9,59 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Rosalind's husband forces her to move from Australia to England because of his job with a multi-national company. But he's called away to deal with a crisis in Singapore and she's left to settle into a new country on her own. One by one, her three grown-up children need help with major life problems and there's only her to help them, because as usual, Paul puts his job first. Then she finds out that her husband's been unfaithful for years, and it's the final blow to their marriage, especially as she's met another man she finds attractive and kind. Her confidence grows as she wins acclaim as an embroidery artist and then she comes into an inheritance. Will her loyalty keep her with her husband, as it has before, or will Paul get more than he'd bargained for with the new, independent Rosalind?
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 497
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Ähnliche
Change of Season
ANNA JACOBS
Contents
Chapter One
Louise stuck her head out of the kitchen door and yelled, ‘Mum! Dad’s on the phone from New York!’ then vanished again.
Rosalind Stevenson put down the trowel and walked slowly indoors, rubbing the worst of the dirt off her hands. ‘Hello? Paul?’
‘There you are at last! Hon, it’s good news. I’m coming home to Western Australia on Tuesday.’
As he rattled off the flight time, she scribbled it down automatically, then couldn’t help asking, ‘How long will you be staying this time, Paul?’ He’d been gone nearly six months, dealing with first one crisis then another in the big multinational company for which he worked. And he wasn’t the best of correspondents, sending occasional brief emails or making quick phone calls, which usually got interrupted.
He didn’t even notice the irony. ‘About two weeks. I’m not sure yet which day I fly back. I’ve got some exciting news and – oh, hell, there’s another call on the line. Look, I’ll see you on Tuesday. We’ll talk then.’
‘Paul, wait—’ She stood for ages with the receiver buzzing in her ear before she set it carefully down and went back to finish the weeding. The garden was as good a place as any to do some serious thinking.
Tuesday was three days away. She had until then to decide whether to leave her husband of twenty-four years or not. And she was no nearer to knowing what she wanted than she had been a month ago when she had finally admitted to herself that since Paul’s big promotion a couple of years ago, their marriage had been virtually non-existent.
The following Tuesday Rosalind stood in Perth Airport and watched Paul wheel his luggage through from customs. For a moment he seemed like a stranger, a tall, attractive man whose middle years sat lightly on him – hair still dark, lean cheeks, hazel eyes and neat nose.
Then he clipped her up in a big hug and as her body remembered how it felt to be loved by him, something inside her softened – just a little.
After kissing her, he held her at arm’s length to study her face. ‘You look good, hon. I like the jaw-length hair.’
Outside in the fresh air he stopped to stare round. ‘I always remember Western Australia like this, clear and sunny. I’ll be able to get a good tan before I go back.’
At home he looked round the house as if he’d never seen it before. ‘You’ve got excellent taste in furnishings. I really like the way you’ve done up the living room.’
She’d consulted him and sent him a photo, so knew he was sweetening her up. But for what?
She didn’t say anything, just smiled and went through into the kitchen to get them each a coffee. She heard him stroll round the rest of the ground floor.
‘I’m in here. I love these white leather sofas.’
She took the coffee in to him and sat down to pour. ‘You said you had some exciting news, Paul. What is it?’
She’d rather get the revelation over with. His ideas of good and hers didn’t always coincide. He’d been excited by his promotion to chairman’s international rover, troubleshooting for the company anywhere in the world where help was needed, but she’d known immediately what it would mean and had had difficulty hiding her dismay. She’d been right, too. Since then she’d seen less and less of him.
He sipped his coffee, looking at her over the rim of the mug. ‘Big changes in the offing, hon. Looks like we’ll be able to spend more time together.’
That surprised her. ‘You’re getting a posting to Australia again?’
‘Hell, no! I’ve moved to the international scene and that’s where I intend to stay.’
She watched him put the coffee mug down and study her. It was an effort to keep a calm expression on her face as she waited for the explanation, which she was already sure she wouldn’t like.
After a pause during which he sat chewing the corner of his lip, he came out with it. ‘I’m going to be based in England for the next six months instead of wandering the world troubleshooting for the chairman – and they’ve arranged for you to live over there with me.’ Then he went back to sipping his coffee, keeping a wary eye on her.
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Think before you speak, Rosalind, she reminded herself, a strategy she’d decided on yesterday. She’d always refused to move around with him and a good thing too, or their children would have had no stability in their lives or education.
Until he joined the giant multinational, Marrill Marr, ten years ago, none of Paul’s jobs had lasted more than a year or two anyway, some less. Since then the company had dominated his life – and hers too. He’d made several in-house ‘career moves’ during those years, each to a different part of the world. And now this.
She realised he was looking at her impatiently, waiting for a response. ‘But I don’t want to go and live in England.’
His voice was low and persuasive. ‘Just think about it, hon. The kids have all left home now and—’
‘Louise hasn’t left yet.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘She’s about to go to university, isn’t she? Which means she’s grown up, like Jenny and Tim. Besides, I’m sure your mother would have her for a few months. Lou’s seventeen now, past the awkward stage.’
Which showed how much he knew about his children, Rosalind thought mutinously.
‘Face it, hon. We’re free to live where we please at long last.’
‘I live where I please now. Western Australia’s a great place – and it’s my home.’
He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing as if she’d said something unreasonable. ‘Don’t you ever fancy a change?’
‘No, not really. I enjoy my life here.’ Which was no longer true. She’d felt very lonely during the past year or two. Her children had their own friends and interests nowadays and didn’t seem to need her, and she was neither fish nor fowl when it came to a social life – married but without a visible husband.
‘Look, Ros, I really do need to live a little closer to the action. And you might actually enjoy going back to the country where you were born.’
‘I was only two when my parents migrated to Australia. I don’t remember anything at all about England. I’d be as much a foreigner there as you are – more.’
‘And yet when you write to your sole surviving relative in the UK, you keep promising the old witch you’ll go and visit her one day.’
‘Well, I will – one day. Just for a holiday. And Aunt Sophie is not a witch. She—’
He didn’t even try to hide his impatience. ‘Quite frankly, you’re stuck in a rut here, Ros, and you need to do something about it. You and that little group of friends who all went to school together, not to mention that damned embroidery of yours. In this day and age – embroidery! What a hobby for a modern woman!’
She didn’t rise to that old bait. Her embroidery wasn’t a hobby but an abiding passion, and she considered raised stumpwork an art form. She was good at it, too, had won several prizes for her embroidered pictures. But for some reason she’d never been able to fathom, Paul hated her doing it.
His next words were etched in acid. ‘I don’t want to quarrel, but it’s time to tell it as it is. You and I need some time together, Ros. We’re growing apart. Do you want our marriage to go on like this? Or to end? I don’t. Think of it as a change of season, a natural part of life. It might even be fun.’
Another silence, then his tone changed. ‘Now, how about thinking it over while you make me one of those wonderful gourmet meals. You know I never eat much on the plane.’
That she could do for him, at least.
As she stood up, her attention was caught by her own reflection in the glass tabletop and she stared down in surprise at what it showed. Pastel colours, all of them. Ash-blonde hair, pale pink T-shirt, softly patterned skirt. She didn’t look her age, not nearly old enough to have a twenty-two-year-old daughter, but she did look faded and indecisive – and that shocked her.
They walked through to the kitchen together and Paul perched on a stool to chat as she worked, telling her what the chairman had said and how her clever husband had turned a disaster into a profitable deal for the company, thus earning himself a nice fat bonus.
Her thoughts zigzagged all over the place as she put together a salad and nodded occasionally to keep Paul talking. What she kept coming back to – reluctantly, very reluctantly indeed – was that she really ought to give his suggestion serious consideration. The sight of him, the feel of his arms round her had made her feel – well, married again.
But the most telling reason of all was: he wanted to put things right between them. That mattered very much to her, because it had begun to seem as if he didn’t care.
No, she decided as she served the meal, she didn’t want their marriage to end – of course she didn’t! – but he’d been the one to go away. And oh, she didn’t want to live in England, either! She had a suspicion that if she agreed to go, she might not find it easy to come back again.
He was right, damn him, though she wasn’t going to admit that yet. Something had to change if they were to stay together.
But why did it always have to be her who made the changes?
The following morning Louise got up late, deliberately waiting till her father went out to the golf club before she left her bedroom. Taking a quick shower, she left her hair to dry naturally. It was dark and wavy like her father’s, but she was thinking of having her head shaved to a stubble and perhaps getting a gold stud in her nose. Now that she didn’t have to conform to stupid school rules, she could have more fun with her appearance. And she had good enough features to get away with it.
Opening the bedroom door she cocked an ear, but there were no noises from below. Her parents didn’t realise how much you could overhear from the upstairs landing of an open plan house like this – which could be very useful sometimes. If her mother did go to live in England, maybe Louise would be able to share a flat with her friend Sandy when she went to uni, instead of living at home. She was definitely not going to live at Gran’s. Her grandmother’s ideas of what was right and wrong were even more out of date than her mother’s.
Going back inside her room, she put on a CD and lay back to enjoy the pure heaven of not having to study or worry about exams.
There was a knock on the door and her mother peered in. ‘Darling, you promised to clear up your bedroom today. And will you please turn that music down?’ She didn’t wait for an answer.
Louise scowled. Why shouldn’t she have an untidy room if she wanted to? It was her room, wasn’t it? The music throbbed through her, making her feel achy inside her belly. Sexy, she decided. She felt sexy. And she wasn’t going to wait much longer to do it, either. Virginity wasn’t a treasure nowadays and everyone else in her group had had sex. Of course, she hadn’t admitted that she hadn’t, but she felt left out of the discussions sometimes. Reading about sex in books wasn’t the same. She wanted to know how it felt to have an orgasm.
Ten minutes later her mother stormed back in, switched off the CD player and yelled, ‘Get this pigsty cleared up! I’m putting on some washing in five minutes. If your stuff isn’t in the basket by then, you can deal with it yourself.’ She waited, hands on hips.
Louise sighed and rolled off the bed. ‘I’m supposed to be on holiday.’
‘Five minutes.’
When her mother had left, Louise made a quick phone call then stuffed a few necessities into her tote bag, muttering under her breath. She wasn’t clearing anything up today. She was going round to Sandy’s where there was no one to nag you, in the daytime, at least.
Creeping down the stairs, she held her breath as she crossed the open space near the kitchen. Her mother was sitting there, a mug of coffee cradled in her hands, her back to the world and her shoulders slumped.
What’s wrong with her? Louise wondered. Give me half a chance to go to England and I’m off, outta here, bye bye folks, see ya when I see ya.
Giggling softly she made her escape, closing the side door quietly behind her. The washing would be done for her when she returned. It always was.
But that evening when she got back, she found her room hadn’t been touched. That really threw her. Her mother must be more upset than she’d realised about the trip to England.
She looked round and grimaced before starting to tidy up. She’d get online later. If her father saw the mess in here, he’d hit the roof, and he could be a real bastard if you pushed him too far. She wanted him to think her grown-up enough to be left on her own. Oh, yes.
A few streets away, Liz Foxen was also worrying. She could recognise the signs because she’d seen it all before: Bill looking happy and alert, whistling as he did the gardening, giving long explanations every time he left the house. For a clever man, he was remarkably obtuse about other people. It was right what they said about university lecturers – out of touch with the real world. Too busy playing academic politics. Or screwing one another. Or both.
Who was it this time? Some young tart of a student or a new colleague? There had been one or two changes in the lecturing staff this year.
‘I’m fed up with it!’ she yelled suddenly, slapping the flat of her hand on the table. This time she wasn’t going to take Bill’s infidelity lying down, or rather – she paused as an idea slammed into her mind – perhaps she was. ‘What’s sauce for the goose …’ she murmured.
Just then the phone rang.
‘Oh, Liz!’ The voice was hesitant, tearful.
‘Hi, Rosalind.’ Clutching the telephone receiver in one hand, Liz studied herself in the hall mirror as she listened to her friend. She kept in good trim, didn’t she? Worked out at the gym, ate sensibly, dressed smartly. So why did he go after other women?
‘Liz, can you come over?’
‘Trouble?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
Liz sighed. She didn’t need someone else’s woes on top of her own, but Rosalind had been her best friend since school. ‘Put the kettle on, then. But no cake!’
Getting up from the telephone nook, Rosalind made her way to the rear of the house. Her slippered feet made no sound on the tiled floor and she shivered suddenly. It was as if she had no real existence, as if only a ghost had drifted past. A pastel-coloured ghost, at that. Feeling hollow and insubstantial, she filled the kettle and got out the mugs, then went over to touch the vivid green curls of the parsley leaves in her herb pot and stare blindly out of the window.
Before the kettle boiled she heard Liz’s car.
The two women embraced and, as usual, Rosalind felt too tall and well-fleshed next to her friend. ‘You look great! I love that outfit. It’s new, isn’t it?’
Liz twirled round, showing off. ‘Yes. I was trying it on when you rang. Do you think the skirt needs taking up a fraction?’
Rosalind took a step backwards, studied her friend’s outline and shook her head decisively. ‘No. Don’t touch it. It’s perfect as it is. Coffee or tea?’
‘Coffee.’
When they went into the living room, Liz kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up underneath her on the couch. ‘What’s the matter, then? Tell all.’
‘Paul wants us to spend the spring and summer in England and – I don’t want to go.’
‘Well, you’ve got plenty of time to think about it. What’s the panic today?’
‘Northern hemisphere spring, not Australian. I’d have to leave within the month.’ Rosalind took a sip of her coffee, then stared down at it bleakly. Little ripples were running to and fro across the surface – just like the apprehension shivering in her belly.
Liz took a sip, made an appreciative murmur and sipped again before she spoke. ‘I can’t see what the problem is.’
‘For a start, it’s Louise’s first year at university. How can I possibly leave her?’
Liz refrained from saying that lately Rosalind hadn’t been getting on with her younger daughter and they’d probably both be happier apart. ‘You were there when Tim went to uni. It didn’t make much difference, did it? He still bombed out. Where is he now?’
‘In America. He’s travelling round, working on the sly to pay for it. He emails now and then from an Internet café, and he rang me last month.’ She took another slurp of coffee. ‘Anyway, a daughter’s different. I was there for Jenny and she needed my help.’ Though there had been some anxious times, because Jenny wasn’t a top student and had found the business course Paul had insisted on really hard going. ‘And anyway, I want to be there for Louise.’
Liz leant forward. ‘You’re making excuses, Rosalind Stevenson.’
‘Well, the truth is, I don’t want to go to England at all. And – and before he came back I was thinking of asking Paul for a divorce.’
Liz choked on a mouthful of coffee. ‘You can’t mean that! Not you!’
‘I don’t know what I mean, but I have been wondering about our marriage. Only, Paul seems to be – well, making more effort. He says we need time together and he’s right.’
All of a sudden Liz was fed up of humouring her friend. ‘It’s time you thought of him. You’ve always put the children first before.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘You have, you know!’ Her voice softened. ‘You might even enjoy staying in England for a few months. You should be thankful Paul wants to spend some quality time together. I’d swap places with you any day, believe me.’
Her voice had such a vicious edge Rosalind realised something was wrong. ‘Not – trouble with Bill again?’
Liz nodded, lips tight and bloodless.
‘You shouldn’t put up with it.’
‘I’m not going to this time.’
‘You mean – you’re going to leave him?’
‘Heavens, no! I’m still fond of the old bugger – too fond for my own good. I just got to thinking of giving him a taste of his own medicine for a change. See how he likes that. It’s simply a question of finding someone I fancy and diving into the nearest bed.’
‘You shouldn’t joke about something so important.’
‘Who’s joking?’
The bitterness in her voice worried Rosalind, but Liz didn’t mean what she’d said, of course she didn’t.
After her friend had left, Rosalind wandered out into the garden. She sighed as she nipped off a few dead leaves. Perhaps something would turn up to prevent her having to go to England. Paul was always changing his plans and rushing off to deal with an emergency for the chairman.
Oh, please, let something turn up! she prayed.
That evening their elder daughter, Jenny, popped in unexpectedly. ‘Hi, Mum! Louise not around?’
‘She and Sandy have gone to the movies.’
‘Good. I need to talk to you both.’ She opened her mouth to speak, then burst into noisy, gulping sobs.
Rosalind hurried across to hug her till she’d calmed down, not saying anything, simply waiting for an explanation.
Jenny finished mopping her eyes. It was her mother she looked at as she said, ‘It’s Michael. I’ve left him.’
Paul leant forward. ‘Is he the guy I met last time I was home? Well, it’s about time you came to your senses. He’s a real no-hoper, that one, and I was against you moving in with him, if you remember.’
‘What’s happened?’ Rosalind asked, frowning at him. No need to sound so triumphant when the girl was hurting.
‘He’s been unfaithful to me and – and he’s not even sorry about it!’ What’s more, when Jenny had confronted him, he’d hit her, though she wasn’t going to tell her parents that. She’d known then that the relationship was over. Irrevocably. She wasn’t into being thumped. ‘The split’s been brewing for a while, I guess. Could I stay here? I can’t go back. I’ve got my things in the car.’
Paul gave her one of his icy looks. ‘You can’t stay for long. The house is going to be closed down. Your mother’s coming to live in England with me for a few months.’
Rosalind felt annoyed. She hadn’t actually agreed to go yet and he knew it.
‘I could look after the place for you,’ Jenny volunteered. ‘It’d be safer to have someone living here.’
Paul gave a scornful laugh. ‘No way. I haven’t forgotten the last time you looked after it. That party of yours cost me over a thousand dollars in redecoration, as well as upsetting all the neighbours.’
‘But what am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to pay the bond on a flat of my own.’ She began to sob again.
Rosalind put her arm round Jenny’s shoulders. ‘I’m not turning my daughter away, Paul.’
‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. And of course she can stay with us till we find her a flat. I’ll even pay the bond. But after that, we’re closing the house down and we’re off on our second honeymoon.’
Jenny smiled at them through her tears. ‘That’s so sweet. Second honeymoon. I’m always glad you two are still together. Nearly everyone else’s parents are divorced.’
‘No chance of that as long as your mother behaves herself.’ Paul grinned across the table.
‘And as long as you behave yourself, too, Paul Stevenson,’ Rosalind retorted.
‘Don’t I always?’
Jenny laughed. ‘You do when you’re at home, Dad. We don’t know what you get up to when you’re overseas.’
He stiffened. ‘I work far too hard to misbehave, believe me, young lady. Even if I were that way inclined, which I’m not.’
They both stared at him in amazement, his tone was so sharp.
‘She was only joking,’ Rosalind protested.
‘Well, it’s the kind of joke I can do without, thank you very much.’
After the silence had gone on for a bit too long, Rosalind said, ‘How about I get us all a drink, then we can discuss what to do?’
Later, when Jenny had taken up residence in the guest suite, Paul sat down beside his wife on the bed and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Feeling better about the trip now? You are coming, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose so.’ She’d made up her mind to give it a try, because she really did want to put their marriage to rights. That was the main reason. She wasn’t going to tell him that, of course.
He nibbled her ear. ‘What am I going to do with you, woman?’ As her breathing deepened, he took her in his arms and kissed her. His hands knew all her body’s weaknesses, as hers knew his.
And then, of course, she forgot everything else, for he was a superb lover, always had been. Their reunions were fantastic. She missed the sex greatly when he was away. He must do, too, because he was a passionate man.
Maybe they did need a change – and she loved the idea of a second honeymoon.
Four days later the chairman’s personal assistant rang from England. Rosalind handed the phone to Paul feeling faintly anxious. The PA only rang in emergencies. She went to sit in the kitchen because Paul hated people listening in on his business conversations.
After a few minutes a shadow fell across her. She looked up and her heart sank. He was looking excited and alert. She knew that expression of old.
He perched on the edge of the chair next to hers. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to London straight away. They’ve booked me a seat on the six o’clock plane. Big crisis.’
‘But you’ve been home less than a week!’
He shrugged. ‘That’s how things go in this job, and it’s exactly why I want you over there with me.’
‘That means I’ll have to travel to England alone!’
Breath rasped impatiently in his throat. ‘I think you’ll be able to find your way to the airport from here, and I’ll be there to meet you in London.’
‘Promise me you’ll meet me. Promise!’
‘I promise faithfully. Now, come and help me pack, eh? Good thing we found that flat for Jenny, isn’t it? And I’ve been talking to your mother. She’s agreed to have Louise.’
‘She didn’t tell me!’
‘I asked her to let me do that.’ He held her at arm’s length and stared at her with mock sternness. ‘So you have no excuse for trying to wriggle out of this trip, my girl.’
‘I’ve said I’ll come, haven’t I?’
He nodded and let her go. ‘I’m rather looking forward to having a wife around. Dinner parties, regular sex, theatres and restaurants. We’ll have a great time.’
When she got back from taking Paul to the airport, Rosalind took out her embroidery things and set up the smaller spare bedroom as her workshop again. She always put everything away when he came home to avoid arguments and snide remarks. The routine of arranging her things usually helped her settle down after he’d left – though this time she’d only be here for a couple more weeks herself.
The embroidery worked its usual magic and even when Jenny rang up to complain that the new flat was noisy and Michael was still pestering her to get back together, Rosalind didn’t let it worry her. She spoke soothingly and claimed a pan on the stove so that she could end the conversation quickly.
When Paul went away, she always needed a few hours of peace to reorient her life. Everything was so different without him. And this time she had a lot to think about. She’d agreed to spend the spring and summer in England and wouldn’t go back on her word.
But next time someone had to compromise about what they were doing with their lives, it wouldn’t be her, she was quite determined about that.
INTRODUCTION TO RAISED STUMPWORK
This highly individual type of embroidery flourished in its original form for only a few decades of the seventeenth century …
Its capacity for conveying life and humour, and the way in which it combines many different embroidery and lace-making techniques makes this work an ideal vehicle for modern embroiderers seeking to achieve similar effects in a contemporary idiom.
(Barbara and Roy Hirst, RAISED EMBROIDERY, Merehurst Limited, London, 1993, p.6 − quotes used with permission)
SIMULATING LIFE
The stitches, techniques, threads, fabrics and other materials used to create a raised embroidery are all carefully selected to express, simulate and describe the subject …
A sampler of this type might be designed with a particular theme in mind – family, nature, the seasons, a period in history, or a particular event.
(Hirst, p.60)
Chapter Two
The twenty-hour flight to London seemed interminable. Rosalind was too tall to be comfortable in planes and couldn’t manage to do more than doze for an hour or two. By the time the plane arrived in London, she was exhausted.
Pushing her luggage trolley, she walked out into the terminal looking for Paul, pleased at the prospect of being with him again. When she couldn’t see him anywhere she began to feel apprehensive. He’d phoned last week and promised that nothing, absolutely nothing, would prevent him from meeting her at the airport and helping her settle into the English house. So where was he?
She saw a young woman holding one of those signs with people’s names on them and didn’t look at it, then something clicked inside her brain and she turned slowly back. It said STEVENSONin ominous black letters.
He’d broken his promise!
‘Oh, damn you, Paul!’ she whispered. ‘Couldn’t you even do this for me? Does the company have to come first every single time?’
The woman holding the sign looked across at her and nodded in recognition. She was so trim and well-groomed, she made Rosalind feel huge and even more dishevelled than before.
‘Mrs Stevenson? Paul’s wife?’
‘Yes.’
The woman stuck out one well-manicured hand. ‘You look just like the photo on Paul’s desk. I’m Gail Johns from personnel. I’m afraid Paul’s been called away. He’s in New York at the moment, actually.’
‘New York!’ Rosalind could hear her voice wobble, couldn’t prevent it.
Gail gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ve arranged everything for you. Let’s have a coffee and I’ll explain.’ She set off across the concourse.
For a moment Rosalind stood watching her, then sighed and began to push the luggage trolley through the crowds. Around her people were hugging one another, some weeping for joy. Children were running to and fro. Everyone, it seemed, was with family or friends.
Everyone except her. Only pride kept her head up.
And anger.
The refreshments area was seedy and predominantly brown. The tables had been swiped over casually with a cloth and were still smeary.
Gail brought back two coffees and some food for herself. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t had any lunch yet.’ She took a huge bite of the sandwich, then got out some papers. ‘I have full instructions for you, Mrs Stevenson, all in alphabetical order – so much better than my trying to explain everything now, don’t you think? You’d never remember all the details afterwards.’
Her tone was that of an adult dealing with a rather dull child. Rosalind breathed deeply but said nothing. It had been the same when Paul worked in the company’s Australian branch. Ambitious young things like this had treated her as if she were in her dotage because she was a mere housewife.
‘We’ve found you a house in Dorset. The chairman’s family came from there originally and he always speaks well of it. The house is quite large and there’s a nice villagey atmosphere, so you should find it easy to make friends. It’s only about two hours’ drive from London.’
Aligning the papers carefully on the table, Gail dipped into the briefcase again. ‘This is the key to the house – front door key only, the others are waiting for you in Burraford Destan. It’s a nice little place and really easy to get to, mostly motorway from here. Paul said you’d be all right with the driving.’ She raised one eyebrow questioningly.
‘Of course I shall.’ Rosalind was absolutely terrified of driving in a strange country, but she’d let herself be hanged, drawn and quartered before she’d admit it to this bright young thing.
Gail picked up the sandwich again, then glanced across the table with it halfway to her mouth. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs Stevenson? You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m just a bit – um – jet-lagged. It’s a long flight.’
‘Well, if you’re too tired to drive today, we can easily book you into a hotel.’
Rosalind struggled to ‘get her head together’, as Louise would have said. ‘I – what time is it here?’
‘One o’clock in the afternoon.’
Rosalind thought furiously as she adjusted her watch. If she booked into a hotel now, she would fall asleep then wake up in the middle of the night. Paul always said it was better to fit into the day−night pattern as soon as you could after you changed time zones, and he ought to know. ‘No. I won’t bother with a hotel. I’ve all afternoon to drive down to Dorset, haven’t I? So I can just take things easily.’ One step at a time. Her old motto brought its usual comfort.
Gail devoured the last of the sandwich. ‘That’s terrific. Though you’d better stop on the way to pick up some groceries. Paul hasn’t managed to get down to Dorset yet and there’ll be nothing in the fridge.’
‘But I thought – Paul told me he’d approved the house himself.’
‘Ah. Well, I’m afraid a few things cropped up and he only had time to set the ground rules. But the agency we use for executive relocation is very reliable and I’ve shown him the photos. Very attractive house, delightful village. I’m sure you’ll like living there. Paul really fancies English village life.’ She took another gulp of coffee. ‘Dorset is a really pretty part of England. I looked it up online. Hills, farms with grey stone walls, very picturesque villages.’
Her description made Rosalind realise that no one from the company had actually checked the house.
‘And we have a company flat in London for when Paul can’t get down to Dorset. You can get up to town in two hours by train from nearby Wareham, which is pretty convenient. I’ve got you a good road map.’ She unwrapped a piece of fruitcake. ‘Don’t know why I’m so hungry today. Must be the cold.’
‘Is it very cold outside?’
‘Freezing.’ Gail licked some cake crumbs from her fingers. ‘Everyone’s saying how late spring is this year. I mean, almost April and no sign of the sun. Even the trees are late getting their leaves.’ She glanced sideways, frowned and offered another glib reassurance. ‘I’m sure you’ll be all right, Mrs Stevenson.’
Miss Efficiency was still talking to her as if she were a doddery old lady and Rosalind wasn’t having that. She straightened up and said crisply, ‘Well, if you’ve finished eating, we may as well go and get the car, eh?’
It was a large, comfortable car and Rosalind had no difficulty driving it, though she felt a bit nervous at first coping with the heavy motorway traffic. Then, half an hour later, the engine coughed and spluttered before picking up. A few minutes later, it began to falter again. ‘No! Please, no!’ Rosalind begged. But the vehicle lost power and began to kangaroo, jerking forward briefly, then losing momentum.
She signalled to move left, cutting in front of a small truck, which blared its horn at her, then pulling off onto the hard shoulder just as the engine died completely. The car rolled slowly to a halt and she sat frozen in disbelief for a moment before opening the door.
Icy wind howled around her. Traffic fumes assaulted her nose. Dark clouds were massing in the sky. What the hell was the matter? The car had a full tank of petrol, so it couldn’t be that. She lifted the bonnet, but could see nothing obviously wrong. The battery connections seemed good, the fan belt wasn’t slack and no water hoses seemed to be leaking. Beyond that, she didn’t know what to look for.
Cars and trucks continued to drone past her and the wind blew icy dampness down her neck, as well as sneaking chill fingers up her sleeves. She hadn’t got a mobile phone yet. Miss Efficiency had expected her to have her own. She could only hope there would be an emergency phone nearby.
Locking the car, she began trudging grimly along the hard shoulder, alternately buffeted by the backdraught from passing trucks and mocked by the wind, which continued to tug at her clothes and suck away what little warmth was left in her body.
The phone got her through to the police, who telephoned the car hire company and then told her someone would be coming with a replacement car, but it’d take a while.
‘How long?’
‘Sorry, madam. They didn’t say. You should remain with your vehicle or it might get towed away. If anyone stops nearby, it’d be safer to lock yourself in.’
She tramped back to wait. Finding half a chocolate bar in her handbag, she devoured it hungrily, then wished she hadn’t because it made her thirsty. Time crawled past and the radio programmes were only half-audible because of the traffic noise, so she was left with her own thoughts for company.
‘Damn you, Paul Stevenson!’ she said aloud at one stage.
In Australia that same day, Liz looked at her husband and anger rose like bile in her throat, scalding her with its intensity. She’d never felt so furious with Bill before, not even the first time he’d been unfaithful. ‘You must think I’m stupid if you expect me to fall for that line.’
‘It isn’t a line.’ He looked at her warily.
She leant her head back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘He does think I’m stupid,’ she told it, then looked at him again. ‘She’s called Marian Hulme and she’s just out from England in her first tenured position. She’s tall, with dyed blonde hair. And she calls you William, dear.’
He went white. ‘How did you find out?’
‘I can always tell when you’re being unfaithful, so I did a bit of snooping, not to mention checking the credit card accounts. You’ve been wining and dining rather a lot lately. And you shouldn’t chat to people in stairwells. I heard everything you said to her yesterday when I was on my way to your office, William dear.’
He stared down at the floor.
‘This time, I’m not going to forgive you. Instead, I’m working on the principle of goose and gander, as in sauce for.’
He jerked upright. ‘Liz, surely—’
‘Surely what?’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do, actually. I’ve booked myself a holiday. In Hong Kong. Eighteen lovely days. And while I’m there, I’m going to keep my eyes open for a likely new gander – preferably one a little younger than you and with more hair on his head.’ She heard the air whistle into Bill’s mouth and felt grim satisfaction at hitting him in his weak spot. Heaven alone knew why it mattered so much to him that he was going bald, but it did.
‘Don’t do that, Liz. I’ll – I’ll end it at once, and—’
‘Oh, but I shall do it. Go to Hong Kong, anyway. I’ll have an affair, too, if I can find someone I fancy. And every time you start screwing around from now on, I’m going to take a lover as well. I’m told I’m quite attractive still – even if you don’t find me so – and I doubt I’ll have too much difficulty getting someone to sleep with me.’
‘Liz—’
‘I leave in two days for Hong Kong.’
His glance was very level. ‘I don’t believe you about the lover, but if you want a holiday, well, that’s all right with me. I’ll make sure everything is well and truly over by the time you return.’
‘It’d bloody better be.’ She smiled then and delivered her coup de grâce. ‘Hope you’re feeling in a domesticated mood, because you won’t be able to eat in restaurants while I’m away. I’m afraid I’ve cleaned out our account.’
‘All of it?’
‘Yup!’
‘You’ve got a nasty streak under all that sparkle, Liz. How the hell am I going to manage without money till you get back?’
‘I don’t actually care.’
She slept in the spare bedroom till she left. And missed cuddling him like hell. But she wasn’t going to admit that.
As Rosalind sat waiting for deliverance by an English roadside, in America her son put his last coin into a slot machine and reached for the paper cup of coffee. His hand was shaking. Hell, they had certainly pinned one on last night. What had been in that last pill he’d popped? He blinked and risked a sip of the dirty-looking liquid. Oh, for one of his mother’s wonderful coffees! That thought made him snort with laughter.
‘What’s so funny, man?’ Wayne appeared next to him.
‘I was just thinking of Mum’s coffee. It’s the best in the whole world.’ Tim took another sip. Well, at least this stuff was warm. ‘What are we going to do now? I’m skint. And you’re nearly out of money, too.’
‘We’ll have to earn some more.’
‘We don’t have a work permit.’
‘You don’t need a permit for what I’ve got in mind.’
‘I don’t think I want to—’
Wayne grabbed him by the front of his jacket. ‘I’m getting just a little tired of you and your scruples. If you’re not happy here, go back home to your darling mummy. Otherwise, stop moaning and feeling sorry for yourself. We could have earned ourselves some good money working with those guys last night, but oh no, you had to put your foot in it, didn’t you?’
‘The fat one was a full-on drug dealer and he wanted us to push for him.’
‘So what? Everyone’s into something nowadays, so why not take advantage of that? You’ve been doing stuff since you were fourteen, so you’re a fine one to talk. Yeah.’ He let that sink in, then added, ‘Now, either you’re with me or you can manage on your own. Make up your bloody mind.’ Only then did he let go of his friend’s jacket, laughing as hot coffee spilt down it.
Tim shuddered at the thought of walking away from Wayne. America – well, the part they were visiting – scared him silly and he wished desperately he’d never left Australia. Even home was better than this nightmare existence. But he wasn’t going to crawl back to his father with his tail between his legs. No way.
‘I said I was in, didn’t I? And you owe me a coffee now, you stupid bastard. You spilt most of mine and that was my last coin.’
Wayne’s face slowly relaxed. ‘All right, then. One coffee coming up. Now, here’s what we do …’
It was nearly three hours before another car drew up beside Rosalind, by which time she was chilled to the marrow and bursting for a pee. She had sunk into a dull lethargy, enduring because there was nothing else she could do.
A man wearing a cap with the hire company logo on it got out and she opened the door to speak to him. A flurry of light rain whispered across them, then trailed away into mere dampness, but judging by the dark clouds more was on the way.
‘Mrs Stevenson?’
‘Yes.’
‘John Trevithin. I’ve got another car here for you. A tow truck will be along in a few minutes to take me and this naughty girl back.’ He slapped the car with an affection Rosalind in no way shared.
‘Well, I hope you fix the problem before you hire the car out again. I’ve been sitting here for three hours in the freezing cold!’
‘Yes. Sorry. There’s a motorway services place just along the road. Go and get yourself a meal and a hot drink. You’ll feel a lot better then.’ He handed her a voucher. ‘Compliments of the company.’
She looked at her watch. Half past four. ‘I had intended to get down to Dorset before dark.’
‘You’ll never make it. Might as well take a break first. Do you good. Not a nice introduction to England, eh, Mrs Stevenson? Never mind. Things can only get better from now on. Enjoy your holiday.’
He didn’t look much older than her son, but she felt old today – old, cold and fed up to the bloody teeth. Lips pressed tightly together she started up the car and left him standing there, grinning and waving at her like an idiot. But she did stop at the services to use the ladies’, then grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Muddy coffee and a pallid sandwich with wilted salad and stringy beef stuck between two layers of anonymous white bread. She left half of it.
It was an effort to push herself up again from the small plastic table. She was exhausted and jet lag was making her whole system scream for sleep. But she didn’t want to find a motel, just get this endless travelling over and done with, and take possession of her new home.
It grew dark well before she reached Dorset, but she found a petrol station which sold basic foods and bought enough to last her until the following morning. She grabbed another coffee while she was at it and this time it was proper coffee, freshly brewed. By the time she left, she was feeling slightly more cheerful. Nearly there now.
She turned onto the Wareham−Swanage road, driving through the darkness with a sense of triumph. According to her directions, Burraford Destan was on the right just past Wareham. If she missed the first turn, there was another soon after it. Yes, there was the sign.
She followed the last of the instructions, which she had to admit were excellent, and found Number 10, Sexton Close. She had to stop the car and get out to open the big wrought-iron gates, whose rusty hinges seemed unwilling to move. ‘You ought to be here today, Paul Stevenson,’ she muttered as she struggled with them. ‘For once in your damned high-powered life you ought to be with me.’
The gates gave way at last to her desperate shoving and she got into the car, rolling forward slowly round the circular driveway to the front door. She gaped at the house in the beam of the headlights. It really was beautiful, built of some sort of pale grey stone. Even the roof was grey, not covered in tiles but what looked like big slabs of stone.
A steep gable on the right side of the house looked like something from a small-town Disney movie, and all round the edges of the circular drive were daffodils, scores of them, lit up by the powerful headlights of the car. Her spirits began to lift, though she’d have felt better if there had been lights showing in the windows – and would have felt safer, too.
When she got out, she left the engine running and the headlights on. Outside that charmed circle of light everything looked dark and sinister, but she reminded herself of the self-defence course she’d taken. She’d got a commendation for it, too, though she’d never had to use the skills.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, she thought, pull yourself together, Rosalind! You’re not some fragile little thing to be easily overpowered.
The self-defence instructor had said you never turned your back on danger. Well, she’d just like to see him open this door without turning his back on the garden. ‘Come on, come on, you stupid thing!’ She fumbled with the lock and turned the key just as rain began hissing down again like a grey chiffon cloak between her and the car headlights.
It took a lot of willpower to step forward into the blackness of the hall, even with the car keys poking out between her knuckles as a makeshift weapon. She found a switch and suddenly the place was flooded with light, then something started beeping and she keyed in the security number quickly.
Weak with relief, she leant against the wall, reassured by the feel of something solid behind her as she studied her surroundings.
It was a few seconds before she gathered enough courage to move forward and begin opening doors. On the left a spacious living room led into a small dining room with a very ugly modern table and chairs, all angles and discomfort. On the right was a smaller sitting room and behind it an office. Kitchen and conservatory were at the rear. She left lights on everywhere because it made her feel better, and put the kettle on while she was in the kitchen. Even instant coffee would be wonderful.
Upstairs, according to the brochure on the house, were ‘four spacious bedrooms and two bathrooms’ with an ‘attic playroom or guest bedroom, plus small shower room’. Well, she’d investigate those when she’d got her luggage in.
She made two quick dashes to the car and when she switched off the headlights and motor, she felt suddenly terrified that someone might be lurking in the bushes, so raced up the steps and slammed the front door shut behind her. Laughing shakily at herself, she shoved the bolt across.
The kitchen was full of steam because the kettle hadn’t switched itself off. There wasn’t enough water left in it for a coffee, so she filled the damned thing again. Her teeth were chattering and she had never felt so cold in her whole life. She would not cry! She would not.
But she did. She sipped her coffee with tears trickling down her face and plopping into the cup. Realistically she knew Paul couldn’t have refused to do his job, but emotionally she felt he’d let her down.
She shivered. How cold it was! No wonder her parents had emigrated to Australia. Only then did it occur to her. She was an idiot. Miss Efficiency had said there was central heating. She fumbled for the instructions folder, which said: ‘Central heating is switched on from the central boiler, located in the mudroom.’ She frowned round. Mudroom? What the hell was one of those?
Suddenly she noticed the door at the back of the casual meals area next to the kitchen. She’d dismissed it as a cupboard, but perhaps this was the mudroom. It was locked. No key in sight nearby. Back to Miss Efficiency’s instructions.
KEYS, she read, the only entry under K. Capital letters, neatly positioned on the page. She could just imagine the immaculate Gail typing it on her computer keyboard, red nails flashing. ‘The keys are in the top drawer of the bureau in the sitting room to the right of the front door as you go in.’
Great one! Where else would you keep keys? ‘Aha!’ Jangling the big bunch in her hand, she went back to the kitchen to try them out. ‘No labels on them, of course! Caught you there, Gail Johns! Not good enough. Off with your nails!’
She decided that a mudroom was a utility room, a place for coats and shoes, judging by the hooks and racks. It also contained the controls for the heating system and she left it clucking quietly to itself before trailing wearily upstairs. The quilt in the master bedroom looked fluffy and inviting. Shivering, she crept under it without taking her clothes off. Within seconds she was fast asleep.
Chapter Three
In Australia, Louise waited until her gran was asleep then tiptoed downstairs. Honestly, who went to bed at ten o’clock these days? Some of the nightclubs didn’t even open their doors until then. She beamed in the darkness as she slipped quietly along the hallway. She was going clubbing tonight with Sandy, who was now settled in her own flat, the lucky tart.
When the front door clicked softly shut behind her, she raised both fists in a silent victory salute, then got into her mother’s car. She’d told Gran she had permission to use it. Well, her mother might have said yes if she’d asked. It made sense, after all. But she hadn’t asked, because her mother might also have said no.
She’d look after it because she was a very careful driver, a natural, her instructor said when she’d passed her driving test first time, unlike Tim and Jenny. Mind you, with having to drive on P plates for the first year after passing her test and being underage, she didn’t dare drink and drive, but there were other things, less obvious things, that the breathalysers wouldn’t pick up – and they could be as much fun as alcohol.
She drove away, turning up the stereo till the bass notes were thumping along her veins. Yeah! This is going to be a great night out!
Audrey Worth lay for a moment in the darkness, wondering what had woken her. When she heard the car drive away, music pulsing loudly from it, she leapt out of bed and pulled back the edge of the curtain to see tail lights disappearing down the street and the spare parking bay outside her house empty.
‘The young minx! I don’t know why Rosalind lent her that car. It was asking for trouble. And trouble is what Louise will get from me when she comes home.’
Only her granddaughter didn’t come home – well, not until six in the morning – by which time Audrey was nearly out of her mind with worry and seriously considering calling the police.
And far from listening to the reprimand, Louise shouted back at her, then slammed out of the house again to go to uni without waiting to eat anything or change her clothes.
‘I’m not enjoying her company at all,’ Audrey told her friend John when he called in later that morning. ‘She’s very wilful.’
‘I’ve never understood why you agreed to have her in the first place.’
‘You don’t know my son-in-law. He’d persuade Eskimos to buy ice, that one would. Well, what can’t be cured must be endured, I suppose.’ But it was going to be a long six months, she could see that. Very long indeed.
In the evening Audrey once more tried to talk to her granddaughter.
Louise glared at her. ‘I told you I was out with my friends. What is this, a bloody nunnery?’
Audrey tried to keep her temper. ‘Don’t swear in my house. We agreed when you came that you’d let me know where you were going and what time you’d be back – and that you wouldn’t stay out after midnight.’
‘Look, these days nothing starts happening till ten o’clock. Did you really expect me to walk out on my friends at midnight? They’d have laughed themselves silly.’
‘Yes, I did expect it. For someone who’s supposed to be studying, midnight is quite late enough. Anyway, it’s not safe out on your own. Young women disappear, get murdered.’
Louise tried persuasion. ‘Honest, Gran, nothing starts till late. And I was perfectly safe. That’s why I’ve got the car. We all went for an early breakfast together afterwards. We always do.’ An exaggeration. She’d never been allowed to stay out all night before. However soft her mother was, she had her sticking points.
Audrey’s voice was chill and emphatic. ‘Both Rosalind and Paul agreed to my conditions and so did you. You can like it or lump it, but you’ll be back by midnight from now on, young lady. And if you’re in any doubt about that, we’ll ring your mother up and ask her opinion. Or your father.’
Louise stamped upstairs. Honestly, you’d think someone who’d left school and started university would be treated like an adult. But no. She had to live with her grandmother instead of sharing a flat with a friend, and she had to be home by midnight. What was this, Cinderella revisited?
Only – if she disobeyed and Gran did contact Mum, they’d find out about the car. Or they’d tell her father – and she didn’t want him coming the heavy. He could be a real bastard sometimes – with everyone except her mother, anyway – though he usually managed to get his own way with her, as well.
Louise went over to stare out of the window, then realised something and swung round to stare at her bedroom. There were no clothes on the floor, only a large dustbin liner in the corner and the bag was half-full. Where had that come from? She went to investigate.
A strong smell of cheesy socks, dirty knickers and sweaty T-shirts hit her nostrils as she opened it and she gasped in fury. Her clean things were in there, all mixed up with the dirty ones. She went back downstairs, dragging the bag with her.
‘Gran? What’s this?’
‘Oh, your washing. I put it all in the bag, dear. I could smell your socks from my room. This is a very small house, you know. I don’t intend to wash for you – you keep insisting you’re grown-up – so if you don’t put your things away, I’ll stuff everything into a bag.’ She had decided this in the middle of her wakeful night.
‘But you put the clean things in with dirty, so they’ll all smell rotten now.’
‘You surely didn’t expect me to examine your knickers to see which ones had been worn?’
There was no answering that one. ‘What am I going to wear tomorrow? I particularly wanted to wear this shirt.’
‘Up to you, dear. But if you want to do some washing now, the laundry’s free and I have some undercover lines. Your things will be dry by morning.’
Glances locked.
Audrey kept a smile on her face only with difficulty.
Louise didn’t even attempt to smile. ‘I do not need this.’
‘Nor do I. In fact, it’s inconvenient having you staying here, much as I love you. But I’m sure things will work out once you get used to my ways. You need to remember that this is my house.’
The silence was definitely heavy enough to weigh. Cursing under her breath, Louise stormed into the laundry. Before she could sling her clothes into the washing machine, her grandmother was there beside her.
‘I can’t afford new appliances, so let me show you how to get the best out of this old one.’
Sullenly, Louise listened and obeyed. It certainly was an old machine. She looked round. ‘Where’s the tumble drier?’
‘I don’t need one. They’re expensive on electricity and besides, things dry on my undercover lines, even in winter.’
Louise let out an aggrieved sigh. Great! Back to the Dark Ages!
Later, when she had finished her first assignment from university, she wandered downstairs again. Her gran was watching some dumb documentary on television. The only books on the shelves were romances – Mills & Boon, for heaven’s sake, and someone called Georgette Heyer! She picked up one of the romances. ‘I didn’t know you read this rubbish, Gran.’
‘You know enough about romances to pass judgement, do you?’
