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

by Carole Williams

  A newly composed, self-assured, and rested Delia checked out of the hotel and headed back to the motorway towards London. Shelley Masters … one of the few friends she had made at school, rented a spacious flat in Kensington. They hadn’t kept in regular touch as their lives took a different turn after leaving Thistledown, Delia attending Askham Bryan and Shelley wanting a career in the media but Shelley had invited her to stay whenever she was in London so it was time to take her up on her invitation … and it would be nice to see her again … and talk about something other than Canleigh and her broken engagement.

  Shelley, intrigued to see Delia suddenly appearing on her doorstep without prior warning, was delighted to see her but realised quickly that her old friend was desperate and didn’t want to discuss what had brought her so unexpectedly to London. Without a qualm, Shelley, a bubbly, lively brunette, offered Delia her spare room but within days it became apparent the two had grown apart. Shelley was a devoted career girl, employed as a presenter with the BBC and had no thought of anything but work, quite content to have a guest to stay but with neither the time nor inclination for entertaining.

  Delia spent hour after boring hour in the suffocatingly modern capacious flat. The place was everything she disliked; chrome furniture, rugs scattered on highly polished wooden floors, abstract and impressionist paintings on the walls and an excess of modern sculptures wherever one happened to glance. Delia abhorred it, along with the noise and bustle of the teaming traffic outside. She tried a spot of sightseeing. The Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, a trip on the river Thames but she hated the crowds and the jostling for space. The pavements were hard, hot and dusty, full of people who didn’t know her and didn’t care about her. In amongst all this humanity, she had never felt more isolated and detached. The newspaper stands always seemed to be shouting about murders, rapes, burglaries, muggings and the never-ending sound of screaming police and ambulance sirens tearing through the busy streets were unsettling. Big Ben striking loudly advised her repeatedly that her time on this earth was ticking away. She had never liked London much when staying here with Father on their holiday trips backwards and forwards from Europe but it was even worse now she was older and on her own. Why had she chosen to come here of all places?

  St. James’ Park became a regular haunt where she would sit on a bench near the lake and watch the ducks being fed, reminding her sharply of Canleigh, even though the never-ending stream of traffic up and down the Mall was a constant reminder that she was seated in a huge urban sprawl. She was desperately homesick and ached for the countryside and Demon. Not knowing what else to do she had sent Philip a telegram asking if he would look after the horse, knowing Perkins would be at breaking point if he had full responsibility for the animal for any length of time. A curt reply had winged its way back, with the information that at her father’s request Demon was now at Tangles and would remain there until Philip heard from Delia again.

  World weary, Delia took to drink. It had just been one at first but as the days dragged monotonously on, it increased rapidly. It helped ease the mental anguish and allowed her to sleep for long periods, providing a means of escape from the awful truth that no-one wanted or loved her.

  She began to wander around London aimlessly, dropping into hotel bars for a drink, or maybe two or three. Taken for a prostitute, men tried to pick her up and she was asked to leave the premises on more than one occasion. Highly amused, Delia allowed a beefy Australian to think she was on the game and after a whirlwind hour in his hotel room, came away with money in her pocket and a revived sexual appetite. The Australian hadn’t been anywhere near as exciting as the charming and energetic Barrie but she had nothing else to do but drink and fornicate. So Delia did both … and then met Benny.

  Even though Shelley was a workaholic, the two girls renting the flat beneath hers were the opposite. They liked to party … regularly. Shelley was always invited but having been once had no wish to repeat the experience.

  “All a bit over the top for me,” she said when the girls popped an invitation for both her and Delia through the door. “Their guests aren’t quite the sort I want to socialise with.”

  “Oh?” asked Delia, vaguely intrigued, taking the decorative card Shelley handed her.

  Shelley absentmindedly shuffled some papers from a file on the coffee table. She had to go through it before work in the morning and was hoping Delia would find something to occupy her. It was becoming a strain having someone moping around the flat with nothing productive to do. It had been nice to have company at first, but Delia was beginning to get on her nerves and coming in at all hours, smelling of alcohol, was distinctly not what Shelley had expected.

  “A bit … gangsterish … blokes with too much jewellery, flashy white teeth and expensive cars,” she said, wrinkling her nose disdainfully.

  “Sounds interesting,” grinned Delia. “Perhaps I might pop down.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” replied Shelley.

  Delia went … and within minutes of entering the flat with booming pop music and flashing lights met Benny. He walked in directly after her. She was taking the drink someone offered her when she saw him. He kissed one of the hostesses on the cheek and looked around. His eyes met hers and within seconds he was by her side, smiling charmingly.

  “Hi, I’m Benny Caruthers … I don’t think we’ve met before,” he grinned.

  “Delia Canleigh,” she replied, as they shook hands. His was large, warm and firm and she liked the feel of it. She examined him with her eyes. Shelley was right. This individual fitted her description of the type of guests who frequented these parties. He wore an expensive suit, flaunted a solid gold Cartier bracelet and watch and his Gucci shoes were beautifully polished. He spoke well but his accent revealed East End roots. His cold blue eyes swept round the room quickly but dismissing the other guests as of no interest he turned his full gaze on her.

  Delia stared back, flirting with her eyes and a wry smile on her face. Even with Shelley’s warning ringing in her ears she liked the look of this man. His hair was dark, his skin was tanned, and the scent of his heady French cologne made her feel dizzy with desire. He also possessed an air of danger.

  Within minutes, they left the party and were speeding in his Mercedes to his palatial house in Chelsea where they remained for two days, only leaving the bedroom for necessities such as food and drink.

  The affair lasted six weeks. Delia, soon picking up on exactly how Benny was making his living, thought it prudent to bring an end to this adventure before she too was dragged into the seedy world of real prostitution and trafficking hard drugs. Benny owned a well patronised Soho nightclub which fronted his nefarious dealings and Delia accompanied him there on several occasions during those few weeks. It looked a smart, exciting place for the young and not so young of London to hang out. Live bands played nightly with breaks in their performance covered by a tall black man called Jed who rolled out the latest pop chart hits on his discotheque equipment. Dining tables with white damask linen, gleaming cutlery and sparkling glasses were on the upper floor, overlooking the stage and dancing crowd below. Scantily clad attractive females, wearing six-inch black stiletto heels and black and white waitress tunics, the skirt lengths leaving little to the imagination, waited on mostly male diners and were often seen disappearing through a door discreetly hidden by a black velvet screen followed shortly after by whoever they had been serving.

  On joining Benny in his office and overhearing his conversations with three men who were supposedly dubbed as security, it became blatantly obvious that not only prostitution but also drugs and gambling were high on Benny’s list of priorities which enabled him to enjoy the luxuries of life. But Benny was a charming and slippery character and kept a few aces up his sleeve. Delia was sure that at least two men, who were keen to speak to him privately in his office and then drank heavily at the bar without appearing to pay a penny, were police officers who were in his pay.

  But as much as s
he liked Benny’s company and thoroughly enjoyed the stimulating and exciting sexual encounters with him, the night she walked into his office and found him putting a gun into his desk drawer and locking it made her realise she had to make a hasty exit from his life. She returned to Shelley’s flat, stopped drinking and considered her options as to what to do with the rest of her life but the deep sense of injustice and the need for revenge towards her family, still nagged at her. Something had to be done. Ideas kept formulating, all of which were rejected. She really had no clear idea of what to do and then Shelley, unwittingly, gave her an escape route.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Delia,” Shelley remarked as they were preparing an evening meal in her sterile looking kitchen. “But I’ve invited mother to stay for a day or so. I’ve a couple of days off work and we’re going to shop like mad. You’re very welcome to join us.”

  Delia couldn’t think of anything ghastlier. She remembered Shelley’s mother from school opening days. Dreadful woman. Never stopped talking and awfully nosy, repeating everything she was told as soon as she heard it. Delia went to bed that night knowing that it was time to move on and where else but to see her own mother. As soon as she thought of it, a peculiar excitement mounted. She hadn’t seen Margaret since that dreadful day at Canleigh but she knew where she was. What was the name of the Caribbean island Vicky had mentioned when she asked if Delia had invited Mother to the wedding? Somewhere near Grenada.

  Shelley, who liked to travel to far off places on her holidays, had an atlas in the bookcase in the lounge so once she had left for work in the morning, Delia placed the book on the coffee table and poured over it. She soon found Grenada but took a little longer to find an island with a name that she might remember. Then she found a tiny dot on the page. Carriacou. That was it. That was what Vicky had said.

  Delia made herself a coffee, sat back on the sofa and thought about her mother. She despised her and would never forgive her for causing Granny’s fatal stroke but devilment now crept in. She wondered what her mother would say if she turned up unannounced. Would she be welcome? Would they have an almighty row or would they come to some sort of understanding? Suddenly Delia wanted to know. She wanted to confront her mother, find out why she had hated Canleigh so much, had been so careless of her marital relationship and offered no motherly support while her children were young. Delia was sure nothing would have changed but she had nothing else to do so why not pay a visit to her long-departed parent?

  Highly excited by her plans and eager to be on the move, Delia rang Gatwick airport to ascertain when the next plane departed for Grenada, the nearest airport to Carriacou. She would have to get either a light plane or the ferry to the island but she would deal with that when she got there.

  Shelley couldn’t hide her relief when she returned home from work to find Delia packed, ready to go and thanked her profusely for allowing her to stay for so long. “I can’t say it's been the easiest partnership,” she grinned as Delia presented her with a huge bouquet of

  pink roses and white lilies. “And I am glad you’re not seeing that Benny chap any longer. I think he’s one to stay well clear of, albeit he is very charming. In my experience men like that are usually the worst.”

  At seven o’clock Delia was checking in for her night flight to Grenada, relieved to have a purpose, even though it could turn out very badly and she had no idea what she was going to do after she had seen her mother. Anyhow, it was an adventure. She had never been to the Caribbean and was going to make the most of the experience. As the plane rose into the sky and Delia settled back for the long flight in her comfortable first-class seat with a glass of champagne in her hand she began to look forward to what was to come. Even if her mother didn’t greet her with open arms, and Delia knew that possibility was highly likely, it was good to be active again … and to get away from London. It wasn’t her kind of life. Shelley was welcome to it. A hot climate, a lovely golden beach and azure blue skies was where she was heading and she had absolutely no need to hurry back. Canleigh, Richard, her father and Philip could wait. She would return one day and then they would all be sorry. Delia sipped her champagne and smiled as she looked out of the window, watching the puffy white clouds beneath the wings of the plane. Yes, they would all be very, very sorry.

  CHAPTER 23

  OXFORD JUNE-JULY 1972

  Ruth was tired and dispirited after the exceedingly long journey back to her flat, beginning with the taxi which turned up promptly at Canleigh, then to Oxford on the train, which had been two hours late leaving Leeds and then held up for hours along the route. It wasn’t far from the railway station to Walton Street, where she rented the top floor of a terraced house, but her suitcase wasn’t light so she took a taxi home. The flat wasn’t the best she could have found but was handy for the Radcliffe Infirmary, didn’t take long to drive over to her college, St. Hilda’s, and a quiet, studious medical student lived in the flat below and never bothered her. The only fly in the appointment was that Richard lived further down the road and they often bumped into each other so whatever happened she would have to move as it would cause tremendous strain, worrying that he might appear every time she stepped outside.

  She pushed the key into the door, hauled her suitcase upstairs, dumped it on the floor in the lounge, and flopped into a chair by the window. It wasn’t a brilliant view by any standards. Just a row of similar terrace houses on the opposite side of the road with a couple of giggling nurses she knew, dressed to the nines and wearing lots of make-up, walking towards the city centre. A tired looking young male doctor Ruth was friendly with, emerged from one of the houses and headed towards the hospital.

  Ruth looked sorrowfully around the flat. It seemed another world from the luxury of Canleigh. Her parents hadn’t been too happy with her living here, quite happy to foot the bill for a more upmarket apartment in a more salubrious part of Oxford but Ruth had been adamant this area was where she wanted to be, amongst the many other medical students and nurses who lived here. She stood up and wandered from tiny room to tiny room. It was functional but cheap and drab, all the more apparent after enjoying such opulence during the last two days. The furniture was tatty and the furnishings of dull browns and oranges, there was no bath in the bathroom, just a shower that proved to be annoyingly temperamental if one was in a hurry, and the cooker and fridge in the tiny kitchen certainly hadn’t been purchased with Ideal Homes in mind. It was basic and up until now, Ruth hadn’t given it a thought. She had been brought up in the expensively furnished beautiful six-bedroomed detached house belonging to her parents and although Ruth wasn’t normally one to crave the finer things in life, after enjoying the luxury and grandeur of a Georgian mansion owned by a Duke, it looked … well, it looked distinctly cheap, tatty, and not very desirable.

  Unpacking her clothes in the bedroom, she remembered how nervous and excited she had been on Friday before Richard picked her up and how her expectations on how the weekend would turn out had certainly been wide off the mark. On the journey from Leeds Ruth had gone over every scene played out this weekend and how she felt about the Canleigh family. Richard and Delia’s histrionics had frightened her. She shuddered, glad she wouldn’t have to cross Delia’s path again and hopefully wouldn’t have to see Richard any longer. She daren’t think about Charles but Vicky was lovely and certainly hadn’t deserved that awful betrayal from her sister and her boyfriend. Ruth felt dreadfully sorry for her and hoped they would meet up again when Vicky returned to Oxford. That’s if she was still here. Nerves kicked in again as she thought of the conversation she was going to have with her parents … but there was no point in putting it off any longer.

  Ruth stared at herself in the mirror. “Come on, girl. Do it. Do it now,” she said, trying to bolster every bit of courage she could muster, drawing herself up to her full height and taking a deep breath.

  Her mother answered the phone. Her clipped, impatient tones indicating she was busy and had no time for social chitchat.

 
“It’s me,” said Ruth feebly. Why did her mother always make her feel inferior and stupid, wiping away any confidence almost immediately?

  “I’m sorry, Ruth. I haven’t time to talk now. I’m in the middle of dressing for dinner at the Davidson’s … I’m already far behind schedule and your father is insisting on driving and you know how slow he is. They only live an hour away but he’ll probably make it two … so I want to set off early. We mustn’t be late.”

  Ruth pulled a face. Neil Davidson was one of the top Neurologist’s in the country and his dinner party guests consisted of boringly, snobby people with medical backgrounds. Her mother was always delighted to be invited and talked about nothing else for days afterwards. Ruth had been on the guest list on one occasion, found the whole evening to be depressingly stuffy, and hoped she wouldn’t be invited again.

  “Right. Well, I need to see you … talk to you both. As soon as possible,” Ruth said quickly, not wanting to annoy her mother any more than was necessary.

  “We really don’t have time now, Ruth. Come to tea next weekend if you’re free. Sunday would be perfect. We’re rather up to our eyes in it before then.”

  “Fine,” Ruth mumbled. “I’ll see you on Sunday then.”

  She put the phone down, irritated, but a little relieved. The evil moment was put off for a while longer and would provide more time in which to decide exactly what to say. Although she knew she wouldn’t be given much opportunity to speak at all after the initial announcement that she was giving up medicine. They would both explode. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience but it would be easier to present them with a fait accompli. First thing in the morning, she would visit her tutor at St. Hilda’s to advise him that she wasn’t carrying on and then was nothing anyone could do about it.