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

“Don’t mock darling Granny.” Delia’s look softened.  “You know how busy she is.  I’ve lost count of all the charities she’s patron of, especially those for abandoned or neglected animals and look how many she rescues herself,” she waved a hand at the three dogs further down the field.  “And she’s always going to meetings and fundraising.  Then there’s the gardening.  She’s made it so beautiful at the Dower House and because Mother hasn’t a clue about anything to do with horticulture, all our gardeners still take their instructions from Granny.  After all, it was she who designed the parterre and the rose garden after the war when nothing else but vegetables could be grown.  Then she takes a massive interest in all of Father’s books, painstakingly proofreading them before he sends them off to the publishers.  She’s helped me so much with my homework too … and you know full well she’s always there for us, whatever we might need … I really don’t know what we would do without her.”

“Okay, okay,” laughed Richard.  “We know how you dote on Granny and how she can do no wrong in your eyes.”

Delia gave a slight pout.  “That’s right.  She can’t.  She’s simply wonderful.  An absolute rock.  She never lets us down like Mother does.  She’s always there if we need her.  She’s very precious and don’t you forget it!”

“Talking of Mother,” said Richard, thinking about the snippets of conversation they had overheard from the library between their parents, “I wonder what she’s done for Father to insist she can’t go back to London or anywhere else until after the summer holidays.”

Delia’s eyes clouded over.  “Well, I'm glad.  I want her here for the Twyfield show.  She never attends normally but she’ll have to if she’s here and I would dearly like to have her approval on something I do.”

Richard sniffed.  “You’ll be lucky.  I can’t remember her ever saying something nice about anything we achieve … and I wish she wasn’t coming to Blairness with us in August.  She’s such a drag, always complaining about the midges and how wet and cold it is and never wanting to join in anything, just mooching about in thick sweaters virtually down to her ankles and carrying a blanket with her everywhere.  It would be much better without her.”

They all collapsed into giggles, remembering how ridiculous Margaret had looked last year, covered up from neck to toe so that she could stay warm and prevent the midges from gaining access to her skin.  She wasn’t very successful and spent a fortune on antiseptic cream, virtually having hysterics when they had a go at her face, her makeup only tending to aggravate the bites.

All the children loved visiting Blairness.  Every August it was a mad exodus from Canleigh up to Granny’s thirteenth-century Scottish castle she had inherited from her father, the Earl of Glenmyre.  The whole family, some of the staff and Granny’s dogs made the long journey up to Highlands, near to Inverness, and stayed and played in the wonderful Scottish countryside for three weeks.  The children were allowed to invite a friend each.  Delia always chose Philip, Victoria took her little chum, Emily, and Richard invariably invited Stuart, his best friend who had medical ambitions on similar lines to him.  They all adored the trips to the castle and the only dampener on their spirits was having their mother accompany them.  She was always so moody, hating the Highlands even more than Canleigh.

In fact, their mother was a real pain, both at Blairness and at home and Delia greatly envied her friends whose mothers involved themselves so readily in their children’s lives.  They didn’t disappear for weeks or months on end and most galling of all, they were tactile.  They hugged and kissed, and smiled and laughed with their sons and daughters.  Delia couldn’t remember the last time her mother had thrown her arms around her and frequently experienced pangs of sorrow when her friends were picked up from school by warmly, beaming mothers, eager to hear all about their day.  Hardy always collected Delia but as nice and kind as he was, he wasn’t her mother.

Thankfully, Margaret’s frequent absences from Canleigh were long as when she was at home, she was aloof and grumpy and showed little desire to spend any time with any member of the family, even though the children tried to be nice to her.  Father and Granny were polite to her but the atmosphere, especially when they all dined together, was tense and Delia, Richard, and even Vicky, were utterly relieved when they could escape up to their rooms at the end of the meal.

Richard flapped his hand in front of his face to make a slight breeze, although that only seemed to result in making him hotter.  His black rimmed spectacles slid down his nose and he pushed them back up again impatiently.  “I sometimes wonder if she really is our mother as none of us are a bit like her, apart from in looks, that is, especially you, Delia.  Vicky and I are dark haired but yours is thicker, like hers, and you have her high cheekbones and you will be tall and slender like her too.  You’re going to be stunning when you grow up … just like her.”

“Even in the winter your mother looks good … with her amazing tan,” commented Philip.  “She’s tremendously attractive … for an older woman.”

Delia, tried to curb her annoyance.  Philip was supposed to be admiring her, not her dratted mother.  She actually felt a stab of jealousy but forced it away.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled at her twin.  It wasn’t like him to pay her compliments.  “Well, wherever she has been this time, I do hope she hasn’t brought any more