by Anne Mather
By the time Daisy came along the passage however, Rachel had regained sufficient control over her emotions to be able to face her daughter without betraying her feelings. What had happened—what might be going to happen in the future—was not something she was prepared to deal with at this moment. She was going to get a divorce. Of that she had no doubt. And retain custody of Daisy, she asserted silently, whatever threats Ben might throw her way.
All the same, the tension in the room was palpable, and Daisy, for all her youth, was not indifferent to the atmosphere between her parents. ‘Is something wrong?’ she demanded, coming into the room wearing an expression that mingled impatience and anxiety in equal measures. ‘I couldn’t hear you talking. I was afraid you’d sent Daddy away.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t do that,’ responded Ben drily, raking back his hair with a careless hand. His eyes flickered in Rachel’s direction, and his lips twitched ever so slightly. ‘Your mother was just reminding me of—old times.’
‘Bastard!’
Behind the little girl’s back, Rachel mouthed the word at him, but she wasn’t even sure he saw her. Of course, if he had, he was unlikely to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Propped on the edge of the table, he was totally in control.
‘Well, can we go now?’ exclaimed Daisy, somewhat fretfully, not really interested in what they had been doing so long as it didn’t interfere with her outing. ‘I’ve been waiting ages! Can’t you talk to Mummy later?’
Like father, like daughter, thought Rachel peevishly, not at all surprised when Ben pushed himself away from the table and held out his hand to the little girl. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, with a mocking smile, and Rachel knew he was daring her to make an issue of it, ‘Mummy and I will have lots to talk about later. I’d better book my room at the Old Swan for a few days. We wouldn’t want her to be disappointed.’
‘Why can’t you stay here?’ protested Daisy at once, but evidently Ben had decided he had gone far enough for today.
‘Come on, small fry,’ he said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Our ham and eggs are waiting. And your mother’s got to get ready for work. She doesn’t want to be late, does she?’
Rachel managed to control herself until she heard the car pull away, but then she indulged herself in a veritable orgy of rude expletives. The pig, she thought, stamping up the stairs to her bedroom. How dared he imply she had any desire to see him or talk to him again? As far as he was concerned, it would have been infinitely wiser to leave all the negotiations to her solicitor. She should have known better than to try and reason with a conceited bastard like him.
Half an hour later, with the effects of a hot shower having pummelled most of her resentment out of her, Rachel stood before the mirror in her bedroom and tried to rationalise why she had been so furious in the first place. Ben had kissed her. He had held her and kissed her, and let her feel how easily he became aroused—but so what? It wasn’t as if it had never happened before. They had been man and wife, for God’s sake! Were still man and wife, in name at least. So why was she acting like an outraged virgin, just because Ben had behaved with a characteristic lack of principle?
Because she’d let him get away with it, a small voice jeered mockingly. She’d let him think, albeit inaccurately, that he could still get to her that way, and it infuriated her. She should have been on her guard. She should have known that his coming down here had not been to wish her well. He wanted her to question what she was doing. He wanted her off balance—and he had almost succeeded.
Which was why she felt so frustrated now, she thought, as she pulled off the towel she had wrapped around her hair when she came out of the shower. The silky mass tumbled in damp strands to her shoulders, but she barely noticed. All she knew, as she bent to plug in the drier, was that it got in the way. And she had no intention of getting it cut, after what Ben had said, she acknowledged irritably. Nothing he said or did was going to affect her in the slightest.
All the same, she found herself hesitating over which outfit she should wear for work. Her normal attire of a well-cut blouse and skirt—sometimes accompanied by a waistcoat or a sweater on colder days—suddenly seemed very formal, and it was only when she realised exactly why she was questioning her appearance that she hastily dressed in her usual clothes. She had no intention of trying to compete with the women Ben associated with in London. She was not svelte and she was not beautiful, and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise.
The phone rang as she was leaving the house, and although she was tempted to ignore it, the chance that it might be Mr Caldwell, ringing to ask her to collect some object before coming in to the shop, had her reaching reluctantly for the receiver.
‘Yes?’ she said, aware that her tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but not altogether convinced that it mightn’t be Ben, ringing to provoke her once again. However, the light, but rueful, voice that answered her was unmistakably feminine, and she found herself blinking in surprise.
‘Mmm, you sound gloomy, darling,’ the caller exclaimed mischievously. ‘Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, or has that granddaughter of mine been doing something dreadful?’
‘Mum!’
Rachel’s astonishment was not feigned. It was three months since she had last spoken to her mother, just before she left for a prolonged visit with Rachel’s brother in New Zealand. Rachel hadn’t expected her back for another month, at least, and although it was good to hear from her, the timing wasn’t exactly propitious.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Mrs Collins responded now, enjoying her daughter’s consternation. ‘The flight landed early, so I’m phoning you from the airport.’
‘I see.’ Rachel struggled to inject a note of enthusiasm into her voice. But it wasn’t easy, with the problem of how to deal with Ben foremost in her mind, and she knew exactly what her mother would say when she told her what was going on.
‘You don’t sound exactly thrilled to hear from me,’ Mrs Collins remarked now, her tone a little less lively than before, and Rachel hurried to reassure her.
‘It’s not that,’ she said lamely, ‘I mean, of course I’m pleased to hear from you, and I’m glad you’re home safely. You should have let us know you were coming. I—might have been able to meet you at the airport.’
‘Yes—well, it all happened rather suddenly,’ replied her mother evasively. ‘And it really doesn’t matter now I’m here. And just in case you’re interested, it was a very pleasant flight back. I slept for most of the latter half of the journey. I expect the jet-lag will hit me eventually, but right now, I feel wonderful.’
‘That’s good.’ Rachel licked her lips. ‘Well—I’m afraid you’ve caught me in a bit of a rush, that’s all. I—I was late already, and now——’ ‘Now I’m holding you up. I know.’ Her mother sounded understanding, and Rachel was relieved. ‘But I did have a reason for calling. I thought I might come and spend a few days with you and Daisy before going back to my flat. What do you think about that?’
‘Here?’ Rachel knew she sounded dismayed, but she couldn’t help it. That was all she needed right now: for her mother to arrive and find out what was going on. Mrs Collins didn’t even know she and Simon were engaged, for heaven’s sake. And, for all his faults, she had always had a soft spot for Ben.
‘Where else?’ her mother declared impatiently now. ‘Rachel, is something wrong? Has that pig-farmer moved in with you or something, because if he has I should tell you, I don’t think Daisy should——’
‘No!’ Rachel was indignant, and not giving her mother the chance to finish whatever piece of advice she had been about to offer, she went on grimly, ‘And Simon is not a pig-farmer, as you very well know. He owns a very old and very beautiful dairy farm in the heart of the Gloucestershire countryside. And—and I’m proud to say he’s asked me to marry him, as soon as Ben and I can get a divorce!’
She hadn’t intended to blurt it out like that, and as soon as she had, she wished she hadn’t. But her mother’s sarcasm, c
oming on top of Ben’s, had been just too much for her, and she waited with some apprehension for her mother’s shocked reaction.
It wasn’t long in coming. ‘And does Ben know about this?’
Typically, Mrs Collins had leapt straight to the heart of the matter, and for a moment Rachel wondered if Ben hadn’t been the reason her mother had cut short her holiday. But no. As far as she knew, he hadn’t even known her mother was out of the country, and surely he wouldn’t appeal to her own mother to intercede on his behalf.
Now, Rachel wished she had succumbed to the temptation not to answer the phone in the first place. This conversation wasn’t getting any easier, and Cyril really didn’t like his staff to be late.
‘I’ve told him,’ she offered now, wondering if there was any way she could avoid mentioning the fact that he was presently staying in the village. ‘Look, Mum, I really must get going. You know what Mr Caldwell’s like.’
‘So, I’m not welcome at Wychwood at the moment?’
Mrs Collins sniffed, and Rachel realised there was no way she was going to get out of this. ‘Of course you’re welcome here,’ she exclaimed, remembering how comparatively uncomplicated her life had seemed just a couple of days ago. ‘But—well, I might as well tell you, Ben’s here, too. He’s come down to——’ she crossed her fingers ‘—to discuss the arrangements for the divorce.’
‘Ben’s staying with you?’ Her mother sounded positively delighted now, and Rachel wondered if she would have been so forgiving if he had been unfaithful to her. ‘Oh, it’ll be lovely to see him again.’
‘He’s staying at the Old Swan,’ retorted Rachel dourly, in no mood to sing Ben’s praises. ‘I certainly didn’t invite him here, but——’ She broke off, realising she was in danger of revealing too much, and then continued curtly, ‘He’s come to see Daisy. I’ve—let her take a day off school. He’s taken her for breakfast at the hotel.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Collins sounded as if she wasn’t entirely convinced by her daughter’s explanation, but the sound of the airport information system in the background had her hurrying to terminate the call. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘My luggage is coming through now, and I don’t want to be last in line at Customs. I’ve checked with British Rail, and there’s a train from Paddington at half-past ten. With a bit of luck, I should be in time to catch it. So, I’ll see you at lunchtime probably. If not, I’ll come to the shop and find you, hmm?’
‘All right.’
Rachel’s agreement was less than eager, but the prospect of another shortening of the odds against her was not something she could feel enthusiastic about. Ben had always been the blue-eyed boy—metaphorically speaking, of course, she amended, ignoring the shiver that feathered down her spine when she thought of his dark, disturbing gaze—so far as Mrs Collins was concerned. Even when Rachel had fled to London, after finding Elena and her husband together, her mother had warned her against jumping to the wrong conclusions. Even then, she had been trying to find excuses for him, and it was only when Rachel returned home and found Ben had already departed that Mrs Collins had had to accept that perhaps her daughter had been right.
Rachel put down the phone now, and stood staring at it for a moment. Dear God, what had she let herself in for now? With her mother here, it was going to be virtually impossible to have a serious conversation with her husband. And why, after spending so long abroad, was her mother so eager to come and stay with her daughter? Unless she’d had had some inkling of the situation, wouldn’t she normally have wanted to go home?
CHAPTER SIX
RACHEL was in the stock-room when Cyril Caldwell came to find her. They had received a delivery of Danish porcelain that morning, and it was Rachel’s job to unpack it, and categorise it for display. In consequence, her hands were dusty, and the news that she had a visitor caused another wave of harassment.
The conviction that it must be Ben brought two splashes of hot colour to her cheeks, and she wasn’t amused when Mr Caldwell suggested she should look in a mirror before meeting her admirer.
‘He’s not my admirer,’ retorted Rachel crossly, getting to her feet and smearing her dusty palms over her skirt. ‘You know very well that he’s my husband. And if you think that——’
‘You and Barrass are married!’
Mr Caldwell looked staggered now, and Rachel stared at him blankly for a moment, before taking a hurried look through the curtain, that divided the two departments of the shop. Sure enough, Simon was standing stiffly beside the French escritoire Cyril had on display, and judging by his face he’d heard everything she’d said.
‘Oh, sh-oot,’ she muttered, barely audibly, before giving her boss a frustrated glance. Then, without giving a thought to her appearance, she swept purposefully through the curtain, ignoring Simon’s scowling expression, as she pressed her lips to his cheek. ‘What a lovely surprise!’
‘Is it?’
Simon looked decidedly unconvinced, and she wondered with a pang what particular God she had offended to deserve this. ‘Of course it is,’ she exclaimed, allowing her hand to trail appealingly over his sleeve. ‘I’m always pleased to see you, Simon. I just didn’t expect to see you this morning, that’s all.’
‘Why?’ Simon wasn’t in the mood to let her off the hook quite yet. ‘Because you’d arranged to see your—husband?’ The pause before the word, and the pointed way he said it, warned her he wasn’t just angry because of what he had overheard. ‘I understand Leeming spent last night in the village. Is it a coincidence that his car was parked outside your house all night?’
Rachel’s hand fell to her side. So far this morning she had had to contend with a provocative soon-to-be-ex husband, a peevish mother, and a teasing employer. Dealing with Simon’s unwarranted suspicions as well was not something she was prepared to tolerate, and although his feelings might be justified, surely she was owed some measure of trust? She refused to consider that her own behaviour had been less than responsible. What had happened between her and Ben had been at his initiation, not hers.
Now, she took a deep breath. ‘Is that all you came for?’ she asked, and she could tell by his sudden uncertainty that it was not the answer he had expected.
‘Well, I——’
‘Because if it is, I suggest it can wait until some other time.’ Rachel’s expression was as cold as his now. ‘I have work to do, Simon. Mr Caldwell doesn’t pay me to indulge in petty discussions about my private life!’
Simon was taken aback. ‘I—don’t consider this is a petty discussion, Rachel. It’s obvious you were expecting him to come and see you here today. I understood—that is, you told me you were going to ring him, not invite him to visit you. How do you think I felt, when one of your neighbours informed me that his Mercedes was standing on your drive all night?’
Rachel expelled her breath. ‘Mrs Reynolds.’ The elderly woman who lived in the house opposite had nothing else to do all day but spy on the other occupants of the road.
‘It doesn’t matter who it was.’ Simon was regaining his confidence. ‘How would you feel if I’d invited my ex-wife to spend the night at Kingsmead?’
Rachel felt herself relaxing. ‘You don’t have an ex-wife, do you?’ she asked, rather whimsically, as the humour of the situation overcame her indignation. But Simon didn’t respond in kind.
‘You know what I mean,’ he declared testily, ‘My mother was—I was—mortified.’
‘Ah.’ Rachel was beginning to understand. ‘It was your mother who told you.’ It didn’t surprise her. Mrs Barrass had been the only woman in her son’s life for far too long to surrender that role totally gracefully.
‘It doesn’t matter who told me,’ Simon said again. ‘The fact remains, it’s true. Leeming is here, in Upper Morton, isn’t he? But why is he here? What does he want? Didn’t you tell him you wanted a divorce?’
‘Of course I told him,’ exclaimed Rachel shortly, casting a meaningful glance over her shoulder. She had no doubt that Cyril was listening to th
eir exchange, and she had no wish for her affairs to be the source of any more gossip in the village.
It had been bad enough when Ben had left her, and she had been eternally grateful that Daisy’s school was far enough away from Upper Morton for there to be no backlash there. But Daisy was older now. She couldn’t be put off with prevarications any longer. And the last thing Rachel wanted was for her daughter to hear the story of their separation from anyone else but her.
‘Look,’ she said, when he still showed no inclination of taking the hint, ‘I suggest we talk about this tonight. Pick me up about half-past seven. We can go and have a drink.’
Simon stiffened. ‘Why can’t I come to the house?’ His lips curled. ‘Or is your husband planning on staying indefinitely?’
‘No.’ Rachel silently seethed. ‘Ben is not staying—well, not with me, anyway,’ she amended. ‘He’s got a room at the Old Swan. Check on it, if you don’t believe me. I’m sure Charlie Braddock will be glad to hear you’re interested.’
Simon flushed. ‘Then how can you leave Daisy?’ he demanded. ‘I thought Sandra was on holiday with her parents.’
‘She is.’ Sandra was Rachel’s regular babysitter; a sixteen-year-old who lived in the village, she was always glad to earn some extra pocket money. ‘As a matter of fact, my mother is coming to stay for a few days. She should be here by lunchtime. I’m sure she won’t object if I pop out for a couple of hours. And I assumed you’d rather we didn’t have an audience.’
Simon rubbed his jaw. ‘You never told me your mother was coming.’
