Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama)

by Carole Williams

  The remainder of the rejected clothes were returned to the wardrobes and once the bed was clear Margaret removed her clothes and slipped between the cool sheets, dozing for three hours and feeling refreshed from the train journey when she rose. Without bothering to dress she fetched a bottle of Bollinger and a crystal glass from the kitchen and returned to the mirror-tiled bathroom next to the bedroom. While the sunken bath was filling up with a generous quantity of bath oil, swirling around with the steaming water, Margaret sipped the champagne. It was perfect. She drank a whole glass and then poured another, thinking of the evening to come and smiling appreciatively at the reflection of her lithe figure in the mirrored wall, running her hands across her ample breasts. Simon was in for a real treat. She was going to bring him back here after the party and spend a vast amount of time getting to know his body intimately and slowly … so very slowly. He would never forget tonight, never forget her. This was going to be a night to remember for both of them. She slid into the foamy bath and smiled, unable to remember a time when she had felt such sexual tension. Only a few short hours and the fun would begin. Thank God Charles was far away in his fusty old Canleigh Hall, unable to see what she would be getting up to. He would be utterly scandalised!

  She idled away another hour in the bath, emerging with baby soft skin and a rosy glow on her cheeks. Returning to the bedroom, she checked herself from all angles in a full-length mirror and then sat down at the dressing table. She looked really good. Simon was years younger than her and no doubt viewed her as a top notch to add to the conquests already on his bedpost and she was definitely worth it. Deep devotion to skin care every night and morning for years had paid off. Her face was unlined and unblemished and with the tan built up over the winter during her trips to hotter climes, there was little need for foundation or powder. Lashings of black mascara and a thin strip of eye-liner on her upper lids emphasised her dark eyes. A touch of scarlet lipstick matched the skimpy dress which fitted her tightly, showing off her perfect figure. Her glossy hair flowed loose, caressing her bare shoulders sensuously. Her necklace, earrings, a heavily patterned bracelet on one wrist and a Cartier watch on the other were all gold. It was far too hot to wear stockings so her legs were bare, her feet in strappy gold sandals and she chose a gold evening bag to complete the picture. She was ready for what was to come!

  * * *

  Simon smiled with heartfelt relief when a taxi pulled into the car park just below the flat and Margaret stepped out. His anxiety had increased alarmingly during the thirty minutes since Big Ben had struck the midnight hour, terrified she would change her mind and didn’t come. He was staking everything on what happened tonight and if she didn’t play ball, his whole way of life was in jeopardy. She was literally his last hope for a comfortable life.

  He shuddered when he thought of Michael’s instructions that he was to drastically change his lifestyle. It didn’t bear thinking about. Blast his step-father. If only he hadn’t married Mother. She had been putty in Simon’s hands before Michael came on the scene, but no longer. He was going to be thrown out in only a few weeks with nowhere to go and no money if he didn’t act quickly. He certainly had no intention of working for a living. How on earth could one have a good time and look good if always tired and exhausted from a day at the office, or whatever other jolly occupation his step-father considered might be worthy of his talent? Heaven forbid!

  Margaret was the answer to his prayers. She had to be. There was no other alternative. Her husband was one of the richest men in the country and it was obvious Margaret was restless and unhappy, rarely seen in public with her husband and spending little time at Canleigh Hall with him. All this was to the good and left the way clear for Simon to make her very happy, very happy indeed. He was going to make himself totally indispensable in the bedroom department and then it would be easy to bend her will to his. He would encourage her to set him up somewhere where, of course, he would make himself available to her whenever she wished although he would have to make it clear he had to have time for his own pursuits too. It shouldn’t be too difficult, he thought, heading down in the lift to greet his important guest. As the lift doors opened in the reception hall, Margaret walked towards him, outwardly cool and composed. He took her hand and found it was shaking. No, he smiled; this wasn’t going to be too difficult at all.

  CHAPTER 5

  LONDON – MAY 1964

  On entering Katherine’s flat Margaret wondered what the owner would say if she could see it now. A discotheque unit had been set up in one corner where a somewhat youthful figure with shoulder-length hair falling into his eyes was busy choosing records and taking long swigs from a beer bottle. Two powerful speakers nearly as tall as Margaret had been positioned in two corners of the room and were belting out the Beatles “Please, please me,” which Simon mouthed to Margaret making her skin tingle and flush with warmth. The music was so loud, the floor beneath her feet vibrated and it was impossible to hold a conversation. The plush leather seating had been pushed back to the walls to make room for the guests who were dancing. Coloured lights from units around the room flashed on and off to the music. The sweet sickly smell of cannabis mixed headily with strong perfumes.

  As the lights flashed briefly onto yellow it was possible to see people in more detail and after glancing around the gyrating group, Margaret was relieved to see she knew no-one. Most of the young men wore their hair covering foreheads and ears in a long fringe and were dressed in tight narrow jeans with elastic-sided Chelsea boots. The girls were in outfits similar to Margaret; straight A-line dresses, some in bold checks and contrasting stripes, outrageously short, revealing bare knees and much more besides.

  After procuring two glasses of champagne from the kitchen, Simon never left Margaret’s side. She had, as usual, requested water but he grinned and shook his head. “It’s my birthday and you have to have at least one glass of bubbly,” he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the music.

  Bowing to the inevitable, knowing that tonight was going to be the culmination of their flirtations and she had absolutely no control over what she was about to do, Margaret took the glass he offered. It was Krug, which always affected her quickly so she sipped delicately until he took it from her, placed the glasses on a nearby table and pulled her into the middle of the room. Margaret threw her shoes and bag under the table and barefoot, matched Simon’s movements as they moved dizzily round each other as hits from the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Kinks and the Small Faces pounded relentlessly. It was crazily intoxicating and sexy and by the early hours of the morning the party was in full swing, the laughter growing wilder as the plentiful supply of alcohol was steadily consumed and the cannabis reefers handed around freely and when Simon handed her one, having taken a long drag himself, she took it and did the same. She had heard that very often nothing happened the first time it was tried but unless it was the whole heady situation she was in or not, she could feel the most wonderful glow washing all over her and an intense urge to throw off her clothes and entangle her body with his without a moments delay.

  Couples were pairing off and vanishing into bedrooms or anywhere else they could be away from prying eyes for long enough to satisfy their drug-heightened sexual cravings. Margaret was floating on a sea of urgent desire. Simon had removed his crisp, white shirt and his tanned muscles rippled invitingly. She looked at the spot where the dark hairs on his midriff disappeared into the belt of his jeans. It was all she could do not to rip them off. He was kissing her now and she was allowing it, in public, without giving a damn. His hands run over her body suggestively. It was so delicious she could have fainted. He was so beautiful. Such a handsome lad. So sexy, so wild, so desirable. She moaned as their mouths locked and his tongue played madly with hers.

  Suddenly he pulled away.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the din. “I know just the place.”

  He pulled her into the hall. “Stay there,” he shouted. “I�
��ll only be a minute.”

  Margaret closed her eyes. The hall seemed to be moving and automatically she put a hand out to steady herself against a passer-by.

  “Enjoying yourself, Your Grace? You certainly look as if you are.”

  Margaret opened her eyes and focused on the man whose arm she was gripping. The music had softened and she had heard him clearly. She knew the oily, spotty face but couldn’t put a name to it. Her befuddled brain tried to remember where she had seen him before.

  He smiled tauntingly. “Michael Green … freelance journalist.”

  Christ! Now she remembered. This jerk had been the one chasing after her last time she was in London. It was he who had written that piece which had caused Charles to insist she return to Yorkshire. Margaret tried to move away but he positioned himself so that she was imprisoned where she stood. He leered down at her.

  “I have a deep conviction, Your Grace, that you have just done, or are about to do, something your husband would certainly not approve of. Am I right, Margaret, Duchess of Canleigh?” He emphasised the title sarcastically.

  Before she could reply, Simon, a rug over his arm and a bottle of Krug in his hand, pushed his way quickly through the crush of people, having recognised the journalist from previous dealings. He elbowed the man aside. Green certainly hadn’t been invited but knowing the man’s addiction to the bottle, Simon hoped the vast amount on offer in the flat would keep him busy and out of their way for the rest of the night.

  “Drinks are in the kitchen,” he scowled. “Help yourself.”

  “Why, thank you, Simon. That’s very kind,” Green smiled wryly and turned as if to head to the make-shift bar. He was sorely tempted but for once resisted the need to imbibe. Something was about to happen that he didn’t want to miss … a clear head could make him quite a lot of money.

  He turned again. Simon was propelling Margaret out of the front door. Green grinned. Having only dropped into this party searching for a faint whisper of scandal, it looked as if he had hit the jackpot tonight. As far as he had been aware Margaret had returned to Yorkshire a few days ago so he had been surprised to see her, in the company of Simon Parfitt, and wandering off together on a hot summer night, with a rug and a bottle of champagne. Green was intensely intrigued and wasn’t going to let them out of his sight. At a discreet distance he followed the couple outside and watched as they made their way down the street towards the park, Simon with his free arm draped loosely around Margaret’s shoulders. Green’s camera was in his car. He collected it.

  * * *

  During the day the park was teeming with life but at this hour of the night it was virtually deserted, apart from the odd courting couple intent on their own business. Simon guided Margaret towards the lake, bordered by large sycamore trees and deep shrubbery. It was an incredibly warm night but in the dim moonlight dark clouds were swirling in the sky and a thunderstorm was imminent. However, nothing was going to deter them. Margaret had reached the point of no return and to hell with the consequences and Simon knew if he played this very carefully now he could have everything he wanted.

  He threw the rug on the grass beneath the vast canopy of one of the splendid sycamore trees and looked at her. She smiled. He wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled down the zip on the back of her dress and off her shoulders, running his hands over her bare breasts as the garment fell gently to the ground. It was all she wore. He caressed her neck with his mouth and nibbled her earlobe. His hands slid over her slim hips.

  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

  Margaret sighed. Standing naked in a public park in the middle of the night while a virile young man made love to her was so delicious … so wicked … so crazily wonderful. For a fleeting moment, Margaret thought of Charles and what he would say if he could see her now. She laughed and grappled with the belt of Simon’s jeans. It was time they came off too. She wanted him so badly.

  Devoid of all clothing they stood, moulded together in the darkness, mouths and hands eagerly exploring each other. Margaret had never known such ecstasy, such desire. She wanted it to last forever.

  The heat was intense and from the heavens came an ominous rumble. The denseness of the leaves above them provided reasonable cover from the soft rain and they were so engrossed with each other they took no notice of the lightning, followed by crashing thunder. The flashing camera from its vantage point a few feet away also went unnoticed.

  Simon pulled Margaret down onto the rug, softly kissing every inch of her face, her earlobes, arms, wrists, fingers. Then he moved back up to linger for an eternity on her breasts. Her waist was the next spot to be treated to such tender pampering; then her hips, legs, ankles and finally, her long toes with scarlet varnished nails. Gently she was turned over and he continued his wanderings, beginning with the soles of her feet and making slow progress up to her body to her neck.

  Margaret could have died. It was heavenly; sublime. No-one had cherished her like this. Cherish. What a lovely word she thought dreamily as Simon turned her again and the odd drops of warm rain fell on her face.

  She reached out to pull him close, intending to do the same for him but with one slight movement he was on top of her, cupping her head in his hands. His tongue met hers greedily and then, suddenly, he was inside her. They moved together, both wanting this coupling to last, to be a moment to remember. It was Margaret who cried out first when the tiny ripples of orgasm turned into a wild crescendo as Simon reached the pinnacle of his passion at the same time. Exhausted and drained they curled into each other’s arms.

  “My, my, Your Grace. That was pretty awesome.”

  Margaret laughed. “Well, as I didn’t have time to shop, consider this your birthday present.”

  As the thunderstorm moved further away, the first signs of dawn became apparent with the sky turning from dark grey to a reddish glow and the birds woke up and began their early morning ritual with a cacophony of musical trilling. Ducks and swans dozed on the banks beside the lake and then, to her horror, Margaret saw a couple of people out walking their spaniels. The dogs were off lead and had decided it was great sport to chase the sleepy birds into the water, creating a good deal of noise and attention from others who were entering the park.

  “I think we had better get you indoors,” Simon said, following her gaze. “This is a becoming a bit too public.”

  Exhausted, hung over from the Krug and damp from the rain, they left the park and returned to the flat. All was quiet now. The music had been turned off and everyone had left apart from one couple who were entwined in each other’s arms, sleeping soundly on the sofa. Simon led Margaret through to his bedroom where they again abandoned their clothes and took turns in towelling each other dry. Margaret was shaking uncontrollably but wasn’t sure if it was because of the excitement or because she was so cold. They fell into bed, curled up together and slept till noon.

  Having woken refreshed, warm and cosy, they made love again and then ventured out of the bedroom to discover they were now alone amid a mountain of empty bottles, cans and cigarette butts.

  “Mrs. Cooper will be in tomorrow. She can clear up,” grinned Simon. “It’ll give her a chance to have a good moan. No doubt she’ll threaten to complain to my step-father so I’ll have to give her a bob or two to keep her mouth shut.”

  He cleared a space in the kitchen and within minutes had prepared an enormous cheese omelette, which he cut into two and garnished with piles of salad and slices of buttered seeded bread. They ate the meal in silence, just smiling at each other, Margaret still dizzy with desire and Simon immensely pleased that he had achieved exactly what he wanted. She was crazy for him and he didn’t think it would be long before she had him set up somewhere.

  Having satisfied their hunger for food, their interest in sexual gratification was overwhelming and Simon swept Margaret into his arms and took her back to bed. They made love. They slept. They made love and slept again. The cycle continued until the follo
wing morning.

  Just before the much-needed Mrs. Cooper was due to arrive, Margaret left the flat in a taxi. She departed with a smile on her face and promise from Simon that he would visit Canleigh House that evening. Margaret envisaged the scene. That gorgeous male, stretched out on the rug in the lounge or cavorting in her bed. She shivered with anticipation. Never had her body or her soul felt so relaxed. She closed her eyes, re-living the night with vivid pictures in her mind of his gorgeous muscular body, his mouth and his hands caressing her, sending her to the brink and beyond many times. She was desperate for more and sighed with deep pleasure, opening her eyes reluctantly when the taxi stopped at traffic lights.

  Glancing round to see where they were, a nearby newsstand caught her eye. The headlines were bold. ‘DUCHESS OF CANLEIGH FROLICKING NAKED IN PARK WITH TOY BOY’. With sickening clarity, she recalled the malevolent grin on Michael Green’s face.

  Her mind was in a whirl as the taxi slowed near to Canleigh House and she was horrified to see there were already reporters hanging about, smoking cigarettes, chatting excitedly and playing with their cameras.

  “Don’t stop,” she screamed at the taxi driver. “Keep going. Go around the corner.”

  She threw herself onto the back seat so no-one could see her and began to shake uncontrollably. What on earth was she going to do? She couldn’t go back to Simon’s. They were probably already there too. Think, think, Margaret, she told herself. Rifling in her bag she found her keys. With huge relief, she saw the one to Amelia’s flat. Hoping upon hope there wouldn’t be anyone there, she redirected the taxi driver to a street nearby to her former bolthole. He was trying unsuccessfully to hide the smirk on his fat, florid face. He too had seen the headlines, recognised her and was enjoying the situation hugely.