Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 23 & 24 (standard:drama, 3718 words) [12/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Mar 11 2010	Views/Reads: 2267/1680	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Dorothea is determined to exact revenge on her brother, Thomas Llewellyn - and Veronica Day is the perfect tool. Approaching the climax of my drama set on a North Sea island.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

body headed out into an increasingly angry summer afternoon. 

Through rain-blurred vision she saw Gibbings reach his cottage and then
disappear behind its thick, dark door. 

Gibbings was angry; she hadn't needed to be within earshot. His body
posture spoke for him and she knew why – pretty Miss Musician  had got 
so far under his skin she could almost feel the swell of his vital 
parts. 

How she loathed the woman, but not half as much as she'd come to loathe
her brother – so he thought he could dispense with her so easily – in 
so doing he had insulted her intelligence, even the physical blows he'd 
inflicted on her couldn't have ignited greater indignation. 

She reached the door, knocked; even through the thick cottage walls she
could hear his rapid footsteps on the panelled wooden floor. 

'What do you want?' he asked brusquely. 

'You should have listened to Veronica, not drove her away -' Dorothea
lifted her face imperiously, lowered her eyes, 'are you going to deny 
me entry to my property?' 

'You speak in Veronica's defence, it's not like you Dorothea. I'm in no
mood for your antics.' 

'Do not be flippant,' she said, brushing past him as he reluctantly
stepped aside. 'I saw you push Veronica away; I asked why you did it.' 

'No crime in it,' he said indignantly and then as Dorothea widened her
eyes, 'you know full well, you've come to gloat.' 

'All I know full well,' Dorothea retorted, taking several strides into
the cottage and turning to face him, 'is that Veronica has no intention 
of marrying my brother. If she was trying to converse with you, for 
whatever reason, you would have done well to have listened.' Dorothea 
blew smoke into the small sitting room, analysed his expression. 'You 
are intrigued Gibbings, you give yourself away too easily.' 

'You say this and yet you despise Veronica.' Gibbings swept hair from
his brow, his free hand on the rim of the open door, fingers tapping 
restlessly on the woodwork. 'You're playing your games, Dorothea – 
Veronica is not -' 

'You appear to be hesitating, Gibbings, Veronica is not what? Does she
not have your working class roots, Gibbings? Do you think she worries 
about that?' 

'She walks and talks with the man with the red hair, the posh new motor
car -' Gibbings said bitterly. 'The reason she visits this castle is to 
see your brother – and she has been given a room at the castle. 
Veronica exists in loftier circles; she does not worry about the likes 
of me.' 

'Huh! What nonsense you talk. Wash out the salt and the red mist that
clouds your eyes, Gibbings, before it is too late – not only for your 
own sake but hers also.' 

Dorothea waltzed slowly to the door, placing her face close to his. 'Use
your imagination dear man, my brother grows ever more obsessed with a 
woman who has no feelings for him, though he imagines she has. When he 
finally realises the truth God only knows what might happen.' 

Gibbings removed his hand from the door frame, screwed his eyes. 'Why
are you taking time to tell me this? What's in it for you?' 

'That's my concern,' Dorothea said, swinging past him, and then touching
his cheek with a forefinger, 'consider your poor conscience if you 
stand idly by. Go to her, Gibbings.' 

John Gibbings stood in silence, watching Dorothea stroll serenely back
to the castle. 

*                                    * 

'Ah Dawson,' Llewellyn tweaked his moustache, stared at the heavily
built butler. 'Miss Day is currently out. Please advise me the moment 
she returns.' 

'Of course, sir,' Dawson bowed. 

'Good.' Llewellyn wrapped his fingers around the arm of his chair. 'And
as for your duties this coming week,  your  instructions are to remain 
at the castle pending my return, during which time I have a task for 
you of the utmost importance.' 

'Sir?' The butler's heavy black eyebrows rose as he watched his employer
place a cup carefully in its saucer and wipe his lips with a 
handkerchief he drew from his top pocket. 'You are to dispose of the 
services of the gardener, Gibbings; his activities of late have been 
leading him to neglect his duties. You are to allow a few days 
following my departure in the morning. This will enable you to observe 
his unsatisfactory conduct.' 

'And if the gardener, Gibbings,' behaviour is not unsatisfactory, what
then?' 

Llewellyn placed his elbows on the table, interlocked his fingers,
regarded Dawson fixedly. 'Get my meaning Dawson, you will find it 
unsatisfactory. Do you understand?' 

'Perfectly, sir.' 

'Good,' then as Dawson bent low to recover the silver tea service,
'furthermore, you will then ensure that Miss Veronica is ‘protected' 
from any nuisances he might cause her. Am I understood on that point?' 

'Fully, sir.' 

'And understand you are to take any steps you deem appropriate to
prevent that happening.' 

He held Dawson's gaze for several seconds, receiving acknowledgement
from the big butler. 

Llewellyn stood up, thrust hands in pockets and stared out to sea; he
could eliminate Gibbings, appoint another gardener, but Dorothea's 
continued presence caused him considerable concern. Dorothea would do 
all she could to disturb his happiness with Veronica. It could not 
happen. His sister had to go one way or another. Llewellyn cupped a 
hand beneath his chin and mused. 

*                                  *                                  * 

Would you say Llewellyn seems somewhat on edge? Not at all, his normal
self?' Rothman eased back in his chair, crossed his legs and looked 
sideways at Reynolds. 

'His usual self? Not at all old chap, not at all. In fact he's been
quite evasive, makes you wonder why we were invited.' 

Rothman smiled knowingly. 'So he could show off his intended bride to
be, I think he has some romantic vision – first he buys a castle, now 
he envisages the beautiful Veronica as his queen -' Rothman spread his 
hand. 'I fear it is only a dream; castles in the sand Reynolds, nothing 
more.' 

'You speak lightly of such a serious matter.' Reynolds drew on his pipe.
'If what you say is true, will you enjoy watching the saga unfold?' 

'Pah,' Rothman responded dismissively. 'I have no time for such things.
I undertook the journey out of mild interest, I am less than impressed 
with this isolated island, and, Reynolds, I must ask a question -' 
Rothman drew forward in his seat, fixing his eyes keenly on his friend, 
'would you regard our investment safe considering Llewellyn's current 
pre-occupation with creating his own Utopia?' 

Reynolds' mouth dropped open; he caught his pipe before it could hit the
occasional table. 'God, Rothman, you are not suggesting that Llewellyn 
is in any way – shall I say – losing it?' 

Rothman glanced down, though his eyes remained on Reynolds; there was
unusual severity in his features marked by the thin network of lines on 
his forehead. 'Llewellyn cannot see further than this island at the 
moment and what it contains. If it comes to a point where he cannot 
fulfil his obligations then our investment will be in peril.' 

'But Llewellyn returns to London tomorrow, so surely his interest and
resolve must still exist.' 

Rothman smiled, little more than a chink in his cheek. 'And if Veronica
remains on this island, how long do you suppose he will stay there?' 

'Is she remaining?' 

Rothman nodded. 'My intuition tells me she will; she has unresolved
business.' 

'Unresolved business?' 

'Look around this place Reynolds, use your eyes – see what rumbles
beneath the solid foundations.' 

'You talk in riddles Rothman.' 

'Pay me no attention;' Rothman glanced at his watch, 'in a few hours we
will be leaving this, as you call it, saga. I am grateful for that.' 

Chapter Twenty Four 

Llewellyn had sat in his room, restlessly scanning the shoreline and the
coastal track leading from the village for a sign of Veronica. With the 
wind buffeting the castle walls and whistling around its turrets it was 
inconceivable that she could remain exposed to the elements and not 
nestled safely inside. But the fact that she should be so, he 
attributed to Gibbings, though he contented himself in part with the 
knowledge that any further attempts to impose upon her goodwill would 
be curtailed by his dismissal. 

He started at the sound of heavy footsteps along the corridor and an
equally heavy fist upon the door. 'Miss Day has returned sir,' the 
square jawed Dawson announced in his gravelly voice. ‘She proceeded 
straight to her room.' 

Llewellyn leapt up; it seemed that his nerves had received a stab at
their core. 'Thank you Dawson,' he said adjusting his tie, his fingers 
trembling. He felt a heat incongruous with the unseasonably cool 
draught that filtered through the window frames. He followed Dawson out 
with a speed that almost caught the butler's heels; such was his desire 
to speak with her. 

Because Gibbings had been pestering her, she had been upset and taken a
lengthy walk; that had been the true reason for her absence. He needed 
to see that she was calm now, to re-assure her if necessary. 

He rattled three quick blows on her door with his knuckle and as she
pulled it open he thought that despite her prolonged exposure to the 
elements, she looked wonderfully unruffled. 

'Veronica, please excuse my intrusion. I was most concerned for your
welfare.' 

He saw her flick a finger through that delightfully fine red hair. 'Oh,
Thomas, why is that?' 

Llewellyn drew back at the last moment from revealing the true source of
his reasoning. 'I feel that this island is inhospitable in such 
inclement weather. I was concerned that you should fall foul to -' 

'Thomas, forgive me for interrupting, but please understand that I am
quite capable of withstanding the elements – in fact, I thrive on 
them.' 

'That does not prevent me from being concerned,' Llewellyn stated more
severely than he'd intended, then forcing a wan smile, 'would you care 
to take tea with me in the drawing room? I intend seeking the company 
of Reynolds and Rothman; they are returning to London shortly.' 

Veronica appeared to hesitate before nodding her assent. 'Why – yes of
course, it would be rude of me not to pay my respects to them before 
they depart.' 

'I would hope most earnestly that you derive some pleasure in sharing my
company,' Llewellyn said anxiously. 

'Why, yes, of course Thomas, – of course.' Veronica quickly took his
right hand between hers, ‘Forgive me for not making that clear, I was 
merely responding to your comments concerning your visitors.' 

‘Thank you my dear,' Llewellyn appeased, afforded her a generous smile.
'I shall be in the drawing room, looking forward to enjoying your 
company.' 

'I will join you shortly, Thomas.' 

Veronica closed the door behind Llewellyn, took a brush to her hair,
examining it in the mirror – for a moment, it wasn't her own image she 
saw but Rothman's, and for a reason – Rothman was the elegant, modern 
young gentleman, but he was more than that, he was mischievous, 
egotistic and she knew she would be under his scrutiny during the time 
she was in his company. Thomas had said his departure was imminent; if 
so, that was a blessing. Rothman tested her composure to the limit and 
he knew it. 

He was sitting by the window when she went down, head inclined towards
the garden. She wondered whether it was a hint of things to come and 
soon found out. 

'Ah Veronica, you grace us with your presence, such a foul afternoon has
befallen us – I feel quite sorry for that poor gardener chap, don't 
you? Out in all weathers.' 

'I dare say he is used to it.' Veronica avoided his eyes, but failed to
prevent hers straying through the windows towards the gardens. 

'Do not fret, Veronica, he is not in attendance. Though I'll vouch it
will not be long -' 

'Veronica does not fret,' Llewellyn snapped, the veins taut in his neck,
lips curved in a snarl as he glared at Rothman, then breathing deeply, 
his tone dropping as his gaze switched to Veronica, 'She has no worries 
within these walls. Is that not true my dear?' 

'Why should I have, Thomas?' She met Llewellyn's unsteady eyes as calmly
as she could, 'You are an excellent host -' 

'Surely more than a host, Veronica,' Llewellyn's eyes widened -'for you
are my intended-' 

'I understand Thomas,' Veronica said, placing a hand on his shoulder and
kissing his cheek, and with a glance at the gloating Rothman, 'but we 
are here to bid our guests bon voyage, a fine journey home.' 

'Why thank you Veronica,' Rothman glanced at Reynolds, 'and I take it
Llewellyn, that you intend to return to London tomorrow as planned.' 

'Naturally.' Llewellyn poured Veronica tea and handed it to her, the cup
rattling in its saucer. 'Why do you question me?' 

'No particular reason,' Rothman said softly, gazing around, listening to
the wind booming against the castle walls, and returning his attention 
to Veronica. 'But tell me, dear lady, what keeps you here? In these 
conditions you would be worthy of a decoration should you continue your 
stay.' 

'I need respite from my hectic schedules. Were you a musician Mr.
Rothman, you would understand my meaning.' Veronica raised her cup, 
sipped from it and gave Rothman a challenging look. 'I intend remaining 
here a little longer.' 

'I see.' There was a glint in Rothman's eye which cooled as he turned to
Llewellyn. 'And does that meet with your approval?' 

'Miss Day – Veronica – is a resident in this castle; she is entitled to
remain here as long as she wants. Why, she need never return to the 
mainland again, if that is her wish.' 

'That is most certainly not my wish, Thomas.' Veronica being unable to
detach herself from the absurdity of the remark, said, 'I cannot 
encapsulate myself here, much as I have grown fond of the island.' 

'Why, no my dear,' but the strange intensity of Llewellyn's features,
the unusual penetration in his eyes, had Veronica pondering momentarily 
whether he had heeded her words, before Rothman's sigh broke the 
silence. 

'Ah – the afternoon wears on, the weather worsens and we have a long
journey ahead.' Rothman slapped the arm of his chair. 'Come Reynolds, 
we should prepare to depart.' He rose to his feet. 'I can truly say I 
have found my short stay here most interesting.' Glancing from 
Llewellyn to Veronica he added, 'I would like to repay your hospitality 
– you and your intended are cordially invited to my humble abode in 
Richmond – we must agree on a date that is suitable for you both,' with 
his eyes remaining on her he continued, 'should you feel inclined to 
leave the island, of course – Veronica.' 

Llewellyn's eyes became crevices; a vein pulsed in his cheek. Quick to
assess his agitation Veronica placed a hand on his wrist and fixed 
Rothman with a serene smile. 'I feel Mr. Rothman is something of a 
cheeky one; I am certain he speaks in jest, though I for my part would 
be honoured to accept his invitation, were I more certain of my 
schedule.' 

Rothman returned an empty smile. 'Then perhaps it may yet be possible.
Llewellyn will no doubt advise me.' 

'No doubt he will.' Veronica switched her attention to Llewellyn, aware
of the drop in Rothman's voice. Rothman was a good deal more than 
cheeky and his jest narrowly concealed a malicious edge, once more she 
sensed Llewellyn was in danger of losing his temper. He had become 
rigid, his eyes hard like stone, following Rothman's every step as the 
two guests exited the drawing room. 

'Rothman's comment was intended for me. He belittles me Veronica,'
Llewellyn muttered acidly. 'I regret inviting him; he has not 
distressed you too much?' 

'Not at all.' Veronica stiffened as Llewellyn clamped his free hand over
hers and tightened his grip. 'I think he is not so much belittling you, 
but engaging in game play. He has a tendency I feel, to amuse himself 
at other people's expense.' 

'Perhaps,' Llewellyn exhaled heavily and drew in fresh breath. 'At least
I can console myself in the knowledge that his departure is imminent, 
but I must express another concern -' 

'Which is?' Veronica gazed at eyes widening into brown globes. 

‘ Your safety. Please be assured that my butler, Dawson, will be at your
disposal whenever you require him.' 

'My safety?' 

'No – no,' Llewellyn shook head. ‘I think only of your security, your
welfare – it is my wish that you treat this place as your home, relax 
within its solid walls – free from -' 

'Free from what?' Veronica frowned, wrenched her hand from Llewellyn's
grasp. 'Thomas, what on earth are you talking about?' 

Llewellyn thrust thumb and forefinger to his temple as if there were
some kind of intense pain inside. 'I want only your happiness, 
Veronica, nothing else.' 

“Then stop trying to cocoon me -” the words screamed inside her head,
longing to boom into Llewellyn's ears but she held back, though only 
for a second, the urge had become too strong - 

'Thomas you are trying to cocoon me, these castle walls you speak of
should not protect me from myself -' 

'It is a man's duty to protect the one he loves.' Llewellyn's eyes had
turned misty, the severity had gone, his fingers caressed her hand. 
'Please marry me, Veronica – say it will be soon -' 

“But I cannot be protected, it is not what I desire – and I cannot marry
you Thomas.” This time the words didn't force their way out, because 
now Veronica understood the gravity of her predicament. Llewellyn 
wasn't stable – but at least in the morning he would be leaving, and if 
she could get through to Gibbings - 

'I will marry you Thomas,' Veronica lied, 'and soon.' 

'You will? God bless.' Llewellyn's eyes welled as he cradled her head in
his arms, she was conscious of his odour for he was sweating profusely. 
'When will it be?' 

'Upon my return,' she said spontaneously. 'Upon my return. Now please
Thomas, I feel tired, in need of a rest – if I may go to my room and 
lie down -' 

'When will you return?' The lines on Llewellyn's forehead arched, along
with his brows. 

'As soon as I know my schedule,' Veronica said, calmly levering herself
away. 'I will advise you. Now may I retire?' 

'I would not detain you a second longer against your wishes – will we
dine this evening to mark your momentous decision?' 

'Yes Thomas, once I am refreshed.' 

'Then, my love, I wish you a pleasant rest.' 

Veronica turned to leave, sighed, and out amidst the shadows of the
hallway a large shape loomed, not close enough to block her access to 
the stairs but close enough for her to make out its features. - the 
square jaw, the broken nose of the granite-faced butler, Dawson, who 
watched her every move. 


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