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

told him over the telephone that she was sure the shooting had caused her father’s heart attack.  Alex had never met Vicky’s older sister but had heard a lot about her.  When Vicky had been feeling particularly low one evening a few weeks prior to the shooting, she had told Alex that Barrie had slept with Delia once and how it had nearly destroyed any hope of her marrying Barrie but that they had managed to put it all behind them, especially as Delia had disappeared and hadn’t been seen for a couple of years.

Alex was therefore intrigued when Barrie had abruptly left London early this morning without any explanation as to where he was going or when he would be back and then later this afternoon, when he had been checking the accounts in the office, Barrie’s car pulled up in the car park.  Alex had looked up from his desk to see Barrie helping out a stunningly beautiful woman whose features were similar to Vicky’s.  Barrie took a case out of the boot and the pair linked arms as they hurriedly crossed the tarmac to the private entrance to the flat.  Alex had been stunned.  It was obviously Delia but why on earth had Barrie brought her back here?

Now, several hours later, he was none the wiser.   He looked impatiently at the gold watch on his wrist again.  Barrie was always down in the club by nine o’clock every night to check all was as it should be before it got busy.  He was now nearly two hours late and the place was filling up rapidly.  Alex drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter of the bar.  Obviously, Lady Delia Canleigh was proving to be far more irresistible than their business.

*   *   *

Barrie and Delia ignored the insistent banging on the entrance door to the flat and the ringing telephone beside the bed.  They were too involved in pleasuring each other.  After the first passionate encounter in the hallway, Delia had insisted on having a hot soak to wash away the stink of the cell and the courtroom.   “And I’d love a drink at the same time,” she demanded. “Brandy will do very nicely.”

Barrie threw open the door of the bathroom.

“Of course, Your Ladyship,” he joked.  “Would you like me to run your bath for you?”

“No.  I’ll do it.  Just get that brandy,” she ordered.

Entering the bathroom, Delia turned on the taps, threw a liberal amount of Vicky’s lavender oil into the dusky pink bath and stripped off her clothes.  The scent was strong and soothing and Delia felt her body instantly relax as she slid down into the swirling strongly scented water.  Barrie, having removed all his clothes, joined her in minutes, carrying two brandy glasses, filled with a generous amount of Remy Martin.  They splashed together like children but for Delia that brought back reminders of cavorting with Rocky and his fellow band members in that ghastly house near Boston.

“We’d be far more comfortable in the bedroom,” she said thickly, pulling the plug in the bath and standing up, soapsuds cascading down her body.

Barrie grabbed a towel and stood beside her, trying to dry her but she was too impatient for him to do a thorough job.  She stepped out of the bath and pulled him with her.  “Where is it?  The bedroom.”

Still wet and dripping, Barrie grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the bathroom and into the adjacent bedroom.  Delia grimaced.  Vicky’s taste was tacky.  Heavy ornate lace curtains drowned the windows and the bed coverings were virginal white.  The walls and carpet were a pale lemon.  Delia was reminded of a sickly meringue.  Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to drink so much brandy.

“We’re going to make a lovely mess of this,” she laughed bitterly as they crashed onto the bed, their skin and hair still soaking wet.  Barrie was drunk but could still be aroused and while Delia laid back and allowed him to take his pleasure, she felt a crushing envy for what Vicky had secured for herself; a flourishing business, a home, a good social life and a handsome husband who was a pretty good lover.  What had Vicky done to deserve it?  Delia was exceptionally jealous.

CHAPTER 30 CANLEIGH – NOVEMBER 1973

Vicky was in flood of tears, standing at Ruth’s side in Canleigh’s entrance hall, watching Richard’s coffin being carried up the front steps.  Ashen faced, the two women followed it through to the ballroom, prepared earlier by the Hardy’s for the sad arrival of the Marquess of Keighton’s body.  The large mahogany table, normally standing in the green drawing room, was in the centre of the ballroom, covered in black velvet, ready for the coffin to rest on.  Massive vases of white lilies and white roses, their perfume almost overpowering, decorated two corners of the room and framed pictures of Richard at various stages of his life and with other members of the family were displayed on small tables and window ledges.  The curtains were drawn and the only light came from candles burning on the two marble mantelpieces and lamps dotted around the room.  It felt cold, austere, and eerie and when the funeral director opened the coffin and Vicky could see her brother, pale and still, looking handsome without his glasses and dressed in his favourite blue suit, pristine white shirt, and navy tie, she nearly fainted.  Ruth, shocked to the core herself, had to grasp Vicky’s arm and help her to a nearby chair.

The funeral director nodded to Ruth and Vicky and escorted by Hardy, departed.  He would return on the day of the funeral.

“Let’s go upstairs,” urged Ruth, concerned about Vicky, who looked positively ill.  “We can come down again later, when we’ve got over the shock.”

Arm in arm, they slowly walked upstairs and along the corridor to Ruth’s sitting room.  Vicky sat down heavily on