Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) by Carole Williams (uplifting novels TXT) 📕

Delia, relief flooding through her.  Richard would be much easier to persuade than her father.  She grinned broadly at her twin.  “So, you’ll let me run it then?  Honestly, I have some brilliant ideas.  You won’t regret it.”

Richard turned away and poured another drink.  “No, Delia.  I’m sorry but it’s too late.  I thought you’d be happily married to Philip, immersed in a new life and all that that entails.”

“Will you please get to the point.  What the hell are you talking about?” Delia demanded, a severe chill sweeping over her whole body.

“We’ve appointed someone.  He’s French actually.”

“What!  A bloody frog!  What the bloody hell will he know about running an English estate?  You must be off your heads!”

“For your information, madam, he knows quite a lot,” Charles interrupted forcefully.  “He comes highly recommended, having been employed at two of the most prestigious chateaux in France and his extensive knowledge and expertise is just what Canleigh requires at this time.  And anyway, what a load of nonsense this is.  It’s highly commendable you have applied yourself to your studies and done so well but quite ridiculous to think you would be allowed to run Canleigh.  It’s a great shame you won’t be marrying Philip and we are all desperately sorry but no doubt you will find someone else in the not too distant future and have hoards of horse-mad children to keep you busy.  You simply won’t have the time to run Canleigh and anyway, you could be living miles away.”

“No!  I shall never marry anyone else and I want to stay here and run it.  You have to let me, you have to!”  Delia’s composure was slipping fast.  “I shall never live anywhere but here.”

“Well, that’s fine, of course.  You can stay here for as long as you wish,” said Charles.

“And do what?  I can’t sit around twiddling my thumbs, seeing some bloody frog doing the job I deserve and want.  It’s damned ridiculous.”

“What about your show jumping ambitions?” asked Richard.  “I thought you wanted to make a name for yourself.”

“What, with Demon?  Don’t be so stupid.  He’s not for the ring.  He’s far too temperamental and flighty.”

“Well, with your grandmother’s inheritance you have more than enough to buy yourself the right kind of horse,” remarked Charles.

“I don’t want to be a bloody show jumper anymore.  I just want Canleigh!”

Charles heard the same petulant tone Delia used when she was young.  He had thought that the entire trauma from her earlier years was behind them as her desires for the estate had ceased mysteriously when she was about thirteen.  He had thought it was because she was growing up.  Obviously he had been wrong and even though she was now twenty-one, she was still lusting after something she could never have or was entitled to.

Delia was rummaging behind his desk and pulled out the two bulging files she had brought down before dinner.

“Look,” she said wildly, throwing papers and maps all over his desk, “I’ve got plans … please look at all these and you’ll see I know what I’m talking about.  I’ve detailed everything clearly, exactly where we stand now and how things could be improved. I’ve done a business plan and costings.  Look, please look.”

Charles sighed deeply.  “Delia, will you please stop this nonsense.  There is no way you are going to run Canleigh.  It’s a preposterous idea and you know it.  Totally impracticable and unworkable.  I won’t have it, do you hear,” he said, pointedly ignoring all the paper spread out over his desk.

“What the hell has it got to do with you?  You just said you’re signing the place over to Richard.  It’s his decision, not yours,” screamed Delia, furious to see the work she had poured her heart and soul into discarded so irreverently.

“I’m sorry Delia … but I agree with Father,” said Richard tensely.

“You bastard!  You promised!” hissed Delia, beside herself with hurt and anger.

Richard looked decidedly uncomfortable as Charles rounded on him.  “What’s this?”

Richard shrugged.  “Just some childish idea we had years ago.  Delia wanted the estate, I didn’t … you must remember what it was like … she made my life a misery and I had to shut her up somehow.  The only thing I could think of was to promise it all to her when I inherited … we put it all down on paper, hid the blasted thing and then, thankfully, I was left alone.”

“Is that all,” Charles sighed with impatience.  “Delia, you know perfectly well there’s no way a promise made in childhood about such an important matter could be fulfilled.  Do grow up girl.”

“Of course I know it isn’t legally binding,” spat Delia defiantly, “but I’ve spent years and years preparing.  I’ve worked so bloody hard …  and you promised, Richard.  You can’t let me down now … and you won’t be here … how will you know this person you have appointed is trustworthy and capable?”

Charles butted in.  “Because I shall be here to keep an eye on things.”

Delia looked at her father in surprise.  The idea of him returning to live at Canleigh permanently was a possibility she had overlooked, thinking he was more than happy spending the majority of his time at Blairness.

“Yes.  I’ve decided to come back and oversee the place until Richard has qualified.  Then he plans to continue his career in Yorkshire, return to live here and I can take a back seat once again.”

Delia was dumbfounded.  “So, you’re really pushing me out.  There’s no place for me here anymore.”

“Delia, this is your home,” said Charles quietly.  “There’s no question of your leaving until you want to.  I gather Richard has suggested you get away for a while … have a holiday.  I also think that would be a good idea as you’re having such a bad time at the moment.  Why don’t