“Certainly, Mrs. Barton. As you wish.”
Cecily glanced back at Diana as she left the drawing room. She wondered if she’d received the letter she'd sent to her. It had taken a while to complete. Cutting all those letters out and sticking them onto notepaper with tweezers had taken longer than she she'd anticipated. Diana had certainly looked rattled at breakfast this morning. ‘Sirs’ face couldn’t be seen. It was stuck behind The Times as usual. She rubbed her hands together with glee as she made her way to the kitchen to fetch the polish and dusters. The thought that she was causing Diana distress gave her a thrill and she shivered with excitement. She would be watching her very closely over the next few days.
Diana frowned. Cecily's bowing and scraping got on her nerves. The woman was so patronising. Perhaps Matthew's got a point, she thought. Perhaps we should get rid of her. She sat at her writing desk and stared out of the window. This view over the gardens usually gave her so much pleasure. In the past she had sat there for hours, marvelling at the sheer beauty of the little meadow and the wonderful trees that surrounded Meadow’s End. Today she hardly saw them.
She put her hand in to the pocket of her skirt and took out a letter. As she unfolded it a wave of nausea hit her throat and she put her hand over her mouth. Taking a deep breath she flattened the letter against the blotter pad and began to read it again. The contents were cruel and spiteful, but it was the way the letter was constructed that caused her the most angst. Someone had taken a great deal of time to cut the letters out and stick them onto the paper. That someone knew that Stephen had fathered a child with a girl from The Smithy.
She leant her elbows on the desk and rested her forehead against her hands. Closing her eyes she enjoyed the few moments of peace this gave her. What now, she thought? Do I ignore the letter and hope I don’t receive any more or should I show the letter to Matthew and let him decide what to do? Who could possibly hate them enough to put together such a malicious piece of work? She looked out toward the gardens again, her thoughts in turmoil. Emma’s face kept appearing in her mind’s eye and although Diana repeatedly pushed the thought away, she wondered if the girls had anything to do with it. Maybe Matthew had read them correctly. He’d said they were in it for money. Could that be the next step; another piece of hate-mail naming a price to pay for their silence?
So many days had gone by since the girls had been to Meadow’s End. Diana was disappointed Kate hadn't contacted her. She only had their word Emma was pregnant and Stephen had been unequivocal in his denial. Then she thought of Kate whose caring eyes and quiet demeanour had impressed Diana so much. She was sad that she should even think of her in those terms. She’d felt an unexpected affinity with her; a familiarity with her as though she’d known her all her life. Diana’s eyes clouded over as she thought of Kate constructing such a hateful letter.
Folding the letter carefully she put it back into her pocket just as Cecily came into the drawing room. “Mr. Barton’s on the telephone for you, Madam.” Diana looked up angrily. “Yes, thank you, Cecily. And when you come into the drawing-room would you mind knocking first?” Cecily felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she fought to keep herself in check. “I’m sorry, Madam. There was a sense of urgency in Mr. Barton’s voice and I thought he would want me to hurry. I do apologise and I’ll make sure I do what you suggest in the future.” Diana bristled. “I’ll be right there.”
Moving quickly Cecily went into the library and waited for Diana to go into the hall before gently picking up the receiver and placing it against her ear.
“I won’t be home tonight, Diana” she heard Matthew say. “I have to see a client in London and he’s invited me to stay at his club. We have breakfast meetings tomorrow morning.”
“But, Matthew,” Diana cried. “We have guests tonight.”
“You can deal with them, Diana, or perhaps you’d rather cancel.” He replaced the receiver without saying goodbye. Cecily heard Diana sigh down the wires. The receiver went down with a slam at the other end and she waited until she heard Diana go back to the drawing room before putting the receiver back on its cradle. She smiled to herself. Diana had looked anxious; her perfect features fixed in a frown. Cecily was happy. It was the best feeling in the world to have so much control over people, especially when they mistakenly thought they had control over her.
She would move them like puppets. The thought thrilled her. She was the puppet master causing havoc for them, and all she had to do was to sit back and watch. She’d made a good start and now she must plan her next step, maybe asking for money next time. Perhaps she would leave it to the third or fourth letter to get the Glass Princess really worried. She would do anything to crucify the bitch, and if Diana really believed Matthew Barton was staying in London for a business meeting she had less between her ears than Cecily had first thought.
Diana went back into the drawing-room. She took the letter out of her pocket and read it again before throwing it onto the fire. She leant against the fireplace deep in thought, her eyes hypnotised by the flames in the grate. She had to make a decision and fast. If Matthew didn’t like what she’d decided to do it was just too bad. She ran upstairs to get her jacket and car keys. She had an overwhelming desire to speak to Kate and Emma’s mother.
***
Diana pulled up outside and turned off the engine. She sat for a moment quietly observing the street and the people who were going about their daily lives. Sunningdale Terrace was two turnings off the High Street in Willowbridge and beyond that, just a few miles down the motorway was London and all it had to offer. Most of Matthew’s clients were City based companies so she had very little connection with the estate. This was tinged with regret for Diana. Her father, James Butterfield had helped to build the town. The Smithy had been his pride and joy because it provided good housing at an affordable rent for his employees. In his day there were jobs for the men because he made sure there were. He looked after the people of Willowbridge and in turn they revered him.
He’d started Butterfields, a large aircraft components factory and the company provided ample work for the townsfolk. Many of the airports in the country had increased the amount of flights they carried every year which meant aircraft manufacturers needed more components. With shrewd planning and an excellent sales-force Butterfields had taken much of the new business and had gone from strength to strength. His employees had worked hard for James and the company had a reputation for delivering quality goods on time. Even though the factory had increased to double its original size in the last decade, her father had still managed to keep the family touch in his relationship with his employees. Everyone loved James Butterfield because he'd been fiercely loyal to them, but since his death two years before, everything had changed.
Redundancies were rife because without him at the helm the company had lost its way. Greedy investors had tried get rich quick schemes by inflating the prices of the components and holding down wages. That and turning out less than acceptable goods had changed the reputation of Butterfields; a company that operated with complete honesty to one that fleeced its customers. They began to lose custom from those companies from whom James had fought so hard to win orders and with the continuing strength of the unions and the escalating power of the employee's leaders, the threat of strike loomed over them every day.
Just a few months before the company had posted news of more redundancies and perhaps closure until a member of the sales team had fought tooth and nail to win an order from Europe. Butterfields were compelled to slash its prices but it was a start, and the town had breathed a huge collective sigh of relief. Diana’s father had told her many times in the past, that ‘one order did not a company make’. That was why he worked so hard to keep the company going. James had sacrificed spending time with his wife and child and had chosen to invest it in the company. It was this sacrifice that had kept the men and women of the area in work.
She understood his ethos now but when she was a child she’d missed
him and had wondered why he’d chosen to stay away from them so much. His personal sacrifice had been her loss. Would he have been quite so willing to relinquish so much of his precious time if he’d been able to see into the future she wondered; if he'd known what would happen to Butterfields after his death?
Looking towards the front door of Kate and Emma's house, a tremor of nervousness went through her. She had no idea what illness their mother suffered from and she began to wish she hadn’t been so hasty in deciding to visit her without an invitation. She stepped out of her car and locked the door. As she stepped down towards the front door she saw the net curtain in the front window fall back. She knocked and waited. She knocked again, certain someone was inside. She remembered Kate saying that her mother was virtually house-bound. She hesitated for a moment and was about to leave when the door opened slightly.
“Hello,” Diana called. “I'd like to see Emma’s mother please.” There was no answer. She tried again. “I won’t keep her long. I just wanted to talk to her about Emma.” The gap suddenly widened. Angie McGuire swayed as she leaned towards Diana. “What about Emma?” Diana turned to go back to her car but she wasn’t fast enough. Angie lurched out of the front door and grabbed the arm of her jacket. “No, you don’t,” she cried, swinging Diana round to face her. “You’ve an awful nerve coming here saying you want to talk to me about my Emma then trying to run off.”
“I just need to talk with you,” Diana said quietly. “It's important.” Angie released Diana’s sleeve and went inside. “You’d better come in,” she said grudgingly as she showed her into the hall. “Are you from the school? I don’t know why you keep tryin’ to stick your nose into my business. Everything’s fine here. You can see that can’t you?”
“I'm Diana Barton.”
“Are you now? That means nothing to me, love. Wait here. I have to tidy up a bit, y’know how it is. When you’re tidy nobody comes to visit you. Then the minute there’s a bit of dust around the world and his wife come calling.”
Diana waited while Angie went into the living-room. She could hear her moving things about and muttering under breath. When Angie returned to the hall her arms were full of empty bottles and cigarette packets. Diana looked away embarrassed.
“You can come in now.” Angie indicated for Diana to go into the living room, offering her a seat on the leatherette sofa. She sat down quietly, unable to take her eyes from the woman in front of her. Cold panic curdled in the pit of her stomach.
Diana had an almost irrepressible urge to run; out of the room, out of the house and to the safety of her car. All it would take was the turn of an ignition key and she could forget she ever came here. Her breathing was shallow as she watched Angie who paced the room like a caged animal ready to pounce. Diana’s inner voice told her that she was being ridiculous and that she must stand her ground. Angie eyed Diana, glad she’d managed to dress that day but completely overwhelmed by the other woman’s class and style.
“So? What is it you want to talk about?”
“I’m worried because Kate and Emma said that they would contact me but I haven’t heard from them.” Angie frowned. “Why would they contact you?” she asked her, lowering herself unsteadily on the chair opposite. She leant back and lit a cigarette, offering the packet to Diana. Diana shook her head. Angie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Emma is going to need all our help and support isn’t she? She’s so very young, and you and I need to help her in every way we can.” Angie started to laugh. “What the hell has my daughter got to do with you may I ask?” She got up and pushed back the living-room door.
“You’ve got the wrong house, lady. My kids are no concern of yours. I’ve given you enough of my time and my time is precious. I can’t waste it on daft women, I don’t care how much money they’ve got. I should charge you for it. You look as if you can pay. Now I think you should go before I really lose my temper.”
Diana studied her hands resting in her lap. She realised that Angie didn't know about Emma even though she must have started to show. There isn’t a thing she can do to me except throw me out, she decided. Even if she’s violent I can take it. I’ve taken it from Matthew so I can take it from her.
“Sit down.”
“What the...”
“I said sit down.”
Diana surprised herself at the forcefulness in her voice and even more surprised when Angie sat in the chair opposite. “There's no easy way to break this to you so I guess it's best to come to the point. Emma is expecting a baby; a baby she says was fathered by my son. It’s obvious she hasn't told you.” Angie slowly shook her head, bewildered; her eyes wide with shock. There was a long pause as Diana waited for her to say something, determined to let her take the lead so that she could respond to Angie’s reaction.
“You liar,” Angie said quietly. “My Emma’s not pregnant. D’you think she wouldn’t have told me. I’m her mother for Chris’sake. You think she would rather tell some ponced up woman she’s never laid eyes on before rather than her own mother.”
Angie rose unsteadily from her chair, lighting another cigarette as she went across to the window. Diana’s eyes stayed on her all the time.
“I don’t believe a word of it. I don’t know what you’re up to but my girls are good girls. They come from a good home and they don’t sleep around and if one of my daughters was in the club, I’d know.” She laughed to herself as though she’d forgotten Diana was there. Diana felt more afraid of Angie when she laughed. It was unnerving, as though she were having a dream teetering precariously on the edge of a nightmare. She wished she didn't have to push the point but knew she must. “Are you sure you would know? Really sure?”
Angie went over to a sideboard, its black paint dented and greasy. She grinned, pointing to a splintered patch of bare wood where a chunk of the sideboard was missing. “I did that,” she said proudly. “I threw the iron at my husband’s head. It’s a shame really. I could’ve got one in before he left me, but I missed. God knows how. His head was big enough.” She opened one of the cupboard doors and took out a bottle of vodka. “I need a drink,” she said. “Want one?” Diana shook her head. Angie poured a large measure of vodka into a glass. She held it up to Diana. “Sure?” Angie grinned at Diana and shrugged. “Here. Take a look at this.” She passed a photograph to Diana. “That’s my husband. Gorgeous isn’t he? Good in bed too. Trouble was he was good in every other woman's bed an' all. I won’t touch used goods.” Diana took the photograph from her. Time stopped abruptly in a cacophony of ghostly memories and never-forgotten conversations. Nausea constricted her throat and she placed a hand on the arm of the sofa to steady herself. Her hand trembled as she held the photograph and her breath caught so tightly in her chest she thought she would never breathe again.
The picture was old and scratched but she could still see his face. How could she ever forget it? The jet black, curly hair she’d run her fingers through; the striking violet eyes that had looked at her so lovingly, and the body she’d held so tightly when they’d made love. The sight of him shook her to the core. When he’d left her she'd thought her life was over. The void had been impossible to fill. No one could ever, would ever make her feel the way he had.
After all the years that had scurried by she held in her hand the photograph of the only man she’d ever truly loved. She closed her eyes as the memories of their time together played out behind her eyes. Why was she being made to face the hurt again? She’d fought so hard to push it down, down to nothingness, down so deep she thought it was irretrievable, but the photograph, dog-eared and creased, breathed life into him. He still lived in her heart. She wanted him now as she had then and had never stopped wanting him from the moment their lives had come together.
“Your family name. What is it?”
“It’s McGuire. And that’s Joe McGuire, my long-lost husband.”
Trembling, Diana passed the photograph back to Angie. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to achieve. There was nothing more
to be said. She got up to leave but Angie had other ideas. “Where are you going?”
“Home. Home to some sanity,” then remembered the remnants of the letter, still lying in the grate.
“So, you're saying that my Emma's pregnant.” Diana nodded wearily. “Yes.”
“And you say your son is the father?”
“That’s what Emma says and even if you don’t want to know the truth, I do. I can’t let this go knowing your daughter could be carrying my son’s child. And I can't allow her to continue to say my son is the father of her baby if he isn't. Either way it has to be dealt with.”
“Emma's a lot of things but she wouldn’t lie about something like that. Her future’s in his hands so it’s up to him, isn't it? He can’t expect to climb onto her bones and walk away from the consequences. He’ll have to pay.”
“My son is only twenty, Mrs. McGuire. He's at university. You can't expect him to take total responsibility. This hasn't been his finest hour but we all have to help.”
Angie grinned at her. “He’s at university you say. That must be costing you a pretty penny. Perhaps he’ll have to leave university. If he’s the father of my Emma's baby, well, that'll have to come first won't it? I think he'll look after her. If he knows what’s good for him he will.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, Mrs. High and Mighty bloody... what d’you say your name was? I’m threatening him. If he comes near either of my daughters again, I’ll have him arrested. Do you get my drift?”
Diana left the house, hot tears of anger and frustration leaving tracks on her cheeks as she went up the front path and through the gate. She opened the car door pausing for a moment to look back at the house. Her eyes narrowed, and as she brushed away the tears she vowed never to go into the house again while Angie was there, even if it meant not seeing her grandchild. As she turned to get into the car she glimpsed Emma walking up the street towards her. She visibly slowed when she saw Diana outside her home but Diana was prepared to wait.
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