‘Of course I’m going to lose sleep over it! I’m very fond of both Eleanor and Dominic!’
Damien shrugged as though it was of relatively little importance one way or the other. He was moving towards the door. Where was the necklace? No matter. He wanted to tell her that she could consider it a suitable parting gift but he knew he would have to listen to a lecture on all the things money, apparently, couldn’t buy. He gritted his teeth at the uncomfortable notion that he would miss those lectures of hers, which had ranged from the ills of money to the misfortune of those who thought they needed it to be happy. She was adept at pointing out all the expensive items that had brought nothing but misery to their owners. She always seemed to have a mental tally at the ready of famous people whose lives had not been improved because they were rich, and had been prone to loftily ignoring him when he pointed out that she should stop reading trashy magazines with celebrity gossip. In between the fantastic sex, which had evolved from their charade in a way that had taken him one hundred per cent by surprise, he was uncomfortably aware that she might have got under his skin in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
‘In that case,’ he returned with supreme indifference, ‘I suggest you go see your local friendly doctor and ask him to prescribe you some sleeping pills.’
‘How can you be so...so...unsympathetic?’ She was traipsing along behind him to the front door. Before she knew it, he was pulling it open, one foot already out as though he couldn’t wait to leave her behind.
‘There’s no point in you having any involvement with me or my family from now on. My mother would be far happier were she spared the tedium of a post-mortem.’
And with that he was gone, slamming the door behind him in a gesture that was as final as the fall of the executioner’s axe.
Left on her own, Violet suddenly realised just how lonely the little house was without the promise of his exciting, unsettling presence to bring it to life. She lethargically tidied up the kitchen but her thoughts were exclusively on Damien. She had backed him into a corner and it was no good asking herself whether she had done the right thing or not. You couldn’t play around with reality and hope that it might somehow be changed into something else.
But neither could she put thoughts of him behind her as easily as she might have liked. School was no longer gloriously enjoyable because she was busy looking forward to seeing him. There were no little anecdotes saved up for retelling. She spent the following week with the strange sense of having been wrapped up in insulation, something so thick that the outside world seemed to exist around her at a distance. She listened to everyone laughing and chatting but it was all a blur. When Phillipa phoned in a state of high excitement to tell her that she and Andy were getting married at the end of the year, on a beach no less, and would she come over, help her choose a dress or at least a suitably white sarong and bikini, she heard herself saying all the right things but her mind was cloudy, not operating at full whack, as though she had been heavily sedated to the point where her normal reflexes were no longer in proper working order.
Several times she wondered whether she should call Eleanor. But was Damien right? Would his mother be happier to accept their break-up without having to conduct a long conversation about it? Furthermore, what would she say? She had no idea what Damien would have told her. For all she knew, he might have told her that she was entirely to blame, that she had turned into a shrew, a harpy, a gold-digger. It was within his brief to say anything, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be contradicted.
And yet she couldn’t imagine him being anything other than fair, which, reason told her, was ridiculous, considering the way their relationship had commenced. He had blackmailed her into doing what he wanted. Since when had he turned into a good guy? He had drifted into a sexual relationship for no better reason than she had made a change from the sort of women he usually dated, but he had nothing to offer aside from a consummate ability to make love. So how was it that she had managed to fall in love with him? For every glaring downside in his personality, her rebellious mind insisted on pointing out the good things about him—his wit, his sincere attempts to do what was right for his family, his incredible intellect, which would have made a lesser man sneering and contemptuous of those less gifted than he was, and yet, in Damien’s case, did not.
The decision to call Eleanor or not was taken out of her hands when, a week and a half after Damien had walked out of her house, Eleanor called.
She sounded fine. Yes, yes, yes, everything was coming along nicely. The prognosis was good...
‘But my son tells me that the two of you have decided to take a break...’
So that was how he had phrased it. Clever in so far as he had left open the possibility that the break might not be permanent. His mother’s disappointment would be drip-fed in small stages, protecting her from any dramatic stress their separation might have engendered.
‘Um...yes...that’s the...er...plan...’
‘I confess that I was very surprised indeed when Damien told me...’
‘And I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to break the news as well, Eleanor.’ Violet rushed into apologetic speech. ‘I wanted so much to...er...’
‘I’d never seen Damien so relaxed and happy.’ Eleanor swept past Violet’s stammering interruption. ‘A different man. I’ve always worried about the amount of time he devotes to work, but you must have done something wonderful to him, my darling, because he’s finally seemed to get his perspective in order... He hasn’t just made time for me, but he’s made time for his brother...’
‘That’s...great...’
‘Which is why I’m puzzled as to how it is that suddenly you and he are...taking a break...especially when I can see how much the two of you love one another...’
‘No! No, no, no... Damien just isn’t...he’s...we...’
‘You’re stumbling over your words, my darling,’ Eleanor said gently. ‘Take your time. You love my son. I know you do. A woman knows these things when it comes to other women...especially an old lady like me...’
Violet lapsed into temporary defeated silence. What could she say to that? Even with Eleanor talking down the end of a phone, she still had the uncanny feeling that the older woman was seeing right into the very heart of her. ‘You’re not old,’ she finally responded. ‘And I’m so glad the treatment’s going well...’
‘Is that your way of changing the conversation?’ Eleanor asked tartly. ‘Darling, I do wish we could have sat down and talked about this together, woman to woman. Somehow, hearing it from Damien...well, you know what men are like. He can be terribly tight-lipped when it comes to expressing anything emotional...’
‘That’s true...’
‘So why don’t you pop over to his place, say this evening...around eight...? We can...chat...’
With unerring ability, Violet realised that Eleanor had found her Achilles heel. She would have thought that Hell might have frozen over before she faced Damien again. She just wanted to somehow try and get him out of her system and paying him a visit was the last thing destined to achieve that goal. But she was very fond of his mother and Eleanor, despite her cheerful optimism about her health, did not deserve to be stressed out.
She was also still in the throes of guilt at not having spoken to the older woman yet.
‘You’re in London?’
‘Flying visit. Check-up... So, darling, I really must dash now. I’ll see you shortly, shall I? Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that! Don’t think that I’m going to allow you to creep out of my life that easily.’
Those two, Eleanor thought with satisfaction as she peered through the window of her chauffeur-driven car on her way back down to Devon, needed to have their heads banged together. Or at least made to sit and really talk because she refused