Angelo said nothing for a while. ‘I slept with Lillian.’
And Gloria felt the dread that had lived inside her all week finally settle in all its darkness.
‘I knew it,’ she whispered.
Lillian had wanted him, not just because he was beautiful, sensual and gifted, but because he was Gloria’s.
‘We’re finished then.’
It was broken. Over.
‘No, please,’ Angelo said. ‘Please no—’
‘I can’t forgive you that,’ Gloria said, eyes blinded with tears. ‘I wish I could, but I can’t. Goodbye, Angelo.’
Somehow, she got out of the car, pulling her small weekend bag with her. He didn’t try to come after her because he knew there was no point. It was over. The weekend bag was heavy and she held it to her chest as she walked, letting the tears drop onto the canvas.
What could she do now? Confront Lillian, who would no doubt deny it? Tell Bob?
She couldn’t do that. Gloria walked slowly, climbing over the stile so she could walk along the fields in case Angelo drove back that way. If she saw him again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist him. And she had to.
Lillian might have wanted Angelo, might have done her best to entrap him, but he was a grown man. He had the ability to say no. They were both to blame. She couldn’t stay with a man who would betray her.
But Bob ... she wasn’t sure if she owed it to him to tell him. Or owed it to him to say nothing. If she did that, he would marry Lillian and she would have to watch. But she’d never forgive Lillian. Never.
Lou stared at the painting and felt a whole well of sadness open up inside her.
There could be only one reason why Gloria would have such a painting by this man hanging over her while she slept.
She was the other woman in the story of Lillian, Angelo and Bob.
Angelo had betrayed this other woman but hadn’t named her. He’d hurt darling Gloria.
But Lillian, capricious, charming and selfish Lillian, had stolen her nearly-sister-in-law’s man and hadn’t cared less. Lillian had been playing with other people’s lives for years and had no regrets. An icy calm descended upon Lou. The last bit of filmy curtain in front of her eyes fell to the ground. She could not change her mother’s behaviour, no. But she could change her own reaction to it.
Lou went into the garden and handed the cardigan silently to her aunt. She brought out the tea tray, set it down, then poured.
‘You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?’ she asked, still feeling remarkably calm.
Gloria looked up, startled, then awareness came over her face. ‘Angelo told you?’
Lou shook her head. ‘I’ve only just realised: I saw the painting over your bed.’
‘Ah.’ Gloria smiled. ‘You’ve seen that painting so many times. I should have sold it, but I couldn’t. I’d loved him ...’
‘Oh Gloria, I’m so sorry. I never asked you about the lost love. I never asked!’ said Lou, deeply upset. ‘Angelo’s such a lovely man and you would have been so happy together ...’
‘I am happy,’ Gloria said simply. ‘I learned to love the life I had. I had you and Toni and Bob. Then I had Emily. I had my charity work in Whitehaven, my little dogs.’ She looked down at Sugar with love. ‘I could have wasted my life in reproach and bitterness but why? No, Lou, I’ve been happy. And...’
She hesitated.
‘Angelo. He’s happy too? Married, Toni tells me, with a beautiful wife.’
Lou nodded.
‘Why didn’t he tell me it was you?’ she asked.
Suddenly Gloria’s eyes glittered with unshed tears.
