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

Ralph and Constance are simply super … really homely and so interested in anything he does.  They are a real family.  Not like us … Richard and Vicky away at school most of the time, Father’s always busy and Mother is hardly ever here … look how she came back for the half-term and then disappeared again within a matter of days.  We never know where we are with her.  Anyway, neither of them are remotely interested in horses.  I know Father turns up at competitions with Granny but he’s not that keen and as for Mother … I really do wish she would just make an effort,” she said sorrowfully, thinking how envious she was when she saw her competitor’s mothers encouraging and hugging their children at the events they attended.

Hardy was silent, having no idea how to respond to the anguish in Delia’s voice.  He knew that more often than not, the girl pretended she didn’t care but she did really.  She hankered after her mother’s love and was thrilled for days if she did manage to attract the Duchess’s attention but there was little chance the selfish, egotistical woman would return to Canleigh if she could avoid it, especially to watch her daughter compete in a horse show.  Hardy had heard her comment more than once that she hated the creatures as both ends were dangerous with their teeth and their heels and the further she was away from them the better.  Hardy felt so sorry for Delia.  She idolised her mother with a reverence which would never be reciprocated.  She hid it well most of the time, not one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but over the past year on their journeys back and forth to school, she had given herself away more than once as to her true feelings towards her mother and Hardy could cheerfully have rung the Duchess’s neck on more than one occasion … and this was one of them.

Solemnly he steered the car into the grounds of Thistledown School, carefully avoiding the young girls dressed in the same red uniform as Delia’s, alighting from smart, gleaming cars; either with chauffeurs or parents in smart suits.  He stopped the Rolls, got out, and opened Delia’s door.

“Remember, Milady, even if Her Grace can’t make it to the show, the Dowager will definitely be there and myself, of course, and I think one or two of the staff are very keen to have a peek at you and Master Philip bagging all those rosettes.”

Delia threw him a grateful look.  Of course her wonderful Granny would be there, cheering her on as always, and it was pleasing to know how much the staff were interested in her achievements.

“Have a nice day, Milady.”

“And you, Hardy,” she smiled broadly, struggling to carry her bag with one hand while deftly throwing a band around her flowing dark hair, whisking it up into a tidy ponytail with the other.

Hardy watched her enter the school, chatting to Lady Linda Terrington and the Honourable Felicity Havers, who both shared her passion for horses and were also competing on Saturday.  It didn’t take two guesses to wonder what they were talking about.  He got back into the Rolls and drove quickly out of Harrogate and back to Canleigh on the main road.  Time was getting on and he had a busy day ahead.  Within minutes he was entering the outskirts of Canleigh village.

“What on earth!” he exclaimed, puzzled to see the usually quiet street besieged by people and cars.  The shop and petrol station were crowded, cars were parked haphazardly and illegally, and men and women were brandishing notebooks and cameras under the noses of villagers leaving the safety of their homes.  The local policeman, a hot and harassed looking Gerry Brownlow, was in attendance, trying to persuade those parking their vehicles to move on and out of the village.

Hardy grew even more alarmed when he discovered a similar crowd of people gathered outside the fifteen-foot-high black wrought iron gates to the Hall.  Dick Joyce, the tall, grey-haired estate manager, holding his pipe in one hand, stood the other side of the gates, shaking his head at a babbling reporter.  Having seen Hardy and the Rolls, he popped the pipe into his mouth and opened the gates for him as the crowd pushed and jostled around the car.

“It’s the Duke’s butler,” cried a woman in a red blouse, throwing herself across the bonnet of the car, taking photographs through the windscreen.  Other faces peered through the windows and copies of a newspaper were held up in front of him, although he was so busy trying not to knock anyone over, he couldn’t see what was of such fascination.

“Has the Duchess arrived home yet?” yelled a man with gold-framed glasses.

“What is His Grace going to do?  Will he divorce her?” shouted a man in a grubby white shirt and no tie.

Hardy looked questioningly at Dick Joyce but he was struggling to pull the gates shut again so Hardy waited until he had done so, heart plummeting.  Was this it?  Was this what they had all been dreading for so long?  Had the Duchess finally disgraced herself?

“Whatever’s going on?” he asked as Dick, red-faced with exertion, came around to the driver’s window.

“You’ve probably gathered … it’s the Duchess.  She’s all over the News Today, that horrid little rag which likes to dish up the dirt.  The crazy woman has been cavorting in a park in London with some young whippersnapper … with no clothes on.”

“Good grief!” exclaimed Hardy, his eyes widening with shock.

“What His Grace will do now is anybody’s guess,” said Dick.  “He sounded furious when he rang me.  He asked me to stop this little lot entering the estate but didn’t say why.  It wasn’t until one of this jolly bunch pushed a paper under my nose that I found out.”

“I better