Page 91 of These Old Lies
The accusation felt almost comical considering how Ned had actively pursued illegal relationships for the better part of three decades. He was doing so right this minute.
Yet, when he looked back, those affairs had always been ephemeral, doomed to end before they began. Even Charlie, who Ned had tried to hold on to more than anyone else.
He looked at Charlie now, laughing at something Betty said, the rare London sun catching the auburn left in his curls. Today’s tribunal had been more ambitious, bolder, riskier than Ned would have ever done on his own. A risk that Charlie had pushed him to take and one that had left themstronger.
A vision of a life flashed before Ned’s eyes. A future with Charlie, measured not in months or years, but decades. A life filled with books, laughter, Betty, Frank, Ellie, friends, theatre, and travel. Champagne and strawberries by the Thames. Dragging each other to museums that the other one hated. Dancing all night. Doing the dishes and going to bed.
The future Ned never let himself dream of having.
He squared his shoulders. He was Colonel Edmund Pinsent of Heyworth. He was going to make this future for himself.
31 Villiers Automotive
London, August 1932 / Charlie
In the three weeks since he had returned from France, Charlie had been searching for a moment to have the most terrifying conversation in his marriage. As he installed new shelves for displaying gear shifts, it dawned on him that he probably wasn’t going to find a better moment than this current one.
The children were out with their cousins and the shop rarely had many customers in the middle of the afternoon. Betty was behind the long counter, ledger open, pencil in one hand and ruler in another, going through the week’s accounts.
What’s more, the shop floor of Villiers Automotive was where Charlie and Betty were at their best as husband and wife. Their strengths naturally fit together—Betty’s keen attention to detail, Charlie’s ability to put customers at ease. Charlie’s family joked that their marriage made the business a success, but to Charlie it had always been the other way around, their business was the core of their marriage.
“The first woman I was ever with was a shopgirl from the florist down the street,” Charlie said as he reached for a screwdriver, without looking up at Betty. “I was sixteen and thought I was taking an innocent’s virtue, only for it to become rapidly clear that June knew exactly what she was doing.”
Betty snorted with laughter and put her pencil down to look at Charlie, waiting for him to explain where he was going with this. He took a deep breath for the next bit, continuing to screw in a shelf. “The first man I was with was in a bar in Ypres in ’15. Don’t know his name. I’m not sure whichone of us was more drunk, but we managed to get our hands down each other’s trousers nonetheless. He had dark brown eyes, almost black. The next week I was in the same bar and saw some of his mates. Asked after their friend, and they said he had gone over the top and never came back.”
Betty had gone rigid but didn’t interrupt.
“The first person I loved was Ned.” Charlie clenched his screwdriver and fought the urge to hurl. “It started in the war, much like my first bloke. When I was injured, he saved my life. I hated him and loved him for that.” He risked a brief glance toward Betty, who looked on the verge of speech, but if he didn’t finish this now, he never would.
“I didn’t see him again until ’23,” he continued. “For a while we were together, and then it was just too impossible.” It took all of his remaining scraps of courage to say the next words. “I told you I saw him again in France. We went for a drive, and then dinner, and then, well, I almost kissed him. We didn’t, but came closer than we should have.”
“I don’t understand.” Betty had gone pale, her hands gripping the countertop.
“Anything you want to know, I will tell you.” Charlie had already decided he would lay himself bare for her.
“You like to fuck men?” There was no warmth in her voice, but not revulsion either.
Charlie fought his blush. “I’ve fucked men. I’m not like Ned, though…” He stopped that line of argument. He wasn’t here to expose Ned. He would explain a different way. “I like women and men. People who are confident, but who also break the rules. Who are a bit feminine and a bit masculine. Maybe I’m too picky, or not picky enough. I’ve never figured it out.”
“Do you find me attractive?” Betty’s voice wobbled.
The sunlight through the big shop windows caught the greys and blondes in her auburn hair, creating an ever-shifting set of colours. Betty had never been one for the fanciest fashions, but Charlie had always enjoyed the way her dresses followed her curves, sweeping in and out. “You are stunning. Your hair’s like fire, and you have a smile that makes me go weak in the knees. Making you gasp is one of the best sounds in the world.”
“How would you even? I mean, where does it all fit?” If he wasn’t so terrified, Charlie would have laughed. This was how Betty saw the world, starting with the mechanics.
“I’ll tell you if you want, but it’s less different than you would think.”
The only response was silence.
“You’ve every right to be angry.” Charlie didn’t hate himself, didn’t hate what he had done with men, but he knew how others felt. If she was repulsed, he would live with the consequences.
“I’m a good deal more than angry, Charles Villiers,” Betty answered crisply.
The tension in the shop probably could have sparked the start of a dozen engines alone. Charlie fought the urge to say more, explain, argue, justify. He’d already dumped enough on Betty. So he turned back to his shelves and began turning the next row of screws.
Behind him, Charlie could hear Betty's shoes on the scuffed wooden floor as she stepped out from behind the counter, walked to the shop door, flipped their sign to ‘closed’ and turned the lock. It was probably for the best; neither of them were in any state to serve customers. Betty walked up behind him and his almost finished shelves.
Charlie placed his screwdriver back in his toolbox and turned to face her.