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

by Carole Williams

  She unlocked the door with the key Ruth had given her and stepped into the hall to examine the house in detail, wanting to see whether the decorations and furnishings she had ordered were finished and in place. An exorbitant amount of money was spent during the winter as Delia sought out fabrics and decent antique shops in search of items to enhance the beauty and give additional character to the house. The result was pleasing; especially the crystal chandelier purchased from Sotheby’s which looked spectacular, hanging from the hall ceiling.

  The dining room to the right of the entrance hall was almost taken over by the rosewood table and the twelve matching chairs. Tall gilded mirrors hung on the walls to create an illusion of spaciousness and over the flamboyantly carved rosewood fireplace was a lifelike painting of Demon, painted by a Yorkshire artist Ruth had recommended. The horse looked fantastic; his coat shone, his head was up and his nostrils flared. The artist was certainly talented and Delia was delighted.

  The drawing room, on the opposite side of the hall, was light and sunny with French windows opening out onto the side lawn. Delia smiled. Visitors would have no doubt in their minds she adored horses. On rosewood side tables between the two four-seater red velvet sofas and gold velvet cushions, and on the alcove shelving and every available surface in the room, sat figures of horses, mostly made of porcelain but Delia’s favourite was of crystal, reputed to be over three hundred years old and once owned by the Austrian royal family. A heavily patterned Wilton carpet of red and gold covered the floor and the full-length curtains at the French windows and the sash window overlooking the front lawn were of gold brocade. It was certainly a room that smacked one in the eye, she thought with delight and if she had overdone it, she didn’t care. She loved it.

  There had been two slightly smaller rooms behind the drawing room and Delia had asked Ruth, who hadn’t any reason to refuse, if it were possible to make them into one. It was now a nice sized sitting room, with more French windows, this time overlooking the pretty gardens and lawn at the rear. She and Lucy would spend most of their time in here, Delia decided. This was where they could relax, watch television, listen to music, or just play, confident that tiny investigative fingers could break nothing of any value.

  Although Delia didn’t mind preparing the occasional meal, she certainly didn’t want to spend much time in the kitchen at the rear of the property that had suffered badly from the leaking roof but after the repairs, boasted brand new oak cabinets and shiny equipment. Ruth had kindly popped a notice in the window of the village shop to advertise for a part time housekeeper, for four days every week, and Mrs. Forest, the wife of Ed Forest, one of the estate gardeners who lived in the village, would be commencing her duties the following day.

  Delia went back into the hall and up the stairs to the front of the house and entered her own bedroom with the cream en suite. Delia had managed to locate the carpenter who had made the ebony bedroom furniture her father had bought for her at Canleigh, sadly destroyed in the fire. An exact copy was made and Delia searched far and wide until the same colour carpet, curtains and bed coverings were found. There were a couple of paintings of Canleigh on the walls and, of course, a few more equine figurines … and her favourite photograph of a smiling Philip by the bed, taken when they had attended the Yorkshire Show many years ago, the first thing she would see every morning and last thing at night.

  Lucy’s room was opposite Delia’s, comfortable and secure for a three-year-old little girl. The wallpaper, curtains, duvet cover and bedside lamp were festooned with beaming teddy bears in assorted styles of dress and different poses and Delia was positive Lucy would love it, smiling at the sight of far too many cuddly toys positioned militarily on the bed.

  She quickly peered into the other two bedrooms and the family bathroom, content that her orders had been carried out to the letter and the Dower House was now ready and waiting for the permanent arrival of herself and Lucy.

  Life had to improve now, Delia thought, driving back to the apartment in Alwoodley. The last three years had been simply intolerable. When deemed fit enough to be discharged from hospital after the fire she had moved to London and rented a roomy flat in leafy Hampstead, near to the Heath where she could walk and think while her pregnancy advanced. The operations the plastic surgeon wanted to perform on her face had to be postponed until after Lucy was born so Delia led a quiet, sheltered life, whiling away the days as best she could, not speaking to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. After years of receiving nothing but looks of admiration and desire, it was difficult to bear the glances of shock and pity when people saw her damaged face for the first time, hurting her more than she cared to admit. She took to spending many hours in darkened cinemas or theatres where no-one could see, making sure she sat near to the wall on the right so that the wrecked side of her face was in obscurity when the lights came up. Needing fresh air and exercise, she took long and lonely walks on the Heath where no-one bothered her. She had to venture out for the necessary appointments at the doctors and quick trips to the supermarket to stock up with food but otherwise she kept to the flat, willing the time to pass quickly, looking forward to the time when her child would make an appearance and the operations could commence.

  Then came the day Lucy was born. Delia’s waters had broken just after lunch and not long afterwards the horrendous pains began. She rang for an ambulance and was whipped into hospital where ten hours later Lucy arrived, red faced and hollering at the top of her voice. When the tiny bundle was placed in Delia’s arms, it was as if she had received all the goodness in the world in one instant. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but the screaming infant. Lucy was her saviour and made the sun shine again. Delia adored every inch of her and knew in a flash of certainty that Lucy was her entrée back to Canleigh. The child had to grow up there and Delia was going to make sure she would, whatever it took.

  The real work on Delia’s face began a few weeks after the birth and while Lucy was cared for by a hired nanny Delia endured three operations in an effort to regain her former beauty but although a slight improvement was made, Delia would never look the same again. She couldn’t bear to see herself in the mirror any longer, constantly pulling her hair forward to hide the ugly scar that ran from just beneath her eye to her mouth. She looked terrible and she knew it, which resulted in making her feel terrible too.

  When finally told by her surgeon there was nothing more he could do, she knew it was time to get out of London and try her luck at Canleigh. Having learned her lesson from not keeping up with events on the estate during her previous long absence, she had kept abreast of what was occurring this time, having ordered the Yorkshire Post to be delivered to her Hampstead flat every day. She knew Ruth was still living at Canleigh with her dratted son, Vicky had married Alex, but more importantly, Philip’s wife had died. However, the excitement she had experienced after reading that bit of news in the births, deaths, and marriages column had been dashed almost immediately and she had to think the unthinkable. She might have to abandon all hope of ever getting him back as surely, like any other man, he would be repulsed by her now. She would just have to bide her time and see what his reaction was when he saw her again. Then she would know what to do. Until then she would have to content herself with just getting back onto the estate.

  Delia had told Ruth the truth. It was mainly because of Lucy that she wanted to return to Canleigh. Delia would always long for it but Lucy had a right to live there, not in a house in London with no idea of her roots and family and now she was grown from an infant into a little girl, it was imperative she mixed with other children and where better, than the county Delia loved and knew so well. It had to be Canleigh. There was nowhere else Delia wanted to be but Ruth would never know how much courage it had taken to swallow her pride and go crawling for the chance to live on what should have been her own land if certain matters had been different. But it had worked and they were moving into the Dower House tomorrow … and it was going to be great.

 
To begin with, it was. The first year was idyllic and rosy. Ruth was most helpful and having discovered Delia was looking for a part-time nanny, the one she had hired in London not liking Leeds and wanting to return home, spoke to Tina who agreed to help. It was a splendid arrangement. Delia spent precious time with her daughter in the mornings and after lunch drove her up to the Hall to join Stephen and Tina for a few hours. The two children had struck up a tight friendship from the moment they set eyes on each other, which made Delia’s routine a whole lot easier with Lucy more than willing to be whisked up to the Hall every day, allowing plenty of freedom for her favourite occupation.

  Prior to moving into the Dower House, Delia had made contact with Philip regarding arrangements for Demon, although she had picked up the telephone quite a few times and put it down again before gaining enough courage to actually speak to him.

  “Philip?” she said when he answered. “It’s Delia. I don’t know if you’re aware but I’m returning to Yorkshire … I’m renting the Dower House.”

  Philip drew in his breath. He had been expecting this call with dread, hoping upon hope that Delia wouldn’t try to make a play for him again. “Yes. I know. Ruth told me … and that you would like Demon stabled at Canleigh”

  “Well, it would make it easier. I don’t suppose you want to be bumping into me every day if I have to collect him from Tangles.”

  “Actually, Delia, I don’t mind too much. Demon is as settled as he could possibly be at Tangles, surrounded by other animals and experienced stable hands, who help keep him calm. If he were alone at Canleigh, with nothing to focus on but wait for you to turn up every day, there’s every possibility he could become even more temperamental.”

  Surprised to hear he was so amenable, Delia sounded uncertain. “Yes, you’re right but are you sure? If so, Ruth has kindly offered to have Lucy, my daughter, up at the Hall to play with Stephen every afternoon so I can ride then.”

  “Yes, it’s absolutely fine. He’s out most of the time, in the field nearest the wood, which is ideal as he can see what’s going on all with the other horses in nearby paddocks but can’t get to them. He was a bugger when we put him in with mares … bullied them relentlessly and made their lives a misery so it’s best for him to have space to himself. When he’s in, he lives in the end stable so he doesn’t disturb the others too much.”

  “Oh, dear. He does seem to have given you all a lot of trouble.” Delia took a deep breath, knowing she was going to have to broach the subject of Philip’s bereavement at some point and wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. “I … I was sorry to hear about what happened to Sue.”

  “Thanks,” said Philip quickly, not wanting to talk about his personal agony with the one person who would probably be pleased his wife was no longer around. “Right. Feel free to come over whenever you want … I must go now. I have people waiting to go out on a hack.”

  It had been far easier than Delia had anticipated and on the first afternoon when Lucy was deposited at the Hall, she drove the Ferrari excitedly over to Tangles. The reunion with her precious horse was an emotional one for them both. As the weather had been appalling the previous night, with torrential rain, Philip had brought him in and knowing Delia would be putting in an appearance, hadn’t returned him to his field in the morning. When Delia arrived, opened the stable door, and let him out, he had squealed, kicked, and reared alarmingly all across the cobbled courtyard and the staff dived for cover, leaving a laughing Delia to calm her horse, tears of joy pouring down her face.

  Philip was absent but Delia was too overjoyed at being reunited with Demon to give him much thought that day. Her beloved horse was still hard to handle and it took a while to saddle him up as he wouldn’t keep still until she stood in front of him, raised the flat of her hand to his face and commanded him to ‘stand’. As excited as he was, he remembered the instructions she had taught him when he was a foal and although snorting fiercely, did as he was told, desperately eager for her to mount him so they could be off. Even with Philip’s expertise, Demon hadn’t been allowed his head as he was now with his mistress. They tore out of the yard at a terrific pace, heading for the empty fields and the woods they knew so well. Delia was in heaven. On Demon’s back she could forget all her troubles and best of all, her ghastly disfigurement. He didn’t care what she looked like. He just wanted to be with her.

  Although Delia enjoyed playing with her daughter in the mornings, she was always impatient for lunch to be over so she could deposit her at Canleigh and then drive over to Tangles. Philip was never around, careful to keep out of her way, but on learning he stabled a cocky little piebald Shetland named Tufty, on whom Stephen was learning to ride, Delia made a point of turning up early one morning, in the hope of catching Philip before he commenced lessons, having left Lucy in the care of Mrs. Forest. She saw him as soon as she drove the Ferrari into the stable car park. He was leaning on a stable door talking to one of the stable girls and her heart missed a beat. There had been no other real love in Delia’s life. Lust was all that was felt for the many men she slept with, including Barrie, and none of them held a candle to Philip. She had wondered for a long time how it would feel when they met again and that time was here.

  Darling, darling Philip. Tall and handsome, with fair hair which wasn’t admittedly as thick as it used to be, dressed in a dark green shirt, unbuttoned at the top, jodhpurs and knee length black leather riding boots. Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous and he was going to be hers. There was no-one to stand in her way now but she had to play it just right. Mustn’t take him for granted. Take it slowly, she told herself. There was all the time in the world. Taking a deep breath to steady herself she got out of the car and walked towards him, carefully pulling her hair as far as she could over the scar and keeping her face at an angle so that Philip would see very little of it.

  “Hi, how are you?” she asked cautiously.

  He nodded to the stable girl who moved away to the tack room and then turned to Delia. “Not bad. You?” he asked. He had known they would bump into each other eventually but still felt at a disadvantage and didn’t quite know what to say.

  “Terrific, actually. It’s so good to be back at Canleigh … and to be able to ride Demon every day. You don’t know how grateful I am that you’ve looked after him so well … and you don’t mind him staying here.”

  “It’s best for him in the long run. He’s well into our routine, reasonably well behaved with me, but does give some of the staff a really hard time if I can’t see to him for any reason. You need to be really firm with him. I don’t wholly trust him … and I know you love him but you shouldn’t either. He could be lethal if allowed to have his own way.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” she agreed, fully aware of how Demon must appear to others, “and I will … however, I’ve another favour to ask,” she said cautiously.

  He looked at her, his eyes distant and remote. Delia’s heart flipped again. She still loved him. There was no doubt about it. He had been her man and he would be again. She badly wanted to throw her arms around him but knew she couldn’t. She had to control herself. Play it cool.

  “Go on,” he said, avoiding her eyes, hoping her request was going to be something to do with horses and not him.”

  “It’s Lucy … my daughter. She’s nearly three and not been on the back of a horse yet. I naturally want her to ride and I was wondering … is there any chance I could buy a small pony for her and keep it here too please?”

  “Sure,” Philip said, with relief. “We’ve plenty of room … and I shan’t charge a livery fee.”

  “But that’s crazy. I’m more than happy to pay, as I do for Demon.”

  “Yes, but now you’re back and riding that beast every day that frees me up. He took up a lot of my time, I can tell you … no, you can stable a pony here for your daughter free of charge … for old times’ sake … and let me know when you find what you want and you can borrow a horsebox to collect it.”

  Delia felt an overwh
elming urge to cry. He was being so nice to her and she didn’t deserve it. Did he still have feelings for her? If so, she might not have to work too hard to get him back. It could be far easier than she thought.

  “Thank you,” she gulped back the crack of emotion in her voice. “That’s very kind of you … and I can’t thank you enough for looking after Demon so well. If it hadn’t been for you he might have had to be put down … and you know what that would have done to me.”

  Philip smiled with his mouth but his eyes still didn’t soften. “The horse can be a monster but whatever happens there’s always room for him here.”

  The door of a loose box further down the yard suddenly opened and a white-faced stable lad hurried out and headed for Phillip. “Philip … the foal. It’s well on its way.”

  “Okay, George. Don’t worry. I’ll see to her. You crack on with mucking out. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  The young lad, who had only commenced his employment at the stables two weeks ago and still felt out of his depth was more than happy to hand over the responsibility of a foaling to his employer and turned away to do his bidding.

  “Can I help?” asked Delia enthusiastically, so wanting to be part of things again and knowing Lucy was safe with Mrs. Forest for an hour or two.

  “Can you remember what to do?” asked Philip with a grin, beginning to relax his guard.