Marriage at a Distance (12 page)

‘On the contrary.’ Joanna remembered the mean, pinched expression on the good-looking face. The veiled threat. ‘We didn’t part on good terms.’

‘What a relief,’ Sylvia said robustly. ‘Although I told—’ She stopped, looking dismayed, then rallied. ‘But it’s not important.’

Joanna forced a smile. ‘You told Gabriel precisely what, Sylvia?’

Sylvia sighed heavily. ‘That you had far too much sense to be taken in by such an obvious fraud.’

‘Thanks,’ Joanna said, with something of a snap. ‘It would be good if everyone would stop treating me like a child.’

Sylvia drank the rest of her coffee and replaced the cup in its saucer. She said quietly, ‘But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, Joanna? Firstly from Lionel and later from Gabriel. To be a little girl, petted and protected, instead of a woman?’

‘Is—that really what you think?’ Joanna was stunned.

‘It’s the impression you’ve given.’ Sylvia reached for her bag and rose. ‘Perhaps Gabriel is right, after all. Perhaps you do need to get away from here—to find your own space and stretch your wings. To realise your full potential.’ Her smile was kind and sad. ‘I’m only sorry we shan’t be around to witness the transformation.’

She dropped a kiss onto Joanna’s hair. ‘In the meantime, if life here gets more than you can bear, you can always escape to us. I love you very much—you and Gabriel—as if you were my own. It’s hurt me to watch you tearing each other apart.’ Her voice broke. ‘I just wish it could have worked out differently.’

She gave a quick, sharp sigh, and was gone.

Joanna lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Sylvia’s parting words still echoed and re-echoed in her mind.
‘…a little girl…instead of a woman.’
Was that really how people saw her? If so, she should have made her bid for independence a long time ago.

But how could I leave? she asked herself wearily. When I was waiting for Gabriel? Hoping that he would return one day—and love me.

Because, no matter how much he had hurt her, that had always been the secret truth locked in her heart.

The demand for a divorce had been camouflage—a bit to protect herself against further wounds, to armour herself against another rejection.

But she knew now there was no safeguard strong enough to shield her from that kind of heartbreak. Within twenty-four hours of his return she’d had no defences left.

Maybe it was true. Perhaps he’d always seen her as the child he’d first known. And that was why he’d turned to Cynthia, who was all woman—beautiful, worldly and experienced.

And a Grade A, first-class bitch as well, Joanna reminded herself. But didn’t they say that sex was the great deceiver? And great sex was probably the ultimate deceiver.

She wrenched her mind back from that line of thought.

At least she could make it obey her to that extent, although it still barred the way from the time of her accident to when she’d found herself here in this room.

Which was a pity, because it meant she couldn’t remember being carried in Gabriel’s arms. Held against his heart for the last time.

Or was her brain simply being merciful?

Faces, she thought wearily, bending over her. But the first one—the only one she’d wanted—the one she’d looked for—had been his.

Her head was aching, so she took another couple of painkillers and settled back.

What a shame her amnesia wasn’t retrospective, wiping out the last three years. Giving her the chance to start again. To do everything so differently.

Only that wasn’t how it worked. You got one bite of the cherry, and if you messed up there was no reprieve. No second chance.

Better not to think about that either, she told herself firmly. If she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she might wake up with a clear head. She might remember the hill, and Gabriel’s face when he found her. She might even be able to figure out what had been niggling her all day.

She was awoken an hour later by Mrs Ashby’s hand, gentle on her shoulder.

‘It’s lunchtime, madam. I’ve brought you some chicken broth.’

‘Oh, how lovely.’ Joanna hadn’t wanted much to eat over the past twenty-four hours, but now the fragrant aroma of the soup, thick with vegetables, barley and chunks of chicken, set her mouth watering.

‘And here’s the newspaper.’ Mrs Ashby laid it beside her. ‘I thought you might take a look at the crossword while you’re resting.’

‘You think of everything.’ Joanna gave her a grateful smile as she began her soup.

She ate every mouthful, and most of the slice of mushroom quiche, still warm from the oven, which accompanied it.

Grace had even remembered to bring a pen for the crossword, she saw with amusement as she put the tray aside and reached for the paper. As she unfolded it the centre sheet came adrift and fluttered to the carpet.

‘Damn.’ Joanna leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve it, and stopped dead as the puzzle which had been tormenting her suddenly clicked into place.

Cynthia, she thought, recalling their conversation of the previous day. Cynthia knew that Nutkin had been spooked by a newspaper. But how? I never told her. I never told anyone. The only person who knew about it had been there at the time.

And, as if a key had been turned into her brain, another door opened into her memory.

She remembered lying bruised and winded on the short grass, her head swimming, dimly aware of someone standing over her.

Gabriel, she’d thought thankfully, turning her head slightly. Trying to find words to tell him she was all right. Forcing her reluctant eyelids open so that she could see him.

Only it hadn’t been Gabriel at all.

Joanna sat bolt-upright on the bed as she recalled exactly whose face had been looking down at her.

My God, she thought numbly, her stomach churning. It was Paul Gordon.

S
HE
wasn’t supposed to be driving. The doctor had specified a couple of days’ inactivity to give her battered frame time to heal.

But there were questions to which she needed answers, and she wasn’t prepared to wait.

She drove straight to the Lodge. There was no smoke coming from the chimney today, Joanna noted as she parked the car and got out.

She rapped on the front door, but there was no reply. After a brief hesitation, she tried the handle, and, to her surprise, the door swung open.

She walked into the living room and looked round, stripping off her gloves. There were dead ashes in the grate, and a number of half-filled cartons in the room, indicating that Paul Gordon’s departure was already under way.

She stood for a moment, listening intently, but there was no sound except a tap dripping in the small kitchen.

Wherever he’d gone, he’d left in a hurry.

She knew exactly what she was looking for, but there was no sign of it downstairs, so she went up to the bedroom to hunt, wrinkling her nose at the wrinkled, frowsty sheets on the unmade bed.

Wherever he is, he has it with him, she concluded.

As she descended the stairs the front door opened and a man came in, his figure a dark outline against the pale wintry sunlight flooding into the hall. Joanna checked instantly, a hand flying to her throat.

Caught in the act, she thought sickly. And no way out. She’d have to try and bluff.

He kicked the door shut behind him, blocking out the concealing sunlight, and she saw who it really was.

A gasp, half-relief, half-incredulity, escaped her.

‘Gabriel.’

‘Yes.’ He stood hands on hips, looking up at her, the dark face inimical. ‘I was just leaving Sylvia’s house when I saw you drive up. I couldn’t believe it. You’re bruised from head to foot, but you still can’t keep away from him.’ He looked past her. ‘Where have you left him—in bed?’

‘Are you mad?’

‘I think that’s my line.’ Suddenly he looked very weary, his mouth set in bitter lines. ‘Jo, he’s no bloody good. I suppose I’d be bound to say that—but in his case it’s true. My poor love, he’s a con man. He’s setting you up.’

‘Wrong.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s knocking me down. Gabriel, when I met him on the hill yesterday he was wearing a cream silk scarf. And when I was on the ground he was right there, beside me. But he didn’t try to help. He just—left me there.’

‘But why should he do that?’ The amber eyes narrowed.

She said quietly, ‘You thought there was something between us. There never was. I—I just let you think so.’

‘And did he think so too?’ The question was rapped at her.

Joanna nodded miserably. ‘But I let him know at once that I wasn’t interested. Only he—took some convincing, and he wasn’t pleased.’

Gabriel said grimly, ‘I could almost feel sorry for the bastard. Go on.’

She moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘When he saw me coming on Nutkin, he must have hidden among the rocks and flown the scarf at us. He knew what scared Nutkin. He was the only one who did.’ Or almost, she amended silently.

Gabriel said softly, ‘And he’s now forfeited my sympathy for all eternity. I think I might kill him.’

‘No,’ she said, urgently. ‘Gabriel—please. You mustn’t touch him. You were right. He isn’t worth it. And he’s going.’

‘If you know all this—what he’s capable of—why did you come here? Why did you take the risk?’

‘I wanted to find the scarf. To prove that it could have happened the way I said.’

‘I already knew that. You were so insistent that I went up to the Hermitage and looked among the rocks. It was muddy, and he’d left some man-size footprints.’ He looked round. ‘So, if he’s not here, where’s he gone?’

She hesitated fatally. ‘I—don’t know.’

‘Joanna,’ he said gently, ‘don’t lie to me. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not to protect that piece of scum.’

It’s you I’m trying to protect, she wanted to shout at him. Because if my suspicions are right, you’re going to be so desperately hurt. And I can’t bear it…

Aloud, she said, ‘I mean—I can’t be sure.’

He said, ‘Then let’s go and make sure,’ and opened the front door. ‘We’ll take my car.’

‘But you don’t know where we’re going,’ she protested as she preceded him out of the Lodge.

He said, ‘Ah, but I do.’ And his voice was colder than ice.

Larkspur Cottage looked deserted too, but Cynthia’s car was parked in the lean-to garage.

Gabriel’s face looked as if it had been chiselled from marble. Joanna ached for him as they went up the path.

She said in a whisper, ‘Suppose the door is locked this time.’

‘I have a key.’

‘Yes,’ she said bravely. ‘I—I’d forgotten.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Gabriel, we don’t have to do this.’

He said almost gently, ‘Yes, Joanna, we do have to.’ He fitted the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened noiselessly and they stepped into the flagged hall. There was an oak chest against one wall, and across it was lying a black leather coat—and a cream silk scarf.

Joanna bit her lip until she could taste blood. She supposed that for Gabriel’s sake she’d been praying it wasn’t true. That she’d added two and two and come up with millions. She hardly dared look at him.

She could hear the distant murmur of voices coming from upstairs, and Cynthia’s unmistakable giggle.

He said, ‘Go and wait in the car, Jo.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Her voice was breathless. ‘Nothing silly—or dangerous—promise me?’

‘I’ll do what’s necessary.’ He turned her quietly and firmly towards the door.

She stood outside for a moment, gulping cold air into her lungs, then went down the path. As she was getting into the car she thought she heard a muffled shriek, then a distant crash, and realised she was shaking.

It seemed like an eternity before Gabriel came out of the cottage and joined her in the car. He was walking normally, and she couldn’t see any bloodstains, although the knuckles on one hand looked sore.

She said, ‘Well?’

‘Gordon’s going back to London tomorrow. Your stepmother will be leaving too.’ He started the car.

She said, ‘I see.’ She hesitated. ‘Has—has it been going on long?’

‘She’s known him for years. It seems he was some kind of toy boy.’ His voice was flat. ‘The relationship has been on an on-off basis ever since.’

‘Even while she was married to my father?’ Joanna felt sick.

‘I would guess as much.’

She bit her lip. ‘They—they must care about each other—if he came down here especially to be with her.’

Gabriel’s mouth hardened. ‘That wasn’t entirely the reason.’

The dark face was so forbidding she didn’t dare ask anything more.

What a fool Cynthia was, she thought, to risk her future for a liaison with someone as worthless as Paul Gordon.

She couldn’t even guess at how Gabriel must be feeling, but the sense of betrayal had to be acute.

He must wish that neither of us had ever come near the Manor, she thought wretchedly. But at least she could relieve him of her own presence.

She cleared her throat. ‘Sylvia and Charles have asked me to stay with them for a little while. I—I’d like to do that.’

There was a silence, then he said, ‘That might be best. Do you want to come back to the Manor and get your things?’

‘I’ll do that later.’ There was a hard, icy lump in her chest. As she’d suspected, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

Joanna lifted her chin and tried to speak normally. ‘if you could drop me at the Lodge, I’ll pick up my car and check with Sylvia that it’s convenient for me to arrive today.’

‘I’m sure it will be.’ His mouth twisted. ‘She always seems to have a room made up for waifs and strays.’

It wasn’t a description she relished, she thought, biting her lip. But it probably summed up the situation with fair accuracy.

Sylvia’s welcome was warm, and mercifully devoid of awkward questions.

It was late afternoon before Joanna felt able to give her a brief and stilted account of what had happened. Sylvia listened with pursed lips.

‘Well, it explains his lifestyle, I suppose,’ she commented. ‘But very little else. What possessed her to allow him down here? Didn’t she realise how Gabriel would react?’

Joanna bent her head unhappily. ‘Perhaps she thought she wouldn’t be found out.’

‘Well, Charles has been down to the Lodge, and the place has been cleared out. The enterprising Mr Gordon has slung his hook,’ she added inelegantly. ‘Off to look for another woman with more money than sense, no doubt.’

‘You don’t think he’ll stay with Cynthia?’

‘Not since the blow to her financial prospects.’ Sylvia shook her head. ‘Of course, I never approved of what Gabriel was planning. I think this whole debacle has saved him a lot of problems in the future.’

But I doubt if he sees it that way, Joanna thought drearily.

‘May I ring the Manor?’ she asked after a moment. ‘I’d like Grace to pack me a bag.’

‘Of course, dear. And I’ll see about some tea.’

Joanna dialled the familiar number, and waited. It rang several times before the receiver was lifted at the other end and a voice she hadn’t expected to hear again, said, ‘Westroe Manor. Cynthia Elcott speaking.’

‘Cynthia?’ Incredulity and dismay jostled in Joanna’s mind. ‘What are you doing there?’

Cynthia laughed unpleasantly. ‘Come off it, sweetie. Did you think you were going to get rid of me that easily? Surely not. I’m here to kiss and make up with Gabriel.’

‘You really believe he’ll forgive you?’

‘Why not? He’s a man of the world—and the pot can hardly call the kettle black. After all, I turned a blind eye to his little diversion with you the other night. I knew he’d be expecting me, and I was right. He’s even arranged it so that we have the house to ourselves, without you behaving like the skeleton at the feast. Wasn’t that tactful of him?’

She paused. ‘What do you want, anyway?’

‘I wanted to arrange to fetch some clothes.’

‘All taken care of, darling. Gabriel told Mrs Ashby to pack everything up, and her husband’s bringing it all across to you.’

‘Everything?’ Joanna asked, dry-mouthed.

‘All your treasured possessions. I don’t think he wants you to have any excuse to call round.’ She laughed again. ‘So make sure you take the hint and stay away from now on. Pretty please?’

And Joanna heard the phone go down.

‘It’s no good,’ Joanna said firmly. ‘I have to start looking for somewhere to live.’

Sylvia sighed. ‘I don’t think you should rush into anything. You’ve only been here a week, and you’re still looking peaky,’ she said sternly, surveying Joanna as if she was a plant that had failed to bloom. ‘Don’t forget that nasty attack of delayed shock you had on the day you arrived.’

Joanna gave a constricted smile. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ It had been the only excuse she could think of when Sylvia had returned with the tea and found her stretched out on the sofa, weeping broken-heartedly and unable to stop, she recalled ruefully.

She still cried, but only into her pillow at night. During the daytime she managed to put a brave face on things.

Her luggage had duly arrived, and, as Cynthia had said, nothing had been forgotten. She’d seen Sylvia and Charles exchanging astonished looks as Mr Ashby carried the cases into the hall.

For the first few days she’d jumped each time the phone rang, wondering if it might be Gabriel calling to offer some explanation, or at least to say goodbye.

But as time went by without a word from him she realised there was nothing to hope for. And how could she complain? She was the one who’d demanded the clean break originally.

But I didn’t mean it, she thought desolately. He’d hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back. To make him think I was over him. That I didn’t care any more. When, in reality, not a day passed that I didn’t think about him and want him back at any price.

And now I’ve lost him for ever.

Sometimes she wondered if Charles and Sylvia had heard about Cynthia’s triumphant return. Certainly there was no hint from either of them that they knew she was installed as mistress at the manor.

No doubt they would come to terms with the situation in their own way. And it would ease things if Joanna was no longer around to divide their loyalties from Gabriel.

The problem was that she had no idea where she wanted to go.

Somewhere with hills, and sky, she thought, where early primroses grow in sheltered hollows. Somewhere I can walk, and ride, and heal myself. And learn, somehow, to forget.

The next morning, at breakfast, there was a letter for her from Henry Fortescue.

There were papers for her to sign, regarding the financial settlement she had agreed with Gabriel. Perhaps she would telephone him to make the necessary appointment.

He was his usual friendly, businesslike self when she rang.

‘Not tomorrow morning, I’m afraid,’ he said, when she diffidently suggested a time. ‘I shall be at the Manor for the discussions with the Furnival Hotels representatives.’ He paused. ‘No doubt you’re aware of their interest?’

‘Yes.’ She kept her voice steady.

‘But I shall be free after lunch. Shall we say three p.m. at my office?’

She agreed quietly, and rang off. So the final chapter in Westroe Manor’s history was about to be written, she thought unhappily. And Cynthia’s victory was complete and entire.

The next day she told Charles and Sylvia she was going out, ostensibly to make contact with a firm of estate agents in Westroe with branches all over the country.

In reality, she drove up onto the hill, parked the car at the small plantation, which was a gathering point for ramblers, and walked the mile along the ridge to the Hermitage.

One last look, she vowed. And perfectly safe, because everyone at the house would be busy at the meeting.

It was milder today, and sunny, with a gentle breeze that murmured among the stones. She unbuttoned her coat as she leaned back against one of the rocks.

‘Joanna.’