Victor and Gerald Summerfield

 

Victor and Gerald Summerfield were twins, but you really would not have known. Born just twenty minutes apart and non-identical, Victor the first one to come into the world protesting loudly and then Gerald, so quietly, the midwife had slapped his legs to ensure he took his first breath. That was pretty much how it continued, Victor was the outspoken boy at school who always got into fights, he was the dominant one from day one.

The twins mother Connie showed little interest in them as they grew up, preferring the company cigarettes and alcohol and very odd men.  She would complain loudly about how the boys ‘had ruined her figure’ to anyone who listened, even in front of them.

No one knew who the boy’s father was, and when they were five, they went to live in the Gloucestershire countryside in a village called Fallow Marsh on The Water.

It seemed their mother had finally landed herself a rich guy, Nigel Cameron, who owned a 17^th century 8 bedroom manor house just off the village high street. He was pleasant enough to the boys and would buy them sweets on a Saturday. They married in the local register office just a month or so later. It wasn’t long before their mother became fed up with him and started several affairs with other men in the village, a big mistake as it soon got back to her husband through the twitching of net curtains!

Nigel was at the point of divorcing Connie and making her and the boys homeless when he suddenly died. ‘Stress related heart attack’ the local doctor concluded, although he eyed Connie suspiciously over his half-moon glasses as he signed the certificate.

After the grieving widow act was over Connie settled very comfortably into her lady of the manor role, hiring and firing staff as it suited her. She was sitting pretty as Nigel had left his entire fortune to her not having had the time to change the will before his demise.

She was unbelievably bad with money, throwing lavish cocktail parties, buying expensive dresses and frequently turned up drunk at the school gates at pick up time. Local mothers would keep their children at a distance from Victor and Gerald not wanting them to mix with them and consequently they had no friends. They didn’t really even have each other, if they went down to the shallow river that ran through the village Victor would throw stones at Gerald’s legs making them sting, one time pushing him over, so he cut his palms and shins on the sharp riverbed.

Gerald didn’t cry, he didn’t dare, he limped back to the manor trailing behind Victor who constantly threw insults at him over his shoulder.  His mother was uninterested and called the housekeeper to patch up his wounds. She was kind and gave him milk and a cookie after swabbing the grazes.

Once the boys were teenagers they largely cared for themselves, keeping distance between them as much as possible. With little or no friends, the pair spent a lot of time reading and Victor began to collect newspapers and coins, a hobby that became an obsession and an escape.

Connie’s knackered liver cut short her life at the age of 63 by which time the boys were fully grown men in their early 40’s. Neither worked, they had never had to, instead of conversation and motherly kindness, Connie compensated the boys with generous amounts of money as she poured herself another drink.

Victor and Gerald cut lonely figures at the grave of their mother in the churchyard of the tiny village church. It was a cold day in January and a raw wind whistled around the tombstones sending dead leaves scurrying across the grass. Two nosey villagers attended, just for the gossip and Connie’s sister who the two men had never met introduced herself but soon retreated, it was clear neither twin had the best conversational skills.

Afterwards in the oak beamed lounge of the Old Duke pub and in front of a crackling fire the pair sort of toasted their mother with a whiskey. Not ones for excessive drinking, the pair stared awkwardly into the middle distance, each clutching their glass. The bar was awash with noise, elbow nudging and whispering.

‘I knew your mother’ said one man as he shuffled up to their corner table with a sly grin.

Victor shot him a look of stone until he retreated, he knew exactly why this stranger ‘knew’ his mother.

Without a word the two brothers downed their drink and stood up in complete synchronicity, probably the most twin like behaviour they had ever displayed.

That was the first and last time that they entered the pub or really even interacted with local life. Even when they visited the local shop for food, separately of course, they were known for flinging money at the cashier without so much as a thank you.

So you could forgive the locals for being a little confused when the men seemed to have several visitors a week. Often there would be two or three vans and then expensive cars parked on the green curb outside the manor gates. The more eagle-eyed gossips clearly with nothing better to fill their time would stand and watch from hidden vantage points in their houses, they reported back that the vans brought in furniture and boxes, lots of boxes.

Had the locals been able to spy on the men they would have known the struggle Gerald faced on a daily basis with Victor. Victors collecting was out of control, since the inheritance he had developed a taste for expensive antiques, buying them and having them shipped from far flung corners of the world. Gerald would often awake to find new things being crammed into already over filled rooms.  The day he opened his bedroom door and nearly crashed into a life-sized Samurai warrior in full armour Gerald realised he had to do something. After many rows Victor agreed to let some dealers come to offer money for some of the pieces, hence the big cars. However, if Gerald thought that was the answer, he was very wrong. For every item that Victor would reluctantly agree to parting with he replaced it with two more things.

Gerald sighed as he watched the third dealer of the day leave empty handed while he could hear Victor on the phone to yet another auction room. It was then that Gerald decided on another plan, he just had to get Victor to agree.

Early that evening over their separate, silent, suppers at opposite ends of the vast oak dining table Gerald cleared his throat nervously and put forward his proposition.

‘Victor, I’ve had a bit of an idea’ said Gerald placing his knife and fork down and dabbing at his mouth with a fine linen napkin. He pressed his fingers to his chin as he waited for Victor to respond.

Victor looked up from his own supper, Gerald could feel his suspicious glare penetrate the dimly lit room. For the longest time he remained silent and Gerald awaited the torrent of abuse that would surely follow.

Victor put down his knife, picked up his wineglass, in it was a full-bodied red with an earthy aroma, just how he liked it, he took a sip.

If Gerald was anxious before, the anxiety had reached a palpable level by the time Victor actually spoke. ‘Go on’ he said simply, as he continued to take another sip of wine.

‘Well,’ said Gerald drawing a deep breath, he felt he wouldn’t be able to breath again until his idea was out. ‘I was thinking. We should catalogue some of the things you have acquired and display them properly. We could put things like the Samurai into glass cases and maybe we could open up to the public and do house tours, you have collected so many interesting things.’ We could also get rid of half of this stuff Gerald was secretly thinking.

’We…’ he continued but was suddenly aware of Victor, who had been so quiet, slamming his glass to the table, wine slopped out over the rim looking like a bloody trickle.

‘WE!’ Roared Victor ‘WE … are NOT doing anything!’

Even in the gloom Gerald could see the rage on Victor’s face, at first, he bowed his head but then he could feel anger rising in his chest. All his life he had been subjected to Victor’s vitriol, all these years he had lived in fear of him.  Gerald jumped from the table violently and the chair toppled backwards with a clatter making Victor jump in surprise.

‘I’ve had ENOUGH!’ yelled Gerald, the anger had surfaced rapidly but subsided almost as quickly as his mind scrambled with what to do next. ‘I’ve had had enough’ he repeated firmly but quietly as he headed for the door.

Victor downed the last of his wine in one go, he twirled the glass with his fingers.

As Gerald shut the door, he heard a thump and a smash as the glass hit the door and splintered on the stone floor. He did not look back, he went straight to his room, negotiating the many antiques on the way. For a heart stopping moment he almost collided with a Ming vase, but it just wobbled, and he was able to right it with one hand.

He packed a bag, threw it into his car and drove. 30 miles later he realised he had crossed the county border and was nearly in Oxford. He passed a Premier Inn and toyed with the idea of staying there but something drew him to The Old Bank. It really was a splendid building, tall and imposing, he wasn’t short of money – he would treat himself.

He took the last double room and sat in the little courtyard with a whiskey. It was a mild night and the sun was going down, candles glowed on the tables and he perused a menu, suddenly regaining his appetite.

He ordered food and kicked back with a second whiskey, which of course went straight to his head. He felt warm and mellow as he watched the velvety night sky descend behind the University church, St Mary the Virgin, as he later found out.

The food was exquisite, the third whiskey even better, but he needed a clear head in the morning so resisted the waiters offer of more and climbed the stairs to his first-floor room.

Gerald awoke the next day, confused at first as to where he was momentarily. He had never stayed in a hotel like this or indeed done something so spontaneous. He lay back on the white cotton pillows and began to plan the rest of his life as he marvelled at the freedom he had obtained at the tender age of 44.

He showered in the clean, modern shower, shaved and went down for a hearty breakfast. At checkout he raised an eyebrow at the eye watering bill but paid it with a smile and no guilt. After all, today was the first day of the rest of his life.

While Gerald was busy planning his new exciting life, Victor became even more eccentric his spending on antiques tripling in the weeks after his twin’s departure. Even the delivery guys scratched their heads and wondered if there was a square inch of space to put down Victors latest purchases. Soon the once vast manor started to feel like it was shrinking as things piled up, you couldn’t even get into the majority of rooms and even bathrooms became impossible to use.  The locals who caught a rare glimpse of Victor reported back that he looked like a tramp with wild unkempt hair. The manor grounds soon became choked with weeds as Victor rarely ventured outside and had long since dismissed the gardener.

People knew he was still around because at night the odd light could be seen in one of the dirty windows and once, he was seen chasing two lads off the property, brandishing an antique sword in rage.

A year passed. Gerald had bought a small cottage in the Oxfordshire countryside, one with a cosy feel, nothing like the manor house in look or style. He took pleasure in simple things like a good whiskey in front of his open fire and walking his dog Herbert in all weathers. A dog was something he had always wanted but had always been denied. His mother hated them, and Victor would not entertain the idea.

He would sit, reflecting, that he had indeed ended up being incredibly lucky and sending a silent prayer of thanks to his deceased mother that she had seen the sense to divide her wealth evenly between her boys.  Ok, so Victor still had the manor, but he would never force him to sell, his mother had presumed as had he at one time, that the pair of them would live there until they were carried out.

Gerald had discovered that he was, in fact, quite a people person and he was a regular and familiar visitor to the local pub The Kings Head in the village.  He could hold a good conversation at the bar with Herbert at his feet, he just kind of glossed over the past. He was a well-read individual having spent hours on his own reading books during his years at the manor. He was slightly embarrassed that he didn’t work, so if anyone asked, he would say that he was an antiques dealer. Gerald had quite a good knowledge of them thanks to Victor’s obsession and had learnt at quite an early age to tell trash from treasure. He even had a few select pieces in his house but never too many. He never wanted to be like Victor.

It was over a second whiskey one evening that Gerald met Vicky. Vicky was a delightful and shy divorcee in her early forties who lived in the next village along. It was only when she popped to the ladies that the barman winked at Gerald and said that ‘he was in there!’

Gerald was shocked, he had never allowed himself to even think about meeting someone but when she came back to where he was at the bar she bent down and made a massive fuss of Herbert and he found the courage to buy her a drink.

By the time Gerald was on his third whiskey they had found a comfortable window seat and were chatting away, neither one even glancing at the time until the barman called last orders. Vicky tried to buy him another drink, but Gerald said a firm no. Drink had ruined his mother, he wasn’t ever going to go down that path.

Vicky looked a bit sad, and Gerald realised he had probably come across as a little rude. To make amends he invited her to go walking with him the next day which she gladly accepted and when they parted, she gave him a warm hug.

To say Gerald floated home would be an understatement, he even sang in the shower the next day, something he had never ever done before. He spruced Herbert up and prepared for his walk with Vicky, it went better than he could ever have hoped and ended with them holding hands and exchanging their first kiss. It just felt right.

From then onwards life escalated for Gerald, he told Vicky everything leaving no detail out. She sat, holding his hand, wide eyed at some of the revelations and weird behaviours of both Victor and his mother.

Lying in bed with the early summer morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, Gerald reflected sadly that he should have left earlier and started this life sooner. Vicky gently reminded him that if he had, they might never have met.

Before long Vicky moved in and life was wonderful, Gerald’s cup was so full, it literally was overflowing. With Gerald’s approval Vicky made some small changes to the cottage, lovely changes that only enhanced the cosy feel. A woman’s touch I guess you could say. Things were simply perfect.

Gerald rarely thought of Victor but one night he awoke with a start. Vicky sat up in bed alarmed and tried to calm Gerald. He told her he had been dreaming but in actual fact he felt as if something terrible had happened to Victor. The next day he couldn’t shake the feeling, they were after all, twins and it felt like a sixth sense.

He tried calling the manor, nothing. He finally confessed to Vicky what was wrong as he paced up and down the kitchen, unable to rest easy.

They had just packed Herbert into the car to drive back to Fallow Marsh as Vicky had insisted that they should go and check it out for themselves when Gerald’s mobile rang.

Gerald didn’t find himself surprised to be talking to the police, his feeling of something not being right was stronger than ever. One of the locals in Fallow Marsh had raised the alarm after someone was seen running from the manor. They had smashed a window at the side of the building in broad daylight and helped themselves to some jewellery and coins. On investigation by the police Victor was nowhere to be found.

Vicky offered to drive as Gerald was highly agitated and they spent most of the journey in silence. She stole a sideways glance at him every now and again, he was biting his knuckle and staring intently at the road ahead.

For Gerald, going back was a huge weight pressing down on him, his life now bore no resemblance to his past. He was nervous, anxious, unsure what awaited him at his journeys end. Where was Victor? If he was still around, he knew it wouldn’t be a warm welcome, quite the opposite, but this time he had Vicky at his side, a small smile wavered at the corners of his mouth as she brushed his leg reassuringly. Something, twins instinct maybe, told him Gerald was gone though, as in dead. A weird gut feeling.

Vicky parked the car down near the green in the village, they were lucky to find a space as the summer tourists were in full descent. They walked together down the high street and turned up the road that led to the manor. A few nosey locals spotted him amongst the American and Japanese visitors and did a double take, he was a vastly different man from the one who fled the village such a short time ago. He had an air of confidence in his walk, a dog in tow and a pretty companion on his arm. He may have looked the part but as he pushed open the rusty gates of the manor he was shaking. Gerald eyed the waist high weeds in disbelief, his mother may have been a drunken lush, but the place was always pristine and the gardens tended with care albeit by a barrage of staff. He looked up at the dirty leaded windows and could see several tiles were missing or loose on the roof.

His eye caught the boarded up window where the thieves had made their entry as he stepped forward and then hesitated. Vicky squeezed his arm, just to remind him she was there.

Taking a sharp inward breath Gerald searched his pocket for the front door key. He tied Herbert’s lead securely to the iron foot scraper rubbing his head and ears.

‘Wont be long old boy’ he said, as he opened the heavy oak door, it groaned in protest as he pushed it and together he and Vicky stepped into the gloomy hallway.

They weren’t more than a couple of steps inside the building when the enormity of Victors collection hit them, well, the correct term was definitely hoard.

The narrowest of path led them through the hall, obviously just enough for Victor to answer the door, reluctantly no doubt, for receiving deliveries. Vicky stared upwards, there were antique pieces of furniture, books, boxes of goodness knows what piled endlessly on top of each other reaching the ceiling in places. Gerald was just constantly sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. If Victor was dead somewhere in here it wouldn’t surprise him to find him buried under an avalanche of his hoard.

The whole place smelt musty and airless, it was a combination of wood, old books and dust, now there was a bestselling candle fragrance thought Gerald dryly.

Proceeding carefully through the house Gerald and Vicky checked each room as best as the precarious piles of belongings would allow. Two of the bathrooms were completely unusable, the bath being full of newspapers and boxes of silver candlesticks in one and books of stamp collections and coins in the other, you couldn’t even reach the toilet or sink for all the furniture crammed in at odd angles. The attic was in a similar state, it had been floor boarded long ago and was full height. There was so much stuff up there that Gerald wondered how the ceiling below had not collapsed. Here and there was evidence that mice had shredded some of the more edible items to make nests and a few books had been water damaged presumably from the slipped and broken tiles on the roof. Way over to the rear of the attic was a huge bookshelf crammed with more books and maps. There was a little path through huge piles of boxes to the shelving, but it was clear Victor was not here either.

Back down on the first floor Gerald showed Vicky his room, it was surprisingly untouched and just as neat as how he had left it. Vicky wandered around the room touching the drapes and furnishings and examining his books, she wondered how on earth the Gerald she knew and loved had ever been a part of this world. He felt uncomfortable here now as if he had never belonged, when he left it was like he had been reborn.

Downstairs Gerald checked the final room, the dining room. He opened the door with a sense of dread, this was the last place he had seen Victor. As he stepped through, his foot crunched on something and he crouched down to see what it was. Unbelievably it was the very glass Victor had thrown at the door after Gerald had left the room. Gerald made Vicky stay in the hall fearing she might cut herself and gave the room a quick tour, still no Victor to be found. After checking all the grounds and the outhouses he had to admit defeat. His twin had vanished into thin air. Back at the front door Herbert greeted them with full doggy enthusiasm leaping up despite a gentle scolding from Gerald.

By now it was getting late, and they were getting hungry. As things were no further resolved they made the decision to find somewhere to stay, luckily Vicky had had the foresight to pack an overnight bag as she had a feeling when they left that this might happen.

It seemed 90% of the tourist population had decided to stay the night also as they trawled the streets looking for somewhere that wasn’t fully booked although some had vacancies but were not dog friendly.

Gerald racked his brains, then remembered the Old Duke had some purpose-built accommodation at the back of the pub garden. Picking up his step he led the way and headed across one of the Cotswold stone bridges that spanned the river. The summer evening breeze carried the scent of roses and the weeping willow on the bank of the river next to the pub rustled and swayed its long tendrils. Herbert was in no hurry, sniffing the grass and showing much interest in the passing ducks on the gently flowing river until he was pulled to heel. The pub was of course busy, but a few locals nodded at Gerald, they had guessed he would here soon enough with his brother mysteriously disappearing.

With the low beamed ceiling in the bar, it was hard to make himself heard above the noise of the live band playing at the end of the room but Gerald spoke to the landlady and within a few minutes has secured a dog friendly room for the three of them.

The tourists slowly thinned out leaving the locals singing along to Sweet Caroline as the silver haired lead singer Tony encouraged everyone to clap along. With a table secured Vicky and Gerald ordered food and the landlady brought water and some treats for Herbert. The food was plentiful and tasty, and they cleared their plates in no time with the odd chip being fed to a very insistent dog.  With full stomachs, slightly more relaxed mood and Herbert snoring by their feet, Vicky and Gerald sat back and enjoyed the band over a glass or two of wine.  Herbert

Once again Gerald marvelled at how different things were and how much his life had changed. Laughing, he told Vicky the story of his last visit to the pub. She smiled and pulled him up to dance, he didn’t really know how, but Vicky guided him and although he doubted his abilities thankfully it seemed no one was judging anyway!

The next day the grimness of the manor didn’t bother Gerald as much, with no sign of Victor dead or alive, he didn’t feel so worried. He and Vicky went around the manor opening all the curtains and windows to let light and fresh air into the place.

It was hard to know where to begin with clearing the house but together they made a start on the kitchen with the aim that by the end of the day they would perhaps be able to make a cup of tea.  ‘We are going to need a skip for the rubbish’ said Vicky as she stood up from the fridge with armfuls of out-of-date food.

Gerald agreed, he called and arranged for two to be dropped off, he wasn’t confident one would be enough. He did fret a bit, what if Victor came back? He would cross that bridge when he came to it but for now he had to take charge, after all, he reminded himself it was his house too.

It took the pair of them a month of commuting back and forth to even make a difference to a few rooms, they called many antique experts who come and made offers for the best pieces in the house. Bit by bit the rooms started to become habitable, so Gerald made the decision to move back to Fallow Marsh and let his own cottage be rented out. Vicky was in full support and agreement and she had the vision to help Gerald make the place its very best again.

Gardeners were hired to fix the overgrown weeds, mow the lawns and generally fix what had been neglected. The loose roof tiles were replaced and Gerald stood on the lawn realising just what a beautiful asset the manor was.

Vicky could see Gerald’s pride in what they had managed in just a few months. She asked him if he had considered his original plan about opening the house to the public. With the rooms tastefully decorated and many of the remaining antiques grouped together, the most precious ones placed in glass cabinets it would be easy to put together information about the collection. They could of course keep some rooms private but there was plenty of space both in the house and the garden. They could even offer tea and cake if they turned one of the outhouses into a little tearoom Vicky pointed out. At first Gerald said no, it had never been in his plan to stay put there, somehow, he felt his life had moved on. But then again, Vicky’s idea was a good one … she was happy to research and catalogue the exhibits and produce leaflets and little information cards for each room.

They decided to forge ahead and planned to open the left side of the house to the public and keep the right half as their private quarters. With that in mind there were just a couple more rooms to clear so they could move into the right side of the house.  It was when Gerald was clearing what had once been the drawing room that he came across a 12^th scale model of the mansion hidden behind some boxes of newspapers, it was beautifully detailed with many pieces of replica furniture and even had lighting, this was definitely something they should display.  He called Vicky to come see his discovery, she was amazed and couldn’t stop looking at the details. Gerald had no idea who had made it, he had never seen it before and wondered if Victor had commissioned it or if he had just chanced upon it at a local auction.  It was very dusty and while they cleaned it, he found that the roof section lifted up exposing the attic which was just as detailed as the rest of the house. There was even a big bookcase right at the back of the attic the same as the one in the real attic.

He touched the books marvelling at the detail on their spines and jumped as one section of them pushed backwards with a click. The bookcase slid to the right exposing a doorway, there was a secret hidden room beyond it! Gerald tried to peer into the room but even though it had lights frustratingly he couldn’t see into it very well. The house was big, heavy and awkward to move but between them he and Vicky turned it around so they could lift the other roof section to see what was behind the secret door properly. It was like a mini flat, there was a bathroom, kitchen and living area.

Gerald stood up and the hairs stood up on the back of his arms. ‘I know where Victor is’ he said looking upwards as the realisation dawned on him.

The bookcase in the attic revealed a section of books that sprang back causing the bookcase to slide right exposing the secret door, exactly as they had found in the model. Gerald turned the handle with shaking hands. The living area beyond the door was lit by a single filthy bulb hanging from the attic ceiling, it was dim and didn’t cast light to the corners of the room, which was probably just as well given the state of it. Bottles and papers were strewn across the floor, takeaway containers with mouldy congealed contents sat on an old table with forks still in them. Apart from dirt and mess the room was surprisingly empty just a table and an old armchair with a pile of books. It was like Victor had fled to here to get away from the chaos in the rest of the manor. The kitchen area revealed a sink of dirty, stinking and mouldy dishes covered in dried food. Gerald felt devastated, how had his twin ended up like this, had he caused this by leaving?

The grimy bathroom revealed Victors final resting place, and his now skeletal body lay in stagnant, murky bathwater which clearly had been topped up by the rain leaking through the tiles as some point. Gerald propelled Vicky out of the room so she didn’t see the full horror of what he saw, the fact that Victor had clearly been murdered. Gerald called the police who came quickly, two squad cars with flashing lights, now the locals would have something to gossip about for sure.

 Forensics arrived and Gerald sat downstairs hunched in a chair while Vicky perched on the arm with her arm around his shoulders. Victor had been killed by an antique dagger that he probably owned; the police enquiries turned up no suspects. Obviously, they questioned Gerald as he had keys to the manor, but he had watertight alibis back in Oxfordshire. Eventually the conclusion was that it was probably someone Victor had crossed swords with when dealing with the antiques, it was unlikely to be a chance killing given the fact that the flat was hidden so well. Any leads they might have had turned cold and the case was closed.

They buried Victors remains next to his mother on another windswept cold day but this time many locals turned out in support, a murder in the village had shocked them to the core and rumour had it that Gerald was not such a bad chap after all.

They took residence of the right of the manor as planned and when they had finally finished every last detail Gerald proposed to an ecstatic Vicky. They married the following spring in a simple ceremony and reception in their beautiful manor grounds.

As newlyweds they welcomed their first visitors a year after Victor had been discovered. Of course, there were a fair number of ghoulish people who just wanted to see the attic, which was included on the tour but apart from the false bookcase and hidden door everything was removed from the room beyond and was roped off to visitors.

In the attic was the amazing model manor, it seemed the logical place to display it. It was lit up so people could see all the detail although the room beyond the secret door was not fully visible from the front unless the roof was raised which was impossible to do safely. Had people been able to peek inside the bathroom right at the back of the secret flat they might have been able to see a tiny skeletal model of Victor with a miniature dagger through his ribcage. A detail Vicky had been able to add without anyone’s knowledge.

You see, Vicky was not quite as sweet and innocent as she seemed, she knew someone, who knew someone, who knew someone. Even now, if she thought about it a tiny, tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth. She had finally exacted revenge for her beloved Gerald. When you had money, anything was possible and relatively easy, including hiring a hitman to kill your own brother-in-law, paid in cash, no questions asked.

Sarah Russell: Dark Wishes Designs UK  2021