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

“I know it’s early in the day but these are exceptional circumstances,” she said, handing one glass to Vicky and drinking hers quickly.  Seeing Richard in his coffin had shaken her up more than she cared to admit.  He looked so handsome and just as if he was asleep and would suddenly wake up at any minute, sit up and tell them it was all some ghastly joke.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Vicky said quietly, worriedly running her finger around her glass after a quick sip.  She had never liked brandy but Ruth was right, she had to drink it to steady herself for what was to come.  “And you’re not going to like it.  I certainly don’t.  In fact, I find it dreadfully disturbing.”

Ruth looked at Vicky quickly.  “Whatever is it?” she asked, dreading any more stress.  She was already desperately worried about Charles in hospital, was painfully aware of   Richard in his coffin downstairs with his funeral to arrange and then there was the nagging dread of Delia possibly making an appearance at some time in the near future. The strain was overwhelming and she looked at the brandy decanter longingly but it wouldn’t do to become intoxicated.  Whatever happened she had to keep a clear head.

“It’s Delia,” blurted out Vicky.  “She rang earlier apparently and left a message with Hardy.  She’s been given bail and is coming up for the funeral.”

“Oh, no!”  Ruth cried.  “I was so hoping they would keep her locked up.  We’ve all got enough to contend with, without having her unwelcome presence here.”

Ignoring her desire to remain sober, Ruth replenished her glass with another large shot of brandy, waving the decanter at Vicky, who shook her head.  “And what about Stephen?  We’ll have to watch him night and day.  I don’t trust her, Vicky.  Why did the police let her go?  They must know by now that she’s mentally disturbed and highly dangerous.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” replied Vicky.  “It’s not completely clear that she actually engineered Richard’s murder … no-one will know for definite until the trial … and goodness knows how long it will be before that takes place … it could be months.  But what I do want to know is who put up bail.  It certainly wasn’t any of us … and where exactly is she now?”

“She’s clever, Vicky … damned clever.  She’ll have managed to persuade some crazy person that she’s innocent, when we have a pretty good idea she’s not.”

Ruth chewed her bottom lip and thought hard.  “I shall have to put Stephen’s cot in my room … and Tina will have to be told why.  I don’t want Delia tricking her into thinking she’s a doting step-sister.  He mustn’t be left alone, not for a moment.  As you said, it could be months before there’s a trial and no doubt she will want to remain here until then.  Oh, heavens.  How will we cope?”

“And then there’s Daddy,” Vicky said.  “How will he take the news that Delia is here?  He will realise, just as we do, that she had something to do with this whole ghastly business?”

“Perhaps we better not tell him, unless he asks, that is.  I don’t want to lie to him.  Goodness, there is so much to think about.  My head is going around in circles.  So much to remember, so much to do, so much we mustn’t say.”

Panic gripped Ruth’s face and Vicky clasped her hand sympathetically.  “As soon as the funeral is over and if Daddy is well enough, why don’t you get away?  Take him and Stephen up to Blairness for Christmas and New Year.  It will provide a perfect convalescence for Daddy and will give you a chance to relax and most of all, Stephen will be completely safe.  You certainly don’t want to be here if Delia decides she does want to remain at Canleigh until the trial.”

“No, we don’t,” shuddered Ruth.  She hugged Vicky.  “Going to Scotland is a brilliant idea.  You father needn’t even come back here.  As soon as he can be discharged from hospital, I’ll whisk him straight off … and we can stay away until after the trial.  By that time, he should be really well again and able to stand up to whatever stresses and strains the outcome of that will bring.”

“He’s going to hate not being able to attend Richard’s funeral.”

“I know but he’s just not fit enough to manage the trauma of his own son’s interment and with Delia here too and all the awful press coverage at the moment.”

Yet again the gates of Canleigh were locked and manned by estate workers as the press were determined to find out all they could about Margaret’s mysterious son, who just happened to have had some success in the American pop charts.  Everything that could be dug up about Margaret prior to her marriage was printed for all to see; the loss of her parents, her being taken to live with her uncle and his family, her success at bagging the wealthy, handsome Duke of Canleigh as a husband.  Then there was the question as to whether or not he had known about this child she had born before they met.  It was obviously not his so whose was it?  It became common knowledge that the couple who had brought him up were British and although they had lived in America for many years with their so-called son, they were now back in England.  Then Margaret’s racketing all over the world with various fun loving, vastly wealthy people during her marriage, with long absences from Canleigh and living alone in London provided more juicy bits of gossip, resulting in the pictures of her frolicking in a London park with Simon Parfitt being printed yet again.  Then there was the sensational divorce and her flight to the Caribbean,