by Susan Lewis
‘Us?’ he echoed.
As another stab of guilt deflated her, she said, ‘You know they meant it for us both, but you haven’t forgotten what happened last year when you came to help me run things while they were on holiday. Fortunately, no real damage was done, but it ended up costing us half of what we earned that week.’ Feeling awful for reminding him of how close he’d come to causing an incident that would have mortified her parents had they ever found out about it, she tried to remove the sting by saying, ‘You’re a wonderful man in many ways, Joe, but you’ve said it yourself, you have no head for business. I’m not even sure I have,’ she went on quickly, ‘but at least I know I won’t be talked into giving things away that aren’t mine to give.’
‘The way I saw it,’ he reminded her, ‘I was like a neighbourhood Robin Hood. The people in the big house didn’t want their old wardrobe …’
‘So they chose to put it up for auction,’ she interrupted. ‘It wasn’t yours to give to the Barrett family who …’
‘… happened to be in dire need of food, never mind furniture. And paying for the damn thing out of your own pocket was madness, but since you did the Bancrofts could at least have had the decency to donate it to charity.’
‘Joe, what people do with their furniture or belongings isn’t up to you. Anyway, we can’t keep having this argument, what matters now is that I make a go of things, and having your support, even if it’s only moral, is important.’
‘It’s OK, I’ve got the message. I just want to know what you’re going to do about the Crumptons, because no way are they going to be happy about you taking over.’
Knowing how right he was about that, Lucy sighed as she said, ‘Mum’s going to have a chat with them. I think she might offer Maureen a directorship, because even with all the temporary backup staff I won’t be able to manage without her and Godfrey.’
‘What about him? Doesn’t he get a directorship too?’
Trying to put aside her dislike of the saleroom manager, as Godfrey Crumpton so grandly called himself, when he was actually more of a storekeeper-cum-driver, Lucy said, ‘I don’t know what she’s decided about him,’ but if he shows any signs whatsoever of going anywhere near Hanna, she was thinking to herself, he’ll be toast quicker than he can wink either of those disgustingly leery eyes.
‘They see themselves as the natural inheritors of the place, you know that, don’t you?’ Joe said tartly. ‘They want full control.’
‘What they want and what’s going to happen are two different things. They can’t just assume rights because they’ve helped Mum and Dad to build up the business. I’m their daughter, for heaven’s sake, and they’ve never made a secret of the fact that they want me to take over. It was part of the reason they bought the place, so they’d have something to hand on – and to satisfy Mum’s love of antiques, of course.’
Joe’s smile wasn’t pleasant. ‘Antiques?’ he repeated.
‘All right, call it junk if you have to, the point is still the same. And I don’t know why we’re standing here discussing the bloody Crumptons when we’ve surely got better things to do right now.’
Sighing wearily, he dropped his hostility and came to wrap her in his arms. ‘Whatever happens, I’m sure you’ll do your parents proud,’ he told her.
Touched by the kindness, she said, ‘Thank you. I’m certainly going to try.’
He smiled wryly. ‘So you’ll be down there rattling around all on your own in that big old farmhouse, while I’m back here shacking up in Charlie’s spare room …’
Knowing his tricks of old, Lucy pulled away. ‘The farmhouse isn’t that big,’ she reminded him, ‘and Hanna will be there, hopefully with lots of friends in and out all the time, and well, I suppose you’ll be coming to stay.’ Why had she said that? Because she had to, was the answer.
‘In the same room as you?’
Though she froze inside, she heard herself say, ‘Yes, of course … I mean …’ She didn’t want to get into how difficult she found it to make love with him these days, so she tried switching the subject by saying, ‘I’m sure Hanna’s going to end up loving it there. I’d have given anything to live in a place like that when I was growing up, all that space and a lovely village full of friendly people getting involved in all sorts of groups and activities.’
Cupping her face between his hands, he said, ‘You know what, I reckon things are already on the up for us, because I’m seeing this agent on Tuesday. Apparently she’s new to … Lucy, listen,’ he said as she started to shake her head.
‘Not now,’ she broke in sadly. She’d lost count of how many new agents he’d seen over the years and how many dreams had turned to dust, and she really didn’t want to hear it again. ‘Carlos is downstairs,’ she said, ‘and even if he weren’t, we can’t go on talking ourselves round in circles …’
‘All right, then tell me this, are you breaking us up so you can replace me with a younger or wealthier model? Is that what this is really all about? If it is, I’ll probably have to kill him.’
‘You know very well it isn’t about that.’
He was gazing fiercely into her eyes, as though trying to force out the answers he wasn’t hearing. ‘And what do we do,’ he demanded, ‘if I meet someone who wants to comfort me in my loneliness?’
Though her heart tightened she knew that there was every chance he would, since he’d never seemed to think that the rules of fidelity applied to him. However, that really wasn’t something she wanted to discuss right now, so all she said was, ‘We should go down. Can I carry something for you?’
His eyes were still on her. ‘It’s OK, I can manage,’ he said cuttingly.
She tried to make herself turn away, but it was hard when he was gripping her arms and she knew how much he was hurting beneath his tough veneer.
‘You’re going to take all the books and my record collection, right?’ he asked.
‘They’ll be safe with me,’ she assured him.
‘Just don’t go auctioning them off, or if you do make sure you get a good price.’
Her smile was weak. ‘Come on,’ she said, and pulling open the door she walked out on to the landing.
‘Are you OK?’ Ben asked, stopping halfway up the stairs. ‘I was just coming to check on you.’
‘We’re fine,’ Joe told him, hefting his bags out of the bedroom. ‘I take it Carlos is still here?’
‘Yes. He’s on the phone.’
‘Where’s Hanna?’ Lucy asked.
‘In her room, I guess.’
Knocking on the door next to her own, Lucy said, ‘Come on, sweetheart. Dad’s going now.’
When there was no reply Joe said, ‘Here, son, take these bags out to the car. I’ll go and have a chat with my girl.’
‘Just don’t pull out any more of her hair,’ Ben advised, ‘she gets kind of weird about that.’
Slanting him a warning look, Joe handed over the holdalls and stood watching as Lucy followed Ben downstairs. At the bottom she turned to look up, but neither of them said anything. There really wasn’t anything left to be said.
Ten minutes later Joe came into the cramped sitting room where Carlos, a small, wiry man in his early forties, was regaling Lucy with one of his theatrical anecdotes, which she’d heard at least a dozen times before. As always, she laughed politely at the punchline, then turned to Joe.
‘Is she OK?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not really. She wants to know why I have to leave today when you’re not going until the middle of the week.’
‘So what did you tell her?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s the way things have panned out. I’ve promised to come back and help you pack, though, and I’ll drive you down there on Wednesday if you like. Unless something works out with this new agent.’
‘She’s the business,’ Carlos told Lucy. ‘Everyone rates her.’
Lucy smiled. Theirs was such a bizarre and in many ways hopeless world, that she felt suddenly impatient to be free o
f it. ‘I’ll be fine to drive,’ she assured Joe.
He nodded pensively, as though his mind had moved elsewhere. ‘Right,’ he said suddenly, ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in dragging this out. As of now I am no longer resident at number fifteen …’ He broke off as Hanna banged noisily in through the door.
‘I thought you might like to know,’ she spat at Lucy, her creamy cheeks blotched red with anger, ‘that I’ve already worked out how to kill myself, because frankly I’d rather die than go to Gloucestershire with you.’
‘Hanna, Hanna,’ Joe chided as Lucy paled, ‘stop talking nonsense now. You know very well your mother has your best interests at heart, and …’
‘No way is she thinking about me!’ Hanna raged. ‘She doesn’t give a damn about anyone else …’
‘Stop it, Hanna,’ Lucy cut in sharply. ‘If the only reason you’ve come down here is to make a scene then go back upstairs …’
‘You can’t order me around …’
‘Any more cheek and you’ll be grounded for the rest of the weekend.’
‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m going to kill myself, so who cares about being grounded.’
‘Hanna, stop with the crap,’ Ben interjected. ‘No one’s finding this easy, and you’re just making everything worse.’
Clearly stricken at being told off by her brother, Hanna spun on her heel and stormed back up the stairs.
‘I’ll go after her,’ Ben said. Then, hugging his father, ‘It’ll be all right, Dad. Everything’ll work out, you’ll see.’
‘I know it will, son,’ Joe assured him.
‘Of course it will,’ Carlos added. Apparently realising he might be surplus to requirements, he followed Ben out of the room and took himself off to the car.
Attempting a cheerful smile as he turned to Lucy, Joe said, ‘Well, I suppose this is it then.’
Lucy’s throat was too tight for her to do anything more than nod.
‘You take it steady now,’ he told her, ‘and I meant what I said about coming to help with the packing.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be fine, but if we’re not …’
He put a hand to his ear, mimicking a phone.
She nodded.
‘I love you, Lucy Winters,’ he whispered softly, and after pressing a kiss to her mouth, he stroked her face as he gazed into her eyes.
Moments later he was gone, and Lucy was standing at the window watching him getting into the car, wondering how, given her dread of goodbyes, she was allowing this to happen. She was waiting, bracing herself for the screaming to begin deep down inside, the terrible distant cries that made her want to hold on, no matter what. However, they didn’t come, which surely must mean she was doing the right thing.
When the car reached the end of the street Joe didn’t turn back, so he didn’t see her wave. She guessed he probably hadn’t noticed either how it had started to cloud over, nor would he know how long she continued to stand in the window staring at the emptiness he’d left behind, as though nothing in the world could ever fill it again.
Chapter Three
SARAH BANCROFT WAS sitting at her father’s desk in the bay window of their old manor house, gazing absently out across the village green and duck ponds towards the quaintly crooked high street of Cromstone Edge. With its several arty shops and cafes, old Norman church and straggling cobbled lanes that meandered out to the surrounding fields, the village had become a popular destination for tourists over the years, though mercifully only locals could drive through now. Even the two hundred or more residents of the new estate at the bottom of the hill had to be ferried up and down by a free bus. When the new traffic rules had first come into force the traders had been afraid of a negative effect on their businesses, but there had been no need to worry, since most of the villagers still bought their bread at Bob’s Bakery and fruit and veg at Colin’s in spite of a giant Morrisons being nearby. The tea shops were rarely empty either, even in winter, and the Drop Inn with its sloping gardens and views of the flowing hillsides continued to thrive. It was all helped, immeasurably, by the monthly auctions held at Cromstone Edge Barn, part of the farmhouse complex at the top end of the village, about a hundred yards along from the manor, across the road from the green.
The manor itself was a three-storey Georgian-fronted house with tall sash windows – apart from the two bays either side of the colonnaded porch that had been added by Sarah’s grandfather in the fifties – and used to sit somewhat grandly over the village. Today it was a sadder, even shyer version of its former self, with bricks missing like broken teeth from the steps leading up to the porch, paint cracking and peeling from the window frames and a riot of brambles, ivy and some hardy roses struggling up over the walls. However, even in its neglected state it remained the only place where Sarah felt safe, and after the events of recent years she needed, above all, to feel safe.
Though she was an attractive woman of thirty-one, with large green eyes and soft fair hair that she generally clipped at the back of her neck, the haunted look in her eyes, combined with the dark shadows around them and the tightness of her pretty mouth, did little to enhance her looks. Since she’d given up vanity a while ago, she suspected her appearance was of more interest to others than it was to her; however, no one was ever unkind enough to say she was letting herself go. Once or twice, though, the vicar, or a passing tourist, had commented on what a shame it was to see the house falling into disrepair. In truth, she couldn’t help but agree with them, especially as she knew better than anyone, having grown up here, what a dignified and welcoming place it used to be. And probably still would be were it not for the tragedy that had struck five years ago. After that the place had stood forlornly at the top of the hill with none of the family visiting at all, not even for Christmas or to check on mail that might have found its way in through the firmly locked door.
Then, fifteen months ago, needing refuge from a world that had turned on her again, Sarah had come to prise open the doors and peel away the cobwebs hanging from every cornice and lampshade. From the start she’d felt the house drawing her in, as though returning her to its heart where she’d always belonged, closing around her like a shell to protect her from any more of life’s blows. It was only in recent months that she’d started to wonder if she’d done the right thing in coming, if it wouldn’t have been more sensible, not to mention courageous, to have tried braving things out in Paris. However, the mere thought of even setting foot in the city now was enough to make her want to fold back in on herself and carry on hiding for ever.
The fact that she was still in love with her cheating b— of a husband after what he’d done was as depressing a truth as several others in her life, but self-pity had never been a state she cared to wallow in. Fury and vengeance were much more to her liking, and after a couple of glasses of vino she had no trouble mustering them, but as uplifting as devising her revenge could sometimes be, she didn’t much fancy spending the next twenty-five years in a high-security wing. So, alas, her cunning little plots of disfigurement, dismemberment or something equally grim had to remain fantasy-bound. And as for her dreams of a reconciliation, well, she’d have had to be seriously delusional if she’d ever believed they’d come true. What a travesty that her heart should have an agenda totally unconnected to anything resembling good sense. Were it controlled by her quick, intelligent mind it wouldn’t waste another twist of pain or lurch of longing on the philandering pig who’d impregnated another woman while still married to the woman he’d always claimed was the big love of his life.
Sarah supposed that his new wife, Margot, was now the incumbent of that dubious post. (With such a name the woman ought at least to have the decency to be fat and frumpy with a wart or two, but no, not this Margot. This one was all willowy gorgeousness and throaty French accent, with eyes that should be licensed, they were so brazenly seductive. Sarah liked to pronounce the t at the end of her name to make it rhyme with harlot.) Apparently she hadn’t even bloated up much while
pregnant, and now, according to friends in Paris, Marvellous Margot, design fashionista and supermum, was exquisitely back in shape, and back at work.
It was the baby that Sarah still found the hardest to bear. Not that she had anything against the little mite itself, how could she have when it was hardly his fault that he was the result of such a devastating betrayal? It was her suspicion that the pregnancy had been planned that really tore her apart. Kelvin had denied it, but there was no getting away from the fact that it had provided him with the perfect escape from a marriage that he’d claimed, at the end, he’d only stayed in out of pity and guilt. How insensitive, even cruel, he’d been during that time, not the man she’d known and loved at all. He’d turned into a stranger – a monster, even. How could he have treated her that way when he not only knew what she’d been through, but had been through it too?
She’d read since that many marriages broke up after the kind of tragedy she and Kelvin had suffered, but such cold information had brought no comfort all. She knew now that nothing ever would, not even time, because there was no understanding or accepting the reasons why Death would use such a sudden and violent hand to snatch their three-year-old son, Jack. The same horrific car crash had taken her beloved father too, and Sarah sometimes wondered if it was the fact that her loss had been greater than Kelvin’s that had turned him against her, as though there was some kind of competition that he could never win. Or maybe her inconsolable grief was too brutal and constant a reminder of the son he’d never see grow up. Perhaps on some level he even blamed her, since it was her father – not his – who’d been at the wheel of the car when it was crushed by a speeding lorry.