Read Online Handsome Brute: The True Story of a Ladykiller by Sean O'Connor - Free Book Online
Authors: Sean O'Connor
Ads: Link
– the day we were invaded by all those puppies and chose Baron – all these memories and countless others are indelibly printed upon my mind and will stay with me whatever happens.
Lastly let me say this, very simply but sincerely. You are the only person with whom I have ever been in love – I still am, and shall remain so until the end. Nothing can change that. It is just an established fact which in recent months has given rise to a great deal of wishful thinking, but even now, that very simple fact, has given me a sense of happiness, and it is just about the one thing nobody can take away. That is the reason why, although pressed to do so by several doctors, I have never discussed you or our marriage in any way.
Goodbye now, my dear, and I wish you the very best of luck and all the happiness in the world.
I’ll end this letter with the familiar style which may help to bring back a few of those memories for you.
With all my love, darling, always,
Forever your own,
Jimmy
Should your mother commandeer this letter I ask her to pass it on without comment, with respect for my last wishes, if nothing else. 1
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mrs Heath
THE PEOPLE , 29 OCTOBER 1946
I had a son called Neville, but he was not the man who was responsible for two brutal murders. I have read that my boy was a fiend, cold-blooded and calculating. I have heard him described as a monster. I do not believe it.
He did murder, I know that. He himself knew that he committed both crimes although he could never understand how he had come to do so. To him, everything connected with those poor girls was hazy, their deaths occurred while he was mentally ‘blacked-out’. I am absolutely convinced that the Neville Heath who committed those awful crimes was a different man from the handsome, laughing son of mine who used to carry me off to the pictures or tease me gaily about my new dress.
The last time I saw him was in Brixton prison when he was awaiting trial. I still cannot believe that was the same boy. To me, my Neville was the joking young man, always ready for a prank, who was yet in deadly earnest about getting his ‘B’ licence to fly a plane. His failure to get the licence helped to turn his brain – of that I am convinced. Up to that moment he may well have been wild and he may have made foolish mistakes, but he would not have wilfully harmed anyone.
He rang me up that Wednesday afternoon, I remember. ‘I think I’ll just nip smartly home and collect my laundry,’ he said. And he told me he had won his ‘B’ licence. People have said that in not telling me his application had been refused, Neville was just betraying those traits of cunning and deceit with which his character has been blackened. That is not true. He lied because he did not want to hurt me by telling me of his failure. And, on the doorstep, he kissed me goodbye.
He was always like that – kind and considerate to both his father and me. I remember once, when he was about twelve, his father was in hospital undergoing an operation. I took Neville to the cinema to keep his mind off the matter, because I could see that he was unusually upset and obviously worrying. Suddenly, in the middle of the film, he burst out crying and I had to take him home. He had been worrying over his dad and keeping that worry to himself until it was too great for him to bear any longer.
As a child, he was as normal as any other small boy . . . full of fun and ready to play a childish prank. He would do ‘stunts’ on his bicycle and he was wrapped up in sport. The mile record he set up at his school has still not been broken.
Yet, despite his natural dare-devilry, he was a wonderfully kind youngster. Never once did he forget a birthday and always I could be sure that he would turn up with some little present, bought from his own pocket money, which he knew I particularly wanted.
I never carried a glass mirror in my handbag and Neville as a schoolboy knew this. On my birthday he
Lastly let me say this, very simply but sincerely. You are the only person with whom I have ever been in love – I still am, and shall remain so until the end. Nothing can change that. It is just an established fact which in recent months has given rise to a great deal of wishful thinking, but even now, that very simple fact, has given me a sense of happiness, and it is just about the one thing nobody can take away. That is the reason why, although pressed to do so by several doctors, I have never discussed you or our marriage in any way.
Goodbye now, my dear, and I wish you the very best of luck and all the happiness in the world.
I’ll end this letter with the familiar style which may help to bring back a few of those memories for you.
With all my love, darling, always,
Forever your own,
Jimmy
Should your mother commandeer this letter I ask her to pass it on without comment, with respect for my last wishes, if nothing else. 1
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mrs Heath
THE PEOPLE , 29 OCTOBER 1946
I had a son called Neville, but he was not the man who was responsible for two brutal murders. I have read that my boy was a fiend, cold-blooded and calculating. I have heard him described as a monster. I do not believe it.
He did murder, I know that. He himself knew that he committed both crimes although he could never understand how he had come to do so. To him, everything connected with those poor girls was hazy, their deaths occurred while he was mentally ‘blacked-out’. I am absolutely convinced that the Neville Heath who committed those awful crimes was a different man from the handsome, laughing son of mine who used to carry me off to the pictures or tease me gaily about my new dress.
The last time I saw him was in Brixton prison when he was awaiting trial. I still cannot believe that was the same boy. To me, my Neville was the joking young man, always ready for a prank, who was yet in deadly earnest about getting his ‘B’ licence to fly a plane. His failure to get the licence helped to turn his brain – of that I am convinced. Up to that moment he may well have been wild and he may have made foolish mistakes, but he would not have wilfully harmed anyone.
He rang me up that Wednesday afternoon, I remember. ‘I think I’ll just nip smartly home and collect my laundry,’ he said. And he told me he had won his ‘B’ licence. People have said that in not telling me his application had been refused, Neville was just betraying those traits of cunning and deceit with which his character has been blackened. That is not true. He lied because he did not want to hurt me by telling me of his failure. And, on the doorstep, he kissed me goodbye.
He was always like that – kind and considerate to both his father and me. I remember once, when he was about twelve, his father was in hospital undergoing an operation. I took Neville to the cinema to keep his mind off the matter, because I could see that he was unusually upset and obviously worrying. Suddenly, in the middle of the film, he burst out crying and I had to take him home. He had been worrying over his dad and keeping that worry to himself until it was too great for him to bear any longer.
As a child, he was as normal as any other small boy . . . full of fun and ready to play a childish prank. He would do ‘stunts’ on his bicycle and he was wrapped up in sport. The mile record he set up at his school has still not been broken.
Yet, despite his natural dare-devilry, he was a wonderfully kind youngster. Never once did he forget a birthday and always I could be sure that he would turn up with some little present, bought from his own pocket money, which he knew I particularly wanted.
I never carried a glass mirror in my handbag and Neville as a schoolboy knew this. On my birthday he
Similar Books
