“I’ll give you a ring at the Waldorf as soon as I have something solid to impart,” he said confidently. Delia nodded, stood up, and left his office, enjoying a thrill of excitement when he didn’t take his eyes of her until she closed the door behind her.
While waiting for Paul to do her bidding Delia decided that she might as well spend a few days exploring the safer parts of New York. She made her way up the Statue of Liberty to the crown to gasp at the panoramic view of New York Harbour and watch the boats gliding about so far down below, then the Empire State Building to do the same and spent an afternoon at the New York Historical Society Museum learning about the New York of yesteryear which she found fascinating, history always being her favourite subject at school. But as much as she wanted to visit Central Park, she took Paul’s advice and stayed well clear. Its reputation wasn’t good. Repeated headlines about muggings, rapes and murders were totally off-putting and confirmed his warning.
Eager to make his mark tracking down missing persons, Paul was as good as his word and within two days Delia had all the information she needed. By all accounts, Elizabeth and George had returned to England when Peter Percival was nineteen and he had stayed in Boston where he had been brought up. He hadn’t wanted to go with them as he was the lead singer of a rock band, which was enjoying some success with a single reaching number three in the charts. He now went by the stage name of Rocky Carmichael.
“The band is called ‘Phantom”, Paul told her over the phone. “They made one record which proved to be pretty popular but nothing since. There are five of them in the band, all long hair and leather jacket types and if I remember rightly from press coverage, they’re all into drugs. If you’re going to visit him, I would be very careful if I were you. In fact, would you like me to come with you?” he asked, knowing she had no-one else to turn to in America and although he had ascertained she was a somewhat resourceful, strong and wealthy woman, she was still a woman and all alone in a strange and vast country.
Delia was touched. She had only recently met this nice young man and he was offering to look after her.
“Thank you, Paul, but no. I want to do this myself. It’s going to be somewhat of a shock for him to find out he has a family he probably knows nothing about and they are all members of the British aristocracy. I think I shall have to break it to him gently.”
“Well, just remember, if you need any help or support while you’re in the States, you know where I am,” he replied.
Unable to resist a little dalliance before she left New York, Delia invited him to dinner in her suite at the Waldorf, giving the reason that she wanted to thank him properly for doing his job so expertly and quickly.
“When are you leaving New York?” he asked, replete after a heavenly meal of prime steak, blueberry tart and French red wine. He hadn’t dined at the Waldorf before and was enjoying himself immensely.
Picking up her coffee, Delia moved from the dining table into the lounge area and stood looking out at the view of the streets below. It was dark and the lights of New York were bright and sparkling and the cars moved quickly, occupants either driving home after a long day at work or those on their way to work for the night shift or who were eagerly going out for the evening to the theatre, cinema, dinner or just to see friends or family. Everyone scurrying along like little ants. Busy, busy, busy. It exhausted Delia.
“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen all I want here and as much as I’ve enjoyed my little sojourn, I couldn’t live in a city for long. I was in London for a while before I went to the Caribbean to see my mother and although, like New York, it had its interesting points, the countryside is my real home,” she said wistfully, thinking of Canleigh with another great wave of homesickness. She missed the grand old house more than she could say; she missed the peace, the reassuring presence of the Hardy’s, the gallops on Demon … and Philip. Oh, how she missed him. His smile, his quiet presence.
Delia grimaced in deep, enveloping pain. She hadn’t allowed herself to think much about him since leaving London. There was so much else to keep her mind occupied what with her mother unexpectedly dying and finding out about this Rocky person. But unbearable images of Philip and that bloody Sue flooded her mind. She closed her eyes, holding her hand to her forehead and groaned.
“Are you okay?” asked Paul, with a worried look.
“Yes. Fine,” said Delia, smiling weakly, opening her eyes and studying the New York skyline, trying to shut out the images of Philip and Sue in Philip’s big, comfy bed, making love, where she and Philip had made love so many times in the past. Delia hated that woman so much, it was frightening. She wanted to kill her. She knew she did. There was no question. And she almost wanted to hurt Philip too. For all the agony he had put her through. But she wouldn’t. She loved him deeply, with all her heart and soul. He would be hers again one day. He had to be or there was no point in living. It was only a matter of time. She just had to be patient.
Delia looked at Paul. He was a gorgeous and very sexy man. A wee bit younger than her but what did that matter? His hair had a tendency to flop into his eyes, making him look even younger. Delia’s pulse raced and she felt the strong rush of sexual desire, not felt since her last fling with Benny in London. Paul was standing close to her. She could smell his aftershave. She looked up at him and into his blue eyes. He held out his arms and she melted into them. Their lips met.
CHAPTER 25
BOSTON, AMERICA – NOVEMBER 1973
Delia stared moodily out of the bedroom window of the sprawling unattractive detached house on the fringes of Boston. She hated it. It was relatively modern, built in the early 1900’s and had no charm or character. The garden below her was a confused tangle of shrubbery, having been left to its own devices for a very long time. Only the local wildlife appreciated the unholy mess. The spacious lawn was choked with moss and weeds and shrubs and mature trees which should have been pruned were growing crazily out of control around the edges. She didn’t even know what some of them were and didn’t really care. They weren’t like the rhododendrons, grand oaks and beautiful beech trees at Canleigh and when she thought of the luscious, well cared for lawns, the spectacular parterre on the south front, her grandmother’s beautiful scented rose garden, the lake, the swans, the ducks, she could have cried with homesickness. Her heart ached painfully. She was tired of being in another country, tired of the drawling accents and most of all extremely tired of her stupid half-brother and his cronies who all thought they had a fabulous future in the music industry but due to their complete dependence on drugs and alcohol had absolutely no hope in hell. Delia loathed it all and wanted to go home.
She threw open the window and breathed in the chilly fresh air gratefully. Her head hurt and her body ached with the physical exertions of the previous night and as the man snored loudly in the king size bed in the corner of the room she was filled with disgust.
Thank goodness her purgatory was drawing to an end, now that his money had run out and he was dependant on her for everything, which was just where she wanted him. When Delia had arrived on the scene, just over a year ago, Rocky had been living frivolously from his share of the proceeds of ‘Phantom’s’ one and only hit single, ‘Catch Me’. He, and the four musicians who comprised the band, had let their newfound fame go to their heads. Instead of concentrating on building on their success, they partied crazily, allowing over indulgence and an increasing dependence on alcohol, cannabis and cocaine to take control of their lives, preventing any hope of future triumphs in the music industry. One great single and then nothing … and now no money to keep them in the style to which they had become accustomed. Delia grinned to herself. It had taken a long time to get to this but her patience had won through in the end. He was completely dependent on her and her money just to live now. She finally had him in the palm of her hand and her plans could come to fruition.
He knew, of course, that she had been bankrolling them for a few weeks but he hadn’t any real idea of what
she was worth, or indeed her real identity but the time was right to tell him. He was going to be told who she was and what he would have to do if he didn’t want to end up homeless and in the gutter.
“Delia?” came a muffled moan from the tangle of sheets and duvet on the bed. “God, Delia, I need a drink.”
She forced a smile to her sore and swollen lips and turned. The room was an unearthly mess. Empty bottles of Californian wine and champagne lay abandoned on the furniture; ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts. Clothes and more bedding were strewn over the floor. The air reeked of stale perspiration and cannabis. It was vile. She felt vile … but it was nearly over. Just a few more days and she could get out of here, out of this sprawling country and go back home. Home to Canleigh. Home to darling Demon. How she longed to get on his back and gallop madly over the fields and through the wonderful leafy woods bordering the estate, smelling the freshness of the air … of the earth … of horse … she wondered if he had missed her as much as she missed him. Philip would have looked after him well, she knew that but … oh, God, Philip. Her heart still bled for him. She still wanted him as badly as she always had. He was the only man for her and always would be. The sexual encounters she had indulged in since storming out of Canleigh had done nothing to change her mind. No man compared with him and surely by now, after all this time, he would have tired of that ghastly woman he thought he had fallen in love with and would be over the moon when Delia turned up again. She had often imagined how their reunion would be. They would hug tightly, kiss passionately and then end up in Philip’s lovely big bed with their naked bodies entwined. All that had gone before would be forgotten and their lives together would begin again. She couldn’t wait to get her life back … return to Philip, Demon … and Canleigh … and make sure this time that it would really be hers. Nothing and no-one, especially Richard, was going to stand in her way again. He was going to regret crossing her, pushing her out, reneging on his promise. Delia clenched and unclenched her fists and thought of her twin with pure, unadulterated hatred. If he stood in front of her now, she would kill him without hesitation.
“Delia … please. Get me a drink.”
She moved across the room, sat on the bed and smiled sweetly at the haggard, ill-looking man with the long dark hair, the dark stubble around his chin, the bloodshot eyes and the shaky hands. Delia didn’t feel a bit sorry for him. He had brought it all on himself, making bad lifestyle choices with drink, drugs, no decent exercise, irregular food and little sleep. How different he would be if he just looked after himself as he was a very good-looking young man, more like their mother than any of her siblings or herself and it often amused her to see the similarities in his facial expressions to Margaret. She wondered what he was going to say when she told him that he was the son of an English Duchess.
“Strewth, I feel rotten … but it was worth it. I don’t know how you do it,” he grinned weakly, fondling her bare breast where the shirt she was wearing had slipped, his other hand caressing her bare leg. “Get me a drink and then come back to bed.”
Delia threw him off and stood up abruptly. “Get up,” she snapped capriciously. “We’ve things to talk about.”
His grin disappeared. What the hell was up? Delia had never refused him before, or any of his mates come to that. What a woman, keeping them all satisfied with orgasmic ideas and antics … and she was generous with money. It had been their lucky day when she came into their lives, reassuring them that they would achieve more success in the charts. They just had to be patient. It was just unfortunate their fans hadn’t been. Other bands had come along, pushing them out of the limelight and even though they had released two more singles, they hadn’t been received with any degree of excitement and in the end, they had taken refuge and solace from parties, drink and any drugs they could afford. He knew the money they had made from their first and only hit had been frittered away and if it wasn’t for Delia their existence would be pretty miserable.
He gingerly made an effort to raise his head. It hurt terribly. How much booze had they gone through last night? Vague and distant memories returned. He grinned sheepishly. It was surprising the bed hadn’t collapsed with the weight of eight sprawling bodies writhing together in passionate abandon to the heavy rock music blaring out from massive speakers in every room in the house. Delia had literally whipped them all up into a frenzy, striding around in a black lace playsuit and high black boots with six-inch stiletto heels and whirling and crashing a whip in time to the music. It was just as well the nearest neighbours were a good distance away but if he remembered rightly, they had actually been here, indulging in horseplay.
Delia stood by the dressing table, dragging heavily on a cigarette. She pulled the shirt around her, covering her nakedness. “Have a shower,” she ordered. “And hurry up. I’m going outside for some air … it’s putrid in here … and then I’ll be in the conservatory. I need to talk to you so get a move on.”
He rolled across the bed slowly, not wanting to stand up just yet. He didn’t know if his head could take it. “Bloody hell, Delia. What’s the rush? Come in with me … make it more fun.”
“I’ve had one already. Just get on with it,” she snapped. With a withering glance at him, she stubbed out her cigarette on the pile of butts in the overflowing ashtray on the dressing table. She hadn’t smoked much until moving in with him … just the odd one, usually after dinner. Now she was getting through around thirty a day and it wasn’t good … but as soon as they left America that was going to stop. As soon as her feet touched good old British soil and Richard and this revolting specimen of a human was a problem no more, her tension would evaporate and she wouldn’t need this nicotine crutch any longer. “I’m going to get dressed. Don’t be long.” She snapped again.
He watched her leave the room and then attempted to get out of bed but as soon as he moved, nausea and dizziness caused him to hold his head in his hands as he stood up. He walked gingerly into the bathroom and groaned at the awful mess. Scenes from last night came flooding back. All the male members of the party had had sex with Delia in the shower, one after the other. She had been insatiable; her stamina incredible. He remembered a couple of tarts had amused themselves in the bath, which was still full of water with abandoned soap and sponges bobbing up and down in the slight breeze caused by the extractor fan. The floor was awash. He pulled the plug out of the bath and chucked a couple of dry towels on the floor and watched as they quickly soaked up the liquid on the tiles. He wanted to pick them up but knew if he bent down his head wouldn’t be able to stand it. He left them to lay in a sodden mess.
He stepped into the shower and let the water flow over him, not sure if it was making him feel better or worse but daren’t linger long. Delia had looked annoyed and determined and now he was pretty reliant on her for their very existence, he didn’t want to upset her more than necessary. Although he wished she could have left whatever it was so important to discuss until later, at least until he had recovered a bit more and could string a few sensible words together.
Refreshed and slightly more alert after his shower, he donned a pair of jeans and a sweater and left his bedroom. The place was abnormally quiet. Usually after a night such as the last someone would be wandering about, if only to look for medication and coffee. He peered into all of the bedrooms. They were all unoccupied but it was apparent they had been slept in. Puzzled he went down to the kitchen, which was also in an unholy state of disarray with half eaten sandwiches, pork pies, peanuts, crisps, and chocolate cake on paper plates having been chucked onto the counter tops with dirty coffee cups and glasses and bottles of booze beside them. He had wanted their usual caterers to provide the food for the bash last night but Delia had insisted it was a waste of money and they could do it on the cheap. She had been right, as usual. No-one had complained or commented on the far lower standard. They had only been interested in the music and sex … and lots of it, he grinned sheepishly.
He made himself a coffee, adding a hefty
shot of brandy … hair of the dog and all that … and then ventured into the conservatory where Delia lounged on a chair drinking orange juice from a crystal glass. The light was dull. It was threatening to rain outside. The wind was increasing and the clouds were swirling and dark. The depths of winter would soon be here and it would be time to hibernate. He looked forward to long cosy days and nights curled up in bed or by the television with the heating on full blast. That’s if Delia would let him. She had a grim and determined look on her face and he hoped she wasn’t going to give him a lecture about getting some work done. He really didn’t feel like it.
“Where the hell is everyone?” he asked, flopping down in the chair next to hers, wishing his head would stop spinning crazily. He sipped the coffee gently, hoping the brandy, caffeine and four spoonfuls of sugar would make him feel better.
“I sent them on their merry way … although I must admit none of them looked particularly merry this morning. Quite the opposite in fact,” Delia mused. The moans and groans from the four young men and their female companions had been pathetic but she had been firm. They all had their own homes to go to and she wanted them out. She needed to be alone with him and didn’t want anyone overhearing what she was going to say.
Waiting for her to expand he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply as his hands began the inevitable shaking. He needed a fix and needed it now. Hopefully, Delia would have bought extra from their supplier at the beginning of the week. After the way they had gone at it last night there couldn’t be much left but she hadn’t let them down before so he couldn’t see any reason why she would this time.
He sat back in the chair and tried hard to focus on a swaying tree in the garden but it made him feel worse. He turned his gaze on Delia who was staring at him with an odd expression on her face. He couldn’t make it out. She looked tense as if she was about to impart something dreadful. He took another drag of his cigarette and shut his eyes. He couldn’t deal with anything now. He just wanted to go back to bed and not get up until the next day. God, he was tired and felt so rotten. What the hell was so important that she had sent everyone home and made him get up and come down here? He began to feel mildly annoyed. Who the hell did she think she was … this Delia Marshall … who had come into their lives all those months ago?
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 41