Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama), Carole Williams [ebook reader 8 inch .TXT] 📗

in front of the Jaguar.  Startled out of her wits, she virtually stood on the brake and clutch and wrenched the steering wheel to the left.  She missed the fox by inches, the car skidding to a halt on the hard shoulder.  She looked around at the animal who had been so near death but he had grabbed the sandwich and fled, leaving Delia alone and trembling in the night.

To steady her nerves she lit a cigarette, inhaling hard to gain the maximum impact from the nicotine.  Winding down her window now that the rain had finally eased, the stillness of the night provided a sense of peace and calm.  Nothing stirred.  There was no traffic now.  Slowly and gradually her heart slowed its rapid beating and the terrible tension began to lessen.  She was exhausted and emotionally drained.  She had to find somewhere to rest but she couldn’t remain on the hard shoulder of the motorway.

Finishing the cigarette and flicking it out of the window, she re-started the car and drove a couple of miles more until a sign for Sheffield appeared.  She had been down that road not so long ago with Philip when they brought back a livery horse to its owner who lived not far from here.  Delia remembered there was a transport café not far away, where they had stopped for coffee.  She turned off the motorway, badly in need of freshening up and sleep … and there was no-where else for it but the car.  No doubt there was a hotel around this part of the world but it was too much effort to drive around and find one.  She could go on no longer tonight.  Wryly she wondered what her precious father would say if he knew his daughter, the Lady Delia Canleigh, was intending to bunk down next to lorry drivers.

However, she did have a major problem, which had to be resolved before entering any establishment.  She was still dressed in her long black evening gown, although she had ripped off the stupid stilettos and was driving in bare feet.  She couldn’t go tripping into a cafe in the middle of the night dressed as she was.  She would not only look ridiculous but the dress was somewhat provocative and goodness knows what lecherous males she might meet and she had enough problems at the moment without adding more.

She pulled quickly into an empty lay-by, jumped out of the car and rummaged in one of the suitcases in the boot for some suitable attire.  Her favourite red sweater, along with jeans, and comfy old loafers were just the thing and she pulled them out quickly, wondering how she was going to take off the dress in the car.  She threw her casual clothes onto the passenger seat and listened intently for the sound of an approaching car, praying one wouldn’t suddenly appear and pick her up in its headlights.  She pulled down the zip of the dress, quickly donned the sweater to cover her bare chest, and yanked the dress down, stepped out of it, flung it in the car and jumped in, locking the door behind her.  Somehow, she struggled into her jeans and wriggled into the loafers, feeling slightly better now she was more suitably dressed.  She looked at the black gown sorrowfully.  She would never wear it again.  It represented too much misery.  She leant over to open the passenger door, and bundled the dress, along with the hated stilettos, onto the grass verge.  Someone would wonder what they were doing there but Delia never wanted to see them again.  Then there were the rings.  Her sweater covered the black beaded necklace but the rings were too obviously expensive to wave around where she was going.  She removed them and placed them in the zipped-up section of her handbag.

The transport café was quiet as not many truck drivers worked at weekends.  Only two lorries were parked up; curtains drawn across their windows, indicating the drivers were fast asleep.  Delia envied them their comfort.  It wasn’t going to be easy, sleeping in an E-type.  Luckily it was a warm night so she wouldn’t get too cold.  Stupidly in her haste to leave her home she hadn’t thought to bring a coat so had nothing to throw over her if the rest of the night did become chilly.  However, she had more urgent needs, being desperately in need of a toilet and hot coffee.  Before leaving the car, she checked her face in the mirror. No trace of makeup remained and her eyes were red and swollen.  She shrugged.  What did it matter was she looked like?  She’d never see the proprietors of this café again.  Stiffly she got out of the car, locked it, and made her way into the timber-framed building displaying a huge white board above the door shouting in red letters that it was open twenty-four hours a day.

“Coffee, please,” she said smartly to the weary looking middle-aged man slumped over the cash register reading a newspaper.

He pulled himself up quickly, never having had such a stunning looking woman grace his establishment during the night before.  It was obvious she had been crying, and crying a lot but even so, she was a good looker.  Gorgeous long thick hair, a damned good figure and an air of confidence and even though her clothes were casual, they weren’t cheap.  She obviously had money.  He was intrigued.

“Is there somewhere I can freshen up?” Delia asked, avoiding his gaze, embarrassed in the harsh fluorescent lights by the state of her face.  She now wished that before leaving the car she had applied some powder to cover up the signs of her distress.

“Sure,” he replied, waving an arm at a door in the corner of the room, his brain working overtime wondering who she was, where she had come from and where she was going … and why she looked as if