Delia glanced at him. He was looking older since the last time they had enjoyed each other at Canleigh even though it wasn’t that long ago but then men did appear to age more readily than women she thought, remembering how ragged Simon Parfitt had looked. Barrie’s blonde hair was already thinning and there were lines around his tired eyes. He had also put on a bit of weight; not yet obese but she could see that in a few years’ time he certainly wouldn’t be that attractive. Bald and fat most probably. Still, he wasn’t there yet and as he was the only ally she had in the world at the moment she had to keep him sweet.
“I was surprised to learn that you and Vicky had married. I didn’t think she would ever forgive you for our little indiscretion at Canleigh.”
Barrie bragged openly. “Vicky was, and is, besotted with me. She’ll forgive me anything, given a bit of time and a little work on my part.”
They were on the motorway now. Barrie shot the car into the outside lane and put his foot down, whizzing past cars and lorries at well over the speed limit. Delia kept a sharp look out for lurking patrol cars. She had only just left police custody. She didn’t want to end up back in their care too soon.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she said. “Vicky might surprise you one day.”
Barrie steered the car into the middle lane, took his eyes off the road for a second and smiled at her. A small red car swung out suddenly swung out in front of them in an attempt to pass a slow lorry. Barrie banged the horn, swore under his breath and moved back into the outer lane, passing the car and lorry with ease and within seconds had left both far behind.
“Somehow, I don’t think so. I only have to say the right things, do the right things and she buckles.”
“Um. Yes, I suppose you’re right. She always was a bit of a wimp. So, tell me about this club of yours. I can’t wait to see it.”
“I think you will be suitably impressed. We’ve got the mix just right. Vicky and Alex, who we met at Uni and decided to go in with us, look after the building, the staff, the bookings and the day to day running of the place and I … well, I have a wonderful time hosting and keeping all our patrons happy and wanting to return and bring all their friends, especially the women. Believe me, I am really good at my job,” he grinned widely.
“Not too good, I hope. My little sister would be most upset.”
Barrie didn’t reply. Although he flirted outrageously with his patrons, so far he hadn’t succumbed to temptation with any of the women who pawed him every evening with their conversations full of never ending innuendo. He just made vague promises to them, not wanting to rock the boat too hard with Vicky. She was his meal ticket. She was the one with the rich father who could pull countless strings on their behalf, or pull the plug at any time, so he had to be careful … and he usually was … but now he was throwing all caution to the winds … with Delia. He knew it was crazy. If Vicky and/or her father found out he would be done for but there was something about this woman by his side that made him want to continue down this path. He had been thrown completely when Danby rang and asked him to put up the bail money for her and even knowing Vicky would throw her hands up in horror, it hadn’t stopped him agreeing. He knew Delia would be grateful and he wanted her badly. She was under his skin and he was going to have her, and blow the consequences. He would deal with them when the time came. Vicky loved him so much, he could surely talk his way back into her good graces if she ever found out. He was going to chance it anyway.
“To be honest, things are a little tense between us at the moment.”
“Oh?”
“Vicky wants a baby … and so far, has had little luck.”
“I see … so everything in the Saunders-Smythe household isn’t quite so rosy then.”
Barrie shook his head but didn’t expand. Vicky’s need for a child was consuming her, and driving him crazy. He wasn’t too fussed about producing children and if they didn’t materialise it wouldn’t be the end of the world for him and having to only have sex if it was the right time of the month when there was the faint chance Vicky might conceive was becoming tedious and boring. It was leading to rows and long, resentful silences which made having sex even more difficult and when they did there was no joy, just an urgent need to procreate.
Delia watched his beautifully manicured hands guiding the steering wheel. He didn’t wear a wedding ring but there was a solid gold band with a crest of some sort on his right little finger. She wondered if it was the Canleigh crest. If so, he had no real right to it. He might be married to a Canleigh but he wasn’t of the blood line.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get straight up to Canleigh and see how your father is doing?” asked Barrie, changing the subject. He was puzzled as to why Delia didn’t want to shoot up to Yorkshire. Vicky and Ruth were with the Duke and he would have thought Delia would have wanted to join them as fast as possible.
Delia shook her head. “No. I’m sure we’ll hear all the news via Vicky … and I don’t think I want to answer all their questions about Richard and Rocky yet. I’ve had enough at the police station. I just want to stabilise myself a little before I see them all.”
“But your father … he is in a bad way apparently. He might die.”
“Really,” Delia snapped. “Well, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”
Barrie looked at her in astonishment. She blushed, realising she would have to keep a firmer grip on her feelings in front of him. Her head was still whirling with all that had occurred in the last couple of days and she couldn’t afford to let down her guard, even in front of Barrie. She had to be so careful she didn’t say the wrong thing and give anyone any inkling of how exactly she felt about her father, Ruth, the new baby heir or Richard and Rocky. She had to bring all her actress skills to the fore now and be ultra-careful. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face.
“Sorry, Barrie. I’m just overwrought with everything that has gone on. Of course I care about Father but there’s nothing I can do. He’s in the best place and has family around him. As soon as I feel a little better, I’ll go up to Yorkshire but he’s a fighter. He’ll pull through just fine. You’ll see. I just want to concentrate on myself for a little while … and I’m sure you will help me do just that, won’t you,” she said teasingly, her eyes sparkling mischievously as his gaze met hers.
Barrie put his foot down and the miles sped by and by early afternoon they pulled up in the car park at the rear of the club. The only person in the building was Alex, who was in the office. Barrie could see the back of his head bent over the desk. Well aware bringing Delia back to the club was playing with fire, he threw caution to the winds as a crazy kind of madness took over. Praying Alex wouldn’t look up and see them, he swiftly removed Delia’s suitcase from the boot of the car, unlocked a side door and escorted her up the back stairs to the flat he shared with Vicky. As the door of the flat closed behind them Delia was all over him, her tongue in his mouth, her hands ripping off his tie and undoing the buttons on his shirt and so began the affair that was going to cause ructions throughout the Canleigh family for years to come.
* * *
By eleven o’clock that night Alex was becoming thoroughly annoyed. The club was beginning to hum, with no sign of Barrie. It was a particularly important night as a top Russian diplomat was hosting an engagement supper for his daughter in one of the two private dining rooms and two members of the royal family from nearby Kensington Palace were amongst those invited. Vicky had originally planned to be back from her short trip to Yorkshire to assist but with her father unexpectedly in hospital, it was quite understandable that she would have to remain there until he was out of danger. Therefore, it was essential that Barrie pulled his weight this evening.
Alex was brilliant at arranging events and keeping the clubs accounts up to date but without the same easy manner with people, his hosting skills weren’t a patch on Barrie’s. He was a good-looking young man, tall, slim, brown hair, chiselled features and good strong,
white teeth but even though he attracted the attention of several hopeful females, he found it difficult to respond to their overtures. There was only one woman for him. There always had been, right from the moment he met her at University. The love he felt for Vicky was deep and would never change as long as he had breath in his body. He idolised her, utterly and completely and the day she had married Barrie had been one of the worst of his life, especially as Barrie insisted Alex was his best man so he was in the limelight for the whole of the event and couldn’t drift away.
Hiding his feelings that day had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He had known the marriage wouldn’t last, of course. As charming as Barrie was, he was too selfish, too egotistical, too determined to milk the Canleigh family for all he could. One day it would all end in disaster and Alex intended to be around when it did so that he could rescue Vicky. That’s why he had agreed to join them in the club venture, although watching how Vicky idolised Barrie hurt him more and more each day and it took enormous strength to keep his feelings in check and not to give up and walk out of their lives for good. So he remained, enjoying the working relationship he had with her. It was the nearest they could be for now and it would have to suffice. He had learned to live with it.
Barrie had guessed, of course, and mocked him for it. “You really should find a woman of your own,” he urged Alex one evening as they stood together watching the crowds. Barrie had seen the way Alex had his eyes protectively on Vicky when she was being chatted up by a couple of merry young men. “She’s mine, Alex. Mine.” he goaded. “And you can never have her.”
Alex had turned to look at Barrie and saw the taunting merriment in his eyes. He had wanted to punch him there and then and restrained himself with difficulty but Barrie grinned and moved away to look after a group of girls who were determined to give their friend a hen night she would remember.
Nothing more had ever been said but it was always there, just under the surface, and Barrie watched Alex and Alex watched Barrie, waiting for him to trip up with the females who fawned over him every evening but so far Barrie had charmed, flirted and delighted all who came near him but that was as far as it went. Until today.
Alex knew about Delia of course. The shooting at Richard’s flat had been in all the tabloids and on the television news and Vicky had tearfully told him over the telephone that she was sure the shooting had caused her father’s heart attack. Alex had never met Vicky’s older sister but had heard a lot about her. When Vicky had been feeling particularly low one evening a few weeks prior to the shooting, she had told Alex that Barrie had slept with Delia once and how it had nearly destroyed any hope of her marrying Barrie but that they had managed to put it all behind them, especially as Delia had disappeared and hadn’t been seen for a couple of years.
Alex was therefore intrigued when Barrie had abruptly left London early this morning without any explanation as to where he was going or when he would be back and then later this afternoon, when he had been checking the accounts in the office, Barrie’s car pulled up in the car park. Alex had looked up from his desk to see Barrie helping out a stunningly beautiful woman whose features were similar to Vicky’s. Barrie took a case out of the boot and the pair linked arms as they hurriedly crossed the tarmac to the private entrance to the flat. Alex had been stunned. It was obviously Delia but why on earth had Barrie brought her back here?
Now, several hours later, he was none the wiser. He looked impatiently at the gold watch on his wrist again. Barrie was always down in the club by nine o’clock every night to check all was as it should be before it got busy. He was now nearly two hours late and the place was filling up rapidly. Alex drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter of the bar. Obviously, Lady Delia Canleigh was proving to be far more irresistible than their business.
* * *
Barrie and Delia ignored the insistent banging on the entrance door to the flat and the ringing telephone beside the bed. They were too involved in pleasuring each other. After the first passionate encounter in the hallway, Delia had insisted on having a hot soak to wash away the stink of the cell and the courtroom. “And I’d love a drink at the same time,” she demanded. “Brandy will do very nicely.”
Barrie threw open the door of the bathroom.
“Of course, Your Ladyship,” he joked. “Would you like me to run your bath for you?”
“No. I’ll do it. Just get that brandy,” she ordered.
Entering the bathroom, Delia turned on the taps, threw a liberal amount of Vicky’s lavender oil into the dusky pink bath and stripped off her clothes. The scent was strong and soothing and Delia felt her body instantly relax as she slid down into the swirling strongly scented water. Barrie, having removed all his clothes, joined her in minutes, carrying two brandy glasses, filled with a generous amount of Remy Martin. They splashed together like children but for Delia that brought back reminders of cavorting with Rocky and his fellow band members in that ghastly house near Boston.
“We’d be far more comfortable in the bedroom,” she said thickly, pulling the plug in the bath and standing up, soapsuds cascading down her body.
Barrie grabbed a towel and stood beside her, trying to dry her but she was too impatient for him to do a thorough job. She stepped out of the bath and pulled him with her. “Where is it? The bedroom.”
Still wet and dripping, Barrie grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the bathroom and into the adjacent bedroom. Delia grimaced. Vicky’s taste was tacky. Heavy ornate lace curtains drowned the windows and the bed coverings were virginal white. The walls and carpet were a pale lemon. Delia was reminded of a sickly meringue. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to drink so much brandy.
“We’re going to make a lovely mess of this,” she laughed bitterly as they crashed onto the bed, their skin and hair still soaking wet. Barrie was drunk but could still be aroused and while Delia laid back and allowed him to take his pleasure, she felt a crushing envy for what Vicky had secured for herself; a flourishing business, a home, a good social life and a handsome husband who was a pretty good lover. What had Vicky done to deserve it? Delia was exceptionally jealous.
CHAPTER 30
CANLEIGH – NOVEMBER 1973
Vicky was in flood of tears, standing at Ruth’s side in Canleigh’s entrance hall, watching Richard’s coffin being carried up the front steps. Ashen faced, the two women followed it through to the ballroom, prepared earlier by the Hardy’s for the sad arrival of the Marquess of Keighton’s body. The large mahogany table, normally standing in the green drawing room, was in the centre of the ballroom, covered in black velvet, ready for the coffin to rest on. Massive vases of white lilies and white roses, their perfume almost overpowering, decorated two corners of the room and framed pictures of Richard at various stages of his life and with other members of the family were displayed on small tables and window ledges. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from candles burning on the two marble mantelpieces and lamps dotted around the room. It felt cold, austere, and eerie and when the funeral director opened the coffin and Vicky could see her brother, pale and still, looking handsome without his glasses and dressed in his favourite blue suit, pristine white shirt, and navy tie, she nearly fainted. Ruth, shocked to the core herself, had to grasp Vicky’s arm and help her to a nearby chair.
The funeral director nodded to Ruth and Vicky and escorted by Hardy, departed. He would return on the day of the funeral.
“Let’s go upstairs,” urged Ruth, concerned about Vicky, who looked positively ill. “We can come down again later, when we’ve got over the shock.”
Arm in arm, they slowly walked upstairs and along the corridor to Ruth’s sitting room. Vicky sat down heavily on the sofa while Ruth poured two brandies.
“I know it’s early in the day but these are exceptional circumstances,” she said, handing one glass to Vicky and drinking hers quickly. Seeing Richard in his coffin had shaken her up more than she cared to admit. He looked so handsome and just as if he wa
s asleep and would suddenly wake up at any minute, sit up and tell them it was all some ghastly joke.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Vicky said quietly, worriedly running her finger around her glass after a quick sip. She had never liked brandy but Ruth was right, she had to drink it to steady herself for what was to come. “And you’re not going to like it. I certainly don’t. In fact, I find it dreadfully disturbing.”
Ruth looked at Vicky quickly. “Whatever is it?” she asked, dreading any more stress. She was already desperately worried about Charles in hospital, was painfully aware of Richard in his coffin downstairs with his funeral to arrange and then there was the nagging dread of Delia possibly making an appearance at some time in the near future. The strain was overwhelming and she looked at the brandy decanter longingly but it wouldn’t do to become intoxicated. Whatever happened she had to keep a clear head.
“It’s Delia,” blurted out Vicky. “She rang earlier apparently and left a message with Hardy. She’s been given bail and is coming up for the funeral.”
“Oh, no!” Ruth cried. “I was so hoping they would keep her locked up. We’ve all got enough to contend with, without having her unwelcome presence here.”
Ignoring her desire to remain sober, Ruth replenished her glass with another large shot of brandy, waving the decanter at Vicky, who shook her head. “And what about Stephen? We’ll have to watch him night and day. I don’t trust her, Vicky. Why did the police let her go? They must know by now that she’s mentally disturbed and highly dangerous.”
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 49