Kimberley got out of bed. The dressing room door was closed, which probably meant he was still in the land of dreams. She hoped he stayed there all day.
But on going downstairs, she found him in the kitchen eating the last of the bread in the shape of a piece of toast.
`Sleep well?' he enquired cheerfully.
`Eventually,' she replied, going over and feeling the teapot.
`Proper little ray of sunshine in the morning, aren't you, my sweet?' he commented, munching cheerfully away. 'What time does the paper boy arrive?' -
'He doesn't,' she said shortly. Then as he gave her a `watch it' look, she realised she'd got to make some sort of an effort if she didn't want him divorcing her before February. 'I stopped the papers when my father died.' She had the radio, cutting out newspapers and
magazines meant the money could go towards something else.
`Not to worry,' said Slade, getting up from the table. `I can get one in town.'
`You're going into Thaxly?'
He shook his head. 'London.'
`You're going to see your solicitors?' Her tea slopped over, her nerves shooting at the thought after all this she was going to lose her, home.
`Relax, my sweet,' he said, 'You'll be the first to know if I decide to change anything. There are other things in London beside the fastest solicitor on the draw—whom I just happen to have working for me.'
`Oh,' she said, her nerves settling.
He came near. 'Got a kiss for hubby?'
`Do you have to be so cheerful?' she asked, pulling her head out of range.
Slade went without his kiss, but went whistling, disgustingly cheerfully to her mind, out to his car.
Perhaps he wasn't coming back, she thought hopefully as the ·day wore on. Why she should trust his `You'll be the first to know if I decide to change things' she didn't know. But peculiar though she found it, she did.
By the time four o'clock came Kimberley started to grow more and more convinced he wouldn't be back. Rain had set in when seven o'clock came and still no sign of him. He wasn't coming back, she was sure of it, she thought, putting the edgy feeling that had been growing in her down to the fact that he could at least have telephoned to say what his plans were.
She wondered if he had put in an appearance at his office that day, although he had intimated he had told one and all he would be on his honeymoon.
He was definitely not coming back, she thought at half past seven. Even if he had been to his office, Amberton was only a little over an hour's run from London. He should have been here by now.
She wasn't hungry, so she went to the living room and stood absently staring out of the window, to see old Sammy, the poacher, go by. She was just about to draw back, not wanting it to look as though she'd got nothing better to do, when she saw Slade's car draw up.
Her first reaction was to come away from the window. But her vision was arrested to see Slade emerge from his car, not in the suit he had left in that morning, but clad in a light sweater and slacks, and he was now stopping to have a few words with old Sammy.
Kimberley was pensive as she left the living room and went to the kitchen. David had never had any time for old Sammy. He had passed him by many a time when she had been with him without so much as giving him the time of day. Not that there was anything wrong in that, she thought, David could do as he liked, though it had momentarily disturbed her that he could pass by one of the few characters the village could boast of, just as though he didn't exist.
Because she was thirsty, and for no other reason, Kimberley put the kettle on. Slade could share her pot of tea if he liked, it was up to him.
She glanced at the door when it was pushed inwards, her eyes staying fixed to it when it was propped open and two mammoth suitcases were pushed inside, their owner following them in.
Good grief ! How long did he think he was staying! `You look as though you intend to stay for the duration,' was out before she could stop it.
`And good evening to you too, dear wife,' replied Slade, a sardonic reminder that she might have greeted him first before she fired her first salvo.
But Kimberley's spirit, that had been fuelled into life these past few days, wasn't yet ready to go into hiding again.
`I was hopeful you weren't coming back at all,' sped from her.
`I can go back again if you would prefer an instant divorce,' was his short answer, deflating her completely.
She turned from him, hating him, glad the kettle was boiling so she was saved a reply. She swallowed down her ire, knowing he had her beaten.
`Do you want a cup of tea?' she offered ungraciously.
`I want more than that,' he said, and she tensed, her hands starting to shake that they were back to that subject. Until he tacked on the end, 'I want my dinner. What have you prepared for me?'
`Prepared for you?'
She swung round. She hadn't given a thought that he might want feeding when he came home, yet here he was like some Victorian husband demanding food the moment he set foot inside the door!
`You're saying you have nothing ready?'
`I—wasn't expecting you back,' she said, of necessity quelling the urge in view of his acid comment about an instant divorce to tell him to go to hell.
His reply to that was a grunt as he opened the fridge door. Another grunt was emitted when its contents showed only half a dozen eggs and a pint of milk.
`Where's the rest of your food?'
There was a walk-in larder, but apart from flour and a few other oddments, there was very little in there either.
Kimberley felt herself colour and turned away, embarrassment making her feel too uncomfortable to look him in the eye.
`I—don't need very much,' she mumbled. She felt the cold silence behind her, and didn't like it. It was forcing her to go on when she didn't want to, and she hated him the more for it. `I—my resources are— limited,' she said, and still wouldn't look at him.
The silence at her back stretched, but still she wouldn't look at him. And then he was asking, 'Just
how much money did your father leave you?' That had her twisting round in fury at his colossal impudence. But she saw he was unrepenting that she thought he had a fine cheek. 'How much?' he repeated, and she knew he was insisting on knowing.
She could wriggle as much as she liked, but that dark glimmer in his eyes demanded an answer. Dragging her feet all the way, quietly, she told him— saw his eyes widen slightly, and would never forgive him that his voice was dripping with sarcasm when he said:
`And you were going to give me all of it.'
She came the nearest ever to hitting him then, but found from somewhere a great strength to resist the impulse. Then she told him with quiet dignity:
`Money has never been important to me.'
Not even if the house that is important falls about your ears because you haven't the wherewithal to maintain it properly?'
`You swine!' she becalled him, and saw how little her calling him names affected him, as nonchalantly he put his hand in his pocket, then tossed her his car keys. Instinctively she caught them.
`Take my car and go and get me some fish and chips,' he ordered.
Her eyes flew wide. 'Fish . . .? It's tipping it down out there!' she protested. Who the hell did he think he was? 'I'd be soaked before I got to your car!' He stood there not giving way, making her wish she hadn't resisted the hot impulse to take a swing at him— especially when she found herself offering, 'I'll make you some chips if you like—there are a few potatoes in the larder.'
`Enough for two?'
So she was going to be made to eat too—and with Him. 'I'll bring it through to the dining room when it's ready,' she said, intensely irritated—and was even more irritated to hear his reply, when he was already
putting her to the trouble she wouldn't have bothered with for herself.
`We'll eat in here.'
God, what wouldn't she like to do to him, she thought, when egg and chips had been demolished,
her kitchen was looking spruce again, and she went on her way upstairs. But the pleasant picture of seeing him tarred and feathered abruptly disappeared when she reached the landing and saw rain was dripping in through the place that had shown a damp patch the last time they had a downpour.
For an age she stood dithering watching the steady plop, plop of water hitting the carpet. She knew that since all the buckets and bowls, any sort of receptacle to catch the water in, were all in the kitchen, she would have to go down again. Then she did an about-turn hoping Slade had vacated the kitchen where she had left him reading his newspaper.
He was still there. She knew his eyes were on her as wordlessly she found a bowl. She would like to have left him without a word, but had a sudden thought that he might send the bowl emptying its contents all over the carpet if, not expecting an obstruction, he didn't bother putting the landing light on when he came to bed.
`Leak,' she said briefly. 'On the landing.'
Oh, how she wished she hadn't! Not one word did he say. It made her wish she had kept quiet too. It would have been worth a sodden carpet just to hear him measuring his length as he tripped over the bowl, she thought.
In bed, later, she felt less antagonistic towards him. What could he have said? He had already revealed that he thought the whole house was about to collapse. To have added anything to that wouldn't have made her feel any better about the leak.
How long he stayed downstairs, Kimberley had no idea. But having anticipated that she would still be
awake when he came to bed, she opened her eyes to find her bedside lamp had been switched off at some time, and that it was now daylight.
Refusing to let her mind dwell on the uncomfortable thought that he had been in her room while she had slept, she was quickly out of bed and donning her dressing gown to go and see how much water the bowl she had placed beneath the leak had collected.
She discovered she wasn't the only one on the same errand. Slade was on another part of the landing, fully dressed, a bucket and cloth at his feet as he mopped up as much excess water as he could from a second leak that had appeared in the night.
`Oh no!' she cried, going over to stand near him.
`Afraid so,' he said, straightening, his eyes going over her figure, slender in her thin wrap. 'It wouldn't surprise me if the roof needs stripping and re-slating.'
`As bad as that?' she said faintly. 'It can't be . .
`I observed that it didn't look too sound a couple of weeks back,' Slade remarked. And, quite kindly, 'Men notice these things.'
Kimberley certainly hadn't. Bramcote was just Bramcote, and she loved it. She saw nothing wrong with it, but she had to now, and she just didn't dare think how much a new roof would cost: She pushed shaky fingers through her long tousled hair, and saw that his eyes had followed her movement. She saw admiration there and momentarily, as attacked by alarm, she forgot all about the roof.
`Steady,' Slade advised, a smile showing itself. 'You have a natural beauty, Kim, there's nothing unusual about a man appreciating the fact. It doesn't necessarily mean he's panting to get into bed with you every minute of the day.'
She felt complimented. And as panic died, she realised she must be learning to trust him that he could so easily disperse that panic.
`Why don't you go and get dressed?' he suggested
quietly. 'I'll finish off here while you fix something for breakfast.'
A smile fluttered to her mouth, then faded. 'There are eggs,' she said, `but—but there isn't any bread.' She expected a frown, but didn't get one.
`Forget breakfast. We'll have coffee, then go and shop in Thaxly '
Shopping with Slade was an eye-opener. Whereas she had got into the habit, even before her father had died, of buying only what she considered essentials, and then only the smaller size, Slade seemed to think only the giant size of everything would do. Jars of things she thought they would never use were purchased, he even took her with him to the local wine merchants to stock up, not letting her pay a penny towards anything.
The suitcases he had come home with yesterday were a fair indication that he had moved in. The enormous amount of food he purchased told her that not only had he come to stay, but that she had better shake the dust off her cookery books.
But it was when he took her to an electrical wholesalers and ordered a deep-freeze to be delivered, then went to another wholesalers and arranged dates for pre-packed, pre-frozen meat to be delivered, telling her in front of the assistant, 'It will save you going out, darling, if we have supplies in before the bad weather sets in,' that Kimberley realised he was set to stay with her during the winter.
Had he remarked on the weather when passing the time of day with old Sammy yesterday? she wondered. Had Sammy told him they sometimes got cut off when there was snow about?
Kimberley didn't know just how she felt that on the one hand it didn't look as though Slade was going to take any immediate steps to get a quick divorce, yet on the other, he didn't seem likely to go before spring, came.
She was quiet in the car going home, realising she couldn't have it both ways. If she wanted to keep Bramcote, and that was still her dearest wish, then she had a situation on her hands that she had to put up with. Yet was it fair, when that date in February arrived, the house safely hers, that she should then tell Slade she had put up with him for long enough? That she should then tell him if he didn't divorce her, then she would divorce him? He would have every justification then for calling her a selfish bitch, wouldn't he?
There was relief from the nagging conscience that plagued her when they arrived back at the house, and Kimberley saw Dr Ellis's car parked outside. They were half way up the garden path, Slade having seen the car too and telling her they would unload later, when she saw Dr Ellis must have decided to try the back door on getting no reply from the front, and had just turned from the kitchen door and was watching her and Slade approaching.
`Hello, Kimberley.'
He was the first to speak, Kimberley having lost her tongue as it came to her that somehow she was going to have to introduce Slade, who, having been the one to lock up when they left, still had the key and was inserting it in the lock while at the same time eyeing the doctor with some speculation.
`G-good morning, Dr Ellis,' she said, feeling decidedly ill at ease—and unnecessarily, since there was nothing wrong with Slade's hearing, 'Slade, this is Dr Ellis.' She saw an eyebrow lift as without introducing him as her husband, she completed, 'Dr Ellis, Slade Darville.'
`Come in, won't you?' It was Slade who did the inviting. Kimberley avoided the doctor's quick surprised look and led the way inside.
Nervous, wanting Dr Ellis out and quickly, uncertain of Slade, she didn't offer the doctor the coffee she normally might have done.
`Their—'flu epidemic in the village is over, is it?' she asked into what she felt to be a tense silence. Dr Ellis was looking as though he was wondering what was going on.
`It was a stomach ailment,' he corrected her.
`Oh yes,' she said, not surprised she had got mixed up. 'You won't be so rushed now.' She smiled, infected Dr Ellis with her smile so that he forgot Slade and smiled back. Kimberley thought if she made coffee it would give her something to do, but that would mean having to prolong his stay, if he accepted, of course.
`No,' said the doctor, 'I'm still busy, naturally, but I do now have a few minutes I can call my .
`You practise locally?' Slade interrupted.
`In the village,' Colin Ellis replied, and his eyes back on Kimberley, he smiled again. 'How are you, Kimberley?' he asked.
Slade made a small movement, which drew her eyes to his. The look in those dark blue ones that looked not at her, but squarely at the doctor, had her forgetting what the doctor's question to her had been. Slade was about to say something she didn't want him to say. She knew it, just as she knew she was totally powerless to stop him from saying or doing anything he had decided upon.
`I. . ' she began quickly, and found as her
voice dried, that Slade was having no such difficulty.
`Tell me, Dr Ellis,' he asked pleasantly, 'was that question about Kimberley's health merely a courtesy, or,' he glanced her way, saw from the look she threw him that she wanted him to shut up, 'was it a professional one?' He. smiled at the doctor, that smile that made her wary since it didn't reach his eyes. 'Are you,' he said charmingly, `by way of being my wife's physician?'
` Wife?' Dr Ellis was astounded, she could see that as his eyes rapidly went from Slade to her. 'You're— Kimberley, you're not married to this man, are you?'
Before she could answer, Slade had moved to come to stand by her. 'It is a surprise, isn't it?' he remarked blithely. 'It was a surprise to us too, wasn't it, my darling?'
And there still wasn't time for her to get a word in, even if she could have thought of anything suitable. For the staggered look was leaving the doctor, his colour that had blanched at Slade calling her 'my darling' turned to red, as he, most unprofessionally, she thought, exclaimed heatedly:
`You idiot, Kimberley! You stupid idiot!' And, his face working, 'There was no need to marry the first man who asked you in order to comply with the terms of your father's will.'
It was her turn to look astounded. 'You know— about my father's will?' she exclaimed. And while it was still sinking in that he must do since he had been the first to mention it, she felt Slade's arm come around her shoulders, and was too stupefied to think of trying to shake it off.
`The will my wife's father left has nothing at all to do with Kimberley and me being married,' he told him curtly. 'Kimberley married me because she fell in love with me, and for no other reason,' and, his voice changing, 'isn't that right, sweetheart?'
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