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

by Carole Williams

  Having rung Hardy from the phone on her father’s desk, Delia sat down opposite Vicky on the two Chesterfield sofas either side of the fireplace.

  “Mrs. Hardy told me you had one of your heads. Are you feeling better?” asked Vicky, trying to sound sympathetic.

  “A bit. But it seems I might have the beginnings of a blasted cold as well,” Delia sniffed into a tissue. “I’m going to have an early night.”

  “Yes, you must. You need to be fit for the wedding. I am so looking forward to it. Do you know this is the fifth time I’ve been a bridesmaid? I do hope it’ll not ruin my chances of being a bride,” said Vicky, knowing she was prattling again but Delia still made her feel so damned inferior and silly. Why did her poise and self-confidence evaporate as soon as she was with Delia? She wasn’t like that with anyone else.

  Delia settled herself in the corner of the sofa, arranging cushions at her back, ignoring Vicky’s inane chatter.

  “I was speaking to Richard on the telephone last night. He tells me you have a new boyfriend. Do you want him at the wedding? If so, I shall have to look at the table plan again.”

  “Barrie,” nodded Vicky enthusiastically, wishing he was there now. He was full of confidence and would easily deal with Delia. “Oh Delia, you’ll really like him … he’s simply gorgeous … good looking, really generous, great fun to be with. I just adore him.”

  Delia cringed, remembering Richard’s caustic comment that the delightful Barrie, also at Oxford Uni, was a lazy letch who had only latched onto Vicky because he could see a golden future for himself, married to a wealthy Duke’s daughter. Richard was concerned and was hoping Vicky would see through Barrie before there was any talk of an engagement.

  Vicky continued enthusing about Barrie. “I can’t wait for him to get here tomorrow. I had to drop him in Manchester as his aunt is dying and he desperately wanted to spend some time with her … they are very close apparently. He’s coming up by train. I’ll drive to the station and meet him.”

  Delia had gone very quiet, thinking how lucky she was to be marrying Philip. He certainly wasn’t after her money or the kudos of her family’s status. She knew him so well, loved him so deeply, felt safe and secure with him and just knew their future life together was going to be all that she hoped for. She was truly blessed.

  “Have you … have you heard from Mummy? Is she coming to the wedding?”

  Delia froze. Even after all these years the hate she felt for her mother was still there. It teetered below the surface all the time and just the mere mention of the woman brought that horrendous day back abruptly. Sitting here in the library, she could hear again the row between her parents, could feel the slap of her mother’s hand, and could see the disgusting pictures in the newspaper. Her pulse raced. Murderous thoughts charged through her mind. It was frightening, this anger, mostly directed at her mother but to a lesser extent on Simon Parfitt and then Father. Delia had never quite forgiven him. There was an uneasy truce between them but all respect for him had vanished that day, along with her beloved Granny. Delia raised her eyes to the portrait above the mantelpiece. Darling Granny looked down at her, a faint smile on her lips. How she wished Granny could be here now, helping her with the wedding arrangements and then in St. Mary’s, watching her marry Philip. Granny would have been so happy for her.

  “Delia? Have you … have you heard from Mummy?” Vicky repeated.

  “Good heavens, no!” exploded Delia. “What a stupid question! Neither I, nor Father, would have her on the premises … that’s if she knew I was getting married of course. I certainly haven’t told her. Anyway, I can’t. I haven’t the foggiest idea where she is.”

  “On some tiny Caribbean island apparently, Carriacou … somewhere near Grenada. There was a piece about her in one of the tabloids a few weeks ago. Parfitt wasn’t mentioned so I’ve no idea if she is still with him. She’s opened some kind of bar. There was a picture of her … she looked … she looked … there’s no other word for it but tarty.”

  “Bitch!”

  The venom in Delia’s voice made Vicky shiver. Her sister looked positively evil and Vicky regretted mentioning their mother. After such a long time it was to be assumed Delia might have gotten over the trauma but obviously not and Vicky decided never to mention their mother again.

  “How’s Philip coping at Tangles? It can’t have been easy for him … taking it over at such a young age,” she said, quickly changing the subject.

  Delia took a deep breath. “He’s doing really well. The riding school is booming and he’s really busy … and that’s the best thing. It keeps his mind occupied.”

  Vicky shuddered. “Poor Philip. Losing all of his family. It’s so sad. Darling Constance was wonderful and as for poor Ralph. What a dreadful death … being kicked to death by your own horse … then you wonder why I don’t like the vicious brutes.”

  “Thunderbolt had a good excuse. He was stung by a wasp and was in agony. He would never have kicked out otherwise. It was just unfortunate Ralph happened to be in the stable with him at the time. Thunderbolt’s been like a lamb since … in fact I think he realises what he did. He seems to look so sad now. It’s tragic.”

  Delia felt the tears sting her eyes. That had been another day she would never forget. She and Philip had actually been at the stables when it happened, helping the grooms muck out. They heard Thunderbolt lashing out and Ralph’s terrified yell. They and the grooms rushed over to Thunderbolt’s box to see Ralph spread-eagled on the floor while the horse reared and kicked out furiously, terror and pain in his eyes.

  One of the grooms did her best to calm the horse while the other, along with Philip, risked their own lives pulling Ralph to safety. Delia left a distraught Philip kneeling by Ralph’s side while she dashed into the office to ring for an ambulance but there was nothing anyone could do. The horse’s hooves had dealt a fatal blow to Ralph’s head and he had died instantly.

  “I expect Philip will be glad when you move in permanently. He must get lonely.”

  Vicky’s words brought Delia back to the present with a jolt. “He hasn’t time to be lonely … and anyway I’m there every day. I only come back to the Hall to sleep … and then not always,” she said with a smile to her lips.

  Vicky began to relax. Perhaps marriage was going to soften Delia.

  “What happened to the show jumping ambitions?”

  “Oh, they’re still there but I outgrew Star a long time ago … and as for Demon … he’s not the right temperament … too skittish and temperamental. And I’ve been busy at college and helping Philip. Now studies have finished and once the wedding is over, I’ll think about it again. I could afford to buy a decent horse for the ring now I’ve received Granny’s inheritance.

  “Gosh, yes. You and Richard … a million pounds each. Wasn’t darling Granny generous, leaving that to us and the rest of her millions to animal charities. She was very special,” said Vicky, smiling up at the portrait. “Although I wish I didn’t have to wait for mine till I am twenty-one. Another couple of years of scrimping at Oxford.”

  Delia snorted. “Father hardly keeps you short and you have a very nice flat to live in which he pays for. Anyway, time will soon pass and you have your studies to complete. Another two years of English. Goodness, what a bore … and what on earth will you do when you finish? Teach it I suppose … even more boring.”

  Vicky giggled. “Just as well we don’t all think like that. I find it absorbing … and anyway why did you pick estate management to study? I thought you would have concentrated more on the horsey side.”

  Delia gave a slight smile, not wanting to tell Vicky the real reason. That would be revealed later this weekend, when she spoke to Father. Then they would all know.

  “Because it will help us at Tangles of course.”

  Further discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door announcing Hardy’s arrival with an enormous tray bearing the silver coffee pot, a jug of milk and bowl of sugar; bone china crockery and silver cu
tlery. The delicate egg and cress, smoked salmon, and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts removed, and a big bowl of cornflakes and two generous slices of Delia’s favourite cherry cake looked particularly tempting.

  “Thank you so much, Hardy,” said Delia. “This looks lovely, although I might just manage some more cornflakes later,” she grinned.

  Hardy smiled back. Lady Delia’s passion for rounding off the day with a huge bowl of cereal amused him greatly.

  “Yes, Milady.”

  Hardy left the room and Delia poured the coffee, handing a cup to Vicky.

  “When we’ve had this, I suppose we better go up to my room. You need to try on your bridesmaid dress. We only have a couple of weeks if any alterations are needed.”

  Half an hour later they entered Delia’s bedroom and walked through into the dressing room next door where the two enchanting full-length gowns hung side by side. Delia took down the turquoise bridesmaid dress and held it up for Vicky’s inspection.

  “Oh wow,” said Vicky, eyes lighting up with pleasure. “It’s beautiful. We’ll look stunning, especially you,” she gasped, staring with envy at Delia’s floaty white gown.

  The design and fabrics of the two dresses were identical. The silk chiffon was long and flowing, the bodices inlaid with pearls, shining brilliantly in the evening sun from the window. The result was elegant and charming. Vicky was to wear a specially made turquoise posy in her hair and for Delia, there was a veil, to be held in place by the dazzling diamond and pearl Canleigh tiara, passed down through the generations.

  “I just love mine. It’s my favourite colour, probably because I always look good in it,” said Vicky.

  Delia agreed. The gown would set off Vicky’s dark complexion beautifully.

  “These must have cost Daddy a bomb … having them made in Paris.”

  “I shouldn’t worry too much … he can afford it.”

  “I can’t wait to see him,” mused Vicky, peeling off her clothes. “I worry about him all alone up at Blairness … and don’t you miss him?”

  “Not really,” said Delia quietly, helping her sister into her dress and pulling up the zip at the back. “It seemed a bit strange at first but I soon got used to being the only family member in residence at Canleigh for most of the time.”

  “But it’s a huge responsibility for you … running this place.”

  Delia’s eyes darkened. “I haven’t had any say in it. Father speaks to Dick Joyce on the phone every day and I’m not allowed to have anything to do with such complicated matters as estate management, even though I’ve been studying it. Father only paid for the course to keep me quiet and occupied until I married, as he didn’t know what else to do with me once I made it quite plain I didn’t want to go away to university. Oh, dear me, no. I’m just a mere female and as such should know my place. Even now in the 1970’s. It’s quite ridiculous!”

  Vicky felt the same faint sense of unease at the expression on Delia’s face as she had downstairs when she mentioned their mother. To break the tension, she whirled over to the mirror to admire herself, twirling so that she could see herself from all angles.

  “This is just gorgeous … and it fits perfectly.”

  Delia gave a wan smile and walked back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Her head was beginning to ache again and she felt very tired, probably from all the pills taken that day.

  Vicky took the hint, took off the dress carefully and returned it to the dressing room.

  “I’ll leave you to rest. Hopefully, you’ll feel a lot better in the morning.”

  * * *

  The village hall was packed with people, coloured lights flashing in time with the throbbing disco music, making it difficult in the semi-darkness to distinguish exactly who was who in the melee at the bar, the couples gyrating on the dance floor and people sitting at tables sipping their drinks.

  Philip stood in the doorway, took one look and wished he could have stayed at home … or insisted he spend the evening with Delia and Vicky. Not being a great socialiser, he relied heavily on Delia to make small talk while he stood beside her trying to look interested in the conversation but unless it was about horses or the countryside, he was mostly tongue-tied. Even with the people here tonight, most of whom he had known all his life, he had little to say. The men would discuss football, rugby or cricket and the women would be gossiping. He missed Delia immeasurably, unable to remember a social event since he was a small lad when she wasn’t by his side. He felt alone and vulnerable.

  “Phil? Where’s Delia?”

  The slap on his back made him jump. He turned to see Jim standing behind him with a huge grin on his face. They knew each other well, having sailed through school days and then college together, although while Philip had been engrossed in learning about equines and their care, Jim had studied agriculture so he could assist his father with the farm they owned on the west side of the village.

  “Sorry mate. Didn’t mean to make you jump. Where’s your other half then?”

  “Has a migraine. Sends her apologies.”

  “So … you’re footloose and fancy-free this evening. Blimey, that’s a first. I thought you two were shackled to each other.”

  Philip gave a faint smile. “And we will be in two weeks’ time … remember … you are my best man.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m still struggling with my speech,” grinned Jim, his features only just distinguishable in the dim light. He was a little taller than Philip, dark haired and soft, kind eyes. He was a good friend and Philip enjoyed his company when they managed a quick pint or two at the Canleigh Arms every week or so.

  “What a racket,” shouted Philip as the disc jockey turned up the volume. “How can you stand it?”

  Jim smiled and shouted back. “Not like your forthcoming do, eh? No disco there. That will be a shade more upmarket, to say the least … four hundred guests … a marquee on the spacious lawns … stately home setting … the finest champagne … and of course, the violins … not to mention the horses. No doubt they’ll be invited too, knowing Lady Delia. I’m surprised she hasn’t persuaded you to let that crazy lunatic horse be your best man … what’s it called … De … De?”

  “Demon,” yelled Philip over the music. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not enough, my boy. Come on let’s get you a pint … this can be a great chance for you to let your hair down seeing as you refuse to have a stag night before you tie the proverbial knot … it’s just as well you know Delia so well and what you’ll be marrying into.”

  Philip didn’t smile as Jim expected. In fact, he looked disturbed.

  “You are sure about this, aren’t you Phil … you and Delia?” said Jim, noticing Philip’s expression.

  Philip’s answer didn’t sound convincing. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Jim pushed him towards the bar. “Come on, let’s get you some alcohol. I reckon you’re suffering from pre-wedding nerves. As soon as you get the ceremony over everything will be hunky dory.”

  Philip allowed Jim to propel him across the room, nodding as he recognised people he knew. He glanced surreptitiously around to see if Sue had put in an appearance and wondered why Jim’s words did absolutely nothing to reassure him and by the look of his friend who had obviously made a good start on drinking the bar dry, there would be little point in trying to have a serious chat with him tonight. Still, there was a fortnight to go before the wedding. Perhaps some earth-shattering event would occur before his fate was sealed. Now, why had he just thought such a thing? He glanced around again for Sue and saw her … sitting at a corner table with a friend. She looked up and smiled. Philip’s heart flipped over.

  * * *

  Delia had a quick shower and got into bed. She put out a hand and touched the silver framed photo of Demon, on the bedside table beside her. She smiled. Goodness, he was a handful but how she loved him. Spirited she called him. Mad and dangerous were the words Father, Philip and Perkins used but then they didn’t
ride him. They didn’t experience the thrill of galloping furiously across the fields with him. It was like flying. Pure magic and the height of exhilaration. Delia had never experienced such complete harmony with any other horse and couldn’t imagine the world without him. Delia had loved him with a frightening intensity since the day he was born and was wholeheartedly relieved when her father had agreed she could have him for her own. However, Charles had made it plain she would be responsible for Demon’s welfare and would have to school him under the supervision of Ralph. He would also remain at Tangles until he was old enough to be moved to Canleigh. Delia obliged willingly and spent hundreds of happy hours caring for Demon and training him. They formed an incredible bond that would never be broken and with Delia on his back, streaking across the countryside, they merged into one, leaving onlookers with a deep sense of awe and respect for such perfect harmony.

  Delia looked at the bedside clock. It was ten thirty. She certainly felt better than she had all day but just to make sure she took two more painkillers with a drink of water before quickly eating the bowl of cornflakes Hardy had kindly left by her bed with a jug of milk. Kissing Demon’s photo she turned off the light and snuggled down, feeling a huge surge of excitement. In a fortnight she was going to have all she wanted. Demon, Philip, Tangles … and now Dick Joyce was retiring and the position of estate manager was up for grabs, who better to fill it than her? Her father, knowing how she had studied so hard and how passionate she was about Canleigh, would have to agree. She was positive he would. She was the perfect person for the position after all and her father wasn’t stupid. He would consent. She just knew he would. How simply wonderful life was going to be!

  CHAPTER 14

  YORKSHIRE – MAY 1972