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

Charles shook his head.   “I shouldn’t think so … and I’ll pay Philip, of course … generous livery fees.”

It was cool in the kitchen and Ruth shivered.  She took a quick sip of her warm milk.

Charles noticed. “You’re cold and I’m being selfish.  Take your drink back to bed,” he said solicitously.

Half of her wanted to but the other half wanted to stay here, in the lovely, friendly bubble they had created.  She really liked being here with him on her own.  There was a real rapport, a warmth of understanding between them that she’d not experienced with a single living person before.  It was unique.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him.  “It must be a ghost,” she joked, “sending a chill down my spine.  I suppose there are ghosts at Canleigh.”

Charles smiled.  “If you only knew how many times I’m asked that question but yes, there’s the lady in blue, the boy in green … and we mustn’t forget the headless coachman.”

Ruth’s laughter rang around the kitchen.  “Oh no, not a headless coachman.”

Charles laughed too.  “Oh yes,” he nodded.  “With no coach and no horses.”

Ruth collapsed with mirth, Charles roaring with laughter too.  He felt so good.  He hadn’t laughed like this for a very long time.  He put his hand on hers.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do, Ruth?  When you get back to Oxford.”

Ruth composed herself.  The feel of his hand on hers felt so right, so comfortable.  “Yes.  I have.  I’m going to ring my parents as soon as I can and tell them I’m packing it in … then, while I’m deciding what to do with the rest of my life, I’ll do some volunteer work … the local animal shelter is always looking for people.”

“That’s a dramatic change.  People to animals.”

“Perhaps that’s what I should do … become a vet instead of a doctor,” she mused.  She hadn’t thought of that before but it was certainly an option to consider.

Sharp steps along the stone floor of the corridor approached the kitchen and realising it must be Richard, Ruth reluctantly withdrew her hand from Charles but not quickly enough.  Richard, looking pale and tired and walking with a slight limp with his torn trousers flapping around his bandaged leg, looked hard at Ruth and his father as he entered the room.

“Did you speak to her … Delia?” Ruth asked feeling instantly awkward and like a naughty schoolgirl caught in the act of … an act of what exactly?  She’d done nothing wrong.

Richard sank into a chair beside his father.  “Briefly … but she wouldn’t listen.”

Not having noticed Richard’s injured leg; Charles finished his milk and stood up.  “I shouldn’t worry about her.  She’s twenty-one, has plenty of money and a brain in her head.  She’ll manage and when she’s over her fit of pique she’ll be back.”

“You sound as if you’ve forgiven her,” stated Richard.

“Whatever she’s done and whatever she’s said, she’s still my daughter and I love her,” replied Charles.  “And now I’m off to bed.  Goodnight Richard.  Goodnight Ruth.  I’ll look forward to seeing you at breakfast … unless … I shan’t be up so early tomorrow so I might see you in the pool.”

Richard shook his head.  He would have to drive back to Oxford after lunch and swimming, instead of stimulating him, always made him somewhat lethargic for the remainder of the day and anyway he couldn’t enter the pool with the injury to his leg.  However, Ruth smiled and nodded.  Having sat here for over an hour with Charles in their nightwear, she wouldn’t be at all self-conscious in his company in her swimming costume.  She felt so safe with him and was keen to prolong their growing friendship.

Charles looking pleased at her nod, left the kitchen.  Richard stood up shakily and grabbed a bottle of claret, normally used for cooking, from the wine rack beside the cooker.  He found a corkscrew and opened it.

“God, what a night,” he groaned.  “Delia caused such a commotion in the library … want some?” he asked, holding up the wine bottle and two glasses.

“No.  I’ve just had milk.  It will help me sleep. In fact, I think I’ll go up now.”

She had been happy to remain in the kitchen with Charles, chilly as it was but now he had gone it was like a light was suddenly switched off and she had no wish to remain down here with Richard, especially if all he was going to do was drink and moan about his sister.  It wouldn’t be a good combination with tiredness and emotion.

“Please don’t, Ruth,” he pleaded.  “I need to offload.  Just a few minutes.”

Not wanting to be mean-spirited, Ruth stayed where she was.  After all, he had been kind enough to invite her here to sort out her own problems, which even with all that had gone on this weekend, she had and although she was terrified of the coming confrontation with her parents, she felt better about her decision already.  She should have made it years ago and not let them bully her into submission.  She felt stronger than she ever had and wondered why.  A sneaky suspicion that Charles had something to do with it flew into her mind.  She didn’t know what it was but he boosted her courage and determination like no-one ever had before.  It was strange.  Very strange.

Richard was rambling on, already on his second glass of claret.  His eyes were beginning to glaze over and he was becoming more annoyed as the words tumbled out, relaying what went on in the library and repeating Delia’s threat to kill both him and Charles.

“But she couldn’t have meant it,” said Ruth, taking more notice of what he was saying.  “She’s your sister for goodness sake …  your twin.  She’s dreadfully upset, angry and disappointed.  I