Ruth opened the door of her flat on his knock and his eyes widened with appreciation. She looked simply lovely. Her hair was unhampered by pins and bows and rested neatly on her shoulders and she was wearing a close-fitting pale blue dress, emphasising her perfect figure. Her shoes and handbag were of soft white leather and there was a white jacket over her arm.
“Hello,” she said shyly.
“Hello, Ruth,” Charles said quietly. “It’s so lovely to see you again. These are for you,” he said, holding out the bouquet, hoping she wouldn’t notice how his hands were beginning to shake. He couldn’t ever remember being this nervous, not even during the war when he was about to take off in a Spitfire and fight the Germans. It was an emotion quite alien to him.
“They are lovely,” Ruth remarked, blushing deeply. “Thank you … please … come in. I’ll just put pop them in water.”
She laid her jacket and bag on the sofa and walked through into the tiny kitchen. He followed and watched her take out two crystal vases, a present from her mother, and arrange the flowers with expertise.
“Where did you learn to do that? They look fabulous … a work of art.”
Ruth had sensed he was as nervous as she had been while she was getting ready but now he was here she felt calmer and at ease, just as he had made her feel at Canleigh. She smiled. How did he do that? All her shyness was rapidly evaporating and she was looking forward to whatever the evening might bring in the company of this gorgeous man. She pulled a face. “Mother insisted I went to classes … years ago … you know how it is … one of those trifles a woman has to excel at to get on in the world.” She grinned at him and he grinned back.
At ease with each other, they walked out to the Rolls. Charles held open the door for her and she slid gracefully into the luxury of the car, loving the fragrance of polished leather and his cologne as he settled into the driver’s seat beside her. All her nerves had vanished and she was already enjoying herself immensely as they glided through Oxford towards the restaurant Charles had carefully picked for their evening together.
Their table was to the rear of the dining room, in a quiet position overlooking the street below. They were shielded from the view of other diners by a discreet screen and a table on which sat a variety of flourishing greenery in enormous pots. Perfect for well-known people who required privacy while they dined.
The meal and champagne ordered, Charles took her hand and smiled. “Now, Ruth. How are you, really? I do so wish you hadn’t rushed off so quickly yesterday. I could have driven you back to Oxford if you hadn’t wanted to travel with Richard. It’s none of my business, of course, but you obviously had words.”
Ruth looked down at the table and played with the white damask napkin, knowing there were things about Richard she could never tell him. She still couldn’t believe it herself. How he had physically attacked her. Charles must never know. He would be mortified that his son and heir could behave in such a manner.
“It was just a silly tiff,” she said. “Something and nothing. We were both tired … and were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. It wouldn’t have been a good idea to spend a few hours cooped up in a car together. It was for the best. For me to return on the train.” She looked up at him. “I am sorry. I do hope you weren’t offended. I thoroughly enjoyed Canleigh … the hospitality … being looked after so well by Hardy … the house, everything in it … and the grounds … are pretty impressive, to say the least, but Richard and me … well, let’s just say we shan’t be spending any more time together in the future.”
A massive wave of relief flooded over Charles. She didn’t care romantically for Richard. He wanted to sing for joy. “Let’s forget it then … and change the subject,” he said, kindly. “I’m glad you liked Canleigh. I know I spend a lot of my time away from it but I am somewhat proud of it. Now, tell me. Have you informed your parents of your intentions yet?”
Ruth told him about the planned meeting the following Sunday and mentioned she was considering some kind of volunteer work, possibly abroad, which brought the conversation round to travel and for the next two hours they talked about where they had been and where they wanted to go. Virtually every aspect of their lives was touched on, finding that apart from a shared passion for exploration, they both enjoyed classical music, particularly Mozart and Beethoven, books, history, and the countryside.
“This is amazing,” said Charles as they walked back to the car. “We’ve been in the restaurant for four hours and the time has just flown. It only seems like minutes. I can’t remember when I have enjoyed myself so much.”
Ruth laughed as he held open the car door for her. “I know. I can’t believe it either. It’s been a lovely evening. Thank you so much.”
Charles got in beside her and took her hand gently in his. “I want to see you again, Ruth … and I’m hoping you want to see me.”
She nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness mixed with a heady happiness that this special evening wasn’t to be the last. “Definitely,” she said firmly.
He reached out and ran his hand down her cheek and smoothed her hair. “You are so lovely, Ruth … and young. I have no right to expect you to want to be with me. I am so much older than you … but I really think I’m falling in love with you.”
She smiled. Her heart was singing. She felt more wonderfully alive than she had ever done … and it was all down to this fabulously kind, fascinating, gentle man. “Age is only a number. It’s what’s in the heart that counts,” she murmured as his lips touched hers for the first time and she realised just how much she adored him.
Charles remained in Oxford for a week, unable to tear himself away now that his relationship with Ruth was on a firm footing. He was totally in love and wanted to be with her all the time. Ruth had informed her tutor that she wasn’t continuing with her course so she was a free agent and took every opportunity she could to be with Charles. They visited the theatre, cinema, dined out, walked for miles around the city and the nearby countryside, and had picnics by the river. On Saturday they drove down to Bournemouth for the day, walked barefoot on the sands, ate fish and chips out of newspaper and ice creams with chocolate flakes. They laughed, they joked, they held hands, they kissed. They were besotted with each other.
Before leaving Bournemouth for the journey back to Oxford, they took a stroll along the pier. Dusk was taking over and the moon was rising. The sea was calm and the smell of ozone mixed with toffee apple, candy floss, burgers and fish and chips wafting from the vending stalls on the promenade gave them no doubt that they were at the seaside.
“What a simply delightful day,” Ruth sighed, smiling up at Charles. “It’s such a shame we have to go back and I have to face my parents in the morning.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“Thank you, Charles, but no. This is something I have to do on my own. They are going to erupt and I would hate you to be there to see it.”
They had reached the end of the pier. Ruth leant on the rail and looked wistfully out to sea. It sparkled in the moonlight. “It would be much easier just to send them a letter but I have to do it face to face … and they are going to be so disappointed in me.”
Charles wrapped his arms around her and turned her face up to his. He studied her carefully. He loved her so much it hurt and he would do anything to make her happy. He hesitated before he spoke but then threw all caution to the winds. “Would it be easier if they knew you were engaged to a Duke?”
“What?” Ruth gasped. “Charles. We … it’s only been a few days. You can’t possibly mean ….”
For a brief, horrible second, he thought he had badly misjudged their feelings for each other and that she was going to turn him down.
“I know … I know it’s not been long but it’s so right. I love you, Ruth, more than you will ever know. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, making you smile, making you happy. Will you … will you please marry me?”
Ruth stood shocked, one hand grippin
g the handrail and the other on his shoulder, thinking she was in some dream and she would wake up any minute. She couldn’t have heard him right. It was the waves, whispering as they lapped beneath the pier; it was the sound of teenagers still playing on the beach; it was the traffic on the road, distorting his words. She looked at him and knew it wasn’t. He was gazing intently at her, desperately waiting for her answer. His eyes were full of love, and then turned to doubt as she kept silent.
“Ruth?” he said, terrified he had made the worst judgement of his life; how could he have assumed his intense love was reciprocated. How stupid he was. What a fool he had made of himself.
Then his fear vanished in an instant as she smiled into his eyes. “Oh, Charles, I love you so much … I think I have done ever since we first met but … but we hardly know each other … what will people think … what about your children? I’m in the same age group as them. I can’t see them taking it very well … especially Richard and Delia.” She remembered the terrible scenes, first with Delia and then with Richard when they had both warned her off. Not very happy wasn’t really the phrase to use. They would be utterly furious.
He hugged her with delight, kissing her upturned face. His heart soared and he felt he could burst with happiness. “They will have to get used to it, darling. They have their own lives and we have ours … and I don’t want to waste any more time than necessary. We could get a special licence and get married this week … I’m so sorry it will have to be a civil wedding … being a divorced man prevents us marrying in Canleigh church, which I would have preferred … but we can arrange a blessing there afterwards … that’s if you would like to.”
He remembered, clearly, his last wedding at the pretty little church. To Margaret. That marriage had gone badly wrong, almost from the start. He glanced at Ruth, knowing this one wouldn’t. The two women were so different. Margaret had never loved him. She had just wanted the security, money and status that he could provide. She had been cold, calculating … and a tart. She had produced three children during their time together and for that he would always be grateful but their actual relationship had been a disaster and caused huge disappointment and heartache. Ruth was so different. She wasn’t self-obsessed like Margaret. She was interested in the welfare of others, tolerant and honest and he just knew she would be steadfastly loyal. There was no hidden agenda with her and he knew, gazing into her gorgeous, pretty hazel eyes, that she truly loved him and that they were going to make each other extremely happy.
“Oh, my word, Charles. Please. Let me take all this in. I don’t know. This is all so sudden. I love you, yes … but marriage? It’s a huge step … and I’m not of your class … there’s the age gap … not that it matters to me but it might to others … and I’ll drive you mad. I’m always late for everything and am bone idle if left to my own devices. I don’t know anything about running a huge house … entertaining on a grand scale, etc., etc. I could never be the sort of wife you need … or deserve. I would end up letting you down by making some dreadful faux par or other and you’d bitterly regret it. I just know it.”
Charles looked at her sternly. “Let’s get a few things clear, here and now. My children have their own lives to lead. What I do is of no concern to them … and what anyone else thinks is their own affair too. It’s what we think and feel that matters. And as for this nonsense about you not being good enough, that’s sheer bunkum. So please, my darling girl, get that out of your head as fast as possible. We have staff to run Canleigh and my other properties. We leave everything to them. You won’t have to worry about a thing … and I don’t entertain on any kind of grand scale so there’s nothing for you to worry about there too. All you will have to do, my darling Ruth, is let me make you happy.”
He stopped for a moment and sadness crossed his face. “However, you do have a point about our ages. I’ve been grossly selfish, not considering it from your point of view. How could you want to marry an old man? Because that’s what I am. We are of completely different generations … you could so easily be my daughter. Oh, Ruth,” he added with anguish. “I am so sorry. I’ve embarrassed you dreadfully.”
She reached forward and stroked his face. “It doesn’t matter to me … this silly age difference … all I know is that I love you very much and you could be Methuselah himself for all I care. You are right. If it matters to other people then that is their problem. It doesn’t to me … honestly it doesn’t.”
Charles smiled and pulled her to him, enveloping her in his arms. “Then we’re in agreement and nothing should stand in our way. Ruth, if you promise to marry me, I shall be the happiest man alive. Please darling … what do you say? I promise to make you so happy. I shall devote the rest of my days to making your life perfectly marvellous, more so than your wildest dreams. I shall treat you like a queen.”
Ruth’s eyes sparkled with love and joy as she looked up at him. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Of course I’ll marry you … although the speed at which we are going is leaving me rather breathless.”
“Oh, darling. I couldn’t have left asking you for another minute. Someone else might have snapped you up and I couldn’t have borne it … and I want us to live our lives to the full before it’s too late.”
As they hugged and kissed tenderly, as dusk settled around them, with the moon beginning to rise and the sea lapping gently beneath the pier, Ruth, as happy and joyful as she was, felt a shiver run through her body at his words … ‘before it’s too late.’
CHAPTER 24
THE CARIBBEAN AND NEW YORK JULY 1972
“Your mother is dead,” announced Simon Parfitt. “I had her cremated and then scattered her ashes out to sea last week.”
Stunned and in shock Delia stood in the Caribbean sun, feeling the intense rays from above penetrating the wide brimmed white hat she was wearing. She didn’t know if it was the overwhelming heat or the news he had just imparted making her feel nauseous and weak. She stared at the man who had taken her mother away all those years ago. He looked ill and gaunt. Last time she had seen him, that unforgettable day at Canleigh, he had been a good-looking young man, slim, clean-shaven and with a good head of thick fair hair. Eight years down the line and she wouldn’t have said it was the same person. Although his chin was covered in greying stubble, he was virtually bald, wore grubby black shorts, socks and sandals and his bare torso was so well tanned it was virtually black. He looked filthy and didn’t smell too good either. She wondered when he had last had a bath.
He sank down wearily on the floor of the veranda of the run-down bar, which certainly wasn’t the luxury hotel Delia had been envisaging. She couldn’t imagine her mother here, helping him run this place. It was dire. No more than a large wooden shack with a roof that was rotting and the veranda didn’t look safe either. A few grubby looking white plastic chairs and tables rested on the uneven planks of wood between which grass and weeds grew. The only redeeming feature was the view. The building was set on a hill overlooking the beach. The sea was crystal clear, a sparkling turquoise in the dazzling sunshine and Delia watched fascinated as pelicans dived for fish. She turned and saw an iguana ambling through the bushes behind her, its skin virtually the same colour as the undergrowth. She had only ever seen one in a zoo when she was young and she watched it with fascination as it trundled out of view while she let the information Simon had just delivered sink in.
“I’m sorry. It must be a shock,” he uttered, waving a hand at the entrance door. “Help yourself to a drink if it helps … and while you’re at it, bring me the brandy bottle. No need for a glass.”
Numb from the news of her mother’s untimely demise, Delia gingerly entered the shack with its louvered doors, glad she was wearing flat flip-flops and not heels. The floor inside was nearly as bad as the roof and there was a nasty aroma of sweat mixed with urine and booze. The bar was in the far corner, dirty glasses everywhere. Lots more plastic tables and chairs dotted the room and there was an uneven dance floor in the centre with a
discotheque unit in the opposite corner to the bar.
Grabbing a half empty bottle without a label but which looked and smelled like brandy Delia stumbled back out to the veranda, desperately wanting a drink too but not daring to risk using one of the brown stained glasses or putting her lips to the bottle. The small hotel she had booked into a couple of miles down the road had looked relatively clean when she had offloaded her luggage a couple of hours ago so she could have a drink later.
Parfitt was still on the floor, his back to the wall. He took the bottle and drank deeply. She watched him. Did he remember what she had done to his car all those years ago, she wondered.
“What on earth happened?” she asked. “How did Mother die? And how did you end up in this place? I thought you had a thriving business out here. Father gave her a generous divorce settlement so she should have been able to afford something better than this.” She sniffed disdainfully as her eyes roamed over the decrepit dwelling and the neglected piece of land circling it.
Parfitt lifted his head and looked at her. She reminded him so much of Margaret. In fact, she was just a younger version of the woman who was supposed to have made his life an easy and comfortable ride. It had been fine at first but for the last five years it had been a bloody nightmare and he wished to God he had never met the damned woman. He would have been much better off staying in London. He badly wanted to go back but he doubted if he would be able to raise enough from the sale of his ramshackle home and business for the flight home. He knew his mother wouldn’t help him, as much as she might want to, thanks to her bloody husband, and he had lost contact with his friends. With no hope of going back, depression engulfed him when he thought of lovely cool, busy, exciting London with plenty of decent booze and no flaming mosquitoes. Thanks to that damned Duchess, he was trapped here now. He took another swig of the rough brandy.
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 39