Threads of Silk

by Grieve, Roberta

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Alex turned the car into the lane leading to Withies Farm, whistling under his breath. The last flush of sunset skimmed the tops of the trees bordering the lane and he realized he was later than he’d promised. Ellie would forgive him. She always did. He pictured her in the kitchen, bending awkwardly to get a dish from the oven, and smiled at the imagined domestic scene. Despite the way he had spent the past few days his heart rose as he neared home.

  He wasn’t ashamed of his relationship with Barbara. She knew the score and was only too happy to supply what was lacking in his marriage. Any man would do the same, he told himself. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Ellie finding out. She hadn’t told him everything about her past, but from hints dropped by Norah and Trevor, he knew she’d had an unhappy childhood. Something had made her the way she was and he didn’t want to hurt her any more by pressing the matter.

  Everything would be all right once she’d had the baby. He was eagerly anticipating fatherhood, picturing himself taking his son to the mill, teaching him everything he knew. Somehow, he was sure it would be a boy. That would make everything right. And if things with Ellie didn’t change, he could still carry on seeing Barbara. It wouldn’t make any difference to his marriage.

  He swung the wheel and skidded to a stop on the gravel drive. Without stopping to take his case out of the car, he banged open the side gate and crossed the flagged terrace to the back door.

  The kitchen was in darkness and there was no evidence of a meal in preparation. Damn it – she knew he was coming home today. Still in that damned studio, he thought with a little burst of irritation. He peered out of the window across the yard, but the outbuildings were in darkness.

  He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his keys still in his hand, a hollow feeling in his stomach. Had she found out about Barbara? Had she left him? Worse – was there someone else?

  He went into the hall, looking for a note. He was being irrational. She couldn’t possibly know he’d been unfaithful. She’d probably gone shopping.

  Still feeling unreasonably annoyed at her absence, he strode down the hall and threw open the drawing room door. The silver tea tray stood on a small table between two chairs, a film of milk congealing on the cold tea in the bone china cups. An ashtray filled with stubs was beside the tray. Someone had been here.

  Alarmed, Alex rushed through the house and ran across the yard, his feet throwing up spurts of gravel. Ellie’s car was still in the garage, the studio empty and silent.

  Really worried now, he wondered if she’d gone into early labour. But surely she’d have left a note or someone would have phoned him. Had she found out about his affair and just taken off? Without a word, without waiting to talk it through with him.

  Alex’s confused, guilt-ridden mind could think of no other explanation. He walked slowly back to the house and poured himself a large glass of Glenlivet. Carrying glass and bottle, he stumbled into the drawing room and threw himself down on the sofa. Three glasses later a shrill ringing pierced the fog of his despair. It was probably Barbara, he thought.

  He couldn’t talk to her now. Ignoring the phone, he took another swig from his glass. The phone was still ringing when he sank into a troubled doze.

  Several hours later he clutched his aching head and rolled off the sofa on to the floor. The empty glass rolled with him and came to rest by his left cheek. He forced his eyes open, squinting against the harsh overhead light. The shrill ringing of the telephone made a discordant counterpoint to the hammering in his head. He’d been aware of it earlier but hadn’t managed to get to the phone before the caller hung up.

  He definitely shouldn’t have had that last whisky, he thought as he crawled towards the door. His head thumped and his stomach heaved as he remembered coming home to an empty house and the reason for his present sorry state.

  He snatched at the phone, praying it was Ellie. Apprehension made his voice rough with anger. ‘Ellie, where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Is that Mr Alexander Cameron?’ a brisk female voice broke in.

  ‘Yes. Who is this?’ Alex wished she’d get off the phone. Ellie might be trying to get in touch with him. He glanced at his watch, amazed at how late it was. Surely she should be back by now – if she was coming home, that was. His thoughts skittered here and there as he tried to take in what the other person was saying.

  Hospital. The word pierced his consciousness. ‘What hospital, where?’ he demanded. ‘Is my wife all right?’

  ‘Chelmsford General – Maternity Wing,’ the woman said. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you for hours. The baby….’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ Alex said, slamming the phone down.

  He shouldn’t be driving with the amount of alcohol he’d drunk. But he had to get to her – apologize for his suspicions. No, he amended, he couldn’t admit what his first reaction had been. There had been a man at the house today although there was probably an innocent explanation. It was his own guilt that had provoked his angry suspicions.

  As he skidded out of the drive and accelerated through the narrow lanes, he vowed he’d give Barbara up. If only Ellie and the baby were all right, he’d make it up to them.

  The lights of the hospital loomed towards him and he swung the wheel sharply, skidding to a stop and leaping out of the car.

  ‘Maternity,’ he gasped and a grinning orderly pointed him in the right direction. He pushed through the swing doors at the end of a glassed-in corridor.

  ‘Cameron,’ he said to the nurse at the desk. ‘My wife.’

  ‘Wait here, Mr Cameron,’ she said calmly. ‘The doctor would like to speak to you.’

  He ignored the chair she indicated and paced the corridor until a young woman in a white coat approached briskly. ‘Where’s the doctor? Why won’t they let me see my wife?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m Doctor Bastow,’ she said. ‘Your wife is resting now, Mr Cameron. She’s been through rather an ordeal. I think it best you let her sleep.’ She took Alex’s arm leading him into a small partitioned cubicle, forcing him into a chair. She sat opposite and gazed at him compassionately.

  ‘What is it? She is all right, isn’t she?’

  ‘Mrs Cameron will be fine. The baby….’ She touched his hand. ‘I’m sorry, your son was still-born. He was a few weeks premature, of course. There was nothing we could do.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Everything was fine. Ellie was perfectly healthy. What went wrong?’

  ‘As I said, Mr Cameron, your wife had rather an unpleasant time of it. She had a fall apparently. She should have seen a doctor or gone to a hospital for treatment in London. But somehow, she managed to get on the train—’

  Alex stood up, running his hands wildly through his hair. ‘London? What the hell are you talking about? My wife was at home when I phoned this morning. I told her I’d be home later today. She wasn’t planning to leave the house.’ But she had left, hadn’t she, without leaving a note? What was she doing in London?

  ‘Sit down, Mr Cameron,’ Dr Bastow said, putting her hand firmly on his arm. ‘As you said, she was in good health and the baby wasn’t due for several weeks. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t have gone out for a day’s shopping. But she was hurrying for the train and had a fall. Despite being in pain, her only thought was to get home.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.’

  While Alex paced the confined space the doctor explained that Ellie had gone to London on impulse and, anxious to be back before her husband returned home, was hurrying for the train when she tripped. The pains had started on the journey home and when the train stopped at Chelmsford, someone had telephoned for an ambulance.

  ‘I kept telling her to be careful – not to overdo things. Why didn’t she listen to me?’ Alex asked, his despair turning to anger. It was his son too.

  ‘It could just as easily have happened at home, Mr Cameron,’ Doctor Bastow tried to reassure him. ‘But your wife is a healthy young woman.
When she recovers there’s no reason why—’

  Alex turned on her. ‘That doesn’t alter the fact that my son’s dead,’ he snapped.

  Doctor Bastow held his gaze. ‘Yes – but your wife is all right. And she’ll need your help to get through this. I suggest you go home and get some sleep. Come back in the morning.’

  ‘At least let me see her,’ he asked.

  The doctor showed him into the tiny room, hardly more than a cubicle. He crossed the room and looked down at Ellie. Her greenish pallor, the purple shadows beneath her eyes, made her look young and vulnerable, and Alex felt the ice in his heart begin to melt. He hadn’t realized until the doctor had broken the news to him, how much this child had meant to him. But he knew Ellie had been just as eager for parenthood. She wouldn’t have intentionally put her baby at risk.

  He touched her hair briefly and left the room, his thoughts in turmoil. Grief mingled with guilt as he realized that, if he’d come home a day earlier instead of staying with Barbara, he’d have been able to stop Ellie going off to London.

  As he drove homewards, he remembered the unknown visitor. Whoever it was had either driven Ellie to London or taken her to the station. Later, when she was feeling stronger, he’d tackle her about it. The suspicion that Ellie might have another man in her life fuelled his anger once more. He felt better having someone to blame for the tragedy.

  Ellie opened her eyes in the dimly lit room. Where was she? The light came through the open door and she saw that she was in a small cubicle of a room. She turned her head towards the uncurtained window and saw herself reflected in the darkened panes, a small figure on a high, white hospital bed.

  Confused, she tried to sit up, wincing as she became aware of her bruised, torn body. She whimpered softly, screwing her eyes shut in pain. What had happened to her? All she could remember was raised voices, her father’s hand tight on her arm, his eyes flashing hatred as he spat words into her face.

  She lay back on the pillows and blackness descended once more.

  When she woke again, the room was full of sunshine. A nurse was holding her wrist, smiling down at her. ‘Well, Mrs Cameron, you’re looking a lot better, I must say. Here, let me sit you up and tidy your hair. Your husband will be here in a moment.’

  She was still confused. But as she let the nurse fuss round her, everything came flooding back – Harry’s unexpected arrival, her mother’s joy, the row with her father. She closed her eyes against the memory of those last few moments in her old home. She wouldn’t think about it, must pretend it had never happened, for Alex’s sake – and her baby’s.

  ‘The baby,’ she gasped and, as the nurse patted her hand the doctor’s words came rushing back, and she sank back on the pillows, sobbing.

  Gradually she became aware that Alex was standing by the window. As she stopped crying and wiped her eyes he turned to her and she flinched away from the bleak expression in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ she whispered.

  ‘Sorry – that you killed our son?’ he said. ‘I told you – I begged you – to take care. But you took no notice. How could you put your own pleasure before the welfare of our child?’

  Ellie looked at him aghast. Surely he would comfort her, take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. He was grieving, true, but surely he must realize that her grief was just as overwhelming. But he kept his distance and continued to look coldly at her.

  ‘It wasn’t like that at all,’ she said.

  ‘Oh no, what was it then – a new customer you couldn’t turn away, a brilliant new design? What could be more important than our baby?’ His voice was bitter and he turned to the window again.

  Ellie wanted to put her arms round him and reassure him. But what could she say? The habit of silence was now so ingrained that she found it impossible to find the words to tell him what had happened yesterday. How could she explain how her father had ended up in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs? There was no excuse for what she’d done.

  She turned her face to the wall and let the tears slide down her cheeks. Guilt gripped her heart. If only she had resisted Harry’s pleas to return to London. Her father would still be alive and she would be at home with Alex, her baby still safely in the womb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Ellie shifted in the deckchair, squinting against the sun. She breathed in the scents of early summer but it did nothing to lift her depression. She’d gone into the garden, taking her sketchpad and pencils, determined to shake off this awful lethargy and start working again. As she’d told herself countless times since returning from the nursing home, she couldn’t carry on like this. But as usual, after a few minutes, the pencil had slipped from her hand and she had closed her eyes, reliving once more that awful day and indulging in the fruitless game of ‘if only’.

  Her recovery had been slow. Physically, she was well, so the doctors said. But she still couldn’t speak without dissolving into tears – in fact she hardly spoke at all.

  When Doctor Bastow had expressed concern that she was not coping with her grief, Alex had moved her to a private nursing home. The doctors there had poked and probed, telling her that if she could only talk about it, her heart would start to heal.

  But how could she? Once she started it would all come out. Alex hadn’t forgiven her for the loss of his son. How would he feel if he knew she’d killed her father too? Her mind clamped down on the thought, but she knew the memory of that lifeless body at the foot of the stairs would never be erased. Horrified at what she’d done, she’d fled the house, not stopping till she reached the main road and flagged down a taxi to Liverpool Street station. Slumping into a seat, the pain had washed over her and she became aware of the warm dampness between her legs.

  As she lay in the hospital, she started every time the door to her private room opened. Surely the police would question her when they discovered she’d visited her parents. She didn’t care for herself But Alex didn’t deserve to be hurt any more.

  Back home she started to relax a little. Maybe they thought it was an accident. Bert had been drinking as usual and, even if Mary had seen what happened, Ellie was sure she’d keep quiet for her daughter’s sake, especially after what she’d learned.

  A shadow fell across her face. It was Mrs Mills. ‘Mrs Ridley telephoned. They’ll be over to see you tomorrow.’

  Ellie didn’t know how she’d have coped without Norah and Trevor. They had visited often, offering their uncritical support and sympathy. But the busy season was starting and they couldn’t come so often now.

  She stood up, gathering her drawing things together and folding the deckchair. She must try to make an effort for them this time. She’d bake a cake. It wouldn’t be anywhere near Norah’s standard but it would show them that she was on the mend.

  In a sudden burst of enthusiasm she sifted the flour, beat eggs into a bowl. Then, as if a shadow had passed over the sun, she started to shiver. The whisk fell from her hand to clatter on to the worktop. She sat down and put her head in her hands, waiting for the spasm to pass, as she knew from experience it soon would.

  Alex found her there when he returned from the mill. She looked up at him, scarcely recognizing him as he gazed coldly at her.

  ‘You’ve got to snap out of it, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you’ll end up back in the nursing home.’

  ‘No, Alex, I’m all right. Really, I am.’ She was anxious to reassure him. The idea of returning to the nursing home filled her with horror. She wasn’t ill – just tired.

  ‘Look, I was making a cake for Norah and I started to feel giddy.’ She pointed to the bowl of beaten eggs, the ready-greased cake tins, forcing a smile. ‘Why don’t you have a drink while I get dinner ready?’

  ‘I’ve already eaten,’ he said. ‘Don’t you realize it’s past midnight?’ He left the room abruptly.

  Ellie couldn’t believe she’d lost so many hours. She cleared away the debris of her cake-making efforts, before going upstairs to her
lonely room. Since her return from hospital, Alex had slept in the guest room. Resuming marital relations was the last thing on Ellie’s mind, but she missed the comforting warmth of his body against hers. Not that he was here that much these days – business seemed to take him to Manchester more often. His frequent absences, together with his continued coldness, served to confirm what she’d only suspected – he was having an affair.

  As she undressed and brushed her hair, Ellie wondered why she minded so much. She was still fond of Alex and was truly sorry she’d hurt him, but she’d never really loved him as she felt he deserved to be loved.

  In the early days, determined to make her marriage work, she’d tried to please him, tried to prove herself deserving of his love. They had been happy – for a while. But it was too late now. He’d never forgive her for the loss of their child.

  Ellie got into bed and switched off the bedside light. The darkness couldn’t hide the images that paraded before her closed eyes as she relived the row with her father, his vicious blow and her enraged response; his lifeless body at the foot of the stairs. She lived again her headlong flight through the streets; the pain, the blood running down her legs, and the agonizing ambulance trip which ended at the hospital.

  She sat up and swung her legs out of the bed. It was no good – much as she hated them, she’d have to take one of her tablets. At least her sleep would be dreamless. She went to the bathroom cabinet and swallowed a pill with a mouthful of water. Back in bed, she schooled herself to think of Norah’s visit the next day.

  But, at last, she spiralled down into drug-induced oblivion, her last thought was a despairing cry from the heart – why hadn’t she heard from Harry or her mother? Had they deserted her? Did they too blame her for the death of her father?

  Alex was also sleepless that night. His anger with Ellie had cooled. How could he continue to blame her for the loss of their baby when she was so obviously suffering too? But try as he might, he found it impossible to make the first move to comfort her. It was easier to find solace in Barbara’s arms.