress was wet and cold. Sophie was puzzled, then worried. What had happened? She laid down, shivering throughout the night, tired and frightened and longing for her mother, her Nanny, and her home.

As dawn streaked the sky with gold and pink, a bell rang loudly, and the nun ringing it threw the door open to the dormitory, Get up, girls. Wash and dress and make your beds, and do so in silence.

Sophie slid down into her cold, comfortless bed. The nun walked up and down the space between the cubicles, flinging back curtains and checking the progress of the girls. She pulled Sophie’s curtain aside.

Why are you not up as you should be, Sophie Harrison? She barked, and while pulling the bedcovers off, she dragged the shaking child from the bed. She looked at the bed and then at Sophie’s wet nightgown. What is this? Do you not have lavatories in your home, child? This is disgusting! You must be taught cleanliness, as dogs are taught.

She poured water from the China jug into the bowl and handed Sophie her sponge and soap. She pulled Sophie’s nightgown off roughly. Wash yourself, and be quick, the nun said harshly. Sophie dipped her sponge into the water. It was freezing.

It’s so cold, she said to the nun.

Wash yourself, and hurry up. The nun folded her arms and tapped her foot on the wooden floor.

Sophie washed awkwardly. At home, she bathed daily and was wrapped in a warmed cotton bath gown. She had never been expected to wash like this—and in such cold water. Sophie finished washing and dried herself.

Right, madam, the nun said harshly. You need to learn to be clean. She grabbed Sophie’s hair, pushed her forward onto the bed, and then forced her face into the wet area of the sheet. Roughly, she rubbed the child’s face in the urine stain until Sophie screamed for her sister. Rachael started to run to her sibling’s aid, but the other boarders restrained her, whispering that she must not interfere. Rachael looked on in distress, but was afraid to intervene. At last, the cruelty ceased, and Sophie was allowed to stand up and dress. She sobbed until she was hiccupping. She just wanted to escape and find her mother.

They filed down for breakfast, and Sophie went to sit next to her sister, but the nun who had done the terrible thing to her grabbed her by her small arm. Oh, no, she said. You will come over here with me.

She pulled Sophie to the corner of the refectory and held up a written notice. She pushed it into Sophie’s face.

Read it out loud, she commanded.

Sophie looked at the words and then pleadingly at the nun.

Hesitating and swallowing hard, she stumbled over the words.

I am filthy and sinful. I wet my bed and must be punished. A tear ran hotly down Sophie’s cheek. She looked over at her sister despairingly, but her sister was looking away and spreading her toast with margarine and marmalade. Sophie stood weeping while the nun affixed the notice to Sophie’s chest. She was left to stand and watch the other girls eating toast, fruit, and porridge and drinking coffee and tea. She was so thirsty and hungry and tired, and her small heart was breaking.

Mummy, she thought, I want my mummy. I am unhappy here.

Sophie was just 4 1/2 years old, beginning to learn oppression and rejection, and her sensitive soul was cowering. She wanted to escape to a place full of flowers and music and people who did not frighten and punish her.

One day , the small girl told herself, I will live in freedom, as I want to live, and I will try to learn not to be afraid of my oppressors.

CHAPTER 2

A Hard Day Of Play

Sophie was a very bright child, and she soon learnt that her oppressors admired her abilities and they seemed to prize them. She was clumsy and dreamy, still late for almost everything, but she learnt soon to love the huge library, with its glass-fronted cases filled with books of every kind.

She had music lessons with her favorite teacher, Miss Langridge, a tall woman with a long, hawk-like face and a beaked nose. Her skin was yellowish, and her eyes were like two large prunes sunk into their almost lidless sockets. The first time Sophie sat on the piano stool, which had an extra cushion on it to allow for Sophie’s lack of height, she gazed in wonder at the ivory keys of the baby grand piano. She willed her fingers to play the wonderful melodies which were dancing inside her head and her heart. Her first lesson was much more down-to-earth. She had to learn the names of the eight keys in each octave, but she mastered this very rapidly and was soon able to quickly recognize E from A minor and B flat from D sharp. She learnt her first scale in C major and could play it with both hands at the end of her hour-and-a-half session. Just as rapidly, she learnt to sight-read sheet music as if it were a story in one of her beloved books. The notes sang to her from the pages, and she would spend hours in the practice room, perfecting and speeding up her scales in both harmonic and melodic genres. She learnt to keep her hand in a curved shape and to move her fingers from their base joints smoothly and under control. She could live without many things, but not without music. It comforted her in her darkest hours.

Sophie did well in her studies and examinations. She found a talent for playing games. On the hockey field, she played a full back and determinedly charged down the oncoming army of centers, center halves, wingers, and inners intent on scoring; she repelled, again and again, their attacks. She was a defense in netball and played a reasonable game of tennis in the summer. At rounders, she hit hard and long and could bowl and catch as a fielder with great skills.

Socially, Sophie was not quite successful. She felt as if her fellow boarders sometimes behaved like aliens, and fell out over things she later could not quite grasp. She was easily intimidated, which irritated and worried her intensely. She stressed very readily over seemingly minor matters, and was always too concerned with the opinions of others. She seemed to live her life for the approval of everyone except herself. She always had to please someone: her parents, her teachers, the nuns, her fellow pupils, God. God was the person she feared most. He was a remote, powerful, fearful and invisible presence that she could not escape. He apparently made very strict and, sometimes, incomprehensible rules that she was forced to learn and obey. In class, she recited the Catholic catechism daily until it became a meaningless sound.

Who made you? God made me.

Why did He make you?

To be in His likeness and image.

Sophie was made a child of Mary. In class, Sophie was taught that she must be as holy, pure, meek, and obedient as the virgin mother of God. Her role in life was to be a mother of endless children, and a sweet, obedient, and demure wife who looked only at her husband and echoed his dominance with her submission. Men were creatures to be feared, avoided, and suspected until courtship and marriage loomed; then, she must choose with due consideration and care and after much prayer. She absorbed this brainwashing with a mental sneer and instantly rejected it. But she continued to act the part she knew was required of her to keep her life with the nuns peaceful.

She had to go home at least once in a while, but her life at home was far from happy or satisfying. Sophie began to dread the holidays, half-terms, and exeat weekends. She convinced the nuns that she had important scholastic work to complete, and that going home would interfere with it significantly. Her hated stepfather was drinking heavily; when drunk, he would throw violent temper tantrums like an outsized toddler. It was not a joke to Sophie. Her mother would be subjected to verbal and physical abuse, and Sophie was puzzled that her normally strong mother, a tough businesswoman, would be so submissive and placatory towards this unpleasant, cruel, and domineering tyrant. Maybe, thought Sophie, this is how you have to be. Maybe you have to give in and tolerate all this hell, however angry you are inside.

She took refuge in her bedroom and read her books avidly, lying on her soft bed cover with her big, brown teddy bear, Bruin, next to her. Frequently, her parents would go abroad, and then Sophie and Rachael would be left in the convent during the holidays. Sophie began to like this more and more, as she had no lessons and was left to fill the hours of the day in any way she wished except for meal times. On her tenth birthday, Sophie was given a piano, which she used to drown out the raised voices and the foul language of the unpleasant man with the mustache who seemed to want to own her mother.

The school became Sophie’s refuge, her world apart from the world, where all unwanted noises and people were blocked and forbidden.

Rachael, meanwhile, continued to be attractive—physically, at least. When her parents had visitors, her mother would introduce the two girls with This is Rachael, and this is Sophie. Then she would add in a low, conspiratorial tone, But Sophie is the clever one, from which Sophie deduced that her sister was, in fact, the pretty one, and her own plain appearance had to be excused by this revelation. She grew up aware of this; she absorbed the information until she finally knew that she was not attractive, and therefore was undeserving. She would have to use other means to excel where her prettier peers and her sibling had the edge and a start on her.

Exams took up much of her life at the convent. She had reached Grade 5 in her music, and had got as far as Grade 8 in her London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art studies. Recitation of poetry and prose was something Sophie really loved, and she also did exams in public speaking. Sophie was nearing a time she dreaded, the time when she would have to leave the sanctuary and security of the convent and be pushed out into an alien and hostile world.

Confirmation was a huge event. The candidates had to remember long chunks of catechism and choose a middle name—a Saint’s name that would remain with them for life. Sophie rose early, bathed, brushed and combed her long, shiny curls, and donned her fairy-tale clothes. She had been dressed similarly for her first communion, but had not felt so excited or so beautiful. The candidates for confirmation arrived at the church and processed inside quietly and reverently. They were to be confirmed by the cardinal archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Griffin, and Sophie had to discipline herself not to openly stare at this exalted being.

The girls, one by one, knelt and kissed the huge ring on the cardinal’s finger, and he murmured a few words to them. Sophie knelt and kissed the ring that the cardinal held out to her. She stood up, and he asked her name. She told him, and he asked her, What confirmation name did you take, child?

Theresa, Sophie replied.

Ah, the great Saint Theresa of Avila?

No, Your Eminence, the little flower of Lisieux. Why did you choose her, my child?

Because she suffered a lot but had that toughness to get through. The cardinal placed his large hand underneath her chin, lifted her head up, and looked at her with a gentle smile. "Learn from that. Learn to suffer and to endure. Suffering is wasted on us if we give in too easily.

Strength comes from discipline inside ourselves. Life can be overwhelming, my dear child. Be strong, whatever happens."

Then she was moved on, and they all walked back to the convent. There was a special breakfast following the ceremony, with hot, fresh buttered rolls, real coffee, fruit, and ham. The cardinal ate with them and joked and chatted. Sophie sat next to him and was able to talk with him. She found him fascinating and unusually attractive. What a waste, she thought, of a sweet, intelligent, kind and interesting man who has to live a life of chastity and cut himself off from normal life.

At the convent, the sixteen-year-olds were to be lectured by a priest from the Passionist Fathers of Mill Hill in London. A handsome, dark-haired priest of about thirty, stood in front of them, and as was customary before just about anything in this Catholic world, he raised his hands and began to pray for enlightenment and for the Holy Spirit to descend and teach them all. Sophie glanced upwards but could see nothing descending. Increasingly, she was irritated and offended by the religious blanket draped over every aspect of life in this place. They all sat down at the young priest’s request, and he began to tell them what was expected of them as good Catholic young women. He spoke of their role as wives and mothers—no mention of careers or anything they might prefer to do, Sophie noted. He mentioned the obedience, respect, humility, and devotion expected of these little wives. As the young man droned on, Sophie had a mental picture of hordes of young Catholic women, dressed in sober, ankle-length black dresses, being herded onto a slave ship by a priest with a large whip in his hand.

The young priest then hesitatingly reached the subject of sex. The room fell weirdly silent. The atmosphere was electric. They were informed that God intended that every sperm ejaculated should result in yet another devout (albeit impoverished) Catholic being. The prevention of conception was a terrible sin—the waste of sperm in withdrawal was the sin of onanism. He advised them that they must supply their husband’s every sexual need without question; husbands were omnipotent, and they were inferior.

Sophie felt her nostrils flaring with anger.What utter rubbish! she thought. Are we really supposed to act on this and screw our lives up? The diatribe ended at last, and Mother Superior asked if anyone had any questions. Sophie raised her hand. There was an almost imperceptible communal intake of breath. The other girls knew Sophie and her way of thinking and reacting.

Yes, Sophie. Stand up and ask Father Richard whatever it is you wish to know.

Sophie stood up. The handsome young priest smiled at her. Ah yes, Sophie. How may I help you, my dear?

Father Richard, Sophie began in an innocent, treacly voice. You live in a seminary with many other priests, yes?

Yes, Sophie, I do.

Of course, Father, you are not married, are you? The gentle voice of Sophie led to the trap.

No, of course not.

You take a vow of chastity, do you not?

But of course, Sophie. He was looking slightly uncomfortable.

So you cannot know what it is to be married, and what marriage entails, and all the daily ins and outs, and— Sophie glanced at Mother Superior. The nun’s face was set and angry. Father Richard looked as if he wished the Holy Spirit would strike Sophie dumb. Her fellow pupils were smirking and nudging each other.

And you can hardly stand there and tell us what we should do, can you, because you have never, ever been in a situation involving sexual contact and are never ever likely to be. Furthermore, —Sophie paused and her head went up defiantly— you really think that all there is to life for a Catholic female is to be some sort of a slave to an overbearing, bossy, sexually demanding, Guinness-swilling lout, and to scrub his floors, cook his meals, and be pregnant for years, and drag up another race of brainwashed Catholics. If that’s so, then the Pope can accept my resignation right now. The silence trembled around them—all eyes and ears were on Sophie. And onanism isn’t a sin. It’s just a euphemism for masturbation. Sophie smiled and sat down.

There was a very loud silence. Mother Superior worked her jaws convulsively and clenched her fists. Father Richard looked around for an escape, like a chicken in a room full of foxes. Sophie’s peers sniggered quietly, and some had to stuff their fists into their mouths to prevent them from laughing openly.

Mother Superior broke the silence. Well, girls, we must say thank you to Father Richard for his enlightening talk, and you must all go down to the refectory for tea. Her voice was shrill and strained. She began frenziedly dragging girls from their chairs and pushing them towards the door.

Father Richard stood with a sickly smile on his handsome face, nodding at the giggling girls. As Sophie passed him, she smiled alluringly, or what she hoped was alluring. Thank you so much, Father Richard, she said softly, and the young man blushed deeply. Sophie made for the door and, as she went through it, muttered, What a waste!

A hand descended onto her shoulder and held her in a tight and painful grasp. You will go to my office immediately, Sophie, and sit there and await me. Whilst you are waiting, you may pray that God will forgive you, said Mother Superior through clenched teeth.

What about my tea? Sophie asked innocently.

You may consider the loss of your tea as a minor punishment for your behavior, madam. The nun pushed Sophie away abruptly and turned her yellow-denture smile on the terrified Father Richard. Come, Father. Come and have some tea with me.

Sophie trudged up to the office and sat on a soft armchair in the corner of the large, gloomy room. She picked up a copy of the Daily Telegraph, and she began to do the crossword on the back. She had time to complete it, as Mother Superior did not return for almost an hour.

When the nun returned, she sat on her large wooden swivel chair facing Sophie and folded her arms. Put that paper down and attend to me well, madam. Sophie met her gaze unflinchingly.

You, Sophie, are heading for a life of damnation and sin. You will reject everything we have taught you and pursue the life of the fleshly and the damned.

A normal life, then. Sophie smiled annoyingly.

If that is your normality, then yes.

If what is my normality? Marrying someone you love? Getting to know them first? Choosing them for love, even if they don’t follow your crackpot and stupid ideas? Experimenting with sex, as normal people do? Making love, and sensibly preventing the conception of unwanted children by using contraceptives? Having a relationship with someone who treats you as an equal—not a downtrodden baby machine for the pope? Then yes—that is what I hope to do when I go out into life. I can’t see it as fleshly or damned, to be honest, and as for damned—well, God invented sex, so I doubt that he’d damn anyone for actually doing something that He invented. It is supposed to be intensely pleasurable and enjoyable, so I’m told, and not just endured for the purposes of creating unwanted children. Look at all the slum kids in Italy! Look at all the huge families in Ireland with kids they can’t afford to feed and clothe! If there is a God who wants us to behave like that, then I don’t believe in Him and don’t want to. Sophie stopped and glared defiantly at the nun.

Mother Superior met Sophie’s gaze coldly. You were gifted with high intelligence, Sophie, but you are a rebel, and your constant need to kick against convention and normality will take you to dark places and dark things. I can do nothing to change your nature and your future, but to pray for you daily. You will be leaving us soon, and your examination results will be good, I know. I regret your thinking, but I wish you all the very best in your life. I feel that you should apologize to Father Richard and tell him that you did not mean anything you said.

But I did mean it, Sophie said quietly but firmly, and Father Richard is a big boy. He should be able to accept reality.

Mother Superior sighed. It is as well that you are leaving, Sophie. Go and get your tea now, and think, child, think. We have tried to teach you things that will help you to survive life.

Of course you have. Sophie stood up. You’ve taught me tremendous self-discipline, and how to dance and speak and play the piano, and cook and sew, and how to have polite dinner parties, and sing—but not how to face a world I never ever knew and dread facing. But face it I must and will. She curtsied to the nun and left for the refectory and her tea.

The end of the summer term and her time at the convent neared. The morning came, Sophie lifted her head and promptly dropped it back on the pillow. Her head felt as if someone had been hitting it with a 20-pound hammer, and she felt very sick. Oh my lord, thought Sophie, I have to get up. Today was the finals of the end-of-year inter-house rounders matches. Her team, St. Cuthberts, known affectionately as custards (because ‘custard’ sounded like ‘Cuthbert’, and their house colors were yellow), were playing St. Chads, or ‘the bads’. She dragged herself out of bed and went over to the open window and crawled unsteadily to the bathroom and forced herself to stand underneath a freezing shower to wake up.

After dressing up, she and her friends went together to the huge meadow that stretched out behind the convent where hockey, lacrosse, and rounders were played. The entire pitch was surrounded by pupils, teachers, and nuns carrying banners for Cuthberts or Chads. After the toss, Cuthberts went onto the field. Sophie was a backstop; she had to catch missed balls and try to throw them quickly to the fielder at first base to get the batsman out. Her head was spinning, and her mouth was dry. She threw her all into the match, but Chads batted well and achieved a high score, as Cuthberts began their bid to earn points. They all made superhuman efforts and fought their hangovers to nearly match Chads’ total. In their second batting, Chads crept slowly well ahead of Cuthberts, and when Sophie and her team went in for their last batting, they had a huge gap to fill.

They fought grimly and slowly—so slowly—while the scores crept closer. Then, they were closing and were tied, and the match had nearly run its course. Sophie stood before the bowler. She was the last one in; it all rested on her and her determination. If she could get just one more clear round of the pitch, her team would win. There was a tense silence amongst the spectators and the teams. The bowler hurled the ball at Sophie. Gathering all her strength, Sophie hit the ball with a sharp crack, and the ball flew up, over, and out into the grass at the edge of the pitch. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sophie launched herself forward. She touched first base, dashed to second base, and started for third base. Just one more and she would be home to victory. Her head hurt, her legs felt like lead, and she was nauseous, tired, and sweating profusely. In the distance, she saw a fielder preparing to throw the ball to the girl who guarded the last base. Sophie pulled all her discipline and determination to the fore.

Run! she told herself. Run very fast! Give your all. You must not fail. She accelerated, and the blood drummed in her ears. The ball was flying towards the fielder. Sophie gave off her last strength, hurling herself at the stop. The bat hit the stop a mere second before the ball fell into the fielder’s hands. The referee raised her hand. It was a run— they had won! Sophie collapsed in a heap, and her teammates rushed to lift her up and slap her on the back.What a way to go out, thought Sophie. Never give up. Fight all the way.

Cars were leaving the graveled driveway of the convent as parents collected their children. Sophie was awaiting the car that would take her home. Rachael had already left the school the previous year; she was already in the university. Sophie stood, looking at the old ivy-covered buildings, the tall beech and oak trees, and the neat flower beds. She felt a deep pang of loss. She had wished the nuns goodbye and thanked them. She turned to leave for the last time. This had been her home and refuge for twelve long years. Now she must go forward into an alien world, and she was afraid. She stood for a few moments, taking in the scene and reliving flashes of her past few years. She was almost in tears. She turned away and walked to the waiting car. Sophie’s childhood had ended.

CHAPTER 3

What She Once Thought Was Love

Sophie’s parents waited until she had returned from the convent for the last time, and then announced that they were moving.

Moving?! Sophie was aghast. Moving where?

Down to Devon. Her mother was arranging lilies in a tall vase. The smell reminded Sophie of the school chapel, and she missed it greatly.

Why didn’t you tell me this before? Sophie felt angry.

Because your father and I felt you had your exams to take and didn’t need any stresses or concerns.

Well, it would have given me time to absorb the news—all the implications. I thought I would be seeing all my friends at the Catholic church and the youth club, and I haven’t had time to say goodbye to them properly. And he’s not my father. This last utterance was almost whispered. Sophie still did not possess the courage to speak out when she should.

Don’t mumble, Sophie. Her mother gathered up the cut leaves and stems of the lilies and wrapped them in a newspaper. Take these to the gardener to put on the compost heap, or do it yourself if he’s not there.

Sophie went out into the sun-drenched garden and looked for Harry. She didn’t find him, so she put the package into the compost bin, and went to sit on the garden seat under the willow trees. She felt nervous about moving; it might be fun, or it might be quite dreadful. There would be a whole bunch of strangers to get to know. Everything would be so different. Well, she must just face it; she couldn’t change things. For now, the sun was sinking, and a slight breeze made the sultry summer night comfortable. Tomorrow was the future.

Sophie sat in the car, watching the last of her home being loaded into a huge pantechnicon. She clutched her shoulder bag, a flask of coffee, and a packet of water biscuits.

They arrived as the sun was setting over the edge of the moors. The house was very beautiful, of old stone—and larger than Sophie had anticipated. Her room had a large window that opened onto a very lovely garden crammed with roses, perennials, baskets and tubs full of bright annuals. Her mother cooked lamb chops, mashed potatoes, carrots, baked apples, and custard. Sophie ate hungrily, and then went on a tour of the house. There was a large entrance hall and an imposing staircase. Off this hall were a large dining room, a paneled lounge that held Sophie’s beloved piano, and a study for her stepfather, which looked out onto the garden through French windows. Along the corridor were cupboards and a door which led to steps down to a large cellar. At the end of this corridor was a huge kitchen, white-painted, well equipped, and light. The kitchen had a large porched door at the other end, and beyond that, a vegetable garden with currant bushes and fruit trees. The garden had apple, plum, and pear trees, along with other ornamental trees and shrubs. This delighted Sophie.

This was her new life. The summer passed, and the evenings grew shorter and the weather colder. Her hated stepfather’s drinking continued. Loud voices, breaking glass, and slammed doors were all part of the evening’s ritual. Sophie hated her stepfather, she hated this new environment, and she hated life.

Sophie went to university and obtained a good Science degree. She enjoyed this period of her life but she avoided any associations with the men she encountered, since she was, by nature, a serious person whose only concern was to study and succeed. She attended a few parties where people smoked pot and drank alcohol, but she managed to dexterously avoid the expected after-party bedding. Some men attracted her, but she turned her attention to her books.

She was justifiably proud of her degree, and she had great plans to profit from it, but just when she was about to make some sort of life for herself, she met Rolf. She was in a hotel in Exeter with her friends, having beer and a few laughs. His hair was jet black and shining, with a natural wave at the front; his skin was olive and looked healthy and enticing. His eyes were sloe black, and his lashes were long, black, and sultry. When he smiled, he had sweet dimples and very white teeth. He wore a smart blazer, with a Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers badge on the top left pocket, and gray slacks with a knife-edge crease. He walked to the bar and ordered a beer. Then he lifted it, drank deeply, and turned to look at Sophie and her companions. He nodded his head and smiled before turning back to his pint and chatting with the barman. Sophie was entranced. She had fallen under his spell as soon as she’d set eyes on him. The animal chemistry had been put in motion. She volunteered eagerly to go up and get the next round of drinks. She stood next to the handsome stranger, going through the order with the barman. The stranger turned.

Hello, he said, smiling.

Hello. Sophie smiled back shyly.

Would you be offended if I joined your party? Of course not. Please do.

I’ll pay for the drinks. He turned to the barman. Add another pint for me, and bring them over, Charlie. He handed over a note for the round and, after taking his change, followed Sophie to the table, where she introduced him to her colleagues.

His name was Rolf Amery, and he was eight years older than Sophie. He had just come out of the army, having served as a regular soldier in the REME for seven years in England, Hong Kong and, very briefly, British Guiana. They had been going home on a troop carrier from Hong Kong and had been diverted there when Dr Cheddii Jagan had caused trouble - or needed help with some sort of trouble — Sophie couldn’t quite remember. Rolf chatted with them about his army days, and Sophie was interested. She asked him what he was currently doing, and he told her he was in charge of a large workshop servicing heavy farming machinery, on a large estate belonging to a millionaire. This wealthy man also had two extremely unique racing cars, which Rolf had helped to build and maintain. Sophie asked where the estate was, and was amazed to find that it was only about two miles outside Chitterton, where she lived.

Rolf was surprised too and seemed pleased. So, we’ll be seeing each other, then, he told her.

And they did see each other. Mainly, they met in the local pub, the Chitterton Arms.

Eventually, Sophie realized that she must introduce Rolf to her parents. She was very unhappy and nervous, as he had a strong South Devon accent, and her parents were very snobbish about such things.

She told them that she had met a young man and wanted them to meet him. Her stepfather immediately questioned her avidly about his age, what job he had, where he lived— on and on, the inquisition went. He seemed satisfied on hearing of Rolf’s army career and his job at the large park for the millionaire Silas Hay.

Rolf drove his Morgan into their drive at seven promptly a few evenings later. He was clean-shaven, his hair immaculate, and was wearing his smart blazer with the REME badge and his regimental tie. He shook hands with her parents and sat down, whilst Sophie and her mother made drinks for all of them. As they heard Rolf speaking with such a strong local burr, Sophie’s parents began to exchange subtle looks. Sophie’s heart sank.

And where does your father work? her stepfather asked Rolf.

Oh, he works on the estate, Rolf replied.

In the office?

No, he helps with the cattle, and the chickens, and the gardening. There was a loud silence. Small talk followed, but the atmosphere was strained.

Sophie was relieved when Rolf excused himself, saying he had a very early start the next day. As she walked with him to his car, he said, They don’t like me that much, do they?

Sophie was on the verge of tears. I’m old enough to choose who I go out with, and they’re a pair of damned snobs. He isn’t even my father, and he’s a bloody drunk, and he shouts at my mother, and I hate him! She began to sob. Rolf put his arms around her and kissed her forehead.

Tomorrow, you must come and meet my parents. I’ll pick you up at the end of the lane at about six.

OK. Sophie kissed him and walked slowly back into the house after watching him drive off. She entered and awaited the inevitable criticisms from her parents: Didn’t she even notice that thick accent? His father was just a farmhand. He went to a secondary modern school. She told them that she was going to meet his parents the next day. Then she went up to the bed, unhappy and dreading the next evening.

At around six the next day, Rolf drew up and opened the door of the Morgan for her. They drove in silence; Sophie was very nervous. She did not like his parents from the first second. His mother was a possessive, jealous, spiteful creature. Dwarf-like with no teeth, she had little screwed-up eyes behind her round, wire glasses, with the dress sense of a scarecrow. His father had obviously been good-looking at some point, but now he had a hooked, threatening nose, sunken eyes, and sallow skin. Sophie later finds out that he was a heavy drinker, gambler, and a womanizer—and a vicious, calculating, and wicked liar.