Save Her, Abigail Osborne [ebook reader for surface pro txt] 📗

Lost in her reverie, Sophie had not heard Alistair enter the room. ‘So that is the house in which my son will be living, I presume.’

Ice trickled through Sophie’s veins, freezing her in place.

‘Not the grandeur we Cavendish men are used to,’ he added.

‘Not everyone is as conceited as you, Alistair. Some people realise there is more to life than money.’ Her voice came across cold and flippant, but inside she was quaking with fear. This man was dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. She had thwarted his attempts to break her. But the things she had recently discovered about him put his psychological games in a whole new light. Just his presence triggered her survival instinct and like all prey, she was overwhelmed by the desire to run. He chuckled at her words and left the room.

She began to relax and she was about to return to her computer when Greg charged in. The door slammed against the walls and the windows in her office quivered. Unlike Alistair, Greg could not hide who he truly was. And what he truly was at that moment was furious. Anger pulsed from him so fiercely that she couldn’t help but shrink away.

‘What the fuck have you done, Sophie?’

12

‘But it’s our wedding anniversary,’ whined Flora, pouting.

‘I know.’ Sam smiled at her through the mirror as he adjusted his tie. ‘Do we have to have this same discussion every time something important falls on a Friday?’

‘I just don’t see why we have to go every Friday. We didn’t sign a contract.’

Sam chuckled. ‘Obviously you weren’t listening the first hundred times I told you this, but tradition is important in my family. We have never missed a Friday Night Dinner.’

‘Never? What if you were really sick and unable to get out of bed?’

‘Nope, not even then.’ He grinned at her look of disbelief.

‘But Sophie and Greg aren’t going.’

‘Yes, well, that’s Greg’s affair.’ He frowned his disapproval. ‘I made a promise to my mother as you well know and I’m a man of my word.’ Tie perfect, he turned away from the mirror to look at her. ‘Look, we are booked in your favourite restaurant of all-time tomorrow. You know, the one that plays the cheesy seventies music and sings everyone happy birthday every five minutes. I’ve also got you a really special present.’

‘Is it a get-out-of-Friday-Night-Dinner pass?’

He turned and grabbed her, wrapping her in his arms so hard she could barely breathe. He began to tickle her sides and she squealed trying to escape. ‘Dearest Flora. You knew when you married me that you were agreeing to attend Friday Night Dinners for the rest of your life. Now stop moaning and get dressed.’ He released her and got up, smoothing down his rumpled shirt and re-straightening his tie. ‘If you make it snappy, I might have time to give you your anniversary gift. It will be waiting downstairs for you with me.’ Swinging his jacket on as he went, he left in a cloud of delectable aftershave.

Flora dressed quickly, taking one last look in the mirror to check that her outfit was ‘Cecelia-proof’. The Cavendish family lived in a Downton Abbey era where clothing was a uniform that denoted your status. The one time that Flora had worn the same dress twice, Cecelia had spent the whole night making references to people that didn’t dress properly and how much she detested people that couldn’t put effort into their appearance. Flora had left embarrassed and chastised, especially when Cecelia bade them goodnight and offered to send some dresses to Flora’s house.

It had taken a few days for Sophie to help her overcome her mortification. Since then, Flora made sure she always wore something different, but took satisfaction in getting her dresses from charity shops. The silent rebellion made her feel better. Tonight’s dress was a beautiful red dress with tiny spaghetti straps. A mere £2.50 at the local Oxfam, Flora had paid £5 as it was so beautiful. She laughed as she recalled Sophie’s expression of disgust at the smell as they walked into the Oxfam. She refused on principal to buy anything. Sophie viewed it as a step back: they had been in a situation where Oxfam was all they could afford, and she did not like to be reminded of that.

As they drove to Cavendish Manor, a mere ten minutes from the house, Flora revelled in her husband’s kindness. He had taken the only picture she had of her parents and had had it blown up and put on a giant canvas.

Flora only had one photograph of her parents. All the rest of her family photographs had been destroyed by her aunt. Flora had come home from school to find her aunt in the back garden, stood in front of a bonfire, cackling like a witch. An assortment of items lay at her feet and she was chucking them into the flames one by one. Photographs, picture frames, Flora’s mother’s clothes – anything personal to her parents was being burned. The pile included the things that Flora had squirrelled away in the attic and in her room during the first few days of her aunt’s ‘renovation’ when she moved in. They were all being tossed into the fire like garbage. Realising what was happening, Flora had raced to her bedroom and just managed to hide one photograph of her parents in her underwear before her aunt had burst in the room and purged it of the last of the items that Flora cherished. Although badly creased, the precious photograph had pride of place on her bedside table at Sam’s house. The picture was a close-up of her mother and father and Flora as a baby. Her father, Daniel, tanned and smiling broadly had his arms wrapped tightly around her mother. Her mother was beaming down at the baby in her arms.

Seeing it in canvas form was incredible. The things they could do with technology these days. The