Hope at Holly Cottage (10 page)

Taking her other half day off that week would be impossible with all the extra work, but she did manage to sneak a short walk with Gilbert one morning, her heart spilling over with the new and blithe sensation of being in love. And on the Thursday afternoon when Mr Jackson was driving Lady Ashcroft to her dressmakers somewhere
in Exeter, Anna sang to herself as she made preparations for the evening meal. Gilbert was at work in the study and Anna would not disturb him. But when all was ready, the boeuf bourguignon simmering slowly in the range oven, all the vegetables prepared and the ingredients for the lemon meringue set out in separate bowls, Anna went up to Lady Ashcroft’s room to make the bed which she hadn’t had time to do earlier.

The room smelt wonderfully of subtle, expensive perfume which Anna breathed in deeply as she smoothed the soft, cotton sheets, taking pride in making the bed look perfect. And then, just for a few moments, she went to look out of the window and over the moor which was fresh and inviting in the continuing spring sunshine.

‘Lovely view, isn’t it?’ Gilbert’s voice behind her made her jump.

Anna felt a sudden sparkle of pleasure as she turned to face him. ‘Certainly is.’ She smiled back, drowning in the intensity of his shining brown eyes. They were standing very close and it didn’t surprise her when he dipped his head to kiss her, his mouth warm and moist against hers. An entrancing thrill shot down her spine as he held her against him, his hand entwining in her hair as his kiss became more urgent and passionate.

‘You’re so beautiful, my Little Smoky Eyes,’ he mumbled, tracing his lips down to the well of her throat. ‘You deserve much more than this.’

His voice was thick, his words, so full of promise, swirling in Anna’s head. She closed her eyes, and when she felt his fingers unbuttoning first her cardigan and then her blouse, she barely flinched as an enraptured desire, an
enchantment plunged down to her loins and she allowed Gilbert to lead her to the bed she had just finished making. He lay down beside her, stroking the tops of her breasts and then slipping his fingers underneath her bra.

The sudden, unfamiliar sensation made her sit up abruptly with a sharp gasp. ‘Please, Gilbert,’ she managed to croak in a tiny voice. ‘I’ve … I’ve not done this before. I’m not sure—’

‘Sh.’ He placed a gentle finger against her lips. ‘You do trust me, don’t you?’

‘Well … yes … but …’

‘Then don’t worry, my love. I’ll look after you.’

He gave that caring, handsome smile, and Anna lay down again, still uncertain. But as he tenderly caressed her, the hesitation was forgotten as she became lost in her love for this good, kind man who had given meaning back to her shattered life. The breath quivered at the back of her throat as his hand moved up beneath her skirt. Should she stop him? But that might show she didn’t have implicit faith in him. And as some instinct against which she seemed powerless overtook her, the doubt was driven away. She became captivated, bewitched, trusting as Gilbert slowly made love to her, drawing her on to the dizzy heights of some halcyon world she had never dreamt existed. Her body responded in glorious ecstasy, and when it was over, she lay curled up in his arms, safe and secure.

‘Oh, my lovely Anna,’ Gilbert murmured into her hair.

She lifted her head and smiled up at him. ‘I do love you,’ she whispered back.

‘Yes, I know you do,’ he answered languidly, dropping a
kiss on her forehead. ‘But we’d better get this room straight before my mother gets back.’

‘Oh, God, yes!’ She jumped up, straightening her clothes. But Gilbert caught her by the arm and pulled her back to him.

‘Just one last kiss,’ he smiled, and she melted against him once more.

Vince Millington’s eyes swept about the clean and tidy room. Freda would have been proud of the way he kept the house. He owed it to her. Not a day went by when he didn’t curse himself for what had happened. He couldn’t believe he was responsible for her death. It was all a bit of a haze, but it had definitely been an accident. She had fallen because of him, yes, but he hadn’t deliberately pushed her down the stairs. He had
loved
her, for God’s sake, and his guilt was ripping him apart.

He blamed those damned headaches. They had been getting worse and worse, unbearable, driving him out of his mind. Turning to drink, getting paralytic, was the only way to blot out the pain, but once he had slept it off, his head thumped even worse. And then he had frightened his Anna, the only thing left in his life, so much that she had run away. But he was terrified that he would be convicted of manslaughter, banged up in some horrible prison cell whose
walls would lean in on him, crushing his head even further, just as they had in the collapsed building.

Finding Anna’s note was like being doused in icy water. He’d been to the pub on his way back from work and was already in a foul mood when he’d come home to the empty house. Staggering across to Number Sixteen in a maddened rage, well, he’d done it without thinking. But Fred Shallaford’s words had cut through his drunken stupor.

He hadn’t touched a drop since. Instead, he had stocked up on aspirin tablets. They didn’t have quite the same effect and he couldn’t lose himself in blissful oblivion, but he found if he took a double dose and went to bed, after a good sleep, he usually felt better. If only he could have Anna back, show her the person he truly was. But he had driven her away, and the feeling of blame was as bad as his crucifying remorse over his Freda.

Time for work now. Each time he went in or out of the front door, he saw her lying there. Oh, damn it! Damn the world, damn fate or whatever it was had brought him to this! There was no bloody way out. He was cursed whichever way he looked at it.

He yanked open the front door and collided with the postman who was just about to put some envelopes through the letter box. Flaming bills, no doubt. But he had accidentally knocked other letters out of the fellow’s hands as well, and they had scattered about on the pavement.

‘Sorry,’ he apologised gruffly.

‘Not to worry, sir,’ the postman replied jovially as they both bent to retrieve the post.

And then shock sliced into Vince’s soul as he went to pick
up an envelope that was very different from the others. He recognised it – and the handwriting – at once. It was pink with a flower printed in the bottom left-hand corner. A little writing set Freda had given Anna on her last birthday. And it was addressed to Ethel.

Vince handed the envelope back to the postman and, taking his own post inside, shut the door again and staggered across to the stairs where he all but collapsed onto the bottom step. Good God. He knew it! He had been right all along. That young vixen had always known where his Anna was staying. A red surge of anger sprang up from deep inside and began to throttle him, and he tore at his collar, ripping off the buttons. He was choking, gasping for breath, shaking his head in disbelief. Anna had been deceiving him all this time with the help of that trollop across the road!

For nearly six months now, he had kept house, stayed off the bottle, been as sober as a judge in the hopes that one day his girl would return. And now … well, he’d find her, and he knew how. And hang that bloody job he’d had to swallow his pride to keep some days. He could do without it today. What he needed was a drink.

Anna made Lady Ashcroft’s bed as quickly as she possibly could. Ever since Gilbert had made love to her there that afternoon back in April, she felt guilty whenever she went into the room. If he had taken her to his own bedroom, it might have been different, but as it was, the whole affair now seemed tainted. She wasn’t exactly sorry. She loved Gilbert too much for that. But she wished they had waited until they were married.

If only Gilbert felt ready to reveal their relationship to his mother. Anna yearned for his next visit, her heart empty and aching. Lady Ashcroft was quite kind to her nowadays, exchanging pleasantries and talking to her in an open and friendly way. Anna felt encouraged and was sure Gilbert had waited long enough. Although Lady Ashcroft might not be overenamoured of the situation, Anna was convinced she would soon grow used to the idea. But so far there had been no mention of Gilbert’s next visit.

‘Lady Ashcroft wishes to speak with you,’ Mrs Davenport announced with a disapproving wrinkling of her nostrils one afternoon. ‘About her trip to London, I believe.’

A trip to London? It was the first Anna had heard of it. But, ah, yes! That was why Gilbert wasn’t coming down! Well, that made sense. She supposed Lady Ashcroft was entitled to go and stay at the family home in London, but it meant that Anna probably wouldn’t see Gilbert for another month, and her heart dropped like a stone.

‘You wanted to speak to me, I believe, Lady Ashcroft,’ she said politely a few minutes later.

‘Yes, Anna, dear.’ The older woman’s tone was so exceptionally amiable that it took Anna by surprise. ‘Now do sit down while I explain.’

Anna obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair Lady Ashcroft had indicated. Perhaps … Had Gilbert spoken to her about them at last? If he had, his mother’s friendly attitude was certainly encouraging! Anna could have shouted with delight.

‘You have shown yourself a good worker,’ her employer went on. ‘But you have also proved your intelligence and
your integrity in many ways. I may not say very much, but I observe. And I know that my son holds you in high esteem also.’

Her son. Gilbert. Oh. Anna’s heart began to beat a nervous tattoo in her breast. Was Lady Ashcroft about to say that she approved of their relationship? Oh, please God, may it be so!

‘You may have heard that I am, of course, going to London. And I should like you to accompany me. I had asked Mrs Davenport first because of her seniority, but I am happy to say she declined as she still feels bereft after the loss of her mother. And to be honest, I believe you would make far better company for me.’

Anna was tongue-tied with happiness. London! As Lady Ashcroft’s companion, personal maid, whatever! And she would see Gilbert again, too! She could scarcely contain the pure joy that rushed through her veins.

‘You will even attend the wedding. There will be others in a similar position to yourself, but I will explain all to you, and I am sure I can rely upon you to conduct yourself accordingly.’

A society wedding. Oh, that would be wonderful! ‘Of course, Lady Ashcroft. May I ask who’s getting married?’

‘Why, Sir Gilbert, of course. Did you not know?’

Every muscle in Anna’s being froze rigid, the happy smile remaining fixed on her face while her dreams crumbled around her. Gilbert? Getting married to someone else? It couldn’t be true! A shard of ice had speared her heart and Anna felt as if she was about to faint. But she mustn’t. Lady Ashcroft mustn’t see the sudden agony that had sliced her in two.

‘No. No, I didn’t,’ she somehow managed to drag the words from her suddenly dry throat.

‘Well, Mr Jackson and Mrs Davenport know better than to gossip about the private matters of our family,’ Lady Ashcroft smiled back. ‘And it
has
all been arranged rather hurriedly. The reason being that Lady Francesca’s poor father has just been diagnosed with cancer and is not expected to live many more months. He wants to see his only daughter settled before he dies, and this marriage, well, we’ve been discussing it for years, really. Before Francesca’s dear mother died. She’s a lovely girl and will soon be all alone in the world, so the sooner the marriage settlement is finalised, the better.’

Anna had sat, numbed with disbelief, as Lady Ashcroft’s explanation filtered through to her brain. In one fell swoop, all her hopes of a glittering future with the man she loved lay in tatters. She just couldn’t comprehend it.

‘I … I don’t understand,’ she murmured, her lips feeling like rubber. ‘You make it sound more like a business arrangement.’

She saw the woman’s eyebrows arch in mild surprise but then a wistful smile shadowed Lady Ashcroft’s face.

‘Gilbert and Francesca have known each other all their lives,’ she said with infinite calm. ‘It has always been assumed that they would marry. It will be good for both our families. I think Gilbert has dragged his feet slightly, but, well, under the circumstances, he has accepted his duty. You know …’

She broke off, her voice wreathed in sadness, and even through her own tearing anguish, Anna felt compelled to look at her again. Lady Ashcroft’s head was held high as
if she was determined to remain dignified, her expression totally controlled.

‘In our world, we are brought up to accept certain things, no matter what our own feelings. My own marriage was more or less arranged, you know. I …’ She hesitated, lowering her eyes, but seemed resolved to continue. ‘There was someone else, but I did what was expected of me. And I did come to love Sir Hugh. We had a very happy marriage. Which I am sure Gilbert and Francesca will, too. One cannot always follow one’s heart’s desire. Gilbert understands that. And I believe you are sensible enough to understand it, too.’

Anna blinked at her, still reeling with shock. Had Lady Ashcroft guessed how she felt about Gilbert? How he felt about her? But why torture her by making her go to the wedding? Surely she wouldn’t be so cruel? But perhaps it was her way of making Anna accept the situation, just as she herself had evidently once bowed to family pressure.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, Anna felt some sympathy with the woman who sat so regally in the other chair. She might always seem so detached and in control, but she had hidden regrets, too. Had spent her entire adult years living a lie. And now, recognising, perhaps, that Anna shared the same pain, she had finally revealed her misery when it was a lifetime too late.

But that was then and this was now. As a young woman, Lady Ashcroft might have given in, but Anna jolly well wouldn’t have done! She’d have fought for the man she loved, but now … but now … A horrible coldness broke over her. There was nothing she could do, was there? It was all arranged. Why, oh why, had fate been so cruel? Was there any point in trying to speak to Gilbert on the telephone? In
trying to talk him out of it? Her heart rose on the crest of some reckless hope, but was instantly dashed to smithereens. If Gilbert was going to rebel, he would have done so long ago.

‘Yes, Lady Ashcroft,’ she heard herself say. ‘Will that be all?’

‘Yes, thank you, Anna. And, Anna, I shall expect all I have told you to remain secret between us. I should not have told you had I not felt able to rely upon your complete integrity.’

Their eyes met across the room, sharing some deep compassion. Anna nodded briefly and then walked slowly out of the room. She felt oddly calm, her heart numbing as the pain became too deep to bear. Gilbert was lost to her for ever.

He’d had all day for the anger to fester inside him. He’d needed a drink, even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock in the morning. But he hadn’t touched a bloody drop since the day Anna had walked out, and there was none in the house. At least, he didn’t think there was. He stumbled into the kitchen, flinging open cupboard doors, rifling along the shelves, not caring when he knocked over crockery or sent jars crashing to the floor, smashing open and spilling the contents over the lino. But nothing. Not even a thimbleful of cooking sherry at the bottom of a bottle.

He staggered back, falling against the table, and stared at the scene of destruction. The room looked as if a bomb had hit it. He threw up his head with a bitter, ironic laugh. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it, with a bomb? God, his head was beginning to ache already. He felt stifled, suffocating. He must get out. And he groped his way to the front door.

He couldn’t catch the bus to work. All those people crowding in on him, happy in their own little lives. Not knowing how he suffered because he had risked his life to save some strangers. And
how
he suffered! It was a bloody living hell. And now his daughter blamed him for his wife’s death, and the girl had turned against him. Oh, he
must
find her, talk to her,
explain
to her. She must understand. She was all he had left.

He had wandered the streets, panic, sorrow, hatred and guilt washing over him each in its turn. As soon as the pubs opened at lunchtime, he ordered himself a pint and a chaser, downing them like a man who’d been lost in the desert for days. And he
was
lost. Lost in a desert of emptiness. Loneliness. He
had
to have Anna back.

‘No, sir,’ the barman’s lips loomed in his face. ‘You’ve had enough. You’ve been drinking ever since I opened, and I’m about to ring the bell for last orders.’

‘An’ I wan’ … another … bloody drink!’ Vince slurred back.

‘Sorry, sir, but I’ll have to ask you to leave.’

‘I said … I wan’ … another … drink!’ And he slammed his fist on the bar to emphasise the point.

‘Want us to take ’en outside for you, eh, Barry?’

‘Get your flaming hands off me! I can find the door myself, thanks very much!’

He lurched outside, knocking over a chair in the process. What could he do now? Go home? No, he couldn’t bear it. The empty house. No Freda. No Anna. Silence ringing in his ears. His head was pounding. Torturing. And that young bitch across the road knew how he could get his life back. Get Anna back home where she belonged!

Where was he? Must have fallen asleep. Peered through sore, red-rimmed eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was in the park behind their home. Huh! Hardly a home. Not anymore. Just a horrible, mean little dwelling with not even a proper bathroom. If that Fred Shallaford hadn’t found them the place, they might’ve got one of those brand-new council houses with all mod cons!

Those bloody Shallafords! He looked at his watch, blinking his eyes into focus. Nearly half past five. Ethel would be on her way home from work soon. And she knew where Anna was!