The Secret Keeper

by Kate Morton

He was glad to see her. Not just glad; the world seemed a little brighter than it had only the moment before.

He stopped where he was. “Vivien Jenkins,” he said, causing her to look up and meet his eyes. She smiled at him, and Jimmy smiled back, and he knew then that he was in a bit of trouble.

twenty years old now, but Vivien is still that stubborn child I first knew on our ship, refusing to heed my advice if it doesn’t suit her.

the belief system acquired in childhood is never fully escaped; it may submerge itself for a while, but it always returns in times of need to lay claim to the soul it shaped.

(As a side note—don’t you find it remarkable, Katy, that the whole world can be involved in this madness we call war, and all the while the flowers and the bees and the seasons keep on doing what they must, wise but never weary in their wait for humanity to come to its senses and remember the beauty of life? It is queer, but my love and longing for the world are always deepened by my absence from it; it’s wondrous, don’t you think, that a person can swing from despair to gleeful hunger, and that even during these dark days there is happiness to be found in the smallest things?)

I am impatient for such pleasures, Katy. I am no longer a girl—I am a woman, and I want things, things that I will not have; but it is human, is it not, to long for that from which we are barred?

“He is engaged to be married, Katy, they are very much in love and have plans to move to the country when the war is over; they’re going to find a big old house and fill it with children; so you see, I am not in danger of breaking my own wedding vows, as you seem to fear.”

I understand well enough what it is to love that which is forbidden, and I told her so, but she is young, and the young are quick to presume themselves the exclusive possessors of all strong feelings.

Had Dorothy waited too long, and wanted too much, and in the meantime lost her lover to the other woman?

It had been a long while, he realized—years—since he’d seen his father without the worry line that pulled between his brows when he was trying to remember who and where he was.

He wanted to spend time with her, not because Dolly had told him to, but because he liked her, he liked being with her.

“Will you tell her, Jimmy? Will you tell her I didn’t mean to treat her so unkindly?”

“What could be more perfect than love?”—and

“Knowing you can provide enough to keep your loved one happy, for starters. That you can keep a roof over your head, put food on the table, pay for heating. For those of us with nothing to spare, that’s no small matter. Not as romantic as your idea, I admit, but that’s life, isn’t it?”

She wanted to convince Katy that her feelings for Jimmy were simply those of one friend for another. Even if it wasn’t exactly true.

Vivien’s fate was sealed. Her condition didn’t cause her angst or upset, not anymore; she’d accepted for some time the life she had remaining, and she certainly didn’t need illicit whispered confessions or physical expressions of love to make her whole.

Vivien might have loved Jimmy, but Jimmy loved Dolly. Moreover, Vivien could see why. Dolly was pretty and funny, and filled with a sort of zest and fearlessness that drew people to her. Jimmy had described her once as sparkling, and Vivien knew just what he meant. Of course he loved her; no wonder he was so intent on providing the mast for her glorious, billowing sail—she was just the sort of person to inspire devotion from a man like Jimmy.

Dolly’s despair at finding herself “disowned” by someone she so admired.

romantic ideals were the luxury of those who could afford them,

“But people with a bent towards narcissistic personality types are susceptible to obsessive ideas and fantasies.” “Like imagined friendships with people they admire?” “Yes, precisely. Many times it’s a harmless delusion that fades eventually, leaving the object of the ardor none the wiser; other times, though, if the person is forced to confront the fact that their fantasy isn’t real—if something happens to crack the mirror, so to speak—well, let’s just say they’re the type to feel rejection rather deeply.”

“You said before that Dr. Rufus was studying fantasy as a defense mechanism. Defense against what, Gerry?” “Lots of things, though most notably Dr. Rufus believed children who felt out of place within their families—you know, those who were held at a distance by their parents, made to feel odd or different—were susceptible to developing narcissistic traits as a form of self-protection.”

Dorothy Nicolson killed Henry Jenkins when he came to Greenacres in 1961 because he was a violent monster who used to beat his wife, he’d killed Dorothy’s lover, and spent two decades trying to track her down. When he found her, he’d threatened to destroy the family she loved.

Her love for Jimmy was selfless: not because she was a good person but because it had to be.

Henry and Vivien Jenkins, a man and his wife. Henry was one of my brightest students, her uncle had said when he told her what the two men had discussed in his smoke-filled study. He’s a distinguished gentleman. You’re very lucky that he’s interested in you.

Her fists were the reason she’d been punished in the first place, the reason she’d been left at home, the reason her family had hurried back from the picnic and been lost.

Her mind was liquid now; she was in the tunnel, swimming down and down, her arms and legs strong as they pulled her through the water towards home . . .

Henry didn’t normally touch her face; he was careful, keeping the blows always below the neckline. She was his prize, nothing should mark her but him, and he didn’t like to be confronted by the evidence; it reminded him of how angry she’d made him, how disappointing she could be. He liked her injuries to remain safely beneath her clothing, there for only her to see, to remind her how much he loved her—he would never hit a woman if he didn’t care so damned much.

“You’re a good man, Stephen Nicolson.”

“No,”

“Just a...

She’d known men before, good men and bad, and Stephen Nicolson was a good man. The best of men. He reminded her of someone else she used to know.