Larkrigg Fell (45 page)

He’d eloped with her on impulse, not quite knowing whether he would ever marry her, but certainly intending to bring her nothing but unhappiness. Thus he had succeeded in hurting Beth and Meg O’Cleary, and Sarah too in one simple act. He could still recall the pleasure of that triumph.

But it hadn’t lasted. He wanted more. He might manage to inherit Broombank through her, thus damaging the whole damned family, as his grandfather and later his own mother had been hurt by them. He was not averse to any form of disruption to their well ordered, self-satisfied lives.

The months with Sarah had, however, proved surprisingly enjoyable, at least in the beginning. But still she had irritatingly refused to consider marriage and he’d been forced to let the matter drop and bide his time. Then to his fury, she had turned all moral on him, and left. All because through sheer boredom he had taken another lover, several in fact. But whose fault was that? How could one woman hope to keep a virile Italian satisfied?

She’d screamed at him, had hysterics, taken a lover herself, but in the end crawled back, begging him to forgive her, promising she would never fail him again.

But his weakness for indiscretions had entirely changed the nature of their relationship. It was really most amusing. Now, at last, he was entirely in control and she was willing to do anything to please him. He could enjoy watching her suffer each and every day. Had indeed brought her back for that very purpose, and so that her family could appreciate at last the extent of his power.

With a sigh of delight Sarah saw the excitement kindle in his eyes. He wanted her. At least she still had that hold over him.

She took his hand and smoothed it over her bare flesh, over each ripe breast, the flatness of her stomach and on down to her soft moistness. Then the compulsion which had held them together through all the furious rows and disagreements drove them to a coupling, swift and vigorous, right there on the floor, the roughness of the carpet burning her naked flesh. It was quickly over and she went into the small bathroom to shower while Pietro strolled downstairs.

‘Ciao,’ he said to the empty rooms, smiling at a memory. ‘Now it is time for the bellavendetta to make real progress.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was one of those mornings at Quarry Row when being a young mother of two babies seemed to be the least enchanting job in the world. Will was grizzling with a cold and Emily had just deposited her entire breakfast all down the front of Beth’s dressing gown. A fitful fire struggled in the grate around two or three pieces of coal. She still had to wash and dress herself, and the children too for that matter, fetch in some logs so Will could get warm, tidy breakfast away, and face the usual mound of washing. Beth could hear the first drops of rain on the window, which meant that she couldn’t put anything on the line to dry. Drat.

An hour later she had the fire blazing to a furnace, causing steam to rise from the loaded clothes horse of dripping bibs and nappies. Will was still grizzling, clinging to the belt of her dressing gown as Beth moved about the small living room, picking up toys, rubbing a duster half heartedly about. She felt absolutely exhausted and really should go and dress, then she’d make herself a cup of coffee by way of reward for getting the washing done so early.

When she heard the light tap at her door she assumed it to be Tessa on her way to Broombank and didn’t look up. ‘Coffee?’ she asked, picking Will up and smoothing his hot head with one hand while jiggling the baby buggy in an attempt to soothe the crying baby with the other. ‘I was just about to make one.’

‘My God. Is this where you live now?’

Time seemed to stretch out endlessly as Beth turned disbelieving eyes upon her sister. Sarah stood framed in the doorway of the tiny cottage, and she seemed to Beth in that moment like a vision from another planet. Wild ebony hair tamed to a fetching shaggy bob and a tan to dream of, she was elegantly attired in a snappy little suit in lemon yellow with the sexiest short skirt Beth had ever seen. Will’s dumper truck nestled against endless legs clad in what must be the finest of silk stockings.

Beth carefully set her son in the comer of the old sofa and tucked a rug about him before she found the strength to cross the room to Sarah. Hands instinctively tightening the belt of her dressing gown, she placed a kiss on each cheek then stood before her, heart pumping.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ It was all she could think of to say.

Sarah’s eyes scanned the crowded, over-heated room and laughed. ‘Would it have made any difference?’

Will started to cry and Emily chose this moment to wake and add to the din. Sarah’s eyes fastened upon the buggy. She swooped past Beth and gathered the baby in her arms. ‘Oh, what a darling. How can you let her cry? She must be hungry.’

Beth watched, half amused, but surreptitiously pushing back her untidy hair, not knowing whether to hate herself, or Sarah, for choosing this morning to do her chores before getting dressed. What a slut she must look. ‘She’s just been sick as a matter of fact. I should take care with that suit.’

Sarah didn’t look in the least perturbed. Nestling the baby close against her cheek she turned pitying eyes upon her sister. ‘I’ll hold her while you get dressed, if you like. Poor lamb.’ Then settled herself down on the sofa, amongst the crumpled piles of ironing and baby powder, captivating Will with one of her bewitching smiles. ‘And yes please, coffee sounds wonderful.’

Upstairs in her room, Beth stared at her own tired face in the dressing table mirror. Too many sleepless nights with little Miss Emily. She touched imagined lines of fatigue, fingered her drooping breasts, still oozing milk. Trust Sarah to return looking like something out of a glossy fashion magazine and find me looking like the before picture.

Sighing, she rummaged through her drawer for a make-up bag, started to apply mascara then angrily tossed it back and slammed the drawer shut. She didn’t wear make-up, not during the day when she was with the children. She was an ordinary mother, housewife, whatever, and proud of it. She might just put on a gingham dress and apron.

In the event she chose a favourite cotton skirt and long baggy sweater, brushed her hair till it shone and fastened it back, defiantly, with her old slide.

‘I’ve got her off to sleep,’ Sarah whispered proudly as Beth handed her a mug of coffee.

Emily’s small face, usually puckered with fury was for once smooth and angelic. Beth felt a wave of resentment. ‘You don’t have to whisper. She’ll sleep through anything now. Will too was asleep, his head resting on his aunt’s lap. ‘I’ll take him upstairs.’

‘Oh no, I really don’t mind.’

‘He has a cold. He’ll pass it on to you. And he needs to keep warm.’

‘It’s like the Sahara in here.’

Ignoring this mild criticism, Beth swooped up her son and carried him off to his bed. Then she wheeled the baby buggy outside into a fitful sunshine, followed by the clothes horse since the rain had thankfully stopped and, closing the door, turned at last to face her sister.

‘Why have you come?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Heavens, what a welcome. What happened to - how are you? Pleased to see you again sister dear.’

‘I haven’t quite got over the shock of seeing you here.’

‘What about you?’ Sarah glanced about the room, struggling to keep the sound of incredulity out of her voice. ‘Are you content with all of this?’

Beth considered for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said, with determined resolution. ‘I am. It’s a quiet life, and if not entirely perfect in that we always seem to be hard up and Andrew can’t find permanent work in farming at the moment, it’s a reasonably happy one. I’m lucky.’

‘Isn’t it a bit - well - cramped? How do you manage in that awful kitchen?’ Sarah had clearly spent the time Beth was upstairs exploring the tiny cottage. It wouldn’t have taken long.

‘It’s a bit of a tight fit with two children but we get by. Where are you staying?’

‘What about Broombank?’ Sarah said brightly, not answering the question. ‘Meg says you’ve turned it into workshops. I called there first, on my way over.’

Beth nodded, and readily talked about the workshops, trying to shake off a feeling of unreality that Sarah was here, back on Larkrigg Fell sitting on her own rumpled sofa.

‘So you make moccasins? What fun. Bet you make a packet.’

Beth gave a wry smile. ‘Same old Sarah. Always thinking about money. No, I’m not making a packet, as you call it. It’s a very new, very small cottage industry. I only work part-time, because of the children, and I do have expenses. Tess does her painting and we let out units at low cost to help others to do the same.’

‘Same old Beth.’ There was an astringent quality in the voice which she refused to rise to.

‘I mean to take things slowly. No loans or mortgages.’

‘Not like before, you mean.’

Their eyes met over the coffee mugs, and as the two sisters studied each other a smile started. ‘If you want to put it that way. We survived,’ Beth said. ‘Though I can’t say I enjoyed the experience.’

‘Am I forgiven?’

‘I see no point in holding grudges.’

Sarah laughed. ‘You’d forgive anything. Even of me.’

There was a small silence. ‘So, tell me all your news. What have you been up to all these years?’

‘You first.’

Beth settled back in her chair, glad suddenly that she had Sarah to chat to again. She hadn’t realised how much she had missed her sister. She chattered on, not noticing her twin’s silence, telling how they came to lose Cathra Crag, of Seth and Billy, and all the happy parts of her marriage. She talked with pride about her children.

‘Then there’s Tessa and her paintings, and Jonty and his picture framing business. He copes brilliantly, working hard to build a new life for himself. And they’re happy. It’s so good to see them together.’

A brittle little laugh. ‘You sound almost jealous. Don’t tell me you still nurse a pash for Jonty Reynolds.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ It always made her wistful to see Tessa and Jonty together. Not because she had any feelings for him herself, but because Jonty and Tessa had attained a depth of happiness which she didn’t seem able to reach. She and Andrew were content, they got along fine most of the time, but there was still something missing in their relationship. There remained an awkwardness between them, a constraint fuelled by the memory that she’d agreed to marry him only because she couldn’t have Pietro. ‘Few people find such perfect happiness,’ she admitted. ‘You only have to watch them together to understand what I mean. But that’s enough about me. It’s your turn now. What brought you back to Lakeland?’

‘Can’t I simply want to visit my favourite sister?’

‘Of course.’ Beth’s gaze was probing, taking note of the sharpness in the tone, the flawless beauty perhaps a touch drawn, the figure more gaunt. Was something wrong? ‘You’ve told me nothing yet about where you’ve been, what you’ve done. What happened to you after you left Pietro?’

‘Oh that.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘We got back together in the end.’

Beth felt a shiver run down her spine. ‘You mean he’s with you. Here?’

‘Naturally. Didn’t I say?’

‘No, you didn’t.’ Beth was struggling to cope with this new information, trying to decipher how she felt about it. ‘So you married him after all?’

‘No, we’re not married.’

‘Not...?’ Beth wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or distressed by this news. ‘But if you got back together, why not marry him?’

‘Oh, Beth.’ Sarah tossed back her sleek bob. ‘At first I didn’t want to marry. Wasn’t interested in commitment of any kind.’

‘But you changed your mind?’

‘We’d had a disagreement over - well, never mind about what now. I walked out on him and we were apart for months. You wouldn’t believe how much I missed him.’ The violet eyes grew misty. ‘I changed during that time, Beth. I came to see that the only way I could be happy was to be with Pietro. Really with him, for always. I was ready to make that commitment, d’you see?’

Compassion pushed aside the last remnants of jealousy. ‘Yes, I do see. We all change and grow up in time. Even you.’ A small silence while she waited for Sarah to continue. When no more came, Beth casually started to fold baby clothes and lay them in the basket ready for ironing. ‘So have you come home to do the deed then?’

‘Not exactly. Possibly. Probably. Oh, I don’t know. We haven’t quite worked it out yet.’

Beth raised a quizzical eyebrow but said nothing.

Sarah avoided her gaze and went to the window, staring out at white clouds sailing majestically by, at the sleeping baby and the washing fluttering in the breeze. ‘If I had a problem, Beth, I mean a really serious problem, you’d help me, wouldn’t you?’

‘What sort of problem?’

‘Whatever. Anything. I mean, we are twins.’ An edge of hysteria came into her voice and Beth hastened to calm her.

‘If I could help, I would, naturally.’

Sarah swung round, her face alight again, like the laughing young girl she had once been. ‘I told Pietro you would. You’re so loving and generous you always put me first didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Beth, more thoughtfully, smoothing a matinee jacket into the basket. ‘I did, didn’t I?’