Margaret became almost jealous of her babies and all the attention they received as Charles and Anne doted on them and made every excuse they could to either be in the nursery or walk them around the estate in their prams. Margaret felt excluded, especially when Charles insisted the boy was named Richard after the first Duke of Canleigh and only allowed Margaret a choice over the girl, whom she named Delia.
Relations thawed slightly, around fifteen months after the twins were born. Charles had celebrated the publication of one of his books, forgot himself in the euphoria and somehow they ended up making love, although what love had to do with it Margaret really didn’t know. She had no idea what the word meant or how it felt to actually love anybody or anything and Charles had certainly fallen out of love with her. That night it was just plain sex, a mutual need for satisfaction and Margaret was horrified to discover she was pregnant again but the birth was easier and resulted in Victoria, a happy, gurgling, pretty baby whom everyone in the family treasured.
The twins, two years Victoria’s senior, were mesmerised by the new baby and couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t get up to play with them but as soon as she could toddle she followed them everywhere and the giggles and laughter emanating from the nursery and out on the lawns on a nice day seemed to make all and sundry smile, apart from Margaret. It just irritated her and gave her a headache.
Between pregnancies, Margaret had tried to persuade Charles to entertain as she had first envisaged but he was adamant they wouldn’t.
“I flatly refuse to have hordes of rowdy, drunken people in my home,” he had said forcefully. “No, Margaret. I’m sorry but we are simply not entertaining on that scale. The odd charity or family luncheon or dinner maybe, especially if you would like to invite your Uncle Arthur, Aunt Sarah or Beatrice to stay for a while but that is it. Strictly no balls or parties.”
In sheer desperation, Margaret tried to make friends with a couple of local families who owned lesser, not so grand, stately homes near to Canleigh. She found they had very little in common and were much the same as the Kershaws, their nearest neighbours at Tangles, with whom Charles and Anne had very good relations but as their conversation was all about the countryside and in particular, horses and dogs, Margaret found it all yawn inspiring and had nothing to add. Relationships, therefore, remained lukewarm and polite.
Margaret was lonely and frustrated, with no stimulation, no excitement, and nothing to interest her in the countryside and the vague interest in the children, summoned up more for Charles’s benefit than hers, quickly disintegrated. It was a relief when the only time she had to endure their company was in the early evening when, once they were old enough to walk, they toddled downstairs to the library to say goodnight. Her lack of desire to be with them for longer than absolutely necessary was a real cause of contention between her and Charles. Although he was busy with estate matters and his writing, he always found time to join the children two or three times a day for an hour and on weekends, he and Anne, with one of the nursery maids, would pop them into the Rolls and drive across to the beach at either Filey or Scarborough. They would all come home, tired, flushed and happy and although Charles always invited her on these trips, Margaret regularly declined, unable to see the attraction of sitting on a chilly beach digging sandcastles and eating sandwiches while beating off flies and seagulls.
However, even though Charles was remote and distant, he was incredibly generous and deposited thousands into her personal bank account every month. It was a real novelty to have so much money of her own and gave her immense pleasure to be able to buy what she wanted whenever she wanted, even though it was rare for her to go further than Leeds or Harrogate to spend it. With nothing else to occupy her, Margaret’s days were filled with pampering sessions at the best beauty salons in the area. She read numerous fashion magazines and endured dress fittings for dresses she might never wear, as they didn’t entertain and accepted very few invitations. She regularly shopped in Harrogate, visited the famous Turkish Baths for a few hours, and enjoyed afternoon tea at the Old Swan hotel before ringing for Perkins or Hardy to collect her.
Then, when Delia and Richard were five and Victoria was three years old, she decided to visit London on the pretext of buying Christmas presents. Charles had no objection and she spent a fantastic weekend at the Savoy and explored every floor of Harrods. She visited the children’s’ section first and bought three rocking horses, dolls for Delia and Victoria with a variety of outfits and an electric train for Richard; lots of books and games were also thrown in. Satisfied she had shown willing as far as the children were concerned, she purchased a gold paperknife for Charles and a gold watch for Anne. Then she turned full attention on herself; adding furs, handbags and shoes to her purchases.
She journeyed back to Canleigh feeling elated and far happier than she had for a very long time. Charles hadn’t objected to more trips to London and as the years progressed, she went more and more until it was a long weekend every couple of months. She didn’t associate with anyone while she was there as she had no real desire to renew any kind of relationship with her old acquaintances and had never made any real long-term friends at school. She just revelled in the freedom from Charles, Anne, the children and Canleigh.
Then, three years ago, while deliberating on whether to buy a gorgeous pair of black stilettos in Harrods, she bumped into Lady Amelia Manderville, whom she had met prior to her marriage while doing the rounds of balls and parties with Aunt Sarah. A white gloved hand was placed on her shoulder and Margaret turned to see a grown-up version of the silly young woman she had known years ago.
“Margaret! How wonderful to see you again. We really must have a coffee and catch up.”
From that moment Margaret’s life began to change and although she didn’t know it at the time, the meeting would lead to her ultimate downfall.
CHAPTER 4
LONDON – JUNE 1964
The carriage door slammed back, causing Margaret to jump out of her reverie.
“We’ve only half an hour to go before we reach Kings Cross, Your Grace. Is there anything else you require?” asked the waiter, finding it hard to keep his eyes on Margaret’s face.
She looked at him languidly. The gin had soothed her superior air. She crossed her long, well-tanned, bare legs. The white strappy sandals on her feet accentuated the scarlet polished nails on her toes. She watched his face, turning pink, as his eyes widened and grew darker as they followed her movements. He swallowed.
“No, thank you,” she said, dragging out the words, enjoying his reaction. She wondered what he would say if she drew down the blinds of the carriage and ravaged him, using him as a practice session before she turned her full attention to Simon later this evening. Then she looked at the paunch of his belly stretching his white jacket to the limit and his fat, fleshy fingers and the desire dampened immediately.
Desperate now to get rid of him she snapped. “I said, No. Thank you.”
He almost sneered at her as he turned and slammed the carriage door shut behind him.
* * *
Margaret lit another cigarette and returned to her musings, remembering that encounter with Amelia and how her life became more exciting almost immediately.
In her teens, Amelia had been a simpering blonde-headed fly-by-night who always looked immaculate but didn’t seem to have a brain in her head. She hadn’t changed much, just added a few fine lines to her pale and pasty face, her blue eyes shone just as vividly and her long blonde hair was curled into a French pleat. She wore a pearl necklace and earrings, a white suit by Dior, Gucci black patent shoes, and carried a matching clutch handbag.
“It’s so lovely to see you,” Amelia cooed. “We thought your gorgeous husband must have done away with you as no-one has heard from you or seen you since your marriage. How long are you here for, darling? Are you free this evening? We’re having a small gathering for Archie’s fortieth; dinner, followed by a bit of a dance and then fireworks at midnight. Oh, do say you
’ll come. You will know mostly everyone from our debutante days and it’s going to be such fun.”
Margaret had winced. She had never liked Amelia very much as the woman could never stop talking; mostly about inconsequential things, rarely let anyone else get a word in and bored everyone around her to death. Margaret badly wanted to say no but knew she wouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.
Amelia put a hand up as Margaret opened her mouth to protest. “No, Margaret, I really do want you to come. You will thoroughly enjoy the evening, I promise.”
So Margaret acquiesced, wearing a stunning evening gown in deep royal blue, a diamond and sapphire necklace, bracelet and earrings, and turning up at Amelia’s grand house in Knightsbridge at the appointed time in her hired chauffeur-driven black Daimler.
The evening had been the start of a considerably fascinating and exhausting round of social engagements which took her all over the world from Johannesburg, New York, Paris, Berlin, the south of France, Monte Carlo and of course, many visits to London, finally finding a real use for Charles’ generous allowance. She had also been amazed at how he showed no desire to stop her social whirl and almost gave her carte blanche to do as she pleased with other men, although it did come with a stern warning.
“I am sorry that our marriage hasn’t turned out the way you have liked,” he had said on the eve of her first trip to Monte Carlo with Amelia and her set. “But I do want you to be happy. I realise this will probably mean there might be,” he had hesitated and played irritatingly with his signet ring on his left hand before continuing. “There might be other men … and I quite understand, really I do and I won’t stand in your way. However, I would urge you to remember exactly who you are and who you represent and, of course, the children. I don’t ever want them to hear any scandal associated with their mother so I expect you to be totally and utterly discreet. You must also return to Canleigh for their birthdays, all the school holidays, especially Christmas and Easter and join us on our breaks at Blairness. I would also add that if there is any hint of scandal, I will take steps to divorce you, your allowance will stop immediately and you will have no access to the children. So, is that agreeable to you?”
Margaret had been unable to believe her luck. He was offering her freedom to live her life as she chose, providing her with the income to do it, and all she had to do was spend a few weeks of the year twiddling her thumbs at Blairness and Canleigh … and, of course, keep any dalliances quiet. At that moment she had almost loved him and planted a kiss on his cheek but restrained herself and smiled instead.
“Thank you, Charles … and yes, I understand. I won’t disgrace the Canleigh family, I promise.”
Her tone of voice had made Charles look at her with narrowed eyes but she had smiled again and he had let it go, although she knew he was wary. She would have to be really, really careful.
And so it began. She had taken a suite at the Savoy and with the help of Amelia, had integrated herself into London society who were more than willing to include the beautiful, vivacious, wealthy Duchess into their circle. There were men, of course, quite a number, in fact, but in public she always made sure there was a chaperone or they were in a crowd. Amelia became her confident. Having got used to her incessant inane chatter, Margaret found that beneath the waffle, there was a fun loving woman who was very good at keeping secrets. They didn’t actually become close but Margaret found Amelia could be relied on to provide cover for any illicit assignations and a flat in Bloomsbury, to which Margaret was given a key and could use as and when she wanted.
At first, she had been wary of bumping into Uncle Arthur or Aunt Sarah at a function but she ascertained from an acquaintance that following Beatrice’s marriage to a Belgian businessman and then moving abroad, they had sold their London home and bought a large property by the sea in a remote part of Norfolk. It was good to know the chance of seeing any of her relatives again was pretty unlikely.
Life became very pleasant indeed and the inconvenient breaks to Canleigh and Blairness could be borne relatively easily, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she was jetting off again. It was a constant round of pleasure; spending leisurely weeks cruising on yachts, sunbathing on deserted Caribbean beaches, spending lavishly in casinos, attending masked balls in Venice, being serenaded in gondolas, betting on exciting horse races in Saudi Arabia and skiing in the Alps. Unfortunately, with all this public exposure came the interest of the press and magazines. Photographers always seemed to be around, snapping quickly at her and anyone she happened to be with and it was rare a magazine that didn’t contain a number of pictures of her in their monthly editions. However, there was nothing they could print about her relationships as she was exceedingly careful to keep them completely under wraps and actually found all the subterfuge just added extra excitement to any current affair. To avoid letting down her guard, alcohol was kept to a minimum when out and about and it was only when in the privacy of Amelia’s flat or in her suite at the Savoy that she would allow herself to indulge in her favourite gin and tonic or even better, champagne. Relationships were kept short. Sex was all she wanted and she made sure that any man she did invite to her bed was also married and had as much to lose as herself if he talked.
Then, on a short visit to Canleigh, between a trip to Dubai and the next to Cannes, Margaret received another stroke of luck. Just after breakfast on the second day of her homecoming she walked past the open library door where Charles was opening his post and uncharacteristically, she heard him swear.
“Oh, damn and blast,” he groaned. “More expense!”
Intrigued, Margaret popped her head around the door.
“Problem?” she asked, trying to pretend she actually cared.
Charles threw the letter he had been reading onto the desk and walked across to the window to stare out. He turned and faced her.
“It’s the house. In London,” he added at her raised eyebrow. “The tenants have left and the agents say there are a number of things that need doing to it before it can be let again, including a new roof … and the kitchen and all the bathrooms need modernising if we want to optimise the rent. As it’s Canleigh House and not just any old building, they are very keen to have my input. That’s all very well but I really don’t have the time to keep nipping back and forward to London, choosing this and that.”
“Can’t the agents do it?” she asked idly, praying they couldn’t as an idea began to form in her mind and her tummy turned over with excitement.
“No,” replied Charles. “They haven’t the staff to oversee such big renovations.”
Margaret held her breath for a moment and then spoke slowly, wanting to get the words right. “How would you feel if I was to oversee the work? I can keep my rooms at the Savoy … or even move into the house to make sure the workmen don’t mess about and waste money.”
Charles looked astonished but as he stood and mulled it over, realised it was the most sensible and obvious thing to agree to, although he had a nagging sense of unease that it probably wouldn’t be wise.
“I thought you were off to Cannes next week,” he said almost hopefully.
“Well, I was but I could forgo that little jaunt. I’ve had enough sun in Dubai,” she waved her bare bronze arms in front of him to confirm her statement. “And it would be nice to stay a bit longer in the city and catch up with some people.”
“Let me think it over for a day or two,” he replied, wanting to consider it from all angles before he agreed to anything but it did seem like a reasonable solution to the problem. He had grown used to Margaret hardly ever being at home and he was pleased that as far as he knew she had done as he asked and kept any sexual exploits entirely secret. It didn’t take long for him to make up his mind and at dinner that evening he gave her permission to oversee the work.
“Thank you, darling,” she said gratefully. “It will be lovely to have something I can get my teeth into. You won’t be disappointed, I promise you. I shall turn Canleigh House into a little pala
ce.”
“Um,” he replied, helping himself from the dish of vegetables Hardy was holding for him. “Just don’t go too mad. We won’t be using the place again for ourselves, I prefer the Savoy or the Ritz and so does mother on the odd occasions we go down, and I really don’t want the expense of another set of staff. The house just needs to be suitable for tenants.”
“Yes, darling, but if you want the best tenants paying the best rents, you need to make the place somewhere they will want to spend their money.”
It was a valid point so he nodded his head in agreement. “Fine … but please remember, as wealthy as we are, there is a limit and the Hall and this estate do have top priority.”
Amelia was contacted the next day. “I am so sorry, darling,” Margaret did her best to sound regretful, “but I will have to cancel Cannes. Charles has asked me to oversee the Canleigh House project in order for it to be ready for the new tenants and I feel I should help him out as he has been so good to me.”
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 7