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

by Carole Williams

  “How could I forget?” Delia almost sang, a rush of warmth flooding over her. It was so good to be back in Philip’s company. She would do everything she could to keep it that way.

  The birthing was easier than expected. The mare managed well and didn’t need any help so Delia and Philip watched quietly from the sidelines until the foal slid into the world safe and sound. When Philip was satisfied the new mum and her offspring could be left together without further surveillance and feeling easier in Delia’s company, he invited her back to the house for refreshment and she left Tangles an hour later feeling her morning had been well spent and it was only a matter of time before Philip was completely hers again. She drove back to the Dower House designing her wedding dress in her mind and wondering whether Ruth would allow a grand reception at the Hall. She wanted the world to know when she eventually married her man.

  Two weeks later, having received a tip off from one of Philip’s stable girls, she found the perfect pony for Lucy; a beautiful little chestnut Shetland pony called Timmy. He had been bought by a family who lived near Harrogate for their son but he took a strong dislike to riding and so they decided to part with Timmy, albeit reluctantly as they had all fallen in love with his sweet nature. He was perfect for Lucy’s first experience of horses and reminded Delia fondly of Samson and Delilah and the wonderful joy of Perkins teaching her to ride when she was so young

  Delia gave Lucy her first few lessons and was overjoyed to see her daughter taking naturally to the saddle just as she had done. Philip, who was teaching Stephen, offered to include Lucy in the lessons and as it was a great excuse to be in his company, Delia agreed, spending more and more time at Tangles, with Lucy, Tina and Stephen three mornings a week and riding Demon every afternoon.

  Delia was happier than she had been for years although she was slightly niggled how, even after a few weeks of being in each other’s company every day, Philip still maintained a careful distance and the conversation, which always centred around horses, remained light and easy. Delia tried to understand, knowing how he had lost Sue but surely his grief wouldn’t last forever? Patience wasn’t her strong point but there was all the time in the world she kept telling herself. He would eventually realise that she was the only woman for him.

  But there were other things on Delia’s mind too. After promising Ruth that she had no designs on the estate, Delia found it was impossible to resist all interest, especially in Louis, the estate manager. She came across him one day sitting in a Landrover, writing in a tiny black notebook. Guessing who he was Delia reined in Demon and called out a greeting.

  “Hello. You must be Louis. I’m Lady Delia. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

  They had disliked each other on the spot. Louis tried to baffle Delia with a rapid burst of his own language but was confounded by just as fast a reply, French having been on of the few subjects Delia excelled in at school. She tried to ask him about different aspects of managing the estate but he was surly and reluctant to answer and Delia’s suspicions were aroused. Something was not right and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  For an estate manager, he didn’t seem to be around a lot either, which puzzled her. Dick Joyce, when he was in charge, was seen every day, driving backwards and forwards over the estate, checking all was as it should be but it was rare to come across Louis and when he was in evidence, didn’t appear to be doing anything particularly constructive and had no wish to engage in conversation. Delia wondered how Ruth got along with him. She would have little experience of how to deal with an estate manager and probably left him to his own devices too much. Delia sensed trouble. She badly wanted to have a look at the accounts but on a scouting mission to the estate office decided it wasn’t a good idea to go again. The lovely Cheryl, who had helped Delia learn to type many years ago, had left, having found better-paid employment in Leeds. There was now an older, severe-faced woman tapping hard on the keys of the ancient typewriter on which Delia had learned. She looked up when Delia entered the office but didn’t smile or offer any greeting.

  “Hi,” said Delia, standing in the doorway. “I’m Lady Delia. I met Louis the other day and just wanted to pop in and say hello to you too.”

  The woman looked her up and down, staring hard at the scar on Delia’s face, making her flush with embarrassment. How dare this dragon faced creature make her feel so uncomfortable?

  “I’m sorry, Lady Delia. I don’t have time for idle chit chat. Was there anything in particular you wanted?”

  Delia shook her head and left, having no wish to remain in the woman’s company for any longer than necessary. It was obvious that she wouldn’t get any information out of her. She deliberated on whether to have a word with Ruth but decided to leave it for a little longer and see what more could be found out before she said anything about her unease.

  Delia thought about Ruth a lot. Although it was impossible for them to be bosom pals, a mutual understanding was growing between them that they had to make a show of getting along, especially in front of the children, who were the real reason behind the truce. Ruth was as devoted to Stephen as Delia was to Lucy and when the two women did bump into each other it was invariably the children they talked about.

  To her surprise, Delia discovered she liked Stephen a lot. He was a bright boy, lively and noisy but polite and eager to make friends. He was gregarious and couldn’t sit still for a minute, always wanting to be up and doing, teasing Lucy mercilessly because she was a girl and couldn’t keep up with him sometimes. Lucy took it all in good part proving time and time again that she could do anything he could and not allowing him to get the better of her for long.

  Lucy was a pretty child. She had been blonde at birth but was gradually going darker and Delia was sure that by the time Lucy was an adult her hair would be as dark as her own. Her eyes were a lovely shade of green, her mouth was slightly turned up and her soft skin was fresh and clear. However, Delia did worry that her daughter was too thin. Although Lucy had an excellent appetite her weight remained the same and Delia fretted, remembering Vicky’s battle with anorexia and praying Lucy wouldn’t have the same problem. Dr. Arnold and Ruth assured her that it was just because Lucy was physically very active and worked off the calories dashing around after Stephen so Delia listened to their advice and tried not to worry.

  Stephen and Lucy were great pals, always keen to be together and their social life was steadily gaining momentum. Tina took them to a playgroup twice a week where they made lots of friends, resulting in a great number of invitations for days out and birthday parties. Delia often mused that her daughter was far more in demand than she was.

  Then it was Lucy’s fourth birthday and Delia decided to throw a party for her at the Dower House, planning it in great detail for weeks in advance, desperately wanting it to be a huge success. The weather was perfect, warm and sunny and after packing Lucy off to spend the morning with Tina and Stephen, Delia decorated the garden, festooning trees and bushes with ribbons and balloons.

  Lucy was naturally over-excited by the time she arrived home for lunch and Delia had a terrible time trying to get her to have a nap before being dressed up in her frilly pink party frock to greet her twenty-five tiny guests.

  All the children turned up in their best outfits, handing over their presents to Lucy whose eyes grew bigger by the minute when all the lovely new toys and books were revealed, her tiny fingers eager to undo the pretty wrapping paper as fast as possible.

  A magician was hired for the afternoon to entertain the children with his party tricks and organise a few hectic party games so the adult members of the party could relax and enjoy themselves too. Ruth and Tina were there, along with eleven mothers who had not only brought their own children but given lifts to others too. They sat in the shaded part of the garden on comfy recliner chairs Delia had hired in for the occasion, watching the frolics of the children from a safe distance, while sipping Pimms, and nibbling the delicious miniature sausage rolls, dainty sandwiches and
the pretty fairy cakes Mrs. Forest had prepared so beautifully.

  It was when the old-time favourite, hide and seek, was at its height that Delia made her first mistake since coming back to Canleigh, letting the children loose in the house as there weren’t many places to hide in the garden. Stephen was naturally the most enthusiastic and Delia was amused to see him dashing up the stairs in the direction of her bedroom, no doubt to hide under the bed.

  It was much later, when all the guests had departed, waving and shouting their thanks, and Tina was trying to persuade Stephen to get into the car to go back to the Hall, when he dropped his bombshell in front of Ruth.

  “Aunty Delia …,” he said innocently, “why do you have a picture of Uncle Philip by your bed? He’s not your boyfriend. He belongs to my mummy.”

  CHAPTER 39

  CANLEIGH – AUGUST 1978

  All three adults stood frozen in shock while Stephen looked questioningly at Delia. Lucy had a puzzled expression on her face. What was Stephen talking about? Uncle Philip was mummy’s boyfriend and not Aunty Ruth’s. Stephen had got it all wrong. He could be so stupid sometimes.

  Delia kept her eyes focused on Stephen, not daring to look at Ruth. “We’re just good friends … and lots of people have photographs of their friends, don’t they?

  “Um. Yes, Aunty Delia. I suppose they do,” he said, clambering into his child car seat at the rear of Ruth’s Audi. “Bye then. Thank you so much for a lovely party,” he said in the most grown up voice he could muster.

  “Yes, thank you, Delia. It was a lovely party,” murmured Ruth, avoiding Delia’s eyes. She checked Stephen’s belt was fastened and slid quickly into the driver’s side and started the car. There was a nasty knot of fear in the centre of her stomach and her mouth was dry.

  The car moved off, Stephen, pulling a silly face and waving madly at Lucy as they turned the corner for the drive up to the Hall.

  “Well, Miss … I think it’s time you went to bed,” said Delia, looking at Lucy who was yawning widely. “It’s been a very busy, exciting day for you and I think you have had enough. I know I have,” she muttered under her breath.

  It was well past seven o’clock before Lucy was bathed and fast asleep in bed and Delia was alone with her thoughts. She went downstairs, poured a large brandy from the decanter in the drawing room and downed it in one. She poured another and took it through to the sitting room and stood by the French windows which were open. It was a perfect summer evening. The garden was alive. The birds were still singing merrily, pretty butterflies flittered daintily around the abundance of blossoming plants and shrubs her grandmother had planted many years ago and the bees buzzed busily around their favourite purple buddleia bush in the corner.

  It was a calm and beautiful scene and she walked around the lawns, trying to allow it to soothe her, forcing down the anger suppressed for the last couple of hours but which was now threatening to boil over into absolute rage. She downed the second brandy and hurled the glass at the house where it shattered into tiny pieces. The tears poured down her cheeks, washing away the make-up she had carefully applied earlier in the day. She flung herself onto one of the recliners, sobbing pitifully, glad that Lucy was fast asleep and wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  Any kindly thoughts Delia might have had concerning Ruth disappeared in a flash. What a cow. Keeping it a secret. Delia had guessed Ruth had someone in tow but had no idea who until now. She remembered seeing Ruth for a split second on that first visit to Canleigh when she had asked Ruth for the Dower House, stepping out of a car with a man in it but the sun was blaring and obscured Delia’s view of who it was and what kind of car it was. But, of course … it had been Philip all along. They must have been seeing each other in the afternoons when she was out riding. Christ, Delia was so angry!! Ruth had everything. Canleigh and now Philip. Everything that was rightfully hers. All her old passions flew to the surface. Before it had been Richard standing in her way. Now it was that mealy-mouthed blonde bitch and her spawn. Delia forgot how she liked Stephen. At that moment she hated him as much as his mother … but there was nothing she could do about Canleigh. She daren’t kill another heir. She was here on the estate and that would have to suffice but Philip was another matter entirely. There was no way Ruth was going to have him. Not in a million years. Delia would fight for him and she didn’t care what it took. He was going to be hers.

  Following a day or so of brooding, with the anger slowly subsiding, she decided it was silly being so upset about a child’s remark. Children always thought there was more to a relationship than there really was and it was easy to label someone as a boyfriend. Apart from that first flash of a man with Ruth, she hadn’t seen anything to give the impression Ruth and Philip were seeing each other. No. Philip was still grieving and wasn’t seeing anyone else. She was sure of it. She had to forget Lucy’s comment and return to a patient wait for Philip to turn back to her once he felt ready for another relationship.

  Then a casual statement from Ruth about repairs to some of the estate cottages side-tracked her completely, re-alerting her to the possibility that Louis was not as loyal as he should have been.

  Delia was at the Hall, dropping Lucy off for the afternoon when Ruth came down the front steps to get into her car.

  “Hello, Delia … hello, Lucy,” she smiled cautiously. Since Stephen’s remark about the photograph of Philip beside Delia’s bed, Ruth was having grave misgivings about allowing Delia to come back to the estate and every day she heard Charles’s voice warning her not to. Had she been a complete fool to allow it? Was Delia still pining for Philip? Ruth hadn’t said a word to him but watched and listened carefully to see if it was true. Delia was spending a considerable amount of time at Tangles, helping with the riding lessons for the children on the mornings they rode and then riding Demon in the afternoons. It niggled at her. She thought about asking Delia outright but baulked at the very idea. They got on reasonably well now, thanks to the children, but there was always a slight tension in the air and Ruth knew that to question Delia about any designs she had on Philip would be tantamount to starting World War III. She decided, finally, that as there were no concrete signs of anything between Philip and Delia, she should force it to the back of her mind and carry on as if nothing had happened. It might be cowardly but it would be crazy to rock the boat now they all got on reasonably well. The family had endured enough trauma and she didn’t want to stir anything up again.

  “Stephen is upstairs in the nursery. Go on up,” she smiled at Lucy.

  Lucy stepped daintily up the front steps, dressed in pink cotton shorts and a white top with a picture of a black pony on it, her fair hair in a neat plait at the back of her head. She pretended, as she always did on arriving at the Hall, that she was a princess entering a big palace to see the prince. She waved to Delia at the top and disappeared from view.

  “I’m just off to see Louis,” said Ruth, turning to Delia with a frown on her face. “I need to talk to him about the cost of repairs to the cottages in Wheat Lane. It seems to have cost an exorbitant amount of money … far more than I had anticipated and I can’t understand why.”

  “Have you checked with the contractors who carried out the work,” queried Delia. “Have you seen the actual invoices?”

  “No … that’s why I’m going down to the estate office now but,” she grimaced, “I can’t stand that woman Louis has employed. She’s never very helpful when I want to know anything.”

  “Yes. I know what you mean. I popped in once, just to say hello. She was quite rude actually. Obviously didn’t want me there.”

  “Yes. I always feel decidedly uncomfortable when I have to pay the office a visit. It was much nicer when Cheryl was there. She was so friendly and welcoming. Always made me a cup of tea.”

  “She taught me to type, you know,” mused Delia. “Why did she leave? She so loved her job and I thought she was here for life, a permanent fixture.”

  “Unfortunately, she couldn’t get on with Louis. He
spoke French to her for most of the time and she couldn’t understand him. It was a real clash of personalities. Such a shame. Then he took on Mrs. Murgatroyd. She guards him and the office with ferocious loyalty. I sometimes wonder if there is something between them,” she smiled ruefully.

  Delia laughed. “God. What a horrendous couple they would make. Can you imagine ….”

  Despite herself, Ruth started to laugh too and her feelings towards Delia thawed again.

  “I am so stupid,” Ruth admitted. “I am the Duchess and when all is said and done, they are employees. I should march down there and find out exactly what is going on.”

  Delia nodded, leaning on the Ferrari and twirling her sunglasses in her hand. “Yes, you should. That man … perhaps he and the Murgatroyd woman are even in cahoots, could be fiddling you left, right and centre … but,” she prompted, “if you would like me to intervene, I am more than happy to do so … don’t forget I studied estate management and have qualifications to prove it. I could go down there … with your permission … and sort out the pair of them … it would be my pleasure and I’m sure you must have other things you would much prefer to be doing. I can report back to you afterwards.”

  Ruth was in a dilemma. She badly wanted someone to tackle Louis and his dreadfully intimidating secretary and Delia did have the knowledge and the confidence to do it but would it give her too much licence in the future? So far, Ruth hadn’t had cause to regret giving the tenancy of the Dower House to Delia but matters could always change. However, Delia was offering her a way out of having to tackle the problem herself. Louis had been given too much free rein since Charles had died and she couldn’t bury her head in the sand any longer. He had to be dealt with … and if Delia was happy to do the initial investigation, so be it.

  “Thank you, Delia,” Ruth sighed; feeling a great weight was being lifted off her shoulders. “I would be most grateful.”