Words which Venetia couldn’t hear were exchanged and then to her concern, Mr Grafton shoved Lucien through the doorway, then turned and walked back up the path. He gave a brief glance over his shoulder as the door shut and then set off in the direction of the Hall.
Venetia held her position, fearing for her friend who was now entirely alone with an evil monster. Why hadn’t Mr Grafton stayed with Lucien? When ten minutes had passed, surely that was long enough for Lucien to make his apology, she crept out from behind the tree and moved slowly towards the cottage.
Not wanting to risk being seen going up the path, she hugged the perimeter of the laurel hedge, staying low to the ground so her head wouldn’t be seen above it. When she reached the back, she squeezed through the smallest of gaps in the hedge next to a brick-built shed. The door of the shed was open, and she could see that it was the outdoor privy. The stench coming from it turned her stomach.
Moving up the ramshackle garden, she went and stood to one side of a window, and then very warily she peered into the kitchen, no more than a tiny scullery really. The stone sink and wooden draining board were covered in unwashed pots and pans and empty beer bottles. Shifting her gaze around the small gloomy interior she gave a small start at the sight of a dead rabbit strung up on a hook on the wall to the side of the range.
Cupping her hands around her eyes she strained to see beyond the kitchen, through the open door that led to the front of the cottage. At once she saw the outline of a large man. It was Terry and he was on his feet with his head tilted down as though looking at something.
At first Venetia didn’t understand what she was seeing, she couldn’t make sense of it. Why was Lucien kneeling in front of Terry like that? Was he being made to beg for forgiveness as a further act of humiliation?
But then it dawned on her what was happening and as the violent need to be sick consumed her, she clamped a hand over her mouth and not caring about the consequences, knowing only that she had to stop what her poor friend was being forced to do, she banged on the window. That was when Terry whipped round, his ugly face as black as thunder. But worse than that was the expression on Lucien’s face. It was a combination of horrified alarm and shame.
Everything happened very quickly after that. Lucien sprang to his feet and shoved Terry so hard that, even though there was no comparison between their body weight, Terry lost his balance and fell backwards. Perhaps it was the sheer bulk of his body that caused him to fall with such force, but he went down like a sack of coal.
‘Run!’Venetia screamed through the window to her friend and then trying to open the back door but without success.
By the time she’d raced around to the front of the cottage, Lucien had flung open the door and was already running, not towards the safety of the Hall, but in the direction of the woods. She yelled at him to slow down as she charged after him, but he didn’t. She upped her pace, twice looking over her shoulder to see if Terry was coming after them, but there was no sign of him.
When she finally caught up with Lucien, he’d come to a stop in the densest part of the wood and was bent double trying to catch his breath, a painfully ragged wheeze coming from his chest.
She put a hand out to him, to try and rub his back, to calm him so his breathing could return to normal. But he shuddered at her touch.
‘Just go!’ he rasped at her. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m staying.’
‘But I don’t want you anywhere near me. Everything is going to be so much worse now. Don’t you understand that?’
‘We have to tell someone what … what Terry made you do. He’ll lose his job and will be forced to leave.’
Tears began streaming down Lucien’s cheeks. ‘Nobody must ever know!’ he cried. ‘You must promise not to tell anyone. I couldn’t bear the shame. I only did it because he said he’d force you to do it to him if I didn’t.’
Dismayed and sickened at Lucien’s words, and wanting more than anything to undo the damage Terry had caused him, she said, ‘Everything’s going to be all right now, Lucien. You’ll see. That vile man isn’t going to hurt you ever again.’
How naive she was to think that it could be as simple as that.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Can you believe the outright nerve of the woman? She’s only cooking his favourite meals and forcing him to be like a bloody father to Finlay! And if she thinks for one minute I’m going to stand by and let her steal Ben from right under my nose, just like she’s stolen Emily, she’d better think again!’
There was a resounding silence in Cassie’s ear and she was on the verge of asking if her mother was still there, when, and with infuriating predictability, her mother said, ‘Darling, are you sure you’re not letting your … ’
‘Go on, Mum,’ Cassie said when her mother’s voice tailed off, ‘say it, don’t hold back as though I’m going to fall apart at any implied criticism.’
‘It’s not a criticism, merely an observation. A concern.’
‘Go ahead then, just say it. What’s your concern, that I’m allowing my insecurities to get the better of me, that I’m so scared of losing Ben that I see danger in every woman who comes onto his radar? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?’
‘Of course I don’t think that, don’t be silly.’
‘What then?’ demanded Cassie, childish defensiveness crackling like static through her at being called silly.What was silly worrying about the threat of another woman making a move on your partner?
The man in front of her in the self-service checkout queueturned around to look at her. She gave him a ferocious death-stare and indicated none too politely that one of the self-service tills was now free. He made a beeline for it, leaving her to realise that she had turned into one of those hateful people who conducted overly loud discussions on their mobiles while forcing anyone within range to hear what was being said.
Tuning back into what her mother was saying, Cassie heard: ‘It’s nothing but pre-wedding jitters you’re experiencing, every bride feels anxious before their big day.’
Cassie had to admire her mother’s nerve at resorting to that tried and tested old cookie, but she wasn’t falling for it. They both knew that Cassie had huge trust issues and doubts could so easily railroad her from the path of rational thought. She knew all that, she knew it with every fibre of her being, but she just couldn’t stop herself from imagining the worst. And right now, the worst was a she-wolf in designer sheep’s clothing currently living in the hen coop. That was probably a muddle of a metaphor, but Cassie knew what she meant.
