Marriage Reclaimed. Sara Craven
room fire, the dogs stretched on the rug at her feet. The morning paper lay on the table beside her, still neatly folded. Usually she and Lionel would have been arguing companionably over the crossword by now, she thought, with a pang of desolation.
She drew a sharp breath. ‘I’ve got to stop looking back,’ she whispered fiercely to herself. ‘Because that brings nothing but pain.’
The future was something she dared not contemplate. Which left only the emptiness of the present.
She knew she would deal with that unwelcome moment of revelation she’d experienced before dinner. It was essential to rationalise and somehow dismiss it before Gabriel came back.
I’m in an emotional low, she told herself. I’m bound to be vulnerable—prey to all kinds of ridiculous imaginings.
Or maybe Cynthia’s right, and I’m just a dog in the manger.
I could live with that, she thought. But not with the possibility that Gabriel is still of importance in my life.
Determinedly, and deliberately, she switched her attention to another of Cynthia’s bombshells—that Lionel had been affected his whole life through by his passion for Joanna’s mother. Could it be true? she wondered.
Certainly she’d never heard him say anything that gave credence to such an idea. However tempestuous his marriage had been, she’d always believed that he’d loved Valentina Alessio. And he had never seriously contemplated putting another woman in her place—whatever Cynthia might choose to think.
Henry Fortescue had described Mary Verne as Lionel’s favourite cousin, and that was how she still planned to regard their relationship.
A low whine from one of the dogs reminded her that she’d promised to take them out.
She pulled on some boots, shrugged on her waxed jacket, and wound a scarf round her neck.
She collected a flashlight and let herself out by the side door, the dogs capering joyfully round her. They went through the garden, across the field, and onto the hill via the rickety wooden stile.
The temperature had fallen, and a damp, icy wind was blowing, making Joanna shiver in spite of her jacket.
Cold enough for snow, she thought as she followed the gambolling dogs up the well-worn track.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ she warned them. ‘We’ll go as far as the Hermitage and then I’m turning back.’
It was a stiff climb, and the ground was slippery and treacherous with loose stones. She was breathless when she reached the awkward huddle of rocks on the summit, and quite glad to lean her back against the largest boulder and shelter from the penetrating wind.
The dogs were hurtling about in the dead bracken, yelping excitedly. Joanna clicked off the flashlight to save the battery, and shoved it in her pocket.
It was a good spot for star-gazing, but tonight the sky was busy with scudding clouds.
Joanna looked back the way she had come. The Manor lay below her in the valley. There was a light in the kitchen wing, and one from Cynthia’s bedroom, but the rest of the house was in darkness.
A week ago it would have been ablaze with lights. Lionel had liked brightness and warmth, and had never mastered the theory that electricity switches operated in an ‘off’ position too.
The blank windows said more plainly than anything else that the master was no longer at home.
The wind mourned softly among the fallen stones. Local legend said that centuries before a man had come to this place and built himself a stone shelter where he could pray and do penance for his sins in complete solitude, and that the keening of the wind was the hermit weeping for his past wickedness.
And so would I, thought Joanna, adjusting her scarf more securely. She called the dogs and they came trotting to her side. As she reached for her torch they stiffened, and she heard them growl softly.
‘Easy,’ she told them. ‘It’s only a sheep—or a deer.’
They were too well-behaved to go chasing livestock, but something had clearly spooked them. Or someone, Joanna thought with sudden alarm, as she heard the rattle of a stray pebble nearby. Her fingers tightened around the unlit torch. Normally she’d expect to have the hill to herself on a night like this.
Perhaps it was the hermit, who was said to wander across the top of the hill in robe and cowl, usually when the moon was full, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-derision.
She said clearly, ‘Jess—Moll—it’s all right.’
For a moment they were still under her restraining hand, then with a whimper of excitement they leapt forward into the darkness. A moment later she heard them barking hysterically a short distance away.
‘Damnation.’ She switched on the torch and followed them, cursing herself for not having brought their leashes.
She could only hope they hadn’t flushed some hardy courting couple out of the bracken.
She could see their quarry now, a tall, dark figure, standing quietly while the dogs leapt about him, yelping in joyous welcome.
She hurried into speech. ‘Good evening. I do hope they’re not annoying you. They’re not usually like this with strangers.’
For a moment he neither moved nor spoke, then he put down a hand and the dogs sank to their haunches, their faces lifted worshipfully towards him.
And Joanna knew in that instant, with a sudden sick dread, exactly who was standing in front of her in the darkness.
He said quietly, ‘They’re not annoying me, Joanna. And I’m hardly a stranger.’
The breath caught in her throat. She took a quick step backwards, the torch swinging up to illumine his face and confirm her worst fear.
Her voice was a scratchy whisper. ‘Gabriel?’
‘Congratulations. You have an excellent memory.’
She disregarded the jibe. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘My father died yesterday.’ A harshness invaded the usually cool drawl. ‘I’ve come to attend his funeral.’
‘But we weren’t expecting you—not for another two days.’
‘I decided to end my self-imposed exile and take an earlier flight. I hope it won’t cause you too much inconvenience.’
She swallowed. ‘No—no, of course not.’
‘Said with no conviction at all,’ he murmured. ‘Not that it makes a ha’p’orth of difference. I’m here, and I intend to spend the night under my own roof. And if that’s a problem for you, Joanna, you’re just going to have to sort it out.’
She said tautly, ‘You’re forty-eight hours early, that’s all. No big deal. And if anyone’s going to be inconvenienced it will be Mrs Ashby. I’d better go down and warn her.’ She paused. ‘Moll—Jess—come on.’
The retrievers didn’t budge. Gabriel laughed softly. ‘They seemed to have transferred their allegiance.’
She said, ‘Like all good subjects at the start of a new reign.’
‘Is that how you see yourself too?’ There was faint amusement in his voice. ‘Can I expect the same unquestioning obedience?’
She said shortly, ‘You can expect nothing,’ and plunged off down the path, aware that her face had warmed.
Don’t you ever learn? she castigated herself. Why bandy words with him when you always lose? Don’t let him wind you up.
He caught up with her easily, the dogs pacing at his heels. ‘Take it easy. You might fall.’
And break my neck? she thought bitterly. I’m not that lucky.
She