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Sylvia loved to cook, and she’d created an environment for herself that was warm and homely, as well as being an efficient workspace. Pans and utensils hung from racks, and the huge built-in dresser groaned under the weight of her favourite blue and white china.
‘I made a Dundee cake too.’ Sylvia passed it to her. ‘It’s Gabriel’s favourite.’
‘So it is,’ Joanna said slowly. ‘I—I’d forgotten.’
‘Well, why should you remember?’ Sylvia asked robustly. ‘It isn’t as if you ever cooked for him, after all, and got to know his likes and dislikes. As soon as the honeymoon was over, it was straight back to the Manor and the status quo. Not exactly the usual start in marriage that most young wives experience,’ she added drily.
Joanna smiled wanly. ‘I don’t think it made much difference in the long run. As you’ve already pointed out, it wasn’t a marriage made in heaven.’
‘But it didn’t have to end up in hell, either. Perhaps if you’d had a home of your own—some privacy where you could have slogged out your problems—it might have helped.’
‘There was never any question of that.’ Joanna arranged cups and saucers carefully on a tray. Because Gabriel never wanted to be tied down like that. It was convenient for him to leave me at Westroe while he got on with his own life.
‘And there were compensations too,’ she said. ‘When things were really bad, at least I wasn’t alone.’
‘No,’ Sylvia said with a snap. ‘You always had your stepmother, of course. A terrific consolation.’ She gave Joanna a steely look. ‘I suppose she’s sticking to the Manor like glue?’
‘Not exactly.’ Joanna’s hand shook as she poured milk into a silver jug, causing her to spill some on the worktop. ‘She’s moving to Larkspur Cottage for the next twelve months or so.’ She fetched a cloth and wiped up the milk drops. ‘It—it was Gabriel’s idea.’
‘Ah,’ Sylvia said neutrally, ‘I see.’ She spooned tea into the pot and poured on boiling water. ‘So you and Gabriel will be on your own together at last.’ She sounded meditative.
‘Only to fulfil the terms of the will.’ Joanna tipped sugar cubes into a bowl and placed it on the tray. ‘And through no wish of mine, believe me.’
‘You blame Gabriel for everything, don’t you?’ Sylvia’s voice was wry. ‘Would it help if I told you he knew about Lionel’s will and did his damnedest to talk him out of it?’
‘For his own good reasons, no doubt,’ Joanna retorted tightly.
‘No, for your sake,’ Sylvia returned. ‘He wanted you to have your freedom, and without strings. He thought he’d persuaded Lionel to agree.’
For a moment they stood looking at each other, then Joanna turned away.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said wearily. ‘I keep forgetting that he’s your godson, and you’re bound to be on his side.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ Sylvia said briskly. ‘I don’t condone his past behaviour, and he knows it. He’s not a fool, but he’s certainly acted like one. I only wish he’d transfer some of his business acumen to his private life.’
She gave a brief sigh, then glanced around her. ‘Now, if we’re all ready, let’s take the tea in.’
Sylvia was right about one thing, Joanna realised. Between the affectionate, exuberant greeting she received from Charles and the handing round of cups and plates of food, Gabriel’s cool politeness went almost unnoticed. Almost.
And as the conversation ranged, from the state of the garden to the amount of painting Sylvia had achieved in Portugal, the fact that Joanna and he barely exchanged a word with each other wasn’t so painfully evident either.
‘Did you know we’d let the Lodge at last?’ Charles turned to Gabriel. ‘We’d almost begun to give up hope, but the agents found someone while we were away and he’s already moved in.’
‘Pity we didn’t know that Cynthia Elcott was looking for a place.’ Sylvia busied herself with the teapot. ‘Not that I’d particularly want her for a neighbour, of course, but better the devil you know…’
Joanna stared down at her plate, not daring to see what effect this implied criticism of his new fancy might be having on Gabriel.
However, he only sounded amused. ‘Your tenant has demonic qualities?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t have been our first choice,’ Charles said. ‘We’d have preferred a couple to a single man, but at least the rent is guaranteed, and you can’t have everything.’
Good God, Joanna thought blankly. They must be talking about Paul Gordon, the man I met this morning. So, he’s actually living quite close by.
She was aware that her colour had risen suddenly, and, looking up, saw that Gabriel had noticed too, and was staring at her narrow-eyed. She took a hasty bite of a sandwich.
When tea was over, Charles asked Gabriel for a word of advice on a letter he’d had from his broker, and the two men went off together.
Joanna offered to help with the washing up, but was quietly relieved when her hostess scoffed at the very idea.
Sylvia accompanied her out to the car. ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she said with mock severity. ‘If life at the Manor gets you down, you can always use this as a bolthole.’
Joanna returned her heartening embrace, and drove away.
She hadn’t really noticed the Lodge as she drove in, but now, as she approached it, she realised there was smoke coming from the chimney. As she slowed to negotiate the gateway Paul Gordon emerged from the front door and waved to her. She pulled over, and parked on the verge.
‘Well, hello again.’ He leaned in at the car window. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of you earlier. Obviously you know my landlords.’
‘Yes, we’re old friends. I’ve been having tea.’
He looked disappointed. ‘Then I can’t offer you a cup.’
‘No, thanks.’ She gave him a constrained smile. ‘I have to be getting back, anyway.’
‘But you will some other time?’ He grimaced slightly. ‘I feel a bit isolated, to be honest. The landlords were abroad when I moved in, and they haven’t been all that sociable since their return.’
‘Perhaps they feel they should keep any relationship on a business footing.’ Joanna spoke coolly, disliking the implied criticism in his voice.
He groaned. ‘Oh, hell, please don’t freeze me too. I’m sure the Osbornes are really lovely people.’
‘Indeed they are.’ Joanna hesitated. ‘Maybe we take slightly longer to make up our minds about people in the country.’
‘Then I must be an inveterate townie,’ he said promptly. ‘Because I knew I liked you from the first moment I saw you.’
She was aware of that tell-tale blush again, and angry with herself because of it.
She said sedately, ‘Then that just shows the danger of snap judgements.’
‘I’m not afraid of taking risks either,’ he said. ‘Which is something we have in common, Mrs Joanna Verne.’
‘On the contrary.’ Joanna put her car in gear, preparing to drive off. ‘I’m extremely cautious.’
‘Not if you plan to ride that chestnut on a regular basis.’
In the mirror she could see Gabriel’s car turning the corner towards them, and cursed under her breath.
She said hurriedly, ‘Actually, it’s my husband’s horse, so I doubt if I’ll have much chance to take it out again. Now I really must go.’
‘Of course.’ He stood back from the car, his smile warm, lingering. ‘But I look forward to seeing you again soon.’
He went back into the Lodge, closing the front door behind him. Joanna waited on the verge for Gabriel to overtake her. She half expected him to stop the car and make some comment, but he simply drove past—almost as if she hadn’t been there, she thought crossly.
Yet she knew he’d seen her. Seen them. She’d felt his eyes boring into her all the way down the drive.
She followed at a safe distance until they reached the crossroads, when he took the road to Westroe instead of the turning to the Manor.
Off to Larkspur Cottage, no doubt, Joanna thought, cornering much too fast.
She straightened up, slowed down, and pulled over to the side of the road. Killing herself, after all, wouldn’t improve a thing.
It occurred to her that for the first time in her life she was experiencing male admiration from someone of her own generation. Apart from Gabriel, almost every man she knew was a contemporary of Lionel’s.
Now she’d met someone who seemed to look at her as if she was a woman—and a desirable woman at that. And she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t find it flattering.
Paul Gordon was also attractive, she admitted. In some other lifetime she might even have been tempted to respond to his charm.
Instead, she thought wretchedly, she was trapped in her hopeless fixation on Gabriel. And much good that would do her.
Oh, why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t love be a kind and mutual thing, instead of a destructive force that swept you away into a hell of your own making?
And why was the person you wanted more than life itself destined to be always out of reach?
She sat, staring unseeingly through the windscreen, her throat aching with unshed tears, letting her mind turn in endless, empty circles.
And, when she could bear it no longer, she started up the car again and drove back to the Manor.
Back, she thought, to her cage.
She was met by an agitated Grace Ashby. ‘The Persian rug from the morning room, madam. It’s gone. Mrs Elcott’s taken it to her cottage. And the porcelain candlesticks, and the set of Delft plates. A van came this afternoon while you were out, and collected them all.
‘The two armchairs from the small sitting room have gone too, and all the furniture from Mrs Elcott’s bedroom. It’s been totally stripped, even down to the curtains. And she’s got the Spode dinner service, and an entire boxful of household linen, not to mention ornaments, and Mr Lionel’s snuff box collection…’
Joanna groaned inwardly. She said quietly, concealing her private dismay, ‘Mrs Elcott has permission to take the things, Grace. Mr Gabriel said she could have whatever she wanted. I—I discussed it with him earlier.’
Although I didn’t expect her to be quite so quick off the mark, she amended inwardly. Or so thorough.
‘And I think you’ll find everything’s only on loan. The whole lot will be coming back to the Manor in due course.’ Along with its new mistress, she added silently.
‘Just as you say, of course, madam.’ Mrs Ashby sounded doubtful. She paused. ‘I understand neither Mrs Elcott nor Mr Verne will be dining at home this evening. Is there anything special you’d like?’
Just for a moment Joanna wondered if this was Grace Ashby’s way of telling her that she knew what was going on, but a swift look at the other woman’s patient, rather puzzled expression convinced her that she was wrong.
She said with an effort, ‘I’m not all that hungry. Some clear soup and grilled fish would be fine.’
She bathed and changed into a plain grey woollen dress, long-sleeved and full-skirted. Its severe neckline needed some enhancement, she decided, taking out the pearls Lionel had once given her and clasping them round her throat.
Her solitary dinner over, she took her coffee into the drawing room. She switched on the television but found herself unable to concentrate on anything being offered on any of the channels.
She thought, I’ll play some music.
Lionel had not been fond of what he termed ‘gadgets’, but he had invested in a handsome hi-fi system with a CD player, and they’d spent many companionable evenings listening to their favourite works.
Joanna made her selection from the rack of discs, and a moment later the emotive chords of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ filled the room.
Curled up in a corner of the sofa, eyes closed, Joanna gave herself up to the poignant, dramatic flow of the music.
The final movement was reaching its climax when instinct told her that she was being watched.
Her heart began to thud. Slowly she opened her eyes and turned her head, to see Gabriel lounging in the doorway.
Joanna sat up hurriedly, searching for something—anything—to say, when she saw him raise a quiet finger to his lips, indicating that they should both be silent until the music was over.
When the room relaxed into stillness again, he came forward. He was smiling faintly, his brows drawn together in a slight frown. ‘Do you always listen to such sad music when you’re alone?’
‘I don’t know,’ she returned stiltedly. ‘Solitary evenings are a comparative novelty.’ She paused. ‘And I don’t find it all that sad. I think it’s powerful and—exhilarating.’
‘I bow to your superior wisdom.’ Gabriel removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, before seating himself opposite to her. He met her startled look levelly. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I—I wasn’t expecting you back so early.’
His frown deepened. ‘Did I say I was going to be late? I don’t think so.’ He slanted a faint smile at her. ‘Anyway, it means we can enjoy some domestic bliss together. Why don’t you put some more music on?’
She said stiffly, ‘Actually, I was on the point of going to bed.’
‘Really?’ His brows rose sceptically. ‘Now, I got the impression that you were totally relaxed, lost in some world of your own.’
‘Appearances,’ she said, ‘can be deceptive.’
‘Ain’t that the truth?’ he murmured. ‘But please don’t let me drive you away. You never know. Music might prove the common ground where we can meet without quarrelling.’
‘I doubt that exists.’
‘Well, we can try. And for starters you could stop being so uptight.’
Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’m—sorry. As I said—you startled me.’
‘I don’t know why. And I’m afraid, darling, you’re just going to have to live with my arrivals and departures.’
She said coolly, ‘I find the departures easier to handle.’
His mouth twisted, but he made no immediate reply. Instead the tawny eyes began a comprehensive survey of her, from the tendrils of soft hair brushing her flushed face, pausing momentarily at her exposed throat, then down over the cling of the grey wool dress to her rounded breasts, to the soft folds of the skirt outlining the slender length of her thighs. And back to her throat again.
He said softly, ‘You look like a ghost—a little grey ghost. But my mother’s pearls look good on you.’
‘Your mother’s?’ Joanna’s hand flew defensively to the smooth string. ‘I—I didn’t know—Lionel didn’t tell me…’
He shrugged. ‘Why should he? He gave them to her when I was born. Under ordinary circumstances they’d have come to you anyway—probably to mark the birth of our own first child,’ he added unsmilingly.
Her flush deepened. ‘Then I’m wearing them under false pretences.’ She put her hands up, fumbling for the clasp. ‘You can have them back now.’
