‘Aye.’
Rodney was smiling, and Maggie smiled back, but her mind was on a different plane altogether. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like her lass coming into money, she could read it in his eyes. Now why was that then? She wouldn’t put him down as a mean-minded man, just the opposite in fact, but her gut instinct was never wrong and it was telling her the doctor was miffed. More than miffed.
‘I’ve told her she needs to invest.’
‘Invest?’
‘Yes, in property - bonds - something which is a surefire bet.’
‘Oh, aye.’ Maggie was out of her depth now, and she hesitated a moment before saying, ‘It’s a lot of money, lad.’
‘Invested wisely it could double in ten years, less even, and Sarah could still have enough to do exactly what she likes.’
‘I’m not interested in doubling it.’
Sarah’s voice was low, and Maggie’s eyes were keen as they rested on her face before returning to the man standing just in front of her. There was more here than met the eye. She’d caught the brief hesitation in Rodney’s voice, and it spoke volumes to the old woman. The lad wasn’t happy, that was for sure, and she’d bet her life her lass weren’t none too bright either, in spite of all that money coming her way. And why did a man like the doctor, a busy man, and good-looking too, why did he keep bothering to come round all the time? Her heart began to thump a bit. Perhaps she’d got it wrong before, she thought slowly. Maybe his feelings for her lass weren’t so far removed from Sarah’s for him after all?
Maggie nodded now at Sarah as she said, ‘Aye, well, it’s no bad thing to think on for a bit, lass. You can always make up your mind gradual like. You could put a bit away, travel maybe, meet new folks an’ enjoy yourself a while, eh?’
Maggie’s voice was casual but her eyes were hard on Rodney, and what she read in his face caused her to give a mental nod to the voice in her head which said, Aye, he liked her all right, the daft blighter, so why was he messin’ about? If he didn’t open his mouth it was for sure her lass wouldn’t. There was plenty who’d be forward enough mind, oh aye, the war had changed a lot of things, and not all of them for the better, but she knew her lass. It couldn’t be the money that was holding him back, he’d got more than enough of his own, besides which they’d only known about Sarah’s windfall in the last couple of weeks, so what was it? Had Sarah given him the wrong impression, acted as if she weren’t interested? He wasn’t the type to force himself on a lass, a gentleman through and through, he was, but her lass was beautiful and bright, and wealthy now in her own right. She couldn’t remain single for long . . .
Rodney was thinking just the same thing as he continued the conversation with Maggie for a few minutes more. He had thought of nothing else since Sarah had told him about her inheritance. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Her name was a constant refrain in his mind whatever he was doing and whoever he was with. He had thought he’d got time on his side, time to woo her and persuade her to see him as something more than a friend, but fate had had other ideas. Not that he begrudged her the money, not a penny of it. If anyone deserved life to smile on them it was Sarah. But it had the potential to move her out of his orbit before he could reach her. Time. Suddenly it had turned from friend to enemy, and overnight it seemed. He felt hot panic grip his bowels, and then he realized Maggie had been speaking and he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie?’
‘I said, little Lucy-Ann is the image of her mam.’
‘Yes. Yes, she is.’
‘An’ it’ll do the lass good to take care of her own bairn. Therapy like.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘At least Willie come through with somethin’ for her.’ Rodney raised his eyebrows at this, his expression indicating surprise at Maggie’s choice of words, and she stared back at him for a long moment before saying, ‘Every lass ought to get married an’ have her own family, lad. There’s somethin’ in most women that can only be satisfied when they hold their first bairn in their arms, especially ones who’ve had the sort of beginnin’ Rebecca has.’
What was she really saying? Rodney found himself holding Maggie’s straight gaze as his mind sought for something to say, and failed. He’d got the impression that suddenly they weren’t talking about Rebecca any more, and as he heard Sarah shift uneasily behind him, he felt she had sensed the same thing.
Was Maggie warning him off? he asked himself grimly. She was quite capable of it, that was for sure. Or did she suspect his feelings for Sarah went deeper than friendship, but was testing the water to be sure? Could it even be that she was giving him tacit encouragement? How the hell was he to know? But one thing was for sure, this latest business with the inheritance had taken the softly-softly approach from him, and he was damned if he was going to stand by and see Sarah move on without at least opening his mouth.
With that in mind, he said, ‘There’s a few women’s rights enthusiasts who would disagree with that statement, Maggie, but not me.’ He turned to look at Sarah now. ‘What about you, Sarah?’ he asked quietly, his voice soft but expressing something that went far beyond the actual words.
‘Me?’ He was asking her approval in making Vanessa an honest woman and mother of his children? Well, she could hardly concur, whether he liked it or not. ‘I think some women would make awful mothers actually, just as some men are never meant to be fathers.’ Sarah raised her chin slightly. ‘But everyone to their own, of course.’
‘Oh, of course.’ He knew his tone was a touch too hearty, but the heat spiralling up from the depths of him would be reflected in his face in a moment if he didn’t get out, and he made his goodbyes and left the house at once.
Rodney drove steadily and without undue haste to a quiet tree-lined street not far from Emery Place, where, after parking between two family saloons, he remained sitting in the car without moving for a long time. She had known what he was asking, he had seen something register in her eyes as he had spoken. And it was fair enough, she had made it quite clear over the last weeks that she didn’t want him to embarrass her by putting her in the position where she would be forced to spell it out.
He hit the steering wheel with a clenched first with enough force for it to hurt. It was over,
finished
, not that it had ever begun. He couldn’t hound her, coerce or use force to make her love him, and neither did he want it to get so she dreaded the sound of his name or the sight of him.
He stretched in his seat for a moment, pain gnawing at his vitals. Well, he hadn’t let those devils in the camp beat him and he wouldn’t let this either, but of the two . . . He straightened, his face grim. Of the two, he knew which was going to be the harder fight to win.
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Here, lass, I’ve just bin sayin’ to Florrie, you don’t think that’s the doctor’s sister-in-law, do you?’
‘What?’
It was the evening of the next day, and Maggie and Florrie were sitting in front of the fire in their room, Maggie reading the paper and Florrie knitting a little matinee jacket for Lucy-Ann - when Maggie hailed Sarah as she put her head round the door to ask if they would like a cup of tea.
‘This bit in the paper, here.’ Maggie thrust the paper at Sarah as she came fully into the room. ‘You read it, lass.’
It was a small piece extolling the personages who had attended a charity gala, and in the listed names there was a Lord Simmons and a Mrs Vanessa Mallard.
‘I know you said she’s broke up with him, separated like, but that looks a bit final, don’t it, if she’s taken up with some Lord or other?’
‘But—’ Sarah stared at the black print as the letters danced.
‘Aye?’
‘Oh nothing, nothing. Perhaps . . . perhaps he’s just a friend.’
‘Aye, an’ perhaps pigs fly, but I like me bacon where I can see it. If this Lord Simmons is escortin’ her to fancy dos, knowin’ how some folk talk, I’d say he means business meself.’
So would she. Sarah stared at Maggie for a moment as her mind raced. Yes, so would she, and that meant - what? That Vanessa and Rodney had parted? Fallen out perhaps? Or . . . or could it be that their affair had never been fact in the first place? But if that was so, why had Vanessa taken the trouble to seek her out and tell her a pack of lies? It must have been true. Oh, she had to go somewhere quiet and think, but there was no hope of that until she was in bed. There
had
been something between Vanessa Mallard and Rodney, she’d sensed it at Christmas, but could it have been just that they’d been engaged once and it had finished? No, it was no good, she couldn’t think of this now, she had too much to do. She would think of it later when she was alone.
Once in the hall again she tidied her hair in the large gilt-framed mirror, drawing a few soft golden strands that had escaped the french pleat at the back of her head into place with shaking hands, and noticing the brightness in her eyes with a little sigh of despair at her own foolishness. This probably meant nothing,
nothing
, she told the shining blue eyes staring back at her. He could be a friend of Vanessa’s, even a friend of Richard’s, there could be a hundred valid explanations. But she could ask Rodney about the article, couldn’t she, casually, as though it didn’t mean anything one way or the other? There was nothing wrong in that.
Inspection completed she walked back down the hall and into the kitchen, enchanging a few words with Hilda as she busied herself with a tea tray for Maggie and Florrie, and chivvying Eileen along as the girl cleaned the stove for morning with snail-like slowness, before hurrying along to the morning room and spending a few minutes glancing through the housekeeping accounts. But she couldn’t concentrate . . .
When Hilda and Eileen popped their heads round the door to say good night she decided to call it a day, checking first on Maggie and Florrie, who were both now tucked up in their beds, before doing her rounds and making sure the house was secure for the night. Once in her room she got ready for bed quickly, her mind continuing to chew at various possibilities for the article in the paper, and after some twenty minutes, when she had given herself a thudding headache, she climbed out of bed again and took a couple of aspirins with a drink of water. She had to go to sleep, she had a million things to do in the morning, and the only way she could get to the bottom of all this was to speak to Rodney anyway. And she would. In the morning she would take the bull by the horns and ring him, even if it did look incredibly nosy. Her mind made up she climbed back into bed and was asleep within minutes.
Sir Geoffrey Harris saw the lights go off in 19 Emery Place one by one from his vantage point in the small park opposite the house.
He had been waiting in the dark mauve shadows of the mild June dusk from before nine o’clock and it was now nearly eleven, but he wasn’t tired. His expectations of the night ahead had him on tenterhooks and sleep was the last thing on his mind. She was in there - turning off the lights, doing the housekeeping act she was so good at - secure in the knowledge she now had money of her own and could thumb her nose at all of them when she had a mind to.
His
money. Twenty thousand damn pounds’ worth.
He breathed in deeply through his nose for a few moments, his mind cautioning him as it said, Steady, steady, your time will come, the plans have been made.
A fierce surge of excitement and power rose in him, and helped control the frustrated rage which had been burning to a greater or lesser degree for months, but which had reached its climax two weeks before in his father’s study at Fenwick. An allowance. An allowance, blast her. He still found it hard to believe his mother had done that to him, especially as he’d begun to talk her round that last couple of months when he’d visited so regularly . . . or he thought he’d talked her round. But she’d been worked on, oh yes, and by an expert. And that same expert had got Margaret digging her heels in and talking about visiting rights.
Visiting rights. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled. He’d give her visiting rights, he’d make her regret the day she was born, once he was back in and she was under his control. But that wouldn’t happen until the other one was out of the way, he knew that. And then, what with the fancy lawyers pleading his case and him sweet-talking that frigid bitch of a wife of his round, he’d come into what was rightfully his. He could handle Margaret. He had always been able to handle Margaret.
He glanced at his watch, a quiver of excitement making his fat buttocks clench. Another few minutes and then Eileen could do her bit.
Eileen . . . The name warmed him, causing him to move a stealthy hand to his crotch and rub gently at the swelling there. The girl was a natural whore if ever he’d met one. At fifteen he had half expected her to be a virgin, but there had been others there before him - several others judging by what she knew between the sheets. She’d go far, that girl, and he’d follow through on his agreement to set her up in a little flat somewhere once all this was settled. He’d never gone to those lengths before, but for Eileen . . . Yes, he could see himself visiting her for a good few years yet.