by Anne Mather
Darrell didn’t answer this. She was her father’s daughter, of course she was, but she was her mother’s daughter, too, and right now that was something she would rather forget.
CHAPTER TEN
The house in Courtney Road had never seemed more silent or more empty. The occasions when Darrell had stayed here alone had been few and far between, her work and her mother’s commitments almost always coinciding, but now she wandered through the elegantly furnished rooms feeling more alone than she had thought it possible to feel.
The telephone had rung, and every time she reached for the receiver she had felt a nervous trembling in her stomach, but none of the calls had been from Matthew.
Mrs. Templeton had rung from next door. She said she had been concerned when she realised that someone was living in the house when she had thought they were away, and Darrell had replied politely that she had decided to cut her holiday short. She gave no explanation, although she suspected that if her mother had revealed her mystery visitor’s identity to Mrs. Templeton before they went on holiday, then she might well have guessed why Darrell had come back.
Barry rang, too. He, like Mrs. Templeton, had seen lights in the house, and he said he had not come round because it could very well have been Darrell’s mother. Darrell had to accept this, but she also remembered the things Barry had told her mother about herself and Matthew, and this was a much more reasonable explanation for him staying away.
“Well, anyway,” Barry went on, “I expect you’ve heard that Celine Lawford is dead”
That was the opportunity Darrell had been waiting for. Since her return to England, she had searched the papers religiously for news of Celine’s death, but without result. Short of going to London and finding out the results of the inquest there had seemed nothing she could do, but now Barry, with his inside knowledge, seemed to present a much-needed link.
“Yes,” she replied. “Do you know what happened?”
Barry was silent for a moment, then he said: “Haven’t you read the papers? She died in the Infirmary after a party.”
“Barry, I know that.” Darrell tried to be patient. “I just—wondered if you had any—other information.”
“Yes. It was pretty abrupt, wasn’t it? I expect her father was responsible for that. These things get about anyway without a hungry press breathing down your neck.”
“What things, Barry?”
“Well—gossip. People do, you know. Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
“Barry!”
“Oh, all right. Well, your—friend’s not being tried for her murder, if that’s what’s troubling you.”
Darrell’s fingers holding the receiver shook. “Barry—please! How did she die? She was so young!”
“She fell downstairs.”
“Downstairs?” Darrell swallowed convulsively. “You mean, she broke her neck?”
“No. She seemed all right afterwards, so I hear. But then she started haemorrhaging, and had to be rushed to the hospital. She died on the operating table.” He paused. “She was pregnant, you know.”
Darrell sank down weakly on to the arm of the chair nearest the phone. So that was it. Celine had had a miscarriage. A wave of guilt swept over her. In spite of everything Matthew had said, Celine had not been lying. She could have children—and because of Matthew’s desire for her, Darrell, she was indirectly responsible for Celine’s death! It was an agonising realisation. Matthew might, physically, be a free man again, but mentally neither of them could ever be free of Celine’s shadow.
“Darrell? Darrell, are you all right?”
Barry sounded concerned, and Darrell forced herself to say: “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
“I know it must have come as a shock to you,” he went on sympathetically. “But I did warn you not to get involved with a man like Matthew Lawford, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes,” Darrell agreed tremulously. “Oh, yes, Barry, you did your duty.”
“Now, come on! Darrell, don’t blame me. I’ve just told you what happened. It’s nothing to do with me really.”
“No.” Darrell sighed. “No, I know it’s not. Thank you, Barry, for telling me anyway. I—I wanted to know.”
Barry hesitated. Then: “Are you—do you plan to go and see him?”
“No.” Darrell was very certain about that.
“What will you do, then?”
Darrell shrugged, and then realised he couldn’t see her. “I dont know. Look for another job, I suppose.”
“You’ve left Sedgeley for good?” Barry obviously couldn’t believe his luck.
“I—I think so.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry.” Barry contained his excitement. “Look, how about coming out with me this evening? I mean, I know you must be pretty broken up about this Lawford fellow, but honestly, you’ll get over it.”
“Not tonight, Barry.”
“Tomorrow night, then?”
“Give me time, Barry. Give me a few days to—to gather myself. Mummy comes home next weekend. Come for dinner on—on Sunday.”
“All right.” Barry satisfied himself with this. “And—and Darrell?”
“Yes.”
“I still care about you, you know.”
“Thanks, Barry.”
Darrell replaced the receiver before she was tempted to burst into tears right there on the phone and beg him to come over and comfort her. It would have been so easy to use Barry, to pretend an affection for him she didn’t feel, and while at some future date she might be forced to accept his protection, right now she needed the scourging that only a complete acceptance of her part in this affair would bring…
* * *
Three months later, Darrell came out of the Romford General Hospital to find Barry waiting for her. He was leaning against the bonnet of his car, and his face lit up when he saw her, slim and attractive in her dark cloak.
Three months had not passed without changes in Darrell. She was much slimmer, for one thing, and for another she had lost that inner enthusiasm which used to put such a spring in her step. Now she was just another young woman who had tasted life and found it wanting. She was more cynical, and an impenetrable shell shielded those emotions which once had been so vulnerable to hurt and disillusion.
She smiled now at Barry and allowed him to help her into the car. When he joined her inside, she said: “Have you been waiting long?”
“No. Only about fifteen minutes,” replied Barry, with a grin, starting the engine. “Long enough to get cold, though. How about a drink before I take you home?”
“Like this?” Darrell indicated her uniform. “Oh, no, Barry. Take me home first and I’ll change. Then I’d love a drink. And dinner, too, if you feel like treating me.”
“I always feel like treating you,” replied Barry warmly, and Darrell sighed.
“You’re too nice to me, do you know that? I really don’t deserve all this attention.”
“Allow me to be the best judge of that.” Barry squeezed her knee confidently. “Well, so how’s the job going?”
“It’s all right. It’s a living.”
“You used to say you loved nursing.”
“I used to say a lot of things,” replied Darrell quietly, and Barry realised he had said too much.
There was a car parked outside the Andersons’ house in Courtney Road, a big expensive car, which Darrell soon identified as a Daimler. At once her heart began to beat a little faster. Who did her mother know who drove such a car? No one she could think of. So whose could it be?
The idea that it might be Matthew came into her head and wouldn’t be dislodged. But she knew it was foolish wishful thinking. Three months had done many things–they had taught her that human nature, as imperfect as it was, could accept anything given time, that in spite of her strong ideals, had Matthew come to find her she might not have been able to resist him. They had also made her believe that this was something he would not do, and she could not go to him…
But now, the appearanc
e of this car swept everything back into painful reality, and although she knew it was crazy, she could hardly wait for Barry to stop the car before she was out and running up the drive.
Barry came after her and caught her at the porch. “Whose car?” he asked, flicking a thumb towards the sleek blue Daimler.
“I don’t know.” Darrell’s voice was breathy, but she couldn’t help it.
Barry frowned as she inserted her key in the lock. “It’s not Lawford’s, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he muttered harshly.
Darrell ignored him. “Damn this key!” she exclaimed, as she fumbled with the latch. “Open, can’t you?”
“Give it to me!” Barry took the key from her and opened the lock without effort. “There you are!”
“Thank you.”
Darrell took the key from him and slipped it back into her bag as she crossed the threshold. There were voices coming from the lounge and she walked quickly to the open doors, hardly aware of Barry closing the door and following her.
Her mother was seated on a low armchair facing a big man who was lounging on the couch. The man was easily sixty, grey-haired and overweight, but immaculately dressed in a dark suit and pale grey silk shirt. He rose to his feet at once when he saw Darrell, and nodded to the young man behind her.
“Penrose.”
“Good evening, Sir Paul.” Barry was tersely polite and Darrell glanced round at him in surprise. Sir Paul? Sir Paul—who?
Now her mother was getting up. “This is my daughter, Sir Paul,” she was saying. “Darrell—this is Sir Paul Galbraith.”
Darrell’s lips parted in dismay. Sir Paul Galbraith! Oh, she knew that name all right. This man was—had been—Celine’s father. Was still, she supposed.
Licking her lips, she said: “How do you do?” and the big man came and took her hand.
“How do you do, Darrell,” he greeted her, with a faint smile. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Darrell, extracting her hand from both of his, looked bewilderedly towards her mother. Mrs. Anderson moved her shoulders in a slightly helpless gesture, and then said:
“Sir Paul would like to have a talk with you, Darrell. He—er—he’s been waiting for the past half hour.”
“A talk with me!” Darrell couldn’t take this in.
“Yes, Darrell. A talk with you.” Sir Paul’s dark brows beetled above his strong nose. “I hope you’ll give me a few minutes of your time. If—” he looked up at Barry, “if—your young man will permit me.”
Barry was looking rather shocked himself, and Darrell put it down to seeing Sir Paul Galbraith here, in her mother’s house.
“Come along, Barry,” said Mrs. Anderson firmly. “You can come and talk to me in the kitchen.”
“No.” Barry was looking at Sir Paul as he spoke. “No, I’ll go.” He focussed on Darrell. “I’ll ring you later.”
“Oh, but, Barry—”
Darrell broke off awkwardly, and Sir Paul said: “That’s right, Penrose. You go. Darrell can ring you later, if she wants to.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barry was nervously polite. He smiled apologetically at Darrell, wished Mrs. Anderson goodnight, and left them.
“Now, Darrell,” began Sir Paul, and Mrs. Anderson grimaced and went out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Darrell hovered near the closed doors. “I can’t imagine what you have to say to me, Sir Paul,” she said steadily.
“Can’t you?” Sir Paul raised his eyebrows. “No, well, perhaps not.”
“If it’s to do with Celine, I should tell you—”
“It’s not to do with Celine. At least, only indirectly.” Sir Paul indicated the chair in which her mother had been sitting. “Won’t you sit down? My blood pressure doesn’t allow for too much standing about.”
Darrell hesitated, and then she shed her cloak, and came to take the chair he indicated.
“Good. Good.” Sir Paul re-seated himself, stretching his long, muscular legs with evident relief. “Now, I want to ask you something, and I want an honest answer. Do you love my son-in-law?”
Darrell had expected many things, but never this. “I—I—”
“Don’t be alarmed. I’m not asking out of idle curiosity, or for reasons of revenge now that Celine is dead.”
Darrell expelled her breath wearily. “I—I did love him, yes.”
“Did?”
She sucked in her cheeks. “All right. Yes, I love him.”
“That’s what I hoped.”
“You—hoped?” Darrell was hopelessly confused.
“Yes.” Sir Paul felt about his person and brought out a thick cigar, holding it for silent permission. Darrell nodded, and he drew out his lighter. When it was lit to his satisfaction, he went on: “Do you know about Matthew?”
“Know? Know what?”
“I thought you didn’t. Penrose didn’t tell you anything, of course? I thought he hadn’t when he made himself scarce.”
“Barry? What could he tell me?”
“He might have told you that Matt’s left the City.”
“Matt’s left the City?” Darrell stared at him bewilderedly. “What do you mean?”
Sir Paul sighed. “I mean exactly that. Matt’s resigned from the company and left town.”
Darrell shook her head. “But—but why? Where is he?”
“He’s bought a broken-down shack somewhere on the Yorkshire moors, with a piece of land attached. Not far from where he used to live at Sedgeley.”
Darrell couldn’t take it in. “I can hardly believe it. I didn’t know Matt was interested in farming.”
“He isn’t.” Sir Paul was vehement now. “And he’s wasting the talent God gave him. Matt’s a mathematician, he’s got a great brain! Physical things like farming mean nothing to him. He’s no more at home on the land than a panther would be in a pig-sty!”
Darrell rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her face in her hands. “So—so why is he doing it?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No.”
“He’s doing it because of you, Darrell, because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“You haven’t seen Matt lately. You should. I don’t think you’d like what you’d see.”
“How?”
“He’s ill, Darrell. And I think you’re responsible.”
“Me?” Darrell was horrified. “But—I haven’t seen him…”
Sir Paul’s expression softened. “Don’t you understand? That’s why Matt’s ill.”
Darrell’s face burned. “You can’t be serious.” She broke off, staring blindly into space. Then she looked at him again. “But why should you care?”
Sir Paul shook his head. “If you knew me better, you wouldn’t ask a question like that, Darrell.” He paused. “Matt’s been like a son to me. I care for him deeply. He knows this, I think, but it’s not enough, not now.”
Darrell blinked. “Go on.”
“Celine told me about you and Matthew, two days before she died.”
“She did?”
“Yes. She was pretty cut up about it.”
“I know.” Darrell looked down at her toes.
“What do you know, Darrell? Apart from your feelings for Matt. What did he tell you about his marriage to my daughter?”
“Oh—not a lot.” Darrell was embarrassed.
“Did he tell you that before they got married, Celine had been arrested for drug-taking?”
“Not—arrested, no.” Darrell licked her lips. “He told me he hadn’t known about it—about the drug-taking, I mean.”
“No, he didn’t. And that was my fault. I introduced them, Darrell. I was responsible for pushing them into marriage. I admired Matthew’s drive and ambition. I wanted him for Celine’s husband. I thought with a man like Matt behind her, she couldn’t fail to succeed. As you probably know, I was wrong.”
“Please…” Darrell sensed how much this was costing him to tell her this. “
You don’t have to tell me this.”
“Oh, but I do.” Sir Paul was adamant. “Without the whole story, how could I expect your help?”
“My help?”
“Yes. But first, let me go on.” Sir Paul frowned. “Where was I? Oh, I know—Matthew and Celine were married. Did he tell you what happened next?”
“A little,” murmured Darrell reluctantly.
“Oh, please, don’t spare me. He told you about the accident, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you? That he found Celine injecting herself? That he went to the party they were due to attend and got drunk and crashed the car coming home?”
“That was what happened, wasn’t it?”
“Fundamentally, yes. But Matt wasn’t driving. That was Celine.”
“What?”
“I know, I know. It was wrong of me to withhold this information, but Celine was so ill at the time and she begged me… She said that Matt would leave her if he ever found out, and—and she was right.”
“Oh, God!”
“So the accident was all hushed up, and there was no publicity. Matt thought I did it for him. And in a way, I convinced myself that I did.”
“So Matt wasn’t responsible for any of it!”
“No.” Sir Paul hung his head. “And there was more.”
Darrell stared at him. “Celine—Celine not being able to have children?” she breathed.
“Yes. That was after. When it became apparent that Matt wasn’t wearing the blame for the accident, when he told me he was leaving her anyway.”
“Oh, how could you? How could you?”
“Darrell, Celine was my daughter, my only offspring! I loved her deeply. I’d have done anything for her. But now she’s dead, and I can’t have these things on my conscience any longer.”
Darrell shook her head. “It was an awful thing to do.”
“I know, I know. Afterwards, after she and Matt began to drift apart, I suggested she tell him the truth, but Celine wasn’t having that. She liked feeling the injured party. If she couldn’t have Matt’s love, she enjoyed the feeling of being able to make him squirm!”
Darrell felt sick. “Why are you telling me all this? Why now? When it’s too late to do anything about it?”