Break of Dawn

She had done nothing about the decision she had made regarding her marriage, telling herself she would think about that once the funeral was over. Due to the circumstances of Cat’s death and the police investigation, the necessary paperwork had been slow in coming. It was now the second week of April, and the police were no further forward in their inquiries than on the day when Cat’s body had been discovered. Inspector Bell, the nice middle-aged policeman who was leading the murder case and who had attended the funeral that afternoon, had told her it might be a lengthy process, so she couldn’t use that as an excuse to delay. She had to take the bull by the horns.

Sophy’s stomach turned over. In order to disentangle herself from this marriage she would have to go through the courts and she knew it would be a tortuous process. She had no doubt that Toby had committed adultery; she’d had her suspicions about Rosalind Robins but she had been sure about another actress he had worked with briefly after Rosalind, when this woman’s husband had warned Toby off. Proving this might be difficult, along with the charge of gross cruelty the law insisted on, but she had to try. If nothing else, she could live separately from him once proceedings were under way, even if it might be years before she was legally free.

A gust of rain splattered against the window and a few drops found their way down the chimney, causing the fire in the grate to hiss and spit. The weather had become wintry again in the last forty-eight hours after a prolonged mild spell, but Sophy had welcomed the icy wind and rain. She didn’t think she would have been able to stand it if Cat had been buried on a sunny day with the birds singing.

Becoming aware she was wringing her hands together, she stood up and walked over to the window, staring blindly ahead. How could Cat and she have imagined it would end like this? Cat having fallen into the hands of some madman, and she with her marriage in tatters? She had married fully expecting to fulfil her role as a mother. Traditionally in the theatre an actress was not expected to give up her career when she had a child. She had thought she and Toby would do what other couples did and bring their babies with them to work. Even when an actress was touring, every theatre had the equivalent of a nursery in what was called the green room, where children could sleep or play during rehearsals and performances. Some actresses employed nannies and sent their offspring to boarding schools as soon as they were old enough, but she had always imagined she would keep her children with her and employ governesses and tutors when the time came to further their education.

She had wanted Toby’s babies once. Been entranced by the idea. Now it disgusted her. How could she have been so wrong?

Turning from the window, she was startled to find Toby’s slatey-blue eyes fixed on her. He sat up in the chair, his voice flat when he said, ‘Are you satisfied with how you played your part today, my talented little wife?’ before he drained the last of his brandy, smacking his lips as he finished.

She genuinely didn’t understand. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Lady Bountiful. Virtuous, grieving friend. Sweet, gentle, docile wife. Take your pick. You incorporated them all into the performance at various times, and I have to take off my hat to you. You’re a damn good actress.’

She had seen him like this many times when he was under the influence of drink or drugs, but tonight there was a viciousness in his face that frightened her. He was mad. He had to be. She said nothing, remaining perfectly still as she held his gaze.

‘But of course you’re used to playing to a packed house, albeit a smaller than normal one in this case.’ He threw his arms in an expansive gesture, encompassing the room. ‘The great Sophy Shawe, the darling of the West End. Isn’t that right, my sweet?’

‘You’re drunk.’

It was not so much her words, more the look on her face which acted on him like an injection. He leaped up from the chair, his face infused with angry colour and all pretence of composure melting from him as he yelled, ‘Drunk, you say? And who wouldn’t have to be drunk to put up with what I do? Parading your conquests in front of my face and all the time looking down your saintly nose at me. But I know what you are, under the skin, don’t I? Oh yes. I know, I know. I’ve got more talent in one little finger than you’ve got in the whole of your body, but you’re clever with that body, aren’t you, sweetheart? You know how to use it to get what you want, same as your whore mother.’

She had always known that the only way she could tell him would be when he was at his worst, like now, even if on those occasions he was also at his most dangerous.

‘I am going to see a solicitor tomorrow,’ she heard herself saying. ‘I am going to divorce you.’

He stared at her for a moment, amazement etched on his mottled face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Ridiculous or not, that is what I’m going to do.’

‘Over my dead body.’ His spring towards her took her by surprise, as did the punch between her eyes which knocked her clean off her feet and caused her to fall backwards on to an ebonised wood cabinet containing a collection of small figurines.

She couldn’t have said if she screamed or not; afterwards it was a blur, but something brought Sadie running into the room. Before Sophy lost consciousness, she heard him say, ‘You won’t make a fool of me like that, do you hear me? I won’t be made a laughingstock, I’d kill you first.’

And then there was nothing but a consuming darkness.

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