Lorna stared at her in horror. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was just that Stephen and Ivan were talking about Health and Safety and, you know … ambulance chasers and said Adrian could probably get some sort of compensation for his accident, if it could be proved the stairs were dangerous.’
‘He can’t, can he?’ She remembered people telling her of dubious firms that offered to fight for compensation for people who’d suffered injuries.
‘They may not be serious, just talking about it,’ Jane said gently, ‘but don’t worry. We’ll stand by you if there is any trouble.’ She went on, louder, to include Gloria; ‘Obviously you’re not going to drive back to London tonight, so you will stay at Ravenscourt. There’s plenty of room, as you know. It will be rather cold, but Clara’s doing her best to warm up rooms.’
‘No, thank you,’ Lorna said. At the same time, Gloria, hearing her remark, said, ‘Thanks, I’d love to go to bed right now. I’ve had it.’ She struggled up from her chair, impatient to leave.
Jane, guessing at Lorna’s reason for refusal, said quietly, ‘It won’t be too bad, and really, where else can you go at this time of night, and on Christmas day? Unless, of course, you go to Mulberry Farm? I’m sure Sonia would squeeze you in somewhere, she’s very hospitable.’
‘Oh no, we’ll come to Ravenscourt.’ Lorna said hurriedly. She didn’t feel up to Sonia drilling her about Fergus and Ravenscourt.
She wondered how early in the morning she could escape back to London. She would try and persuade Gloria to come with her and leave Adrian to social services.
There was a blazing fire in the hall at Ravenscourt to welcome them. If only Stephen and Ivan weren’t here, Lorna would have enjoyed spending an evening here with Clara and Jane, listening to their account of Christmas.
‘I’ve made some turkey and chestnut soup,’ Clara said. ‘I hope you’re not sick of turkey already.’
‘Anything warm will be lovely.’ Gloria rallied a little on the drive here. The men had gone back in Jane’s car. Alone with Lorna, she confessed that she did not know how much longer she could go on caring for Adrian; these heart-stopping crises were wearing her down.
‘You should at the very least say you will only help him if he gets proper treatment for his drinking. You could leave him in hospital, say you can’t cope with him until he’s off the booze,’ she said firmly.
Gloria didn’t answer and Lorna had the feeling that this time she really had had enough. On the drive down to the hospital she’d thought Adrian could be dead, and though distraught, her anguish had been tinged with relief. Having found him very much alive, had she at last come to realise she could not go down this endless road again?
They had supper in the kitchen. Soup and rolls with Nathan’s ham and cheese on the side. She would not see him again, Lorna told herself. She would be back in London tomorrow and would miss the party at Mulberry Farm and if she wanted any food from him, she could fill in the order form in his new brochure illustrated with pictures of Ravenscourt.
Stephen was sitting at the other end of the table but they could not help but see each other every time they looked up from their plates. She noticed he was drinking heavily and she made sure to stick to only one glass of wine herself. It was odd and painful sharing a meal with him after so long. She listened to him talk to Ivan and Clara about his life now. He didn’t mention the girl, but kept referring to ‘meeting up with friends’ – though she didn’t know who he meant, as most of their mutual friends had stopped seeing him. His discourse made her feel distanced from him as if he were a shadow haunting her from long ago.
After her bowl of soup, Gloria excused herself and went to bed. Lorna followed soon after. Just as she was about to brave it up that icy staircase to her room, Stephen approached her.
‘You’ve had your fun; Ivan and I are leaving here tomorrow. You can give us a lift after Sonia’s party. It’s only a drinks party so we should be back in London just after nine.’ Stephen said, his voice clipped, as if she were a taxi service.
‘It might be more than a drinks party, and what about Gloria and Adrian?’ She wouldn’t tell him she was leaving as soon as it was light.
‘She’ll have to stay down here with him, of course. Until he is well enough to travel,’ Stephen said tersely.
His conviction of Gloria’s duty stirred up her anger. ‘Maybe she won’t. He could stay in hospital, have social services cope with him – as they might well have to cope with you, should you get ill.’
He looked disconcerted, ‘But he’s broken his arm, he can’t do anything for himself.’
‘So? He should have thought of that before he got drunk for the umpteenth time. Don’t you realise that we’ve all had enough of you men treating us so badly? You’re upsetting the children, making them wanting to escape from it all and not come home. Then you crawl back to us to look after you, when you fall apart.’ Lorna went on up the stairs, inwardly fuming and filled with sorrow at how things had turned out between them. She stopped turned and faced him. Her heart was beating fit to burst, but some compulsion urged her on; was it being together in this house, this house that had seen so many lovers come and go? Or even Fergus’s spirit urging her to find out the truth once and for all?
‘If that woman you left us for doesn’t come back, would you, despite our divorce, be sorry and come home again?’ she asked him.
For a long moment they stood there together in the barely lit hall; Lorna on the stairs, looking down on him. She felt as if her whole life hung there but she remembered her promise at the altar to stick to her marriage for better or for worse and knew she should try once last time to save her marriage.
‘She will come back,’ he said quietly at last, turning from her and disappearing into the gloom.
She waited for the pain of his answer to hit her, but to her surprise she just felt relief. Time had moved on and that part of her life was over, she must go forward. She had loved the man he used to be and he had loved her. Now he’d gone and in time she hoped she’d just remember the good parts of their life together.
22
A Touch Of Passion
Her room was a small one, stuck on the end of a passage. Lorna remembered sleeping here as a child, when she visited Ravenscourt with her parents. She lay in the narrow bed in one of Clara’s winter nightdresses, a stone hot water bottle at her feet and a rubber one on her stomach. What would she have thought all those years ago if she’d known that one day Ravenscourt would be hers? She still could not believe it.
She lay there listening to the sounds of the house, the buffeting wind rattling the windows and whistling down the chimneys; an orchestra of sound. She felt that Fergus’s spirit had not quite left Ravenscourt and she wondered if he trusted her to do the best for the neglected house. ‘Though you didn’t do the best for it,’ she grumbled to him, as if he could hear her, ‘spending your considerable fortune on parties and travel and outrageous behaviour.’ No wonder he never stayed married. But she’d loved him, though she’d never had to live with him or rely on him. Their husbands were bad enough, but Fergus was by far the most difficult husband of them all, and yet it was said that his wives never stopped loving him, they just couldn’t live with him. At the end, only Clara, his housekeeper, stayed on.
She thought of Stephen in his room down some other passage and how strange it seemed for both of them to be under the same roof, yet alone in their own beds. But he wasn’t her husband any more; quite apart from the fact that they were no longer legally married, he had said as much when she’d asked him this evening about his future plans. He’d made it quite clear his life was now playing the part of a dashing lover with a woman he could impress. The end of their marriage was final. Part of her would always love him, the man who’d brought her so much happiness, loved her and given her children, but now he was a stranger and, she realised with relief that it no longer felt odd not to be sharing a room with him.
She lay in bed, the dim light of the bedsid
e lamp leaving the rest of the room in shadow. She clamped her limbs close to her body, away from the icy parts of the bed. She’d loved Ravenscourt as a child and her children had loved it in their turn. It was tragic that it had deteriorated so much. It made her feel as sad, as if it were a much-loved person, crippled by the ravages of time. If only she had the money to restore it, but it would need so much, it was such a large house and so dilapidated. She’d have a surveyor go over it, see what needed to be done, but it would surely be beyond her means.
Tired though she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her head whirled with troubled thoughts. She needed a book to distract her; she hated going to sleep without reading, even if she was too sleepy to take anything in. There were no books in the room, and she hadn’t expected to stay, so had brought none. She’d go down to Fergus’s study, there were plenty to choose from there.
She got out of bed, catching sight of herself in the mirror on the dressing table. Clara’s nightdress was enormous; a kind of voluminous tent made of a pink, fluffy material, with long sleeves and a high neck; no doubt a stalwart ally against the icy nights, but a veritable passion killer. She shivered, bitten by a draught, and wrapped herself in the old faded eiderdown from her bed. Having no slippers, she pulled on her black knee-high boots to brave the icy floors. She opened her door and stood listening for any sign of life. Hearing nothing, she crept down the passage and downstairs. All was silent; everyone must be in bed, which was a relief, as she didn’t want to be seen in this unflattering get up. The door to the drawing room where they usually sat was half open, the room in darkness, only a few lights were on in the hall.
At the bottom of the stairs was a huge black and gold mirror, its surface blotched by time. She laughed when she saw herself; a cartoon character of a mad woman.
She could hear soft sounds of clattering china far off in the kitchen. Clara and Jane must still be up, she wouldn’t disturb them. One of them was sleeping in Clara’s cottage, the other in the room Clara had used when nursing Fergus, which was on the other side of the kitchen.
She crossed the hall and went into Fergus’s study. The walls were laden with bookcases. He had a good collection of the old Penguin books, the colour of their covers denoting their genre. She was examining these when she heard the door open behind her. Thinking it must be Clara or Jane checking the rooms before they went to bed, she said gaily, ‘Can’t sleep until I’ve read something and . . .’
‘Neither can I.’
She spun round. Nathan stood there staring at her, obviously trying to suppress his laughter. In her horror at seeing him she let go of the eiderdown, it dropped to the floor, leaving her exposed in the passion killer nightdress.
‘Whatever are you doing here?’ Her voice was rough in her embarrassment. ‘You seem to have taken the place over.’
‘I’m sorry to startle you, but Clara knows I’m here.’
The shock at seeing him and her mortification at being caught looking so ridiculous made her grumpy. ‘You might have said you were coming here, not just waltz in whenever it suits you.’ She could hear the petulance in her voice and knew her remark was unfair, but the suppressed laughter in his eyes and on his mouth at the sight of her was too much. ‘Couldn’t it have waited until the morning?’
A wind blew through the gaps in the hall windows. She shivered and he closed the door, imprisoning them both in the room. ‘I’m sorry to catch you in your nightie but don’t worry, you’re quite safe from me.’ He was having difficulty holding his amusement back and she felt affronted. Of course she was safe in this get up, safe from the most rampant man.
She stood taller, and said imperiously, ‘So, are you here to choose a book? Don’t you have enough at home?’
He smiled, glancing at the laden bookshelves, ‘Yes, I’d love to borrow some. I couldn’t resist looking through them when I was here doing the shoot, but no, that’s not why I’m here now. You may have heard when we were at the hospital, my mother has lost her watch. I did ask Clara if I could come in and see if I could find it as I pass Ravenscourt on my way back from a party. It was my father’s last present to her before he died. He struggled to the jewellers, in great pain, but determined not to let his illness stand in the way of what he wanted to do, and as you can imagine, it means a great deal to her.’
His eyes now gleamed with pain, mortifying her. Events had made her selfish; forget that other people had troubles too.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said gruffly, looking round the room as if she could see it. ‘Have you any idea where it could be?’
‘Not really, she could have dropped it anywhere. She came in here to keep warm during the shoot so it could have slipped down the side of one of the chairs.’ He went to the nearest chair, which was beside her, and slipped his hand down the soft velvet to the darkness under the seat. Her body stirred, embarrassing her further, and, with as much grace as she muster, she turned back to study the books on the shelf. But she could hardly focus on the titles, she’d just take one and go; scurry upstairs away from his ridicule.
She pulled out one with a green trim, labelling it as a detective novel. Clutching it to her, she made for the door, but Nathan had straightened up and moved closer to the book shelves. She would have to touch him to pass him.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said firmly, taking a step towards him.
‘You’ve chosen a murder mystery. Won’t it keep you awake? Especially in this old house, seeped in history and secrets.’ He shivered theatrically. ‘Great place to hold those murder weekends I’ve read of, don’t you think?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t. I don’t feel bad vibes here.’
‘Nor do I,’ he said smiling, ‘I was just teasing you.’ He studied the bookcase. ‘I like the way the book covers used to be plain. Some covers today are so lurid it puts you off. I especially dislike the ones with a large picture of the so-called heroine; much rather make my own pictures from the writer’s description.’
‘Do you read a lot of those kind of books?’ she asked, having not imagined they would appeal to him.
‘No… but my ex-wife used to, she littered the house with them.’ His face went tight and then, as if shaking off sad memories, he laughed and said, ‘What a nightdress! Do you really go to bed like that? It’s the sort of thing a nun would wear in case she met a rapist in the night… and boots too. Very sexy.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s Clara’s,’ she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I didn’t know I was going to stay here, I was too tired to drive back to London.’
‘I’ve only just heard from Clara that you left your husbands alone here for Christmas and you drove Gloria down when Adrian had his accident. She told me when I rang to ask if I could come in on my way home. I’m so glad you didn’t go back to London, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.’
His laugh was gentle but she couldn’t bear it, especially as she knew she looked a fright. No doubt Beth looked wonderful in bed – if he shared one with her. But perhaps it was better that she did look like an old frump, it kept her from making a fool of herself. Someone who might reach out and touch him as she passed or worse still, kiss him goodnight. She pushed forward resolutely, intent of going upstairs with as much grace as possible. If this chair wasn’t in the way there would be no need to pass so close to him, but it was too cumbersome to move.
He bent down and picked up the eiderdown and handed it to her. ‘You’ve left behind another piece of your armour.’
She took it from him without a word and not looking at him side-stepped past Nathan to get by and escape upstairs. He moved the same way, and they clashed. ‘Sorry,’ they both muttered, moving the same way again, their faces somehow closer, drawn together and then he was kissing her; his mouth on hers, his hands on her shoulders holding her close and she was kissing him back. Abruptly he released her, and moved away.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, though he didn’t look the slightest bit contrite.
‘Of course,’ she s
aid, fighting to curb her raging emotions. She told herself his kiss was nothing, people kissed each other – and more – all the time today, it meant no more than a workout at the gym. Now she was single again she must play the game the way it was.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, ‘I hope you find the watch.’
He covered her with the eiderdown, pulling it tightly round her, concentrating on the task and not looking at her ‘God, it’s cold. You’d better get back to bed or you’ll catch your death. And I must get home, it’s been a long day.’ He said as if they had not shared a passionate kiss a moment before.
* * *
‘It has been, one way and another, one of the most eventful Christmases I’ve ever had,’ she said hoping she sounded as causal as he did. She must not let her imagination blow the kiss up into the start of a romance.
‘Me too.’ His voice was soft now creeping into her exciting her senses. Seeing her shiver, he pulled the eiderdown more closely round her, his hands lingering a moment near her face, then as if he was pulling himself back to reality he said, his voice firm, ‘This house is seriously cold. That’s the first thing that’s needed, to dry it out properly and then you can see how bad the condition really is.’ He turned away from her towards the door.
‘Goodnight.’ She turned back to the bookcase, hit with the memory of Gloria’s statement that Ravenscourt could be the perfect house for Nathan and his expanding business. Gloria was quite capable, in her ‘Lady Bountiful’ mood, to suggest something mad like she sell it to him in instalments or pay half its value now and the rest when his business took of, as she was convinced it would. What if she suddenly appeared and found him here, and suggested it?
Difficult Husbands Page 20
