by Anna Jacobs
And what on earth had brought him to her shed?
It was one of Maeve's bad days. She felt weak and insubstantial, hardly stirring from the sitting room. They were getting more frequent, days like this. She hated the way her strength was declining because she'd always been a strong, energetic woman. It was feeling like this that had driven her to the doctor in the first place. She went to stare out of the window at the immaculate grounds of her house, her eyes blind with tears, then sniffed them away and shouted, 'Damn them all!' She would not give in to self-pity!
Picking up an ornament she had always hated, she hurled it into the fireplace. It made a very satisfying smashing sound, so she prowled round the room, finding another that was just as ugly.
The door opened and her housekeeper rushed in, only to stop dead at what she saw.
Maeve grinned at Lena and hurled the second ornament into the fireplace with all her force before reaching for another.
'Maeve, what are you doing?'
She looked at the ornament she'd just picked up, a numbered edition that had cost rather a lot of money and drew a long, shuddering breath before setting it down on the mantelpiece with a hand that shook. 'I was feeling bad. Took it out on those stupid things. Sorry. You can clean up the mess later.' Though she wasn't really sorry. She'd enjoyed smashing them. But two were enough. She'd lost the desire to weep, at least.
Lena gave an indignant snort. 'Well, if you have any other ornaments you don't like, let me know. I'll be happy to buy you some cheap ones to smash and I'll take the good ones off your hands.' She picked up a shepherdess's head, stroking it with her fingertip. 'I'd always liked this piece, too.'
'I'll remember that next time.' Maeve watched Lena hesi-tate and guessed what was coming. They had grown up together and she didn't feel the need to treat her as an employee, though Lena was very correct in her behaviour when other people were around.
'Was it bad news from the doctor, then? You've not seemed yourself for a while now.'
'Yes. Bad enough. I'll be telling you about that later. She couldn't keep it secret from Lena much longer, but her old friend knew how to keep her mouth shut. 'How about a snack? I'm not too ill to enjoy a cup of tea and one of your scones.'
After she had drunk three delicate china cups of finest Earl Grey tea and forced a scone down to please Lena, Maeve leaned back and closed her eyes. This was the way she'd planned all the major events in her life - drunk a few cups of good tea, then sat comfortably with her eyes closed and worked through whatever the current problem was in her mind. She'd planned what she wanted in a husband by this method, then chosen one who fitted the criteria. Ha! Fat lot of good that had done. She hadn't even considered the possibility that she would be the one who couldn't have children.
She'd divorced Ralph when she found out, of course, because for all his protestations of loving her, he desperately wanted children and he'd have left her sooner or later to gain them from another woman. Blood was what counted, he'd always said whenever he saw a programme on adoption -your own, not other people's. So she had told him to get out, not wanting to see his affection for her fade.
He'd been so damned understanding that she'd been furious with him for weeks. But he hadn't tried to persuade her to change her mind. He'd been a realist, like herself. She couldn't have married a man who wasn't.
Father Michael had been furious, had scolded her for years about it, told her she was still married in God's sight, whatever that bit of paper said about a divorce. Then Ralph's sudden death had shut the parish priest up.
Her ex hadn't made old bones, despite his magnificent physique and regular exercise. She'd far rather have had a sudden heart attack as he had done than face cancer and a slow decline - as she was doing.
Ralph had left two sons behind from his second marriage, though, damn him. Why had she been denied a child and he given two?
Ah, think of something else, you fool! Don't go down those same old tracks.
The business. Yes, that was better. It was something to be proud of. She'd started by building up the ailing family firm to a thriving and efficient concern. Not too big for comfort, but big enough to give her a nice income. Then she'd invested this, and done rather well. She smiled. Extremely well, actually. She had a magic touch when choosing shares.
Her smile faded. She'd kept Corrigan's for sentimental reasons but now the machinery was becoming obsolete. She'd always had the knack of seeing into the future and diversifying, making changes before the blow fell. This time she hadn't bothered to do that. Instead she'd let her brother Des buy her out sneakily. She smiled at the thought. As if she hadn't known all along who was behind the takeover.
She must have dozed off because the telephone startled her and for a moment she couldn't think where she was. She stared at it across the room. Did she want to answer it? No. Let the damned thing ring itself out.
But of course Lena picked it up and then came to see if she was 'in'.
She shook her head vigorously and made shooing movements with one hand. She was most definitely not in. Not to anyone. She still had a lot of thinking to do, then some detailed planning. She wasn't going to just fade away; she was going to leave some sort of legacy behind her. She'd already made her mark on the business world - now she was going to make it on the next generation of Corrigans.
She might not have any children of her own, but she'd got other blood relatives, hadn't she? Both her brothers had children from their various marriages, five in all. Surely one or two of them would be worth bothering with, worth leaving her money to? She smiled. Her detective had already sent her a summary of what her brother in Australia was doing with himself. Not much, it seemed. Leo owned a hardware store which sold farm supplies in a small town in New South Wales. He had owned the same store for twenty years, built it into a thriving business, but was more interested in coaching the town's junior soccer team, it seemed, than taking it further and making a fortune. Typical of Leo!
He had two children. A son and a daughter.
She'd always liked Leo better than Des, even though she'd considered him too soft to keep on as a business partner. She wondered what his children were like. Soft - or with the same Corrigan shrewdness and drive as herself?
As for Des and his family, she'd had an eye kept on him for years for her own protection. He'd made a lot of money from his business, but she'd been better at saving and investing her money, while he'd always spent lavishly. He'd been a lazy devil as a young man, always chasing skirt, but he'd wanted the family business quite desperately. Well, so had she, and she'd won it. Leo had been more interested in the family home, but he'd never have had the money to maintain it, let alone restore it as she had.
Des had one broken marriage behind him and it seemed his present wife had just left him as well, again because of his infidelity. It now turned out that there was an illegitimate daughter somewhere, though that wasn't a fashionable term to use nowadays. Still chasing skirt, Des! She'd told the detective agency to find out where the second wife had gone, what she was doing with herself, and to locate the illegitimate daughter and see what she was like.
'Can't keep 'em happy, can you, Des?' she muttered. 'Well, let's see if you've produced anything worthwhile in that son of yours, or those three daughters.' The son was, it seemed, doing very well at school. And wasn't living with either parent. Why not?
Well, they said Maeve would have time enough left still to find out. The game wasn't over yet. That made six children, one of whom would inherit a substantial legacy from her.
Oh, yes, she'd definitely leave her mark on those who were left behind. She smiled. The Corrigan legacy! It sounded like a film, one full of dark deeds and suspense. She wished she could be here to watch it play out to the finish. She couldn't, so she'd have to make her plans very carefully . . . Tie things up legally so that Des couldn't get his hands on any of the money that was to be offered to his children.
Doing all that would give her an interest for these last few months.
Kate went to see the specialist physician their family doctor in Callabine referred her to. She had to get her mother to drive her to the nearby town of Berriman to do that and by the time they got there she was exhausted.
Mr Knowles was grey-haired and plump, and from the beginning he spoke to her as if she was mentally deficient.
'I think what you're really suffering from, young woman, is depression.'
She'd done her homework. 'I'm not. I've looked it up on the Internet and—'
He held up one hand to stop her. 'We'll have no amateur doctoring here. I'll prescribe you some antidepressants and you can come back and see me in six weeks.'
'I'm not taking them. I'm not in a clinical depression.'
He looked at her mother. 'She isn't thinking clearly. Perhaps you can see that she takes the tablets, Mrs Corrigan?'
Kate's mother looked at her, then back at the doctor. She picked up the prescription Kate had shoved away. 'Come on, love.'
When they went out, she made an appointment for six weeks' time while Kate stood scowling at her from near the door.
'It's no use coming to see a specialist if you don't do as he tells you,' Jean said when they were in the car. 'I'll just stop at the chemist's and have this made up.'
'Mum, how can I say it more clearly? I'm not taking those things. I'm not clinically depressed.'
'He's a specialist. He must know better than you.'
'There's no need to get them. I won't take them.'
When they got home, her father listened to their combined explanation of what had happened.
'The doctor was rather autocratic,' her mother admitted, 'and I didn't like the way he spoke to Kate, either. But we're not paying him to be our friend. We're paying him for his expertise.'
'I want to see someone else, someone who really knows about chronic fatigue syndrome,' Kate said stubbornly. 'I'm not taking those things.' She stood up to leave the room and her father blocked the way.
'Sit down, Kate.'
Fuming, she did so.
'You're not getting any better. Would it hurt to take the tablets and see if they help?'
She opened her mouth.
'I'm asking you to try, that's all. We're doing all we can to help you. I think you should play your part.'
'I want to see someone else.'
He slammed down his hand on the table. 'There is no one else near here! And you haven't even tried. One month. Give it one month.'
Her mother looked at her pleadingly.
Kate felt so tired she caved in. 'It won't work.'
'One month,' he repeated. He picked up the packet and popped out a tablet, then offered it to her, and got her a glass of water.
She looked at it, her mind a blur of tiredness, and with a sigh she swallowed it.
For the next few days she dutifully took the tablets but she hated the way they made her feel, as if there were a layer of heavy insulation between herself and the world. She couldn't even think straight when she was on her computer and made the silliest mistakes.
After one week, she waited till her father was at work and her mother shopping in town, then she flushed the rest of the tablets down the toilet.
At tea time her mother went to get her a tablet and she confessed to what she'd done.
They both looked at her as if she'd lost her wits.
'That's not the way to treat chronic fatigue syndrome,' she said, as she'd said so many times. 'Truly it isn't. That physician is old-fashioned.'
Her father's face was red with anger. 'You didn't even give it a month.'
'I can't bear the way those tablets make me feel.'
He got that stubborn look on his face. 'Well, young woman, I'm not paying for you to go to see any other specialists if that's the way you treat what they say.'
She stood up and left the room, in tears but too proud to let them see. She didn't always think clearly with this mind-fuzz that seemed to overwhelm her sometimes, but they hadn't even tried to look at the research she'd found online. The best thing to do was rest and gather her strength, then find out the name of a specialist in Sydney. She could stay with her friend Jen for a day or two and spend some of her remaining money on seeing one.
But she couldn't do it yet, because she was too weak to travel there on her own and her father was so furious, she was sure he wouldn't let her mother take her.
She locked her bedroom door and lay down, wondering yet again what she'd done to deserve this.
Eight
Shreds of mist curl across the tops of the moors, raindrops bounce off windows, cows plod silently across a field, full udders swaying, heads marking time. The man following them pulls his hat down further against the rain and hunches his shoulders.
Judith woke early, pulled away the chair that she'd prudently jammed under the door handle and wondered as she took a quick shower if the man she'd rescued was still there.
He was.
She stood in the doorway of her aunt's shabby sitting room and stared across at him. He was sound asleep, spread-eagled half on and half off the seat cushions. With a shrug at her own rashness she went into the kitchen, making no attempt to keep quiet, smiling as she wondered if he'd remember anything about the previous night.
When she heard him stirring she went back to stand in the doorway. He was sitting up, staring round with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The minute he noticed her, he blinked and became very still. 'How the hell did I get here?'
'I found you in my shed, dead drunk. I couldn't rouse you properly and didn't want to leave you outside on such a cold night, so I brought you into the house.'
'You must like taking risks. I might be a mass murderer, for all you know.'
'That's what I told myself. But you didn't seem threatening, could hardly stand up, and I couldn't reconcile it with my conscience to leave you out there in the cold.' She smiled as she added, 'Though I did keep a poker handy, I will admit.' His answering smile lit his whole face and made her breath catch in her throat at how attractive he was.
'Thank you. I'm very grateful. And I'm not a mass murderer, actually, though you'll have to take my word for that.'
She chuckled. 'I feel much safer now you've told me. Look, there's a shower room across the hall and I've put out a towel. Breakfast will be ready when you are.' Her aunt had had a downstairs suite created when she grew too old for the stairs, but somehow, Judith hadn't wanted to put the stranger in May's bed. That would have seemed too intimate.
He moved as if to stand up, winced and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.
'Hangover?'
'Yeah.'
'A cup of coffee and a couple of paracetamols might help.'
'Please. I won't be more than a few minutes.' He threw aside the covers and got to his feet, sucking in his breath a couple of times as if moving about hurt.
She went back into the kitchen, smiling wryly. So far, her guesses had been correct. Her intruder spoke in educated tones and was very attractive in an understated way. She stopped dead at that thought because she wasn't used to finding other men attractive, then shrugged mentally. Well, she was officially separated from Des now, knew she would never go back to him and she certainly didn't intend to stay celibate for the rest of her life. In fact, it had been a few months since Des had made love to her. That was what had alerted her to the fact that he was cheating on her again.
When her visitor joined her, he was pale, smelled of soap and his hair was damp. He'd also put on a pair of spectacles. He looked good in them, too. She nodded towards the table. 'Help yourself to coffee. I think you should eat something before you have any tablets.'
He poured a cup and sat down to cradle the mug as if enjoying the warmth, then sipped from it and sighed with pleasure.
'I'm Judith Co- I mean, Horrocks,' she prompted.
'Cal Richmond. And I apologize for trespassing last night. When May was alive she used to let me sleep in the shed. Last night my bike broke down a few hundred yards from here, so I le
ft it and plodded along on foot.'
'I'm her niece, Judith.'
'She's shown me photos of you. They didn't do you justice.'
His eyes were warm and admiring. A shiver of response ran through her.
'I got to know your aunt quite well, wanted to build a weekender up here, but she refused to sell me her shed and end section of land, said it didn't do any good to split up properties or everyone wound up with only a bit more than nothing.'
'Sounds like her. She kept all the family photographs too, right back from the 1860s. I was instructed in her will to keep them together and hand them on to my son intact. I don't think she'd understood that you can scan them in nowadays and make copies for every member of the family who wants them.'
He nodded, then set down his empty cup and looked at it wistfully. 'All right if I get another?'
'Of course.' She stole a glance at him and decided to ask the question that was puzzling her. 'You'd been drinking heavily, though why you'd choose to sit in a shed to do that puzzles me. Surely a pub would have been more comfortable - or even your own home?'
After a brief hesitation he said, 'I wanted to find a place where no one would see me or talk to me - or be able to tell people I'd got blind drunk.'
She could see pain flaring in his eyes again. 'So you broke into the shed.'
'I still had my key, so technically I didn't break in, just trespassed.'
'And how did you get hold of the whisky?'
'I'd come prepared. It was in my pannier.'
Cal took another sip of coffee, avoiding his hostess's eyes because she seemed to see too deeply into him. He'd been half mad with the pain of losing Lily, if truth be told, and hadn't been thinking straight. He'd had a desperate need to blot out the world for a few hours, but had been worried in case Kerry was keeping him under observation. He didn't want her reporting him to courts and solicitors as an unsuitable man to have parental responsibility . . . just in case there was the faintest chance of him being with Lily again.
He looked up, studying his good Samaritan. She was a great-looking woman, voluptuous in a way he'd always found attractive, not stick-thin like Kerry. When he smiled, she smiled back at him and somehow the warmth in her face eased the pain a little.