But there were still things to do if she were to finish the job she had taken on and have Woodcotes ready for Benedict to bring Juana back to on Tuesday.
Chloe fixed a smile on her lips and ran upstairs.
The next two days were planned by Chloe to be so filled with activity that there would be no time for thought. The little red Mini—which Aunt Catherine had insisted on Chloe accepting as a wedding present—buzzed ceaselessly between Kenilworth and Leamington and Woodcotes, its boot being piled higher and higher with boxes and packages as the bank account that Benedict had opened in Chloe’s name for household purchases sank lower and lower.
By Saturday afternoon the kitchen at Woodcotes was fully stocked and equipped, down to the last teaspoon and measuring jug. The larder, scrubbed and spotless now, was neatly lined with stocks of tins and dry goods. Curtains were hung, beds made up, rugs arranged to best advantage. In the study the beautiful desk that she had chosen, and which would serve also as a table for the time being, was in place before the big window, where the Colonel’s desk used to stand. From here there was a view over the side lawn, lovingly shaved by Mr Croker, out to the orchard where apple blossom was beginning to show, white and pink in the sunshine. The deep leather chairs, (‘Spanish leather, madam!’) were drawn up companionably to the fireplace.
Chloe, alone in the big house, walked round checking her lists, ticking off every last item. There was nothing more to do now, except stock the fridge on Monday. On Tuesday the home that she had created would be ready to step into—for Benedict and Juana.
She paused in the study finally, her hands running over the supple leather of the big chairs. The smell of the leather reminded her of that first day when Benedict had surprised her lugging her sack out of the pantry. He had been wearing his leather coat and she thought now that the smell of fine leather would remind her of this place for the rest of her life.
Suddenly she was choked with tears, but she had denied herself the luxury of tears. Later, when it was over, she could cry as much as she liked. She turned and crossed the hall swiftly, her sandals clicking on the tiles. Benedict had stood up there on the gallery, looking down into the hall, and said, ‘I like this arrangement. It reminds me of the courtyards at home.’ In the summer Juana would fill the hall with flowers from the garden—great bowls full of roses and stocks, and hanging baskets of trailing, shimmering green leaves, and the whole house would be full of the perfume of the flowers, and—
‘Oh, stop it, stop it, can’t you?’ she said aloud to the empty, echoing hall. And she went out of the house, closing the front door with a firm click that had a sound of finality about it.
On Sunday Chloe kept away from Woodcotes. In the morning she helped Jan with the cooking and the house jobs and in the afternoon she took the children out into the park. The sun shone, and the grass was green and soft, and Emma and James were in lively high spirits, which meant that there wasn’t a moment to brood. Back home again, with James’s chubby little arms warm round her neck and Emma chattering beside her, she thought that children were a very great comfort. It must be wonderful to be able to give and receive love so unselfconsciously. It seemed a long time since she had been in that happy position herself.
Jan looked pink and slightly flustered as she prised her son loose from Chloe’s neck. ‘Thanks a lot, love, for taking them. If only you’d got back ten minutes ago!’
Chloe sank into a chair in the sitting room, pushing her hair back off her face. ‘What happened ten minutes ago?’
‘Roger called to see you.’
‘Roger?’ Chloe sat up, her voice a squeak. ‘What on earth did he want?’ She thought she had said goodbye for ever to Roger.
‘I think,’ Jan said sagely, ‘that he wanted to show you what you’d missed. He was very much the young, successful barrister—new car, new clothes, all very pukka. He was on his way north to interview a client about a brief and “couldn’t resist looking in on Chloe”. Of course he didn’t know you were married. He didn’t blink an eyelid when I told him—just went very stiff and formal. I was to give you his “felicitations”. Golly!’ Jan pulled a face. ‘I’m glad you didn’t marry him, love.’
Chloe nodded. ‘Me too.’ But Roger seemed utterly unimportant.
‘—and then,’ Jan was going on, ‘no sooner had Roger left than the phone rang and it was your Benedict.’
It was pathetic and humiliating how Chloe’s heart fluttered at the very sound of his name. Her hands closed on the arms of the chair as she waited.
‘He was sorry to miss you,’ Jan said carefully, as if she had memorised his words. ‘He asked me to tell you that he would be away for a couple of nights, otherwise he would have left a number for you to call him. He just wanted to confirm that he’d booked a flight for Monday and he would be here with you on Tuesday evening. He said he’d come straight here and drive you over to Woodcotes himself.’
Chloe swallowed. ‘Was that all? He didn’t say anything about—about bringing anyone with him?’
Jan looked blank. ‘No, nothing. Why?’
‘Oh; I just wondered,’ Chloe said vaguely. ‘There was some talk about bringing a business friend.’
‘He sent you his love.’ Jan looked faintly triumphant as she added, ‘He said, “Give Chloe my love and tell her I’m counting the hours until I see her again.” ’
Chloe said wryly, ‘We won’t take that literally, it’s the Spaniard in him. Spanish men are delightfully flowery with their compliments. All great fun, but it doesn’t mean a thing. Was that all?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Jan seemed to hesitate for a moment and then said firmly, ‘Yes, that was all.’ She eyed Chloe’s pale face and added earnestly, ‘Don’t give up hope, love. Not yet.’
Chloe stood up. At this moment she felt years older than Jan, with her rosy dreams of happy endings. ‘Let’s get the children’s tea,’ she said.
Late that night Chloe sat beside Jan on the sofa, with the TV chattering quietly on the opposite side of the fireplace and the door ajar in case either of the children woke up. It was twenty minutes to midnight, but neither girl had been anxious to go to bed.
They both heard the car pull up outside and the squeak of the front gate, followed by a man’s footsteps on the path. Jan jumped up and switched off the TV. ‘Who on earth—at this hour?’ Her eyes met Chloe’s.
There was no ring at the bell. Instead, the sound of a key in the lock and then the sitting room door was pushed open wider and Derek stood there.
His eyes passed over Chloe without recognition and then went to Jan. ‘Sorry to be so late,’ he said. ‘I saw the light was still on.’
It was only just over a year since Chloe had seen Jan’s husband, but he looked years older. Just as good-looking, though, with his fair hair that flopped over his forehead and the laughter crinkles beside his brown eyes. But he wasn’t laughing now. He looked nervous—apprehensive. What does he want? Chloe thought fearfully. What is he going to ask of Jan? Divorce?
Jan had gone very pale. She said quietly, ‘Have you come to see the children, Derek? They’re both asleep.’
‘I haven’t come to see the children, Jan,’ he said, as if he had been rehearsing his speech. ‘I’ve come to talk to you. If I may.’
Chloe moved towards the door, but Derek was blocking her way out. He was staring across the room at Jan as if he had never seen her before. ‘I’ve been sitting in my car at the end of the road for ages, trying to pluck up courage to come in,’ he said.
Jan’s face was alight and Chloe thought wonderingly, ‘She hasn’t a doubt in her mind. It never occurs to her that Derek might want something much more ominous and painful than returning home.’
Then, suddenly, Derek’s composure cracked. He took a couple of strides across the room. ‘Oh, Jan darling,’ he said unsteadily, ‘I’ve been such a fool. Such a bloody fool, wasting all these months—’
Chloe went silently out of the room and up the stairs. She didn’t think either of them heard her
go.
‘I wish,’ said Jan, next morning, ‘that you didn’t feel you’d got to rush away like this.’ She was standing with Chloe beside the stacked red Mini. Chloe had packed up everything of hers that she had at Jan’s house, including the one or two wedding presents. ‘I don’t like the idea of you being all on your own at Woodcotes tonight.’
‘I shan’t be on my own. Mrs Croker’s “nice body” is coming to see me this afternoon and I’ll ask her to move in straight away. Anyway, it’s only for one night. Benedict will be back tomorrow.’ She looked away from Jan to where James was pedalling his Kiddicart precariously up and down the front path. Benedict and Juana, she thought. Quite a happy little party we’ll be. Modern. Sophisticated.
She smiled at Jan. ‘I’ll be O.K., really.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Jan said doubtfully. ‘Emma, come out of Auntie Chloe’s car this minute, she wants to get in.’
‘Quite sure.’ Chloe thumped down the lid of the boot. ‘When Derek comes home this evening you’ll be a nuclear family again—isn’t that the right term? Mother and father and children?’ She saw Jan’s quick flush of happiness and added with a grin, ‘A nuclear family doesn’t include a sister-in-law. No way!’
She hugged Emma, kissed Jan and got into the car ‘I’ll be seeing you all again soon, bless you.’
At the Halt sign she glanced back over her shoulder Jan was standing at the gate, waving. Chloe waved back and turned the Mini’s nose towards Woodcotes. Woodcotes, where it all began and where it was all going to end. Very soon.
CHAPTER NINE
The weather turned nasty again on Monday evening. Chloe, sitting alone in the study at Woodcotes, with the rain lashing against the curtained windows and a small log fire smouldering in the grate, shivered and wondered if she should turn on the central heating. But it seemed silly, when there was just herself alone in the big house tonight. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow the house would come to life. Mrs Baxter—Mrs Croker’s ‘nice body’ whom Chloe had interviewed and engaged this afternoon—would be arriving in the morning. There would be cooking to do, a routine to be worked out, everything to get ready for Benedict’s arrival in the evening. Bringing Juana with him, of course. Juana, who had had a ‘tough time and needed somewhere peaceful to rest’.
And of course there would be nobody but Chloe to look after Juana, and that was what Benedict expected of her. All part of the job she had taken on with ‘no emotional involvement’.
Orlando, who had moved in earlier in the day to take up permanent residence once more, stretched his marmalade body to full length on the hearthrug, yawned luxuriously, and curled up again.
‘I’ve got to do it, Orlando,’ Chloe told him aloud. ‘I’ve been all sorts of an idiot, but somehow I’ve got to see this through. You see,’ she explained sadly, ‘it was never more than a job. He made that clear, and he never pretended to love me.’
She went out to the chilly, immaculate kitchen and heated a mugful of milk on the new electric cooker. By the time she had carried it back to the study, drunk it and eaten two biscuits, the fire was out.
‘I’m going to bed, Orlando,’ she said. ‘Coming?’
But Orlando was quite comfortable where he was and had no intention of moving. So Chloe went up the stairs alone.
It was the first time, so far as she could remember, that she had ever slept alone in a house. And Woodcotes was a large, rambling house, yet she wasn’t nervous. There had, she knew from the local paper, been break-ins recently in some of the villages, but the thought didn’t bother her. Since that moment when Benedict had said, ‘Would you mind terribly if I brought Juana back with me?’ she had been gradually ceasing to feel much about anything at all. There had been the shattering moment, then a merciful numbness had taken over.
Two of the rooms that had been furnished were large, main bedrooms opening on to the gallery. The third one that she had chosen was the smaller room in the west wing that had once been her own. Entering it now, she wished she hadn’t given way to what must have been a sentimental impulse, for the room bore no resemblance at all to the cheery, usually untidy room that had once been hers. Then it had been familiar and homely and shabby, full of her own treasures. Now it was cool and beautiful and remote, as impersonal as a hotel room. She had intended to make it her own, for as long as she remained here with Benedict, but of course all that was changed now, for she wouldn’t be staying a moment longer than she had to.
She undressed and slid between the fine sheets, thankful that she had been sensible enough to turn on the electric blanket. For a long time she lay there, stiff and unrelaxed, with an ache starting at the back of her neck and travelling up to her head. She switched on the light, swallowed down two aspirins and half a glass of water, and tried again. And finally, hours later it seemed, and with the rain spattering the window and the wind tearing through the new leaves of the apple trees, she fell into a deep sleep.
She wakened with a violent start and sat up in bed. Something was happening below her in the kitchen quarters. She listened, holding her breath. There it was again—a faint shuffling as if something were bumping against the back door.
Of course—Orlando! He was having his nightly prowl around the house, just as he had done in the past. It was a habit of his; acting as night-watchman, they used to call it. But it wouldn’t do at all now. She could just imagine him stalking around in the dark, leaving paw-marks on all the beautifully-cleaned gear in the kitchen; possibly—horrors!—electrocuting himself on the modern equipment installed by the American owners.
Reaching for a wrap and slippers, she padded down the stairs, across the hall, where the moonlight was shining intermittently through the long window as heavy clouds scudded across the sky. She ran into the kitchen, putting her hand to the switch at the exact moment that there was a crash and the tinkle of falling glass, followed by a heavy thud. As the strip lighting fizzed and flooded the kitchen with its stark white light the pantry door opened, there was the sound of a masculine voice giving vent to a string of colourful oaths, and Benedict staggered into the kitchen wearing his leather driving coat and bleeding freely from his left hand.
Chloe stared for a moment, frozen to the spot. Then she gapped, ‘Oh, you’ve hurt yourself! Come and put your hand under the cold tap.’
She grasped his wrist and pulled him across the kitchen, holding his hand under the running water until she was satisfied.
‘Stay there.’ She pushed a stool under him. ‘I’ll get the first-aid box from the cloakroom.’
The cut wasn’t as bad as it seemed; the bleeding had been from a superficial wound. When she had bandaged it up neatly she stood back. ‘Well!’ she said. And then, because of the odd way he was looking at her, she jabbered nervously, ‘I was asleep upstairs and I heard something down here and I thought it was Orlando——’ Right on cue Orlando himself came weaving his dignified way into the kitchen, waving his magnificent tail. They both stared at him and Benedict said, ‘To be mistaken for Orlando once was bad enough. Twice is altogether too much.’
Chloe was giggling helplessly, partly with shock, partly with some other emotion that she didn’t attempt to analyse. ‘W-what happened?’
Benedict was peeling off his leather coat carefully
‘I decided to drive up tonight after all. It was too late to let you know, so I thought I’d come straight here and contact you at Jan’s in the morning. It wasn’t until I got here that I remembered I’d given you the keys. Solution—enter through the pantry window in the time-honoured manner. Only unfortunately the catch seems to have been mended and I had to break the glass to get at it. I thought I’d wrapped up my hand properly, but it seems I’m not a very clever burglar.’
Chloe said, smiling and fussing, ‘You must be tired—cold—come along into the study and I’ll switch the fire on and make some coffee.’ She led the way across the empty hall, her mules flapping on the tiles, her flimsy wrap fluttering round her ankles, sending up a small prayer o
f thankfulness that the numbness of the night hadn’t given way to weeping. A tear-stained face and swollen eyes would have been hard to explain.
He followed her into the newly-furnished study and stood looking around with approval. ‘Hm—very nice! I like these chairs.’ He passed his hand over the soft leather, smiling at her, and her heart turned over.
She bent down and pulled the electric fire up in front of the burnt-out logs. ‘You sit down—I won’t be a minute,’ she gabbled, and fled.
In the kitchen she clattered round the unfamiliar cupboards, trying to subdue the excitement that insisted on rising inside her, and managed to produce two steaming cups of instant coffee in a commendably short time. When she got back to the study she found Benedict comfortably ensconced in one of the leather chairs, with Orlando purring like a small dynamo on his lap.
He grinned at her. ‘Orlando approves of me at all events,’ he said.
‘Meaning?’ She managed to sound cool though her breath was fluttering in her throat.
‘Meaning that you didn’t seem very thrilled to see me.’
She said, mildly enquiring, ‘So you didn’t bring Juana after all?’
‘No, I didn’t have to. Fortunately her married sister arrived from Argentina and she’s staying to look after Juana for a week or two. Then they’ll probably return to South America together. It’ll be a good thing for Juana— to get away completely.’ He sipped the hot coffee thoughtfully.
Chloe sat silent, trying to work out what this meant. Nothing seemed to make any sense. At last she said rather feebly, ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
‘I know. But after I spoke to Jan on the phone on Sunday I changed my plans. I thought it was high time I got back to find out what my wife was getting up to in my absence.’
A Very Special Man Page 17