For some strange reason, Delia decided to return to Canleigh once she turned eighteen, stating she had imposed on Ralph and Constance long enough. She had done well with her A levels and made it perfectly plain she wanted to attend Askham Bryan and study estate management. Charles agreed. If it kept her happy, that was good enough for him but even his approval didn’t improve their relationship, which had never recovered following that awful day in 1964. She no longer wanted to come to Blairness and flatly refused to accompany the family abroad. When Charles was at Canleigh, she appeared not to want to spend any more time in his company than was absolutely necessary. They were just ships that passed in the night, barely speaking and rarely eating or socialising together so he left her more and more to her own devices. He removed himself to Blairness for the spring and summer months and returned to Canleigh for the winter, safe in the knowledge that Dick Joyce was running the estate perfectly, the house was kept in pristine condition by the Hardy’s and Delia was as content as she could be. Charles just picked up the bills . . . as he was now, for this wedding which seemed to be getting more expensive by the day.
Charles smiled wryly. He didn’t mind really. It would be good to see Delia safely married to Philip . . . and a great weight off his mind. Hopefully, marriage would calm her down. Delia, out of all his children had been the most difficult. She had fought furiously with her brother because he was the heir to Canleigh and even though she hadn’t been terribly close to her mother, she had rebelled ferociously after Margaret had been sent packing from Canleigh. It still made Charles shudder to think of the delinquent way Delia had behaved, taking a knife and slashing all four tyres of the car belonging to Margaret’s lover and then going mad in Margaret’s bedroom, shattering all the mirrors and shredding what remained of Margaret’s clothes and all the bedding. The room had looked like a mad person had attacked it and although the girl had calmed down over the years, Charles had a niggling worry that maybe Delia could be slightly unhinged.
However, a new chapter was beginning with Delia’s coming union to young Philip. It had been a terrible blow to the young man to lose both his grandparents so tragically but he had rallied magnificently, putting his heart and soul into the business Ralph had worked so hard to build. Charles had a lot of respect for Philip. He liked him immensely and the sooner Delia married him the better and once she had a baby or two … Charles smiled at the thought of grandchildren … he would be able to spoil them terribly and with luck, they would ease the strain between him and his eldest daughter. What he didn’t consider was that children weren’t on Delia’s list of priorities … she had other ambitions.
* * *
Richard, Marquess of Keighton and heir to the Canleigh estate, picked up the telephone in his rented ground floor flat in a terraced house in Walton Street in Oxford. He wanted to speak to Ruth Barrett, his medical student girlfriend who lived in a similar flat a bit further down the street but there was no answer and he correctly concluded that she must have rushed off to do some last-minute shopping before their weekend trip up to Canleigh. He wandered into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He removed his glasses, rubbed his tired eyes and carried his mug into the tiny box serving as a living space, grimacing as he sank into the lumpy sofa. He could easily have set himself up in comfort but hadn’t wanted to flaunt his wealth to his fellow students. He was of the opinion it would do him good to slum it for a few years but it was an experience he wouldn't forget.
Replacing his glasses, he smiled wryly, thinking of the well-worn luxury of Canleigh and what Ruth would make of it all, and his family, especially his somewhat complicated twin, Delia. He cringed for a second, thinking of her. He loved her, naturally, but she was an enigma. One never knew how she would react to anything. She was like a ticking time bomb and he had been wary of her and what she would say or do for his whole life. He vividly remembered the tantrums when they were young children, Delia screaming at him, repeatedly.
“I hate you!” she would cry. “It’s not fair. Canleigh should be mine. I’m the older twin, not you. It’s not fair!”
The only relief Richard had from the constant nagging was when he was at school, and after he had that massive brainwave when he was thirteen and offered Canleigh to her to look after when he inherited. His promise to her had been life changing. The screaming fits stopped and for brief periods the twins managed to enjoy each other’s company, even though Richard sensed it was an uneasy truce. The problem of inheritance still lurked beneath the surface. He was fully aware, and always had been, that the decision he had made was just a childish whim on both their parts and that one day he would have to buckle down and take responsibility for what was rightfully his. He just hoped that now Delia was about to embark on a new life with Philip, all her ambitions regarding Canleigh would fade away. He would be immensely relieved when the wedding day dawned and Delia walked down the aisle as Mrs. Kershaw.
* * *
Blonde-haired Ruth Barrett scurried across Oxford’s busy high street to flag down a taxi to take her back to Walton Street. It wasn’t far to walk but she was laden down with shopping and her feet hurt from pounding the streets and shops, looking for suitable attire for the coming weekend. She was deeply touched that Richard had invited her to visit his prestigious home in Yorkshire but was desperately nervous and prayed the two dresses, along with shoes and other bits and pieces in the fancy carrier bag she carried would be suitable for two dinners with a Duke, a Marquess and two Ladies.
“I really would like you to come, Ruth,” Richard had urged. “My darling twin,” he said with a slight grimace, “wants all the family together for one last time before her marriage and it’s going to be all wedding talk. It would be marvellous to have you there too and then we can sneak away and I can show you the estate; we can ride … swim and generally relax … and I think it would do you the world of good to get away from here for a short while. You need to think about your dilemma and what you want from life without the pressure of your parents and the hospital.”
It was so kind of him but then Richard was kind. Indeed, he was a very, very nice man. Ruth had liked Richard from the moment she met him three years ago at the beginning of their medical training and he had been such a support to her ever since. Ruth confided in him in their first year at Oxford that she was doubtful if medicine was what she wanted to do and the only reason she was actually there was because her parents, both General Practitioners, considered there was no other way of life and had groomed her from a small age to think along the same lines. Having no idea of what else she wanted to do, she had gone along with it but with the two-year pre-clinical course and one year of clinical out of the way, with two more facing her, she was becoming surer by the day it wasn’t for her. However, finding the courage to jack it in and tell her parents was going to cause a catastrophic rift. Her heart lurched with terror just to think about it.
Richard had proved a staunch friend, helping her with her studies while listening and sympathising with her doubts and fears but that was as far as their relationship went. There was no sparkle, no chemistry, no passion; just enjoyment of each other’s company and she was proud to call him her best friend. He was tall, slim with dark brown hair and dark eyes and very good looking. He had girls falling over themselves to date him but he preferred to lead a quiet life, skilfully ducking out of parties and big gatherings. He possessed a little circle of carefully chosen male friends who were hell-bent on concentrating on their careers … and Ruth … but their friendship never went further and Ruth was content with that. A serious relationship between them was definitely not on the cards.
Ruth had heard a lot about Canleigh and his family and while apprehensive, was looking forward to this weekend. She had never visited Yorkshire and it would be good to stay somewhere new. Richard was also right about it being a golden opportunity for her to sort out her thoughts away from the medical setting in which they spent so much time and as well as Richard, there would be one familiar face. While on
a trip to the theatre one evening last year, Richard and Ruth had bumped into Victoria, his bubbly younger sister, and Avril, her best friend, during the interval. The girls were in their first year of reading English at St. Hilda’s and thoroughly enjoying the experience. They had all met for drinks occasionally since then and Ruth felt very comfortable with Vicky so that was a bonus. Although she wasn’t too sure about meeting his esteemed father, who was not only a Duke but also a proclaimed novelist in his own right, and then there would be Richard’s twin, Delia. From what Richard had hinted, she did sound a bit formidable but no doubt with her wedding just on the horizon she would be nothing but ecstatically happy. Ruth did hope so.
A taxi pulled up at the rank and Ruth jumped into the back.
“Walton Street, please,” she said to the driver.
The taxi driver glanced at the blonde girl with the trim figure with admiration. He had picked her up before and knew she was a medical student. He certainly wouldn’t be too unhappy if she had to minister to him at some time in the future.
* * *
Lady Victoria Canleigh zoomed through Leeds and up the A61 towards Harrogate in her tiny green MG Midget sports car, a gift from her father for her nineteenth birthday. She laughed gaily, flashily overtaking a couple of cars driven by two elderly people who she considered far too old to be behind a driving wheel. The tall, black, elegantly designed wrought iron gates at the entrance to Canleigh were open and Vicky swung the car through them and headed down the drive towards the house, determined that for once in her life she was not going to allow Delia to make her feel inferior.
The last time they had met had been the Christmas before last when their father decided they should all return to Canleigh for the festivities. What a disaster that had been. Vicky, recently diagnosed with anorexia nervosa was a mess and while Richard was understanding and helpful, determined to get her the help she needed as fast as possible, their father was appalled and out of his depth. Delia was downright scathing and impatient of the whole nasty business. Having always enjoyed a healthy appetite, Delia possessed no understanding of how anyone could refuse good, well-cooked food and starve themselves to death, conveniently forgetting how she hadn’t eaten for days after Mummy left and Granny died.
It had been a miserable Christmas and if Richard hadn’t whisked her to London and into a top clinic the day after Boxing Day, Vicky sometimes wondered if she would ever have set eyes on her home and family again. However, those dark days were behind her now. Declared fit and well last year after an almighty battle with the ghastly condition, she was enjoying her time at Oxford and then there was Barrie. She grinned. Barrie, a fellow student, was like a shining light, sent to help her get better. He was such good fun. He made her laugh and feel so very good about herself. He flattered her constantly. She was beautiful, she was witty, and she was a brilliant driver, a fabulous dancer … and eventually, after a long and intimate dinner date, a passionate woman. He boosted her ego constantly and it was just what she had needed. Barrie helped make her well again. Darling, darling Barrie.
He would help her get through this weekend at Canleigh too and she only wished he were with her now. Unfortunately, his aunt who lived in Manchester had suffered a debilitating stroke and hadn’t long to live so Vicky dropped him at the hospital where the poor woman was spending the last of her days. He was going to stay with his Uncle for the night and then take the train to Leeds in the morning and Vicky would pick him up from the railway station. She couldn’t wait to have him back beside her. She really needed his presence to jolly her along.
At a point in the drive where the Hall was still out of view, Vicky stopped the car and checked herself in the mirror. She looked good. Her short black hair was glossy and sleek, her brown eyes were clear and sparkling, and her delicate teeth were perfectly white, even though she smoked incessantly, not forgetting the odd bit of cannabis thrown in for good measure. Well, she couldn’t be good all of the time and she was at Oxford University after all!
Vicky re-started the car and moved off, her stomach churning alarmingly. She would have given anything to have Barrie sitting beside her now. She didn’t want to be nervous. She was determined not to be. The
cause of Vicky’s anorexia, according to her therapist, was a massive inferiority complex and her older sister seemed to loom large in Vicky’s problems but surely the dominant Delia would have softened now she was about to be married.
“Pull yourself together, girl,” she muttered as the house came into view and she could feel her confidence plummeting rapidly. “Delia will not and cannot make you feel stupid any longer . . . and Richard, Ruth, Philip and Daddy will be here … and Delia will be so very happy about her wedding. You have absolutely nothing to fear, Victoria. Nothing at all.”
Defiantly, Vicky couldn’t resist announcing her arrival to all within earshot, pulling up her treasured car sharply beside the front steps of the house, tyres spinning so fast the gravel shot about like bullets from a gun.
In the few minutes it took Hardy, with a wide smile on his lips, to open the front door and trot down the steps to help with the baggage, Vicky glanced up at the Georgian edifice with awe. The Hall always got her like that. It was impressive and she defied anyone to say any different. But it wasn’t home. It was the place where she had been born and grew up, at least it was where her infant years and many school holidays were spent, but it wasn’t home. A real home was where one had warm and welcoming parents and one’s siblings would be in harmony with each other. Here, in this grand, cold, old stone building there was only an elderly butler to greet her, lots of cavernous rooms filled with artefacts and antiques and a haughty elder sister who couldn’t even be bothered to welcome her. Vicky shivered involuntarily, wishing she had booked into a hotel in Manchester for the night and travelled up with Barrie the following day when her father, Richard and Ruth would also be arriving. Still, she was here now and would have to make the best of it.
“Good evening, Lady Victoria. It’s very nice to see you,” said Hardy politely, taking her bags out of the boot.
“Thank you, Hardy. Likewise,” she smiled, alighting from the car. “Is my sister at home?”
“Lady Delia has a migraine. She is in her room, resting now. I will send Mrs. Hardy up to make her aware of your arrival.”
Vicky grinned wryly. “There’s no need, Hardy. I am sure she won’t be at all interested,” she said, glad to put off the meeting a little longer.
Hardy, having witnessed how Delia hadn’t always been very kind to Victoria as a child and young teenager, was pleased to see Victoria looking more assured and confident than he had ever seen her and with the happiness and excitement of Lady Delia’s coming nuptials, hoped it would stay that way. Little did he know that the peace and tranquillity of Canleigh would soon be shattered yet again.
* * *
The telephone on the hall table was ringing when Philip flung open the back door of the house and even though the sunshine was strong outside, the house felt cold. He pulled off his muddy boots and walked across the sunken flagstones to the telephone.
“You don’t mind if I give tonight a miss, do you, darling?” asked Delia. “I’ve a dratted migraine that I can’t shift and added to that, Vicky has just arrived. I didn’t think she was coming until tomorrow and now I’ll have to grit my teeth and make polite conversation … when all I want to do is lay in bed in the dark.”
Philip’s heart sunk. He needed Delia’s company, hoping once they were together all the doubts he had about their impending marriage would disappear. He really didn’t want to go to Jim’s birthday party tonight on his own.
“I’ll come over,” he said quickly. “I’ll entertain Vicky for you and you can stay in bed and then, if you feel better later, you can come down and join us.”
“Definitely not,” Delia said firmly. “You can’t let Jim down. He’s your best friend and your best man and it will do you good to get out without me. How often do you get the chance? Make the most
of it because once we’re married I’ll never let you out of my sight … and that’s a promise Philip Kershaw,” she said lightly.
“What about Vicky?” he asked, making a last-ditch attempt at getting out of the party and to dispel the awful sense of doom Delia’s last words had imparted. From a young age, Delia was dismissive and scathing about her younger sister but Philip thought Vicky was sweet and kind and he wouldn’t mind spending an hour or two in her company.
“Oh, I’ll put up with her silliness for a while, then hotfoot it off to bed. She’ll just have to lump it. She’ll probably want to try on her bridesmaid dress but I can’t face all that palaver tonight … which reminds me, have the tailors delivered your suit yet?”
“No. I don’t think they have,” Philip replied, his wedding attire the last thing on his mind.
“Oh, Philip! You’re absolutely hopeless. Do get on to them first thing in the morning. We don’t want a major panic on our hands because you’ve nothing to wear. You will, won’t you? You won’t forget.”
“No,” Philip sighed, thinking what a stilted conversation this was for a couple who were supposed to be madly in love and about to get married. “No, Delia. Don’t worry. I’ll see to it.”
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 20