by Anne Mather
‘Last night——’
‘Oh, for the Lord’s sake!’ He gazed at her with impatient eyes. ‘How many more times? Last night I wanted you. There you are, I admit it. But fortunately it didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Put it down to experience. For a girl of your age and background, you could certainly use it.’
Joanna was pale now. ‘What do you mean?’
His mouth curled. ‘You know! You were shaking like a leaf when I carried you upstairs. You’re just a baby, Miss Seton. Stick to boys of your own age. You’re not ready for the senior league.’
Her fingers stung across his cheek with more force than she had known herself capable. They tingled as she withdrew them, her eyes wide and anxious, waiting for his retaliation, but it didn’t come. Not physically, that was.
‘Collect your belongings, Miss Seton. I’ll drive you to Penrith. And please,’ he put his hand to his scarred cheek, ‘don’t do that again. It hurts like the very devil!’
It was these words that hounded her all the way back to London. She had not thought about his face when she delivered the blow. She had forgotten the vulnerability of grafted skin and bone, and she reviled herself utterly for striking him so forcefully.
And with these thoughts had come others, less obvious, but equally convincing. Had she possibly hurt him in other ways? Had her immature attempts at seduction touched inner wounds, that his pride and arrogance were trying hard to conceal? The isolation of the man tore at her heart, and his complexity left her totally confused.
Leaving had been like tearing herself in half. Both Matt and Mrs Parrish had expressed genuine sorrow at her departure, but Anya, predictably, had not said goodbye. At the last moment, Joanna had considered appealing to him on the child’s behalf, but one look at Jake’s harsh features had deterred any such plea. He was right; she had brought this on herself. She had begun to consider her position inviolable, without realising that Jake was not like other men. Because of the difficulties with Anya, she had imagined he would not dismiss her. But he had.
Yet, even now, she couldn’t entirely believe it had happened. It hardly seemed possible that less than twenty-four hours ago he had been holding her in his arms, making mad passionate love to her. But here she was, aboard the Euston express, without any realisable chance of ever seeing him again. It was impossible, it was incredible, it was soul-destroying.
The flat Aunt Lydia had found for her mother was in a tower block near Regent’s Park. The rent was exorbitant, but Aunt Lydia had made herself responsible for that, and Mrs Seton had accepted the situation without question. Since her husband’s death she tended to lean on anyone who offered a shoulder, and Lady Sutton was more capable than most of supporting her. They had been friends since girlhood, and as Lord Sutton’s death had left his widow very well provided for, she saw nothing out of the ordinary in aiding a friend in need.
A taxi dropped Joanna at the block of flats soon after seven o’clock that evening, and after exchanging a good evening with the doorman, she entered the lift and pressed the button for the eighth floor. She hoped her mother was at home. She didn’t have a key, and the idea of having to get the caretaker to open up the flat for her was not appealing in her fragile state of mind. Gradually, as the day had worn on, and the distance between her and Ravengarth had increased, the full enormity of her position had struck her a numbing blow, and she dreaded the next few days and their inevitable aftermath.
The corridors leading to the flats were utilitarian, but the flats themselves were well lit and comfortable. Her mother’s flat had two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a living room, a dining room and a kitchen, and an attractive entrance hallway, split into lower and upper levels.
Joanna rang the bell and waited impatiently, her case digging painfully into her fingers. She was irresistibly reminded of her arrival at Ravengarth, and her feelings then, but she refused to indulge herself in sentiment, and determinedly rang the bell again.
There was no one at home, that much became obvious after the fourth ring, and she sighed in frustration. She would have to go downstairs again and get the caretaker to open up, and her spirits sagged as she struggled back to the lifts.
A quarter of an hour later she closed the door behind the caretaker with a sigh of relief and dropped her case in the hall. Then, pushing open the door of the living room, she switched on the lights. The room was warm, indicating that its occupant had not been long away, and Joanna walked to the long windows and looked out on the lighted panorama of the city below her. The luxuriousness of her surroundings after the austerity she had been used to meant nothing to her, and she had to force herself to leave the window and her aching thoughts for the quiet elegance of her bedroom.
She was relaxing in a hot bath when the telephone rang, and at first she was tempted just to let it ring. But her conscience—and the fleeting anticipation that it might conceivably be Jake—brought her out of the water, and wrapping a towel about her, she lifted the receiver beside her bed.
‘Yes.’
There was silence for a moment, and then a cultivated, very English voice said: ‘Joanna? Joanna, is that you?’
Joanna sighed. ‘Yes, Aunt Lydia, it’s me. Did you want Mummy?’
‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ agreed Lady Sutton dryly, ‘but at this moment I’m more interested to hear why you’re there.’
Joanna caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I’m back,’ she said, rather unnecessarily. ‘I’ve—er—left Ravengarth.’
Her godmother made a sound of impatience. ‘Don’t be obtuse, Joanna. You know what I mean. Why have you left Ravengarth? I understood from your mother that you and the child were proceeding quite successfully.’
Joanna hesitated. ‘Situations change,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘And Mummy’s out. Would you know where she might be?’
Lady Sutton was silent for a few moments, then she said firmly: ‘I think you’d better come and have dinner with me, Joanna. We can’t talk on the telephone, and I should be glad of your company.’
Joanna closed her eyes in dismay. ‘Oh, really, Aunt Lydia, I——’
‘Don’t refuse, Joanna. As a matter of fact, I was going to write to you. About your mother.’
‘Mummy?’ Joanna’s eyes opened wide now. ‘Why? What is it? Is something wrong? She’s not ill, is she?’
‘No more than usual,’ replied her godmother dryly. ‘Well, will you come? Don’t bother to dress. We’ll be quite informal.’
A slight bubble of hysteria surged inside Joanna. ‘I think I’d better, Aunt Lydia,’ she said, glancing down at her towel-clad figure. ‘Dress, I mean. I’ll be with you in—in an hour.’
‘Make it half,’ suggested Lady Sutton smoothly, and rang off before Joanna could protest.
She wore a woollen trouser suit, and put her sheepskin jacket over the top. With her hair loose and only the minimum amount of make-up she thought she looked absurdly young, and then decided that in the circumstances it was hardly likely to matter. What a nuisance, though, that Aunt Lydia should ring this evening. The last thing she needed was her godmother’s eyes probing the inner corners of her mind. Somehow she would have to think of a reasonable excuse for her departure from Ravengarth, and hope that Jake would not tell his sister the real reason he had dismissed her. She doubted he would, in the circumstances, but Marcia Hunter and Lady Sutton were good friends, and she guessed there would be some speculation whatever happened.
Lady Sutton’s town house was in a small square near Lancaster Gate, and Joanna walked the short distance from Cavendish Court. It was a fine but chilly evening, and she missed the Mini she had had, when her father was alive, to run around in. Still, the exercise would be a good preparation, she reflected wearily, anticipating the boring round of employment agencies she would have to make in the morning. Unlike her mother, she would not live on Lady Sutton’s charity, and the sooner she got a job the less time she would have for the depression that was steadily eating into her.
&nb
sp; Megan Duffield let her in, and smiled sympathetically as she took her coat. Megan was Lady Sutton’s maid-cum-companion, and on the butler’s night off, she was also the person who answered the door. A middle-aged lady of doubtful years, she had lost her fiancé in the war, and since then she had lived with the Suttons in various capacities.
‘Lady Lydia is in the drawing room, Joanna,’ she said, the Welsh accent she had brought from Aberystwyth still as sharp as ever, and Joanna thanked her as she crossed the hall to the familiar room. Ever since she could remember, she had been at home at Windsor Square, and she opened the drawing room door with a confidence that belied the staggering burden of her spirits.
She was arrested in the doorway by the realisation that Aunt Lydia was not alone. Another woman, a younger woman, was seated in an armchair at the opposite side of the hearth to her godmother, and both women turned interested eyes in her direction as she stepped rather awkwardly into the room.
The awkwardness was not allowed to last long. With an exclamation of pleasure Lady Sutton rose and came to greet her, and the younger woman’s face creased into a polite, anticipatory smile.
‘My dear, you look frozen!’ Aunt Lydia exclaimed, her perfumed cheek brushing Joanna’s. ‘Come and sit down, and I’ll get you a brandy. You look as though you could do with it.’
Joanna forced a smile in return, and allowed herself to be drawn towards the fireplace, where an artificial log fire was burning convincingly. The younger woman who had been sitting opposite her godmother uncrossed her legs to make way for their approach, and Lady Sutton performed the introductions.
‘You’ve never met Marcia, have you, Joanna?’ her godmother asked, as Joanna’s nerve endings quivered with shock and disbelief. ‘This is my goddaughter, Marcia—Joanna Seton. Joanna, allow me to introduce Mr Sheldon’s sister, Mrs Hunter.’
It was obvious that Marcia Hunter had been prepared, but Joanna had not, and her greeting was less than enthusiastic. The last person she had expected—or wanted—to meet here this evening was Jake’s sister, but somehow she had to conceal it.
Marcia Hunter was younger than her brother, but only by a year or so, Joanna estimated, with dark good looks, and a slim, if slightly angular, figure. Relaxed, as now, it was impossible to tell exactly how tall she might be, but again Joanna guessed she was probably more than her own height of five feet six. She was elegant, too, her simple but expensive suit had a definite Paris label, and her short straight hair was expertly shaped to her head.
‘So you’re Joanna,’ she said, holding out her hand with a friendly smile. ‘I’m delighted to meet you at last. I’ve heard—such a lot about you.’
‘Have you?’ Joanna found her voice was slightly husky, but although her godmother gave her a curious look, Marcia seemed to notice nothing amiss, and she hastily subsided into the chair Aunt Lydia had vacated while that lady went to pour her drink.
‘Lydia tells me you’ve left Ravengarth,’ Marcia continued, with a little of her brother’s candour. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I understood Antonia was responding to you.’
‘Oh?’ Joanna wished she had more time to assimilate the situation. ‘I—where did you hear that?’
‘Why, from Jake, of course,’ Marcia replied easily. ‘We do correspond, you know, if only infrequently. I’m afraid he and I see things differently on the whole, but in this instance we seemed to be in agreement. I hoped you’d made a friend of Antonia. She’s a funny little thing, but she is my niece, and I worry about her.’
Joanna bent her head, smoothing her palms over the arms of the chair. So Jake had written to his sister and approved her methods. What of it? It wasn’t her methods with Anya of which he disapproved.
‘I rang Marcia as soon as I’d spoken to you, Joanna,’ her godmother said now, returning with a goblet containing amber liquid, that reminded her irresistibly of Jake’s eyes. ‘Naturally, we were both disappointed that you felt unable to continue with the position. Mr Sheldon must be at his wits’ end with that child.’
Joanna took the glass her godmother offered, and allowed a little of the raw spirit to pass her lips. It burned her throat, but it was warming, and she felt it radiating along her veins like molten fire. It gave her the courage to continue with this conversation, and taking a deep breath she said:
‘I doubt if—if Mr Sheldon would see it in that light, Aunt Lydia. As a matter of fact, he asked me to leave. Now, what did you have to tell me about Mummy——’
Lady Sutton spluttered. ‘He asked you to leave!’ she echoed, disbelievingly, and when Joanna nodded, taking another sip of the brandy, she went on: ‘But that’s ridiculous! Who else does he propose to employ? I understood the position was hopeless!’
Marcia intervened before Joanna could say anything. ‘Why did he ask you to leave, Joanna?’ she asked with more astuteness. ‘Did something happen? Did you quarrel? Or did you ask him about the accident? I should have warned you, we don’t mention it in company.’
Lady Sutton was looking most disturbed, her almost white knot of hair quivering with indignation. ‘I’m sure Joanna has more sense than to ask impertinent questions of her employer, Marcia. Besides, I doubt they had much to do with one another outside the schoolroom. A man of your brother’s age and a slip of a girl! Hardly a likely combination.’
Joanna could feel the warm colour stealing up her cheeks and hoped her godmother would put it down to the brandy. However, to her relief, Marcia chose to speak again before she could turn to her goddaughter.
‘I doubt my brother would allow Joanna a free hand, whatever the circumstances,’ she remarked dryly, surprising Joanna by her perception. ‘He can be stubborn at times, and he’s not too old to notice that your goddaughter is an extremely attractive girl.’
Joanna’s flush deepened at this, but fortunately Aunt Lydia was more intent on what Marcia was saying. ‘Exactly how old is he, then?’ she demanded, holding up her head rather stiffly, only to gasp in astonishment when Marcia told her.
‘Thirty-nine!’ she exclaimed appalled. ‘But you said—Marcia, he has a grown-up son!’
‘Stepson,’ Marcia corrected her gently. ‘I’m sorry, Lydia, but you haven’t been listening to me.’
Lady Sutton found a chair and sat down rather suddenly. ‘But thirty-nine, Marcia! Thirty-nine! I imagined he was almost fifty!’
Marcia exchanged a faint smile with Joanna. ‘There is a housekeeper,’ she said reassuringly. ‘A—Mrs Harris, I believe. She was there when Jake bought the house. All very proper, as I told you.’
Joanna licked her lips. ‘She—she left, too,’ she put in, rather quickly. ‘Mrs Harris, that is. There’s a new housekeeper now, Mrs Parrish. Aunt Lydia, what do you have to tell me about Mummy?’
‘Oh, your mother!’ Lady Sutton expelled a heavy sigh, as if what she had to say was of minor importance compared to the news she had just received. ‘Joanna, I just wanted to warn you that your mother has found an admirer, and—that, if all goes well, she may be remarrying soon.’
It was a bombshell, and totally unexpected. If Joanna had anticipated anything at all, it was a worrying anxiety that her mother’s headaches and vague aches and pains had developed into something more serious, and now, to hear that she was actually entertaining a suitor should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. It seemed to underline the uncertainty of her own existence, and she had to fight the feelings of self-pity that threatened to swamp her.
A tap at the door gave them all respite, and at Megan’s request Lady Sutton gathered herself sufficiently to attend to some problem in the kitchen. Dinner would be served in fifteen minutes, she averred, as she followed the maid from the room, and Joanna wondered how she would fare, feeling as sick as she did at present. Food was the last thing she needed, and she realised all she really wanted to do was weep. Weep for Anya, weep for Jake—and weep for herself.
With the departure of her godmother she was alone with Jake’s sister, however, and more immediate matters presented themselves. Marcia H
unter was not her godmother, and she was watching Joanna with a faintly speculative stare.
‘Can you tell me why you really left?’ she asked suddenly, surprising Joanna yet again. ‘I hoped—well, that you might be good for Jake, but it seems that once again he’s defeated me.’
Joanna’s eyes darted towards her, and then away again. ‘Be good for your brother?’ she repeated doubtfully. ‘I don’t think I understand.’
Marcia sighed, and got to her feet, pacing a trifle restlessly across the floor. ‘When Lydia—when your godmother told me about you, I was convinced you were exactly what Antonia needed, what my brother needed. Someone young and vital. Someone who wouldn’t be deterred by his arrogance. Oh, yes,’ this as Joanna felt bound to protest, ‘I know he’s arrogant. And cynical. But he’s also had the rawest deal of any man I know.’
‘Mrs Hunter, please——’
‘Oh, call me Marcia, Joanna. We don’t have to stand on ceremony here.’ She shook her head. ‘I only wish I could explain how bloody it’s been for him.’
Joanna sighed. ‘I think I know that, Mrs—Marcia.’
‘Do you? Do you?’ The woman looked down at her doubtfully. ‘I wonder. I wonder if any of us can appreciate what Jake sacrificed.’
Joanna lifted her head. ‘We—I—did speak of the accident to him. You were right about that.’
Marcia nodded. ‘A terrible affair. Thank God it was Elizabeth who was killed and not Jake. That would have been the final irony.’
Joanna hesitated. Then, unable to resist the question, she said: ‘Was—was Elizabeth driving at the time of the accident?’ She flushed. ‘I don’t mean to pry. It—it was just something Anya said.’
‘Anya? Oh, Antonia.’ Marcia nodded in understanding. ‘Yes. Yes, Elizabeth was driving. Recklessly, as it happens. Primarily because Jake wouldn’t provide the evidence so that she could divorce him.’
