Betrayal. The word made Louise shiver, but it brought her back to life. And to unpleasant reality.
She heard herself say, ‘Mrs Sanders must still be waiting on the phone. I’d better go and talk to her.’
‘No.’ Alex halted her, his hand on her arm. ‘Your father can do that for you. Or your stepmother,’ he added curtly. ‘There’s no reason why you should be exposed to any more recriminations.’
Her father said hoarsely, ‘Yes, of course. I’ll go now. Though God knows what I can say…’
As he departed, muttering distractedly, Marian Trentham moved forward, her hands outstretched. ‘Alex, my dear.’ Her voice throbbed. ‘What you must be suffering.’
‘I don’t appreciate being made a fool of,’ Alex said tersely. ‘And your daughter’s defection is going to cause me immeasurable trouble and inconvenience. But please let’s drop the pretence that Ellie and I were ever in love with each other.’
For a moment she faltered, then she returned to the attack, forcing a smile.
‘You’re hurt,’ she said. ‘As you have every right to be. I do understand. But all is not yet lost. I think we should go downstairs and have some breakfast, and decide what to do next.’
‘I know exactly what I’m doing next,’ Alex said coldly. ‘I’m going back to London, and I’ll forgo your kind offer of breakfast. I’d prefer to be on my way as soon as possible.’
‘But there are matters outstanding,’ she said rapidly, her voice beginning to shake. ‘Things we need to discuss.’
‘You mean the re-financing plan? But that was dependent on certain conditions being met, so there is really very little to talk about.’
Louise could hear the words, but she could not grasp what they meant. They seemed to float past her. The room, too, suddenly seemed to be swimming.
She said in a stifled voice, ‘I—I think I’m going to be sick.’
During the miserable and humiliating minutes that followed, Louise was dimly aware of an arm supporting her as she retched violently into the lavatory bowl, of a hand smoothing back her hair, and wiping her face with a damp flannel.
‘You,’ she said shakily as she sat up at last, the tiles on the bathroom walls still swooping dizzily around her. ‘Oh, God, it’s you.’
‘Well, who else would it be?’ Alex Fabian retorted crushingly. ‘Your father’s still on the phone, being screamed at, and your stepmother’s shut herself into her bedroom. You needed help.’
‘You’re the last person I’d turn to for that.’ She got painfully to her feet. ‘If you hadn’t pressured Ellie to marry you, none of this would have happened.’
‘It would have eventually. A different set of circumstances, perhaps, but the same result.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re in love. They were always going to end up together. I was just the catalyst.’
She glared at him. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’
‘That’s up to you. But I’d say it would be a pretty refined kind of hell to find you’d married a man who wanted someone else. Here, drink this.’
Unwillingly Lou accepted the glass of water he held out to her. She’d just caught a horrified glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror—her ghost-white face streaked with mascara, her lipstick smeared. The pretty, confident picture she’d painted for David totally ruined. Like her life.
Not only did she look like hell, she thought, writhing inwardly, but she’d just thrown up in front of a man she detested.
She said stiltedly, ‘I think I’d like to be alone now.’
‘Just as you wish.’ He paused. ‘I’ll have some tea brought up to you.’
‘Tea?’ Her voice rose. ‘My heart is broken, and you offer me—bloody clichés.’
‘It’s also the classic remedy for shock,’ he returned, unperturbed. ‘And hearts are more resilient than you think. Would you like me to help you to your room?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘And stop behaving like someone out of a medical drama. Because the best thing you could do for me would be to get out of my sight, and my life.’
‘I think,’ Alex Fabian said quietly, ‘that’s something that could be open to discussion. But possibly not at this moment.’
‘Not ever,’ Lou said fiercely. ‘So—please go.’
She turned away, and began to run hot water into the basin, and when she glanced around again she was alone. Which was something she would have to get accustomed to, she realised, wretchedness stabbing her as she washed her face.
With the worst ravages removed, she went back to her room and threw herself across the bed, digging clenched fists into the coverlet.
Love must indeed be blind, she thought, because she’d never had the slightest idea that David might be looking elsewhere. She’d always felt so happy and comfortable with him, and on the surface everything had seemed just the same.
Yet, she supposed, there had been clues for anyone with a suspicious mind. The fact that David no longer talked about the wedding had been one. And he’d been more preoccupied than usual lately, although he’d blamed problems at work for that.
And Ellie hadn’t been the same either, dating Alex Fabian with such feverish, determined enjoyment. As if trying to convince herself that they could have a life together.
You fool, she told herself. You complacent, trusting idiot.
She could sense the tears gathering inside her, threatening to fill the ache of emptiness. And pain was prowling, too, waiting to sink its claws into her heart and mind.
The tap at her door sent her bolt upright, looking apprehensively over her shoulder. But it was only Mrs Gladwin bringing the threatened tea. Her face was solemn, but her eyes, understandably, were sparking with curiosity.
‘No one wanted any breakfast,’ she said. ‘So I’ve had to throw all that lovely food away. It seems a wicked waste.’ She paused. ‘I’ve cleared up the kitchen, so if I’m not wanted for anything else…?’
Lou realised wearily that she was asking to be paid. She forced a smile. ‘That’s fine, Mrs Gladwin, and thank you.’ She found her bag, and handed over the cash.
Mrs Gladwin lingered. ‘Next weekend, Miss Louise? Will the family be down?’
Lou looked at her blankly. ‘I—I really don’t know.’ Nor did she care, she thought. And how absurd to think that life could just—go on. For anyone to assume that she would go on living in this house—in this village—with all the dead hopes, dead memories. When everyone must know that was quite impossible.
When she knew, beyond all doubt, that she had to get away—and fast. Leave it all behind her, and escape.
She said quietly, ‘I’m sure my stepmother will be in touch over the arrangements. Thank you for the tea.’
‘The cup that cheers,’ said Mrs Gladwin, nodding portentously, and departed.
Louise looked at the tray, with its snowy lace cloth and the pretty flowered crockery. Another act of kindness, she thought, amid the personal desolation that was beginning to tear at her. But, again, from the wrong person. She did not want Alex Fabian’s kindness. She could not bear the thought of it.
She went on staring until the outlines of cup, saucer, jug and teapot lost their separate shapes, and became oddly blurred. Until the first scalding, agonised tears began to sear their way down her face, falling faster and faster.
She began to sob,