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

her.  She laid back on the grass in the sunshine and closed her sore, damp eyes.  The peace of her surroundings gradually calmed her and she drifted off into a fitful sleep, only waking when a duck, ever hopeful that Delia might just have some food with her, quaked loudly in her ear.

Delia raised her head, the excruciating pain of a headache making her feel sick and giddy.  The duck returned to the water, quacking madly, annoyed not to have been offered any titbits.  For a second Delia couldn’t think why she was down at the lake and then, with appalling clarity, she remembered what had occurred and how angry she was with her parents.

She groaned.  Nothing would be the same again.  Any semblance of family unity had exploded into oblivion now Mother, who was nothing but a common tart, was leaving Canleigh forever, without a kind word for her, only annoyance and a slap on the face.  Delia rubbed the place where her mother had hit her.  It was still sore.

Her thoughts turned to her father, annoyed because she had committed the unholy sin of running in the house and rushing off to speak to Richard and Vicky without seeking her out first.  Surely he could have spent a few moments with her instead of tossing her aside as if she were the least important and insignificant of his children.

All respect for her parents had dissolved in a short space of an hour.  Delia would never forgive either of them for the hurt they had caused her, tearing her apart at the seams.  She craved for someone to talk to; to lean on, tell her that all would be well in the end … life hadn’t really lost its meaning.  If only she could talk to Philip.  She looked at her watch with surprise.  It was nearly five o’clock.  It had been around eleven thirty when she had dashed down to the lake.  Where had the time gone and why hadn’t anyone come looking for her?  It just went to show no-one cared enough, although it was surprising Granny hadn’t sent out a search party.  Although, as Delia thought about it, she had looked quite frail and ill standing in the doorway of the hall watching Delia with such dismay.  She had been clutching onto Mrs. Hardy too, Delia remembered and Daddy had said she was going to stay at the Hall for a few days.  Delia’s heart lurched sickeningly.  She sincerely hoped Granny wasn’t going to be ill.

But why hadn’t the Hardy’s sent someone to look for her?  Unless they thought she was at Tangles or the Dower House, both of which she used for refuge whenever she felt the need for succour and support, and she was definitely in need of that now.  She was exceedingly hungry, weak, tired and becoming chilly now the sun had disappeared behind a mass of grey clouds.

With her body feeling like lead, she slowly made her way back up the hill to the stone stable block, built in the shape of a square, two storeys high, with an enormous cobbled courtyard in the middle.  Although the Canleigh estate had much to offer in the way of recreation with its tennis courts, heated swimming pool and cricket pitch, along with idyllic walks amongst the woods, the stables were Delia’s favourite place and where she felt most at home, especially during the winter when the horses were brought in from the fields.  The animals were always pleased to have visitors and whenever Delia appeared, their heads would raise and their neighs and whinnies of welcome more than warmed up a cold, frosty day.

Delia walked through the entrance, an archway built into the centre of one side of the square, the tack room on her right and the office on her left.  One side of the stables had been turned into garages many years ago, providing cover for her father’s Rolls Royce, a Landrover and the ancient shooting brake used for trundling around the estate by anyone who had a need of transport and wasn’t too fussy about the vehicle.  Delia couldn’t remember the last time it was driven.

The horses were all in the fields so the stables were silent and restful.  She looked about her, glad this was Thursday and Perkins’ day off.  He liked to spend his spare time meeting old pals in Leeds with a good lunch and a pint thrown in.  He wouldn’t return to the estate until late so there was little chance Delia would bump into him.

All the same, Delia strained her ears in the slim chance that someone was searching for her.  It would be apparent in which direction she would head but all she could hear were the pigeons on the stable roof.  No-one was calling for her.

Delia entered the office and walked straight to the black telephone on the cluttered, dusty desk.  Dialling a number, she bit her lip hard, listening to the persistent ringing which seemed to go on for an age, desperately hoping Philip would be home by now and would answer the telephone.  His grandfather, Ralph Kershaw, would no doubt be out hacking with his pupils and Constance, Philip’s grandmother, a culinary genius would be preparing the evening meal.

“Canleigh 103,” announced Constance smartly.

Delia was knocked off balance, her hopes of speaking to Philip dashed immediately and for a second, she couldn’t speak.  The words just wouldn’t come.

“Hello.  Hello,” urged Constance.  “Delia?  Is that you?”  Her tone was urgent but kind and concerned.

Delia resisted the urge to dissolve into tears again and her voice came out as a squeak.  “Yes,” she said.

“Darling child.  We know what occurred at the Hall and we’ve been so worried about you.  Hardy rang to ask if you were here … he and Betty are about to send out a search party and I was just about to have a drive around and