by Penny Jordan
CHAPTER FOUR
‘I EXPECT YOU’LL WANT TO go down to the village and look at the cottage. I’ll run you down there if you like.’
All four of them were having breakfast in the grey and white kitchen, which now looked lamentably untidy.
Claire had barely slept at all last night and breakfast was the very last thing she had wanted, but nothing seemed to impair Lucy’s appetite, and she owed it to Jay to at least make some attempt to repay his hospitality. And anyway, it helped to keep busy.
‘There’s no need. I don’t mind walking.’
‘No, I’m sure you don’t,’ Jay’s voice was dry, ‘but you’re going to want to collect some clothes for yourself and Lucy, and you can hardly carry them back with you.’
She wanted to protest that there was no need for him to involve himself in her affairs in this way, but the words stuck in her throat. She still couldn’t totally comprehend what had happened. Last night in the bustle of making up beds for herself and Lucy, and getting both girls settled for the night, there hadn’t been time to dwell on what had happened. Later, alone in bed, in the austere off-white bedroom Jay had suggested she use, there had been too much time, too many worries crowding into her mind for her to be able to sort things out into any sort of order.
As she sipped her coffee she stared out of the kitchen window. The sky was a perfect pale blue, the sun palely gold; last night’s gale had died out and it was hard to look at the beautiful perfection of the crisp autumn day outside and remember what last night had been. Part of her stubbornly wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened at all.
‘Mummy, can we go and play outside?’
Nothing seemed to daunt Lucy. This morning her daughter was her normal cheerful self, but Lucy didn’t realise, as she did, exactly what effect that falling branch was likely to have on her life. Every time she thought about the future she could feel the panicky, helpless feeling swirl through her. She put down her coffee, knowing that her hand was trembling.
‘Yes, yes, but put your wellingtons on, and no going outside the garden.’
Her response was automatic, her eyes barely even focusing on the two small jean-clad figures as they opened the back door.
As soon as they had gone she stood up. The intimacy of the kitchen with only Jay and herself in it made her feel uncomfortable. ‘I …’
‘Sit down.’
His voice was harsh, and she obeyed it automatically, looking at him with shocked, bewildered eyes as he poured her a fresh cup of coffee and brought it over to her.
‘You’ve had a bad shock,’ he told her curtly, ‘and you’re feeling the effects of it. It happens to all of us at times.’
‘I’m all right.’ Her lips pressed tightly together, panic surging through her at the thought that he was aware of her weakness.
‘For God’s sake, what is it about you that won’t allow you to turn to anyone for help? Independence is fine, Claire, but there is such a thing as taking it to extremes, or is it just me? Is it the thought of me helping you that makes you react like this?’
‘I …’ Her throat seemed to have seized up. She swallowed and managed to say painfully, ‘I don’t like being beholden to anyone.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this! Beholden? It’s positively Biblical! I’m the one who’s beholden to you, Claire, not the other way round. When I brought you back here last night, I felt as thought I were dragging you here against your will; every time I come within arm’s length of you, you cringe away as though you think I’m about to commit rape!’
He stopped when he saw her face. Coming on top of everything else it was too much. She started to shake so violently that she spilled her coffee.
‘What is it? What did I say?’
Jay took the cup from her, careful not to get too close to her, but she was barely aware of him.
‘Claire, what is it? Surely you don’t think I’d hurt you in some way, do you?’
She shook her head.
‘Then what is it?’ He frowned. ‘Lucy’s father?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Is it your husband, did he …’
She felt the bubble of hysterical laughter well up inside her like a painful lump.
‘There was no husband … I was never married … Lucy … I was raped on my way home from school when I was eighteen. My parents had just died … I was still living in the house. I never saw his face; he came up behind me and knocked me out. When I came round I was in his car. I tried to stop him, but he …’ She shuddered tensely, trying to stop the memories coming back. ‘Afterwards he pushed me out of the car and drove off …’
‘Oh my God! The police?’
‘I never told them. I couldn’t tell anyone. Only the doctor when I realised I was pregnant …’
‘I would never have guessed. You love Lucy so much.’
‘I didn’t know if I would, not until she was born. But it wasn’t her fault.’
‘And that’s why you don’t want a husband, is it, Claire—because of what happened?’
‘I don’t like men coming anywhere near me. I don’t want any sort of intimate relationship with them. I can’t explain it, I.’ Claire shook her head, trying to dispel her disturbing memories.
‘You don’t need to,’ Jay told her curtly. ‘I’m not totally devoid of imagination.’
‘I don’t think I can bear it if I lose the cottage. Before we came here Lucy and I had a council flat …’ She shuddered again, suddenly feeling intensely cold. What on earth had prompted her to break down like that? She had never, ever confided to anyone other than her doctor the true circumstances surrounding Lucy’s conception. She had never wanted to tell anyone before. The events of that night were something she thought she had locked safely away.
It was the shock of what had happened to the cottage, of course; but that didn’t mitigate her sense of self-betrayal.
‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ she muttered, trying to stand up. ‘I …’
‘You hate revealing anything of yourself to others, don’t you, Claire? Well, I can sympathise with that.’ Jay stood up too, reaching out to steady her as she trembled. ‘It’s a fault I think I share, but I had hoped that you and I were becoming friends. Friends trust one another; I want you to feel that you can trust me. You think that what you’ve just told me makes you vulnerable to me,’ he added, watching the give-away expression on her face. ‘But I’ve been equally vulnerable to you—more so, possibly, and your strength and kindness when Heather was missing are something I will never forget, and never be able to repay,’ he added quietly. ‘Now go upstairs and get your coat, and then we’ll drive down to the village and see what the situation is with the cottage. Oh, and Claire,’ he added, as she headed for the door, ‘I want you to know that you and Lucy can stay here for just as long as it takes to get things sorted out, and before you say a word, it won’t be all one-sided. While you’re living here, I’m getting a housekeeper and a nanny for Heather all rolled into one.’
She couldn’t dispute the truth of what he said, but his other comment—that they could be friends, that they were equally vulnerable to one another—how true were they?
As she went upstairs she felt curiously empty, as though by telling him about Lucy she had somehow lost a part of herself. Why had she told him? To make him angry? To shock him? To gain his pity? She didn’t know the reason.
She wasn’t gone very long, and when she came back down she opened the kitchen door so quietly that it was several seconds before he realised she was back. He was standing in front of the window and she could see his expression quite clearly. There was a bleakness about his mouth that made something deep inside her ache, and then he saw her, and his expression changed, the bleakness hidden away.
‘Ready? Come on, then. We’ll collect the girls on our way.’
Not even the sparkling perfection of the blue and gold autumn day could alleviate the stunning shock of seeing the cottage by daylight.
Darkness had somehow softened the reality of the carn
age the falling branch had caused, but now, in the bright sunshine, nothing could disguise the huge hole in the roof, or the smaller one in the front wall. A pile of shattered roof slates lay in the front garden, the whir of saws as council workers busied themselves clearing as much of the mess as they could blurring into a dull, numbing sound as Claire stared helplessly at her home.
‘Wait here a moment.’ For once she didn’t move away as Jay touched her arm. ‘I’ll check to find out if it’s okay to go inside.’
It was too much of an effort to protest that he had no need to do these things for her—that she was perfectly capable of doing them herself. Instead she simply stood numbly where he had left her. Mrs Vickers came out of her house.
‘Thank goodness you weren’t here!’ The old lady shook her head. ‘My daughter came round last night after it happened. She wanted me to go home with her, but I wouldn’t. I’ve lived here all my life and I’m not moving out now,’
Jay came back. ‘It’s safe to go inside, just as long as we’re careful. I’ll come with you.’
Something strange had happened to Claire. She felt too numb to object to his assumption of control. Mrs Vickers offered to keep an eye on Lucy and Heather, and so, trying to conceal her inner trembling, Claire followed Jay into the house.
A film of dust covered everything, particles of it still swirling in the air, making her gasp for breath.
On the far side of the room was the small desk where she kept all her important papers. Her insurance policy was in it, and yet she found herself reluctant to move towards it.
‘You’ll need enough clothes to last you for quite some time. Pack as much as you can,’ Jay told her. ‘I’ll wait down here for you. Just give me a shout if you need help.’
Even in the midst of her shocked anguish Claire recognised his awareness of her need to be alone. She wanted to thank him, but somehow the words just wouldn’t come.
Her suitcases had once belonged to her parents. They were old and battered, and she filled them automatically, emptying drawers. Luckily most of Lucy’s clothes were stored in her own room.
Lucy’s room. Like a sleepwalker she dropped the pile of underwear she was putting in the case and walked slowly towards the other bedroom. The door was slightly open; she pushed it and walked in.
The two small beds were broken, crushed beneath the weight of the heavy branch. Dust and debris covered the once immaculate duvets that she had made with such love and care. Half a dozen or so slates had fallen through the roof and ceiling on to the beds.
She must have made a sound without being aware of it, because just as the full horror of what might have happened struck her and her body started to convulse in shocked waves of reaction Jay pushed open the bedroom door.
She had a fleeting glimpse of that same bleak expression on his face, intensified this time, and then she was in his arms, her face pressed against his shoulder.
‘Come on—it’s all right. They’re both safe, Claire. Nothing happened.’
She wasn’t aware of him as a man in those moments as she let her body absorb the strength of his; he was just someone who shared and understood her anguish.
‘But it could have done. I knew the roof needed attention. I … If something had happened, it would have been my fault!’
Hysteria built up inside her. She started to cry, hard, gulping sobs that tore painfully at her chest. She hadn’t cried for years, not since her parents died, but there had been no one to comfort her then, no Jay to hold her in his arms and tell her that everything was all right.
‘If you hadn’t been coming home this weekend! If …’
‘Stop it! I know what you’re going through. Do you think I didn’t go through hell myself when Heather went missing; do you think I didn’t hate and blame myself? Come on. Finish packing your things and then we’ll go.’
Suddenly she felt acutely self-conscious, and her body tensed within the protective circle of his arms. As though he sensed her feelings he released her immediately stepping back from her.
As he turned away he added casually, ‘If you know where your insurance policy is it might be a good idea to collect that as well. I could get my broker to have a look at it for you if you like. Sometimes they’re in a better position to bring pressure to bear than we mere individuals.’
He was being tactful, Claire knew, giving her time to recover herself. This emotional side of her nature was something she had held rigorously in check since the death of her parents, and the trauma of being raped and then discovering that she was pregnant had forced her to become even more self-sufficient. She and Jay shared that need to protect themselves from being hurt, she recognised as she finished her packing; in many ways they were alike, each sensing within the other a deep-rooted fear, hers of physical intimacy, his of emotional intimacy.
He was waiting for her when she went back downstairs. ‘Okay now?’
She nodded her head. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Fate seems to be smiling on the pair of us recently,’ she added wryly. ‘If you can call losing the roof over your head that.’
‘Well, they say good things go in threes.’
Claire grimaced. ‘I can hardly wait.’
An odd expression that she couldn’t define crossed his face. What was he thinking about? His ex-wife? What business of hers was it if he was?
‘SO YOU DON’T THINK the insurance company will pay up?’
They were sitting in Whitegates’ elegant, but to Claire’s eyes sterile, drawing-room. Lucy and Heather were upstairs in bed, and she and Jay had just gone over her insurance policy.
Her heart sank as he shook his head gravely. ‘I don’t think so, but of course, I’ll get my broker to check.’
Claire shivered, hugging her arms round her slim body. Without any money from the insurance company, how on earth was she going to pay for the damage to be put right?
‘Of course, you know that you and Lucy are welcome to stay here for just as long as is necessary.’
It was a kind offer, but she didn’t feel at all at home in this elegant, sophisticated house. She was terrified that Lucy might break something or leave muddy footprints on the off-white carpet. No wonder Heather was considerably less exuberant than her own daughter!
‘I have to go back to Dallas on Wednesday. I’ll give my broker a ring first thing Monday morning and see what he can sort out.’
Claire immediately felt guilty. ‘You’ve got enough problems of your own without taking on mine as well.’
‘It’s no problem … and I owe you a few favours.’
‘How long will you be away this time?’
‘Only a few days. I’m hoping to get a final signature on a very large contract.’
Claire knew now that Jay’s firm created reproduction Adam-style mouldings and Tudor-style panelled interiors, replicas in every detail of those made by master craftsmen in the past. There was a booming market for his products in America, especially in Texas, where they were enjoying a vogue, but the partner who had left the firm when he married Jay’s ex-wife had been the salesman of the team, and Claire knew that Jay was now looking for someone to take his place—preferably an American with an entrée into the sort of society where the company’s products found their best market.
‘Once that’s organised I can get down to doing some interviewing. I need an American based rep, then I can concentrate on the manufacturing side of the business over here.’
‘Have you thought of setting up a factory in the States?’
‘Yes, but it wouldn’t work as well. The fact that our products are British gives them an added cachet. We’re not just selling Adam-style décor, or Elizabethan libraries, we’re selling something our customers can boast about to their friends.’
It was pleasantly relaxing sitting here with him like this. Claire found him fascinating to listen to and was genuinely interested in the way he had built up his business, so that when he said casually, ‘Claire, I want to talk to you … about … about the man who raped you,’ sh
e was taken completely off guard.
‘No, don’t run away.’ His fingers curled round her wrist, holding her in her chair as she tried to stand up. ‘I’m not prying or asking out of any prurient curiosity. I just think it would help you to talk about it.’
‘Therapy, you mean? Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want to talk about it.’ She tried to pull away but did not succeed.
‘Have you ever tried?’
How could she? There had never been anyone to talk to about it. Her parents had been killed; her shock and horror after it had happened had been so great that she had simply gone home and shut herself in her bedroom for days, not eating, not sleeping, not doing anything. And then afterwards, when the reality of it had sunk into her, she had been too … Too what? Ashamed? Yes, there had been a sense of shame and of guilt, although why she had no idea. She had done nothing to encourage the man, nothing at all. He had physically abducted her, raped her and then thrown her out of his car like a used doll.
‘I haven’t pried into your private life, Jay, and I …’
‘I’m not prying. Before you were raped, had you had any sexual experience at all?’
Claire’s shudder gave her away, and this time when she stood up he stood too.
‘I don’t have to stay here and listen to this, Jay.’
‘No, you don’t, but one day you’re going to have a teenage daughter who’s going to want to talk to you about sex. How are you going to cope with that, Claire? Do you want her to inherit you inhibitions and fears?’
She swallowed hard. How on earth had he known how much that very dread haunted her: that she would infect Lucy with her own sickness?
‘What is it about what happened that you find hardest to come to terms with?’
‘My own guilt.’
The words were out before she could stop them, an expression of anguished despair flooding her eyes as she realised what she had said.
‘You don’t have anything to feel guilty about. You know that.’
Rationally perhaps she did, but emotionally …
‘And because of that sense of guilt you’ve refused to allow yourself to feel any emotion for any other man—is that it?’
