Brittle Bondage

by Anne Mather

  ‘It’s very nice,’ he mimicked irritably. ‘Is that all you can find to say? It’s exquisite; magnificent; worth at least seven thousand pounds, at my reckoning.’

  ‘Really?’ Rachel endeavoured to inject a note of admiration into her voice. ‘Where did you find it? Romanby Court?’

  ‘Romanby Court!’ Cyril scoffed at the idea. ‘I didn’t find any Russian items at Romanby court. No, an American brought it in earlier this morning. He originally just wanted it valued, but when I told him how valuable it was, he asked if I’d be prepared to sell it for him.’

  ‘An American?’ Rachel made an effort to put her own problems aside. ‘What American? I didn’t know there were any Americans living in the village.’

  ‘There aren’t.’ Cyril looked a little discomforted now. ‘He’s staying at the Old Swan. He said he’s over here, visiting some relatives in the district. One of them had asked him if there was any likelihood of them realising some cash on the icon. He offered to try a couple of dealers, and because he’s staying in the village I just happened to be the first.’

  In spite of her dejection, Rachel was amazed. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You should know why not.’ Rachel stared at him impatiently. ‘Didn’t you see that programme on television, just last week?’

  ‘I don’t watch television,’ said Cyril huffily, but Rachel wasn’t deterred by his aggrieved expression.

  ‘Then you should,’ she declared. ‘Ever since perestroika, dozens of valuable religious relics have been smuggled into the West. Particularly icons. I hope you have some proof of where this came from. You didn’t give him a cash payment, I assume.’

  Cyril sniffed. ‘Of course not. I’m not stupid. And as far as its provenance is concerned, he’s coming back tomorrow with all the necessary papers. As I said, he’s handling the matter for a member of his family. He couldn’t make any promises without speaking to them first.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘But he left the icon with you? He left a valuable Russian icon in your hands, without any money changing hands?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘As good as.’

  Cyril tossed his head. ‘Look here, I didn’t ask for your opinion, Rachel. I thought you’d be interested, that’s all.’

  ‘But you did give him some money, didn’t you?’

  ‘A—token of my interest in the icon, yes. If I hadn’t, he might have taken it to some other dealer. It’s not on any list of stolen items, or—hot, as they say in the business. I had to give him something, as he was willing to leave the icon with me. It was only five hundred pounds. That was all the cash I had.’

  ‘Five hundred pounds!’ Rachel shook her head. ‘What was wrong with a cheque?’

  ‘He was short of cash——’

  ‘I bet he was.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so sarcastic, Rachel. This is my shop, you know. If I choose to do business with a client of my choosing, I don’t think you have anything to do with it.’

  ‘All right.’

  Her initial surge of concern on Cyril’s behalf subdued, Rachel felt a returning sense of gloom as her own worries reasserted themselves. For a few moments, she had allowed herself to be diverted by Cyril’s greed. But now, she was forced to concede that it wasn’t really her problem. ‘No one—and I mean no one—would accept five hundred pounds for a valuable item like this,’ Cyril added, proving he was not as sanguine about the situation as he had stated.

  ‘How do you know?’ Rachel shrugged. ‘How do you know it’s as valuable as you say? How often have you handled Russian icons?’

  ‘Not very often, as you know,’ said Cyril, who had never handled one in Rachel’s recollection. ‘Anyway, what does it matter? If he doesn’t come back, I shall sell it. Even you must admit it’s worth more than the money I gave him.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s worth more. Probably much more,’ agreed Rachel, nodding. ‘But whatever you say, you’ve no proof it wasn’t smuggled into this country. And if it was, or if you even suspect that it was, you have to inform the police. Unless you want to run the risk of being accused of handling stolen goods.’

  Cyril sniffed. ‘Well, I’m prepared to give the chap the benefit of the doubt. As I say, he’s staying at the Swan at the moment. I saw him in the bar there last night. Your husband’s a guest at the hotel, too. Perhaps you could ask him if he’s spoken to him. I’d be interested to hear Ben’s opinion.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Rachel held up her hand, palm outwards. ‘Don’t ask me to get involved in this.’ She paused. ‘Besides, I—believe Ben is going back to London this morning.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Cyril looked smug now. ‘I had a few words with him myself last night, and from what he said I think he’s planning on staying a couple of weeks.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘DID you know Ben was planning on staying in the village?’ Rachel asked her mother that evening, after Daisy had gone upstairs to watch a cartoon programme on the television. They had all had an early meal, to enable Daisy to eat with them, and now Mrs Collins was helping her daughter load their dirty plates into the dishwasher. The machine hadn’t been used for ages. Rachel generally just rinsed hers and Daisy’s dishes at the sink. But her mother had prepared the meal for them, and consequently there were many more items than usual.

  ‘No.’

  Mrs Collins was offhand, as she’d been ever since Rachel came home. The fact that her daughter hadn’t come home at lunchtime might be the cause, but Rachel suspected otherwise. The altercation they had had before she left for work that morning was more likely the culprit, but she doubted her mother would believe her if she told her that she hadn’t stayed away deliberately.

  ‘Anyway, thanks for being here when Daisy came home,’ she said now, reaching for the washing fluid. ‘What did you do all day?’

  ‘This and that.’ Mrs Collins wouldn’t be drawn. ‘Aren’t you putting too much of that powder in the reservoir?’ she remarked obliquely. ‘This water is very soft. You don’t want to waste the stuff, the price it is nowadays.’

  Rachel immediately stopped filling the container, and set the plastic bottle aside. It wasn’t that long since she’d used the dishwasher that she didn’t remember how much cleanser to use. But she had no wish to start an argument with her mother based on nothing more than a household matter. They had plenty of other problems. Not least, their disagreement over Simon.

  If Simon himself was offended by her mother’s attitude, he had chosen to ignore it. Last night, he had been more concerned with the reasons why Ben was still in the village. And it hadn’t been easy, explaining why her husband had chosen to come to Upper Morton, rather than dealing with the matter through his solicitors. But, much to her surprise, Simon hadn’t questioned her reasons for rushing out to meet him, instead of inviting him in to discuss the problem, man-to-man. In his opinion, he and Ben had nothing to say to one another.

  ‘Anyway, he’s mainly come to see Daisy,’ Rachel had volunteered quickly, telling herself she was glad Simon was taking it this way. The last thing she’d wanted was for Ben and Simon to come to blows over her. Wellover Daisy, she’d amended ruefully. Ben was unlikely to fight for something he hadn’t cared about in the first place.

  ‘He’s not going to make it easy though, is he?’ Simon exclaimed, as they sat in his Range Rover, overlooking the darkening valley below Crag’s Leap. At any time of the day or night the rocky promontory was a popular beauty spot, but even the winking lights below them couldn’t rally Rachel’s spirits tonight.

  ‘He’s not made any comment, one way or the other,’ she replied, consoling her conscience with the thought that so far as the divorce was concerned, she wasn’t lying. ‘It was just—a shock for him, I expect. We have been living apart for quite some time.’

  ‘All the more reason why he should have anticipated this happening,’ retorted Simon shortly. ‘For heaven’s sake, does he think he’s the only one who’s entitled to ha
ve an extra-marital relationship? You’re not a nun, Rachel. Though——’ she saw his thick lips twist slightly in the light from the dashboard ‘—I could be forgiven for wondering.’

  Rachel had winced at his choice of words. Winced, too, at his less-than-discreet way of reminding her that she was still keeping him at arm’s length. And why should Ben behave as if what she was suggesting was immoral? He had spent the last three years proving he was definitely no saint.

  ‘It’ll be different when—when we’re married,’ she’d said, and as if realising he had been rather tactless Simon had gathered her close in his arms.

  ‘I hope I won’t have to wait that long,’ he’d said, nuzzling his lips against her neck. ‘But don’t worry——’ this, as she’d stiffened ‘—no one’s going to hurry you. I know how much that bastard hurt you. All I want to do is show you how much I love you. And make you forget Ben Leeming, and his dirty little affairs.’

  Now, Rachel put the memory of that conversation with Simon aside. At least one person wanted her happiness above all else. She mustn’t let her mother—or Ben—spoil that. Or allow them to twist his words so that she started doubting his intentions.

  ‘Have—er—have you seen Ben today?’ she asked, after the dishwasher was happily humming away, and her mother gave her a neutral look.

  ‘Does it matter? Does whether or not I see my son-in-law have anything to do with you in the present circumstances?’

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ Rachel sighed. ‘Do we have to have an argument, just because I’ve asked a perfectly innocent question? Naturally I’m interested. And naturally it has something to do with me. I want to know if he mentioned the divorce.’

  ‘Mmm, well …’ Her mother frowned. ‘Shall we go into the other room, or are you rushing out again?’

  Rachel contained the retort that sprang to her lips at the unfair question, and took a deep breath. ‘By all means,’ she said, ‘let’s make ourselves comfortable. And I won’t be—rushing out again, as you put it. I want to hear about your holiday. That is, if we can stop all this sniping.’

  Mrs Collins shrugged, and as she followed her into the lamplit family-room Rachel acknowledged that she’d welcome a break in hostilities. It seemed as if she had done nothing else but defend herself ever since she made that phone call to Ben.

  And, as a matter of fact, she had made no plans for the evening. When Simon had called, she had explained that she wanted to spend the evening with her mother. She owed it to her, she said, to make as much of the time they had left as possible, and when Simon found out why he had been unexpectedly understanding. A less sympathetic ear might have detected a note of relief in his willingness to concede, but Rachel refused to read anything unworthy into his compliance. The thought that her mother’s moving to New Zealand removed another obstacle from his path was born of Mrs Collins’ accusations, not of anything he had done. And mothers-in-law always presented a problem. She knew: she’d have Simon’s mother to deal with.

  ‘So,’ she said, after they were seated, ‘have you seen Ben?’

  Her mother hesitated. ‘We had lunch together, yes.’

  ‘Lunch?’ Rachel felt an unnecessary twinge of resentment. ‘How nice.’

  ‘Yes, it was, actually.’ Mrs Collins regarded her daughter with a shrewd eye. ‘It was a pity that you couldn’t join us. The home-made quiches at the Heronry are quite delicious.’

  Rachel’s brows drew together. ‘You went to the Heronry?’ The Heronry was a well-known eating place near Cheltenham, small, but expensive. It was usually impossible to get a table at short notice.

  ‘Yes.’ Her mother looked smug. ‘One of the advantages of having a name people recognise. I remember what you told me about trying to book a table there. Well, let me tell you, its reputation is very well deserved.’

  Rachel moistened her lower lip. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ She paused, and then, realising she had sounded rather peevish, she added hastily, ‘I assumed you’d eaten here or at the Swan.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mrs Collins nodded. ‘A natural mistake. But Ben was never stingy with his money, was he? You’ve never gone short of anything, even though you threw him out.’

  Rachel gasped. ‘I didn’t throw him out. Mother, you may have forgotten——’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten anything. And nor has Ben. I really think you should talk to him, Rachel. Before you do anything irrevocable.’

  Rachel could hardly speak. ‘He’s really got you fooled, hasn’t he?’ she exclaimed at last. ‘And don’t think I didn’t notice the dig about Simon. And, for your information, I’m not as well off as you think. Sometimes I find it very hard to pay all the bills, and just because Ben supports Daisy, you shouldn’t think he’s generous with me.’

  Mrs Collins looked disturbed. ‘Why haven’t you told me this before?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘Does Ben know?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Ben.’

  ‘I disagree.’ The older woman frowned. ‘Why, he was only saying this lunchtime that he’d have to increase your allowance.’

  ‘Not my allowance, Daisy’s allowance,’ said Rachel shortly, not really wanting to get into this. The fact that Ben had offered to pay her bills too was a constant source of annoyance. She didn’t want to take anything more from him than she had to, and it irritated her to think that he was giving her mother the impression that he still controlled her finances.

  ‘Well, why don’t you explain——?’

  Rachel glared at her mother. ‘Mother, how many more times must I say it? I don’t want Ben’s help. I don’t want anything from him. No, correction: I do want a divorce. Now, are you going to tell me whether he mentioned it, or shall we just talk about David and Ruth, and this new man in your life?’

  Mrs Collins sniffed. ‘Well, of course he mentioned it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He doesn’t want a divorce.’

  Rachel expelled her breath slowly. ‘It doesn’t really matter what he wants.’

  ‘It does. If you hope to retain custody of Daisy.’ Mrs Collins paused, and then added earnestly, ‘I have to say it again, Rachel, I don’t think it’s very wise to try and precipitate the issue.’

  ‘By moving to Kingsmead?’

  ‘That—and other things.’

  ‘What other things?’

  ‘Well—by attempting to move Daisy to another school.’

  ‘Did you tell him that?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him anything,’ retorted her mother drily. ‘That’s my own personal opinion. I just think you should consider very carefully before making a decision. He hasn’t said he’ll oppose the divorce, but I wouldn’t do anything rash.’

  Rachel’s stomach hollowed. ‘Has he made any threats?’

  ‘Oh, Rachel,’ Mrs Collins looked cross now. ‘Ben doesn’t make threats. Not to me anyway,’ she amended, observing her daughter’s expression. ‘I’m sure he has your best interests at heart. Just as I have.’

  Rachel’s lips twisted. ‘How sweet! ‘

  ‘Well, if you’re going to take that attitude …’

  Mrs Collins looked as if she was about to get up from her chair, and Rachel hastily made her peace. ‘I’m not,’ she said unhappily. ‘I know you mean well, and I’m not getting at you, honestly. I’d just like to know why Ben’s come here. I don’t believe—I can’t believe—it’s just to protect Daisy’s interests.’

  * * *

  Rachel was leaving the post office when the sleek lines of her husband’s Mercedes cruised to a halt beside her. For a moment she thought Ben wanted something from the shop, which was a post office and general dealer’s combined, but when he leant across the front seat and pushed open the nearside door she realised she had been mistaken.

  Her impulse was to walk on, but Cyril was watching from the window of his shop next door. Ever since their altercation over the Russian icon at the end of last week he had been watching her like a hawk, waiting for her to make som
e error he could pounce on. The fact that the helpful stranger hadn’t come back, and that Cyril had had to report the matter to the local constabulary, had left him in a very tetchy mood; and Rachel had no intention of feeding his delight at her discomposure by appearing flustered.

  ‘Get in. I’ll give you a lift,’ Ben ordered, and although she was loath to accept his offer Rachel only hesitated a moment before doing as he suggested. She had been on her feet for the better part of nine hours, and she was ready to take a rest.

  But not with him, she thought irritably, having heard enough of him from Daisy during the past couple of days. The little girl had spent most of the weekend with her father, and, while Rachel was glad she hadn’t brought him to the house again, the fact that they’d been together was provocation enough at present.

  Of course, she wouldn’t have been put in this position if she hadn’t loaned her mother her car. But it had seemed pointless leaving the Volkswagen standing outside the shop all day when Mrs Collins could use it. She’d been planning on going into Cheltenham today, and right now Rachel wished she were with her.

  As soon as she was inside the car and the door closed, Ben took off at speed. Within seconds, they had reached the turn for Stoneberry Lane, but instead of slowing down he accelerated, and it didn’t take any feat of intelligence to realise he had no intention of taking her home.

  ‘Had a good day?’ he enquired, when it became obvious that, in spite of her fury, she wasn’t going to say anything, and Rachel turned her head.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘To see a house.’ Ben’s answer was as startling as the feathering of moisture that enveloped her skin when he looked at her. ‘You’re pale,’ he added, and she immediately felt as colourless as a sheet. His dark eyes alighted on her hands, clasped together tightly in her lap. ‘Relax,’ he advised softly. ‘I told your mother I’d pick you up.’

  Rachel swallowed the indignation she felt that her mother hadn’t considered it important enough to advise her of his intentions. She turned her head and looked out of the window. Beyond the burgeoning hedgerows, lambs were playing in the fields, and although it was early evening the sun was still quite warm. She had been looking forward to going home. Maybe spending an un-demanding hour in the garden. The greenhouse still needed cleaning, and she ought to sort some jumble out for the sale next weekend.