The accusation in the letter that she had neglected her husband bit deep. But the truth always did hurt. She had told Kit the night of the party that she believed herself to be a failure as a wife, and while at the time she had made the comment out ofself-pity, she now had to accept that she had indeed been a failure. Why else had Edmund gone elsewhere to satisfy himself?
It was almost dark, she suddenly realised, her eyes having grown accustomed to the gathering dusk. The presence of lights softly glowing from the cottages ahead of her brought about this awareness. She ought to turn around and go home, but she couldn’t face it. Not yet. Not even to what was meant to be their dream home. Instead, and pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, she trudged on in the gloom, the cold wind slicing through her.
She passed the turning in the road that led to the entrance for Melstead Hall, and for a moment was tempted to march all the way up the long drive to have it out with her brother.‘Is it you sending me these hateful letters?’But if it was him, he would only deny it and would somehow end up with the upper hand. Just as he always did. Never would she give him the satisfaction of knowing he had successfully rattled her, or that somebody else had.
It amazed Hope that Arthur had found three women stupid enough to marry him. She was not so heartless that she didn’t feel sorry for Julia, and she had, along with Romily and Evelyn, tried to extend the hand of friendship to hersister-in-law and nephew, seeing as they were members of the family. But they had never received more than a lukewarm response from Julia. Undoubtedly that was Arthur’s doing, actively discouraging her from mixing with the rest of the family too often, especially without him there. He was probably worried they would tell her what her husband was really like.
It was completely dark now and with the wind gathering strength, and rain beginning to fall, Hope decided she had no choice but to retrace her steps and make her way back to Fairview. She had gone only a few yards along the narrow road when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. She turned around and saw the bright headlamps of a car travelling at speed towards her. Shielding her eyes from the dazzle of the car’s lights, she waited for it to pass by. Too late, and with terrifying certainty, she realised the driver mustn’t have seen her. And before she had time to step out of the way, the car slammed into her. For a moment she felt weightless as her body flew through the air. Then she landed with a heavy and painful thud that knocked the air out of her.
In the panicked confusion of her thoughts, she let out a small cry, no more than a whimper, and lay very still in what felt like a deep black hole waiting for the driver to come and help.
But with the taste of blood in her mouth, and sickening pain throbbing through her, she heard not the sound of hurried footsteps and a concerned voice, just the sound of the car continuing on with its journey.
ChapterForty-One
Island House, Melstead St Mary
November 1962
Romily
Romily watched Stanley put a large log onto the fire in the grate, carefully pushing it into place with the poker, before adding another.
She remembered him as a boy doing the same thing. He used to love making up the fire for her, and always with his faithful dog Bobby at his side. Now he had Tucker, who was equally devoted. Like Romily, the dog was keenly observing Stanley’s every move, no doubt waiting for him to get out of the way so he could resume his place on the hearth rug and enjoy the warmth from the fire.
The weather had suddenly turned quite wintry – a strong cold wind was blowing in from the North Sea and rain was lashing at the windows. Romily was glad to be in the warm, hunkering down in the drawing room with tea and crumpets.
It had been a strange day. She had woken with a debilitating headache and she hadn’t surfaced properly from her room until nearly midday. By the time she had settled at her desk to get on with some work, the telephone had sprung into life and didn’t stop interrupting her until gone four o’clock. On two different occasions Florence had come to Romily asking if she could talk to her, but each time the wretched telephone had put paid to that. Florence had left for home, along with Mrs Collings and Beatty, before Romily had a chance to go in search of her to ask what she wanted to discuss.
For now, though, Romily’s priority was Stanley. She had invited him to join her for tea so she could find out more of what had passed between him and Annelise. Romily had always suspected that his feelings for Annelise went deeper than he made out, but she hadn’t appreciated just how deep.
Pouring their tea, she waited for him to put down the poker and return to the armchair opposite her before resuming the conversation. So far it had been something of a stop–start affair, which was unlike both of them. Normally they had no end of things to say to each other. It was as if Stanley sensed why she had invited him here and was on his guard.
‘You seem uncharacteristically quiet, Romily,’ he said, when he was seated and had taken his cup and saucer from her.
‘I was thinking the same of you.’
He pursed his lips. Then: ‘In that case, I suppose we’d better cut to the chase, hadn’t we? What has Annelise told you?’
‘That you were unwell the night of the party,’ Romily said, glad that he was prepared to be so direct.
He carefully put down his cup and saucer. ‘Is that all?’
‘No.’
He sighed and slumped forward, his hands hanging between his knees, his head low.
‘Stanley, she told me what she did because she cares about you.’
‘Yes,’ he said, straightening up and meeting Romily’s gaze. ‘She does care for me. I know that. Just not in the way I’ve always wanted.’
‘Always?’ Romily repeated questioningly.
‘For as long as it counts.’
‘Why did you never make your feelings known before?’
‘That’s disingenuous of you. I’ve never been her equal, not socially or intellectually.’
