They sat at the desk, dark heads together, more in tune with each other than they had ever been, planning the words that were going to change both their lives. Richard took the pen Delia offered him and started to write, his tongue poking slightly out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated on getting the words exactly right.
‘I, Richard Canleigh, Marquis of Keighton, do solemnly declare that on the day I inherit Canleigh Hall, I will give up all rights to the estate and it will pass to Lady Delia Canleigh for her to do with as she pleases’.
“There, do you think that will suffice?” he asked Delia with a worried expression on his face.
Delia read it aloud. “Yes, I think that will be absolutely fine … but what will we do with it?” she tapped the paper with her finger. “No-one must find it, or know about it, otherwise there will be a terrible kerfuffle. This must be a complete secret between you and me. We mustn’t tell anyone,” she stared firmly at him, reminding him clearly of Granny. It would be a tremendous mistake to disobey any of her instructions and Delia possessed the same determined manner when she had made up her mind about something. It simply wouldn’t be wise to disagree or argue. Not that he wanted to. He didn’t want anyone finding out what he had just done either, especially his father. He would be livid.
Richard shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden stool he was perched on. “I know. I promise.”
He looked around the room. “We should hide it down here somewhere. It’s no good in the house as someone will be bound to find it, especially during the spring clean when everything is pulled out and gone through thoroughly.”
Every April an army of extra cleaners were drafted in from the village for the yearly mammoth task of cleaning the whole house, overseen by Granny who, in their mother’s inevitable long absences liked to make sure it was done as correctly as it had been when she was the Duchess in situ. Even Father was banished from the library so every single book on the shelves could be removed and dusted meticulously.
“Good idea,” Delia agreed. “But not here. I know it looks a mess but Perkins knows exactly where everything is but,” she smiled widely, “I know just the place. Come with me.”
Delia rushed outside and across the cobbles towards one of the loose boxes opposite the tack room. “Come on,” she hissed as Richard walked slowly behind. “In here.”
Richard followed her, looking furtively around to make sure no-one was watching. He wanted this so badly. It would make life so much easier to get Delia finally off his back. They entered the empty loose box and Richard shut the door behind them, intrigued to see Delia pushing and prodding at the old faded red bricks on the far wall.
“It’s somewhere here. I know it is,” she uttered. “Ah, got it.”
A brick dislodged and she caught it as it was about to fall at her feet. “Look, I found this ages ago when it was loose and nearly dropped on my foot. We can put it here. No-one will ever find it.” She waved the precious piece of paper at her brother. “What do you think?”
“Perfect,” he replied. “Just do it, Delia, and let’s get out of here. I’m desperate to get a shower and away from the smell of horses.”
Delia looked at him with contempt. He had just given her the best possible present he could but there was no getting away from it, he was a terrible wimp. She folded the paper carefully and pushed it as far back as she possibly could into the recess from where she had removed the brick. Then she pushed the brick back in and stood back to examine it.
“No-one would notice it was loose, would they?” she asked worriedly.
“It looks absolutely fine to me. Come on, let’s go,” said Richard impatiently.
Delia’s smile was wide and her eyes shone. She skipped towards him, throwing her arms around him in a completely unexpected gesture of affection. “Thank you so much, Richard. This means everything to me. I am so happy I could explode.”
Richard hugged her back and smiled too. “Actually, so am I. We finally have what we wanted. You have your blasted estate to look forward to and I have freedom from your never-ending persecution. Please, God, we can now live in peace.”
They smiled broadly at each other and in complete harmony for the first time since they were tiny children, linked arms and walked happily back to the Hall, blissfully unaware that what they had just done would cause the most awful trauma for the whole family in just a few short years.
CHAPTER 3
JUNE 1964
Simon Parfitt was desperate. He had just received a final warning from Michael, his pompous, mean-spirited, recently acquired step-father and now Simon needed money and somewhere to live – urgently.
“You’re nothing but a parasite,” Michael, the smart and dapper Merchant Banker, dressed in a Savile Row pinstripe suit with a crisp white shirt and black and white striped tie and highly polished Gucci shoes, had snarled half an hour ago. He was a head taller than Simon and cut an imposing figure as he drew his left hand with its wide gold wedding band through his short dark hair, strode over to the music cabinet in the corner of Simon’s bedroom and whirled the volume button of the stereo angrily down to zero. He wagged his finger at Simon.
“Your mother has spoilt you beyond belief but now I’m part of the family things are going to take a different turn. At twenty-three years old it’s high time you had a job and stood on your own two feet. I will simply not allow your mother to bail you out yet again.”
Simon, lying on his bed, dressed only in his pyjama bottoms had opened his mouth in protest but Michael raised a hand to silence him.
“No! I’ve spent the past year watching you abuse your mother’s good nature. No more, Simon. I’ve business in Singapore and I’m taking her with me. We will be away for approximately two months and by the time we return I want you to have found a job and removed yourself and your belongings out of this flat. Do I make myself clear?”
Simon was stunned. Pampered and protected by his mother, Katherine, since the time he was placed in her arms in the maternity hospital, he had wanted for nothing. His father had left home when Simon was five years old, jealous of his wife’s affection for his son and unable to compete. Katherine, financially secure with a generous allowance from him and a flourishing business empire in the beauty industry with a string of Pampered People salons across London and with plans to expand further afield, then indulged her handsome son with his mischievous sparkling dark eyes, crazy sense of humour and flippant attitude. She virtually allowed him to rule her life and personal bank account. Luckily for Katherine, her astute accountant kept a firm eye on her business accounts!
Academically, Simon was bright, and Katherine had been extremely proud of her son when he went up to Oxford but simply shrugged her shoulders and said it must have been a terrible mistake when he was sent down a year later for having created chaos and jealousy by having affairs with not only one, but three tutors’ wives, causing one of the tutors to have a heart attack when he confronted Simon. Since then Simon had idled his life away, abhorring the idea of working for a living while his mother was able to provide him with not only life’s essentials but also many of the luxuries. Convinced that the only worthwhile reason for his existence was to have a good time and possessing an animal magnetism which drew women to his side with little effort on his part, life was a continual round of pleasure. Then, unfortunately, Michael had entered Katherine’s orbit around eighteen months ago, she became a giddy young girl again and fell heavily in love and suddenly Simon was no longer the centre of her universe. His life began to change drastically once the pair married two months ago and now it was obvious Michael was really going to make life very difficult.
He marched out of Simon’s bedroom and slammed the door of the flat behind him, leaving Simon alone in the flat, Katherine having left earlier to drive to one of her salons in Wimbledon where there was a new Manageress to help settle in. Typical of Michael to wait until she was out of the way before he had laid down the law to Simon. He did consider appealing to his mother but k
new it would do no good. She was so besotted by Michael she would go along with anything he said and did and Simon even had a sneaky suspicion she might agree with him and be glad if Simon found somewhere else to live so she could be totally alone with her ‘can do no wrong’ husband.
Simon stood up and moved to the window to watch the boats moving soundlessly up and down the busy River Thames, hundreds of feet below him. He pondered his fate. Mentally running through a list of all the people he knew who might be in a position to help him, an idea slowly began to emerge of just how he could get himself out of the predicament he was in. A steady stream of women had wound their way in and out of his life but at this moment there was one who could maybe, just maybe, solve his little problem. He flicked through his address book, picked up the telephone beside his bed and dialled the number of Canleigh Hall in Yorkshire. His heart was thumping.
* * *
Margaret had been back at Canleigh for a week. The half-term school holiday was over and the children were returning to school. Delia had departed for Thistledown Girls School in Harrogate with Hardy driving the old shooting brake this morning as Charles had taken Richard and Vicky down to Eton and Roedean yesterday in the Rolls, had stayed down south overnight, and was due back this afternoon. He had asked her if she would like to accompany them but the idea of spending so many hours cooped up in the car with only Charles and the children for company wasn’t her idea of fun. She had declined and by the look on their faces, they weren’t surprised or disappointed by her decision.
She idled the morning away, flicking through fashion magazines on the cream velvet chaise lounge in her sitting room, overlooking the massive lawn at the front of Canleigh and the woods beyond. Growing bored and having nothing else she wished to do, she lay back, closed her eyes, and dreamt of a world without Charles. If it wasn’t for him, she could have a fabulous existence. It was so frustrating having her wings clipped by him and she could only imagine what it must be like to be completely free of male domination. How sublime that would be.
But then, it could happen one day, as Charles’ health was always a cause for concern. He had been terribly ill with pneumonia while incarcerated at Colditz Castle during the war and with the neglect and poor treatment he received at the time, he had been left with a much-weakened heart although provided he did as advised, there was no reason he couldn’t live a normal life. Charles had told her just before he asked for her hand in marriage and did explain the problem but the medical detail had been of little interest to her and having little affection for him at the time, she saw no reason to worry. Indeed, quite the reverse. If he should die prematurely, she would be left in a very comfortable position. Even more so now that she had spawned three children to continue the Canleigh line. To actually get her hands on his millions and to have no-one to curb her desires was a tantalising and dizzying prospect but until that day, if it ever came, she had no choice but to abide by his rules. She felt so depressed she could cry.
When the cream telephone on the table by the window tinkled moments later, she nearly didn’t answer it but if she didn’t, it would only lead to someone banging on her door to make sure she was all right.
“A Mr. Simon Parfitt for you, Your Grace,” Susan Armitage, Charles’s secretary announced crisply.
Margaret’s heart flipped over, her skin tingled all over her body, and her legs turned to jelly when she heard Simon’s rich, smooth voice. She had never expected him to ring her here but she was so pleased he had.
“London has been engulfed by a deep depression,” Simon remarked fatuously, causing Margaret to smile. “This has occurred because a certain Duchess flitted away recently with no indication of when, or even worse, if, she would return. All signs of life and sparkle have been extinguished from our most wondrous capital and it can only be described as a dull and dismal place without a certain person.”
Margaret’s smile broadened as she twirled the gold chain around her neck and stroked the fluffy front of her pink mule slipper of her right foot along the back of her left leg. “I’m sure that’s not strictly true,” she teased.
The purr of delight in Margaret’s voice gave Simon courage. He warmed to his theme. “Margaret … the lovely … the luscious, Duchess of Canleigh. This state of affairs simply cannot be allowed to continue. It is nothing short of imperative that London is graced with your presence tonight. This very day is the anniversary of my birth and in recognition of such a great and auspicious occasion, a party is being held … to which you are duly invited. I would also add that if you don’t come all the guests will be sent home and I shall throw myself off Tower Bridge.”
Margaret laughed gaily, feeling a considerable number of her thirty-two years dissolving away. She could have been seventeen again. “My dear Simon, I don’t believe that for one moment. But as it happens you are in luck. I only popped home to Yorkshire for a brief visit and I’m on my way back to town today,” she lied casually, not wanting him to know just how eager she really was to be with him. “I’ve an engagement earlier this evening,” she lied again “but I could possibly make it to the party later … about midnight.”
“Midnight! Oh, sweet midnight,” Simon sang gaily. “My life will be on hold until that moment in time … when I shall be yours,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “and I hope you’ll be mine.”
Having ascertained the party was going to be at his mother’s luxury London flat, Margaret replaced the receiver, lit a cigarette, exhaled the smoke out of her bedroom window, and stared across at the woods in the distance with an enormous smile on her face. She marvelled at how life could change in a few seconds. Minutes ago she had been verging on dying of boredom and now she had an assignation tonight with the delightful Simon, with his beautifully thick fair locks resting on his broad shoulders, his gorgeous sexy muscular body and that wonderful voice, its deep, deep tones which sent her spiralling into a state of sexual frenzy. No other man had affected her this way and she was under no illusions that she was not the only woman who he had bordering on insanity but she was going to make the most of it and was certainly not going to miss out on what she knew would be a wild experience. She was driven to it. Charles would be angry, she knew, but for once she didn’t care. Without a moment’s hesitation, she rang down to Susan Armitage.
“I need to be at the railway station to catch the eleven o’clock train so if Hardy hasn’t returned from Harrogate with the shooting brake, please could you order a taxi? You can also inform my husband when he arrives home, that I have had to return to London urgently. A friend has been taken ill and is requesting my presence.”
Highly excited, Margaret appraised herself in the dressing table mirror, pleased with what she saw. She certainly didn’t look her age. Her skin was perfect thanks to her caring religiously for it with all the best creams and lotions on the market. Her make-up accentuated her high cheek bones, black brows, lashes and full lips. Her long black wavy hair bounced half way down her back and her figure was stunning, enabling her to look good in whatever she wore, even after three children. She dismissed the fact that she had actually born four. The first must never be mentioned … nor the parentage of the twins for that matter! It would be catastrophic if Charles or his bloody mother, the sainted Anne, were to ever find out about any of it. They gave her a hard enough time at Canleigh as it was, without them knowing her secrets. Not that there was much they could do about it, she thought. She had been the Duchess for a number of years, had produced an heir and two girls and they should be very grateful for that and leave her to her own devices. She had earned it. Anyway, it wasn’t as if Charles paid her any real attention when she was here. She might as well be one of those blasted marble busts littered around the house for all the notice he took of her.
Margaret left Canleigh, with a silent Hardy driving the shooting brake, without a backward glance. A while later, making herself comfortable in a first-class carriage as the train sped towards London, she produced her gold lighter and French cigarettes from her
bag. The lighter was a gift from a previous admirer who had, unfortunately for Margaret, been sent by his firm to the Far East for two years. She missed him. He had been fun … and generous.
A waiter appeared at the carriage door. “Refreshments, Your Grace?” he asked politely.
“A very large G and T … and clean this disgustingly filthy window. This is supposed to be a first-class carriage. Please make it look like one.”
With a scarlet tipped fingernail, Margaret pointed to the mark right in the line of her vision which was annoying her profusely. The waiter obediently removed the tiny greasy smear no bigger than his thumb with a cloth he whipped out of his pocket and then fetched Margaret’s drink. He had met the haughty Duchess before and did enjoy feasting his eyes surreptitiously on her long, slim legs.
Margaret looked at the front of the page of the newspaper she had purchased from the stand at the railway station. The Pope was firmly condemning the use of the contraceptive pill. Margaret smiled. Even though her Harley Street doctor had been reluctant to prescribe it for her due to her age and the fact that she smoked, he had declared Margaret a very fit woman in all other respects and agreed to let her use it on a trial basis. The trial had extended somewhat as she had now been taking the tiny white tablets daily for two years, had suffered no side effects and couldn’t imagine life without them anymore. The very idea of using any other means to prevent unwanted pregnancies now seemed quaint and very old fashioned … and she certainly didn’t want more children. Her duty was done as far as the precious Canleigh estate was concerned and she should now be free to pursue her own desires and fulfil her needs.
Margaret put down the newspaper. She didn’t feel like reading. She was too wound up, too excited about the evening to come. She lit one of her cigarettes, exhaling defiantly. Charles hated her smoking and it was a joy to be free of his air of disapproval, the looks of disappointment and the pointed comments.
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 5