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She swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat, trying to think dispassionately about her stepmother as she reached into the wardrobe and extracted a woollen long-sleeved blouse and a plain black skirt.
Cynthia was thirty-seven against Gabriel’s thirty-two, she thought, but she didn’t look her age. She never had. She was a regular patron of the nearby health farm, using the gym almost as much as the beauty salon. She played tennis in the summer, squash in the winter, and golf all the year round. Her clothes and make-up were always immaculate, and her blond hair skilfully highlighted.
Superficially, at least, she was a far more obvious and decorative chatelaine for the Manor than Joanna had ever been—or ever could be, she thought, giving her straight brown hair, pale skin and clear hazel eyes a disparaging glance in the mirror.
And Cynthia was undoubtedly a man’s woman. She wasn’t simply attractive, she had a deep, inbuilt sex appeal that announced itself in her voice, her body language and mannerisms whenever she was in male company.
Lionel might have been resistant to her allure, but he’d been an exception. Joanna had seen sensible, responsible men become quite silly when Cynthia turned her honeyed charm on them.
My own father, for one, she thought sadly.
From the first, Cynthia had pursued Lionel quite single-mindedly. But what would have happened if she’d made Gabriel the object of her attentions instead? Lionel might not have approved, but would he really have raised any serious opposition to their marriage—if that had been what they both wanted?
Gabriel never wanted me, she thought. So why not Cynthia?
I’m divorcing him, so what can it possibly matter who he chooses—the second time around?
And then she saw the sudden flare of colour along her cheekbones, felt the angry knock of her heart against her ribcage and the burn of anger in her eyes.
And she knew that beyond all logic and reason, and without any doubt, it mattered a great deal.
A realisation which terrified her.
CHAPTER THREE
DINNER was a sombre and solitary affair. Joanna drank the vegetable soup and picked at the grilled chicken breast, conscious all the time of the empty chair at the head of the table.
Jess and Molly, Lionel’s two retrievers, lay dejectedly in the doorway, silky golden heads pillowed in bewilderment on their paws.
‘Poor old girls.’ She bent to give them each a consolatory pat as she left the room. ‘No one’s been taking much notice of you, and you don’t understand any of it. Never mind, I’ll take you both up on the hill later.’
She drank her coffee by the drawing room fire, the dogs stretched on the rug at her feet. The morning paper lay on the table beside her, still neatly folded. Usually she and Lionel would have been arguing companionably over the crossword by now, she thought, with a pang of desolation.
She drew a sharp breath. ‘I’ve got to stop looking back,’ she whispered fiercely to herself. ‘Because that brings nothing but pain.’
The future was something she dared not contemplate. Which left only the emptiness of the present.
She knew she would deal with that unwelcome moment of revelation she’d experienced before dinner. It was essential to rationalise and somehow dismiss it before Gabriel came back.
I’m in an emotional low, she told herself. I’m bound to be vulnerable—prey to all kinds of ridiculous imaginings.
Or maybe Cynthia’s right, and I’m just a dog in the manger.
I could live with that, she thought. But not with the possibility that Gabriel is still of importance in my life.
Determinedly, and deliberately, she switched her attention to another of Cynthia’s bombshells—that Lionel had been affected his whole life through by his passion for Joanna’s mother. Could it be true? she wondered.
Certainly she’d never heard him say anything that gave credence to such an idea. However tempestuous his marriage had been, she’d always believed that he’d loved Valentina Alessio. And he had never seriously contemplated putting another woman in her place—whatever Cynthia might choose to think.
Henry Fortescue had described Mary Verne as Lionel’s favourite cousin, and that was how she still planned to regard their relationship.
A low whine from one of the dogs reminded her that she’d promised to take them out.
She pulled on some boots, shrugged on her waxed jacket, and wound a scarf round her neck.
She collected a flashlight and let herself out by the side door, the dogs capering joyfully round her. They went through the garden, across the field, and onto the hill via the rickety wooden stile.
The temperature had fallen, and a damp, icy wind was blowing, making Joanna shiver in spite of her jacket.
Cold enough for snow, she thought as she followed the gambolling dogs up the well-worn track.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ she warned them. ‘We’ll go as far as the Hermitage and then I’m turning back.’
It was a stiff climb, and the ground was slippery and treacherous with loose stones. She was breathless when she reached the awkward huddle of rocks on the summit, and quite glad to lean her back against the largest boulder and shelter from the penetrating wind.
The dogs were hurtling about in the dead bracken, yelping excitedly. Joanna clicked off the flashlight to save the battery, and shoved it in her pocket.
It was a good spot for star-gazing, but tonight the sky was busy with scudding clouds.
Joanna looked back the way she had come. The Manor lay below her in the valley. There was a light in the kitchen wing, and one from Cynthia’s bedroom, but the rest of the house was in darkness.
A week ago it would have been ablaze with lights. Lionel had liked brightness and warmth, and had never mastered the theory that electricity switches operated in an ‘off’ position too.
The blank windows said more plainly than anything else that the master was no longer at home.
The wind mourned softly among the fallen stones. Local legend said that centuries before a man had come to this place and built himself a stone shelter where he could pray and do penance for his sins in complete solitude, and that the keening of the wind was the hermit weeping for his past wickedness.
And so would I, thought Joanna, adjusting her scarf more securely. She called the dogs and they came trotting to her side. As she reached for her torch they stiffened, and she heard them growl softly.
‘Easy,’ she told them. ‘It’s only a sheep—or a deer.’
They were too well-behaved to go chasing livestock, but something had clearly spooked them. Or someone, Joanna thought with sudden alarm, as she heard the rattle of a stray pebble nearby. Her fingers tightened around the unlit torch. Normally she’d expect to have the hill to herself on a night like this.
Perhaps it was the hermit, who was said to wander across the top of the hill in robe and cowl, usually when the moon was full, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-derision.
She said clearly, ‘Jess—Moll—it’s all right.’
For a moment they were still under her restraining hand, then with a whimper of excitement they leapt forward into the darkness. A moment later she heard them barking hysterically a short distance away.
‘Damnation.’ She switched on the torch and followed them, cursing herself for not having brought their leashes.
She could only hope they hadn’t flushed some hardy courting couple out of the bracken.
She could see their quarry now, a tall, dark figure, standing quietly while the dogs leapt about him, yelping in joyous welcome.
She hurried into speech. ‘Good evening. I do hope they’re not annoying you. They’re not usually like this with strangers.’
For a moment he neither moved nor spoke, then he put down a hand and the dogs sank to their haunches, their faces lifted worshipfully towards him.
And Joanna knew in that instant, with a sudden sick dread, exactly who was standing in front of her in the darkness.
He said quietly, ‘They’re not annoying me, Joanna. And I’m hardly a stranger.’
The breath caught in her throat. She took a quick step backwards, the torch swinging up to illumine his face and confirm her worst fear.
Her voice was a scratchy whisper. ‘Gabriel?’
‘Congratulations. You have an excellent memory.’
She disregarded the jibe. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘My father died yesterday.’ A harshness invaded the usually cool drawl. ‘I’ve come to attend his funeral.’
‘But we weren’t expecting you—not for another two days.’
‘I decided to end my self-imposed exile and take an earlier flight. I hope it won’t cause you too much inconvenience.’
She swallowed. ‘No—no, of course not.’
‘Said with no conviction at all,’ he murmured. ‘Not that it makes a ha’p’orth of difference. I’m here, and I intend to spend the night under my own roof. And if that’s a problem for you, Joanna, you’re just going to have to sort it out.’
She said tautly, ‘You’re forty-eight hours early, that’s all. No big deal. And if anyone’s going to be inconvenienced it will be Mrs Ashby. I’d better go down and warn her.’ She paused. ‘Moll—Jess—come on.’
The retrievers didn’t budge. Gabriel laughed softly. ‘They seemed to have transferred their allegiance.’
She said, ‘Like all good subjects at the start of a new reign.’
‘Is that how you see yourself too?’ There was faint amusement in his voice. ‘Can I expect the same unquestioning obedience?’
She said shortly, ‘You can expect nothing,’ and plunged off down the path, aware that her face had warmed.
Don’t you ever learn? she castigated herself. Why bandy words with him when you always lose? Don’t let him wind you up.
He caught up with her easily, the dogs pacing at his heels. ‘Take it easy. You might fall.’
And break my neck? she thought bitterly. I’m not that lucky.
She said, ‘What were you doing up there anyway?’
‘I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours cooped up in boardrooms and shut in a plane,’ he returned shortly. ‘I needed to breathe—and to think.’
And to grieve, she realised, with sudden remorse.
She said haltingly, ‘I—I’m sorry I intruded.’
‘Where else would you take the dogs?’ His tone was dismissive.
They continued on downhill. Even with the torch-light to guide her, Joanna found the slope hard going. She was burdened by her awareness of Gabriel walking beside her, close enough to touch, but not touching—inhibited by her fear that if she put a foot wrong he would reach out a hand to her, and that invisible, necessary barrier would be shattered.
She needed to say something—to break the silence. ‘You might have telephoned,’ she remarked. ‘Told us to expect you.’
He said lightly, ‘I decided against it. You might have changed the locks.’
‘That isn’t very amusing.’ Her tone was chilly.
‘Who said I was joking?’ He paused, then said more gently, ‘Look, forget I said that. I suspect this is going to be a bloody difficult few days, Jo. Let’s do what we can to preserve the outward decencies, whatever our private feelings. For Lionel’s sake.’
‘You don’t have to bludgeon me with his memory,’ she said raggedly. ‘I’ll behave.’ She drew a breath. ‘I’ll go on ahead, give Mrs Ashby a hand. Have you had dinner?’
‘I had something on the plane. It successfully destroyed my appetite for the foreseeable future.’
‘Oh.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, when you bring the dogs in, will you dry off their paws, please? You’ll find their towels—’
‘In the rear cloakroom,’ he supplied. ‘Where they’ve always been. I’ve been gone for two years, Joanna. It’s hardly a lifetime.’
She bit her lip. ‘I thought it might have slipped your memory, that’s all.’
‘Oh, no, Joanna.’ His voice was quiet, almost reflective. ‘I think I can safely promise you that I haven’t forgotten a thing. Not the smallest detail.’
In the brief silence which followed, her sharply in-drawn breath was clearly audible.
He nodded, as if satisfied, then added, ‘Now, go and break the good news to Mrs Ashby. Like the dogs, she’ll be pleased to see me.’
Joanna turned and, half-stumbling, half-running, made her way back to the house.
Mrs Ashby’s reaction to the news was all Gabriel could have wished. She shed a few tears, smiled through them, made a few disjointed remarks, and bustled off to prepare his room.
Joanna knew she should have offered to help, but as she couldn’t in honesty share the good woman’s raptures she decided to keep her distance.
He’s been back five minutes, she thought, and he’s managed to unnerve me already. By the end of the week I’ll be a basket case.
When Gabriel himself returned, she was sitting in the drawing room, having dragged together the threads of her composure. She’d discarded her jacket and boots but resisted the impulse to tidy her wind-blown hair, or disguise the pallor of her face with cosmetics.
‘Well, this is a cosy, domestic scene.’
Joanna glanced up from the book she’d snatched up at random, and was pretending to read, to find him lounging in the doorway, watching her, his eyes hooded, his face inscrutable.
‘It’s better than you realise,’ she returned, trying to sound casual, in spite of the sudden dryness in her throat. ‘Grace has brought in a tray of fresh coffee. May I pour some for you?’
‘No, don’t get up. I’ll do it.’ He walked over to the side table and busied himself with the cafetière and cream jug. ‘She wanted to serve up a fatted calf, but I persuaded her just coffee would be fine.’
To her annoyance, the cup he handed her was just as she liked it. His memory for detail was indeed disturbingly good, she reflected uneasily.
Gabriel looked down at the book she was holding and whistled appreciatively.
‘Wisden? Is this interest in cricketing statistics a new departure?’
‘Not particularly.’ Joanna flushed with annoyance. Of all the damned things she could have chosen, she thought angrily. She closed the book with a bang, and put it down. ‘Actually, I began watching the game to keep your father company.’
