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

Delia made her way into the washroom, wrinkling up her nose at the grubby sink and the smelly toilet.  It made her want to vomit.  Quickly she had a wee, splashed water all over her face and hands and deciding not to wipe them on the towel which looked as if it hadn’t been washed in a very long time, took some tissues from her bag to dry herself.

A steaming mug of strong coffee was on the counter when she emerged from the washroom.  She paid, still avoiding eye contact with the man behind the counter, drank her coffee, burning her tongue in her haste to remove herself from his presence and with a sigh of relief, made her way back to her car, easing herself in and locking the door behind her.  Weariness overwhelmed her as she laid her head back and closed her eyes.  Although coffee usually kept her awake, it stood little chance against her intense weariness.  Within minutes she was fast asleep.

She woke up at dawn, stiff and uncomfortable.  One of the lorries had gone but two more were just entering the car park.  Although desperate for another wee and something to eat, Delia decided not to risk another venture into the café.  She’d head on towards Sheffield and find a decent hotel.

An hour later she found what she was looking for.  A smart, beautifully elegant board at the entrance to a long tree-lined drive advertised luxurious bedrooms, an indoor pool, beauty treatments, and exquisite food in secluded surroundings in a country house hotel named The Willows.  Without further ado Delia turned the car up the drive, stopping briefly to flick a comb through her hair and smear some lipstick on her lips.  She still looked a fright but a short stay here should make a vast improvement to her appearance … and hopefully calm her mind.

She was right.  Following two days of being pampered and two nights in one of the most comfortable four poster beds she’d ever slept in, Delia felt able to move on.  The shock of what had occurred at Canleigh was receding but the anger remained; a deep burning anger, which would take little to ignite into a roaring flame but for the moment she could keep a lid on it while she planned what she was going to do to get her revenge  . . .  because she wasn’t going to leave things like this.  There had to be a reckoning one day.  She had promised … and unlike Richard, Delia always kept her promises.

A newly composed, self-assured, and rested Delia checked out of the hotel and headed back to the motorway towards London.  Shelley Masters … one of the few friends she had made at school, rented a spacious flat in Kensington.  They hadn’t kept in regular touch as their lives took a different turn after leaving Thistledown, Delia attending Askham Bryan and Shelley wanting a career in the media but Shelley had invited her to stay whenever she was in London so it was time to take her up on her invitation … and it would be nice to see her again … and talk about something other than Canleigh and her broken engagement.

Shelley, intrigued to see Delia suddenly appearing on her doorstep without prior warning, was delighted to see her but realised quickly that her old friend was desperate and didn’t want to discuss what had brought her so unexpectedly to London.  Without a qualm, Shelley, a bubbly, lively brunette, offered Delia her spare room but within days it became apparent the two had grown apart.  Shelley was a devoted career girl, employed as a presenter with the BBC and had no thought of anything but work, quite content to have a guest to stay but with neither the time nor inclination for entertaining.

Delia spent hour after boring hour in the suffocatingly modern capacious flat.  The place was everything she disliked; chrome furniture, rugs scattered on highly polished wooden floors, abstract and impressionist paintings on the walls and an excess of modern sculptures wherever one happened to glance.  Delia abhorred it, along with the noise and bustle of the teaming traffic outside. She tried a spot of sightseeing.  The Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, a trip on the river Thames but she hated the crowds and the jostling for space.  The pavements were hard, hot and dusty, full of people who didn’t know her and didn’t care about her.  In amongst all this humanity, she had never felt more isolated and detached.  The newspaper stands always seemed to be shouting about murders, rapes, burglaries, muggings and the never-ending sound of screaming police and ambulance sirens tearing through the busy streets were unsettling.  Big Ben striking loudly advised her repeatedly that her time on this earth was ticking away.  She had never liked London much when staying here with Father on their holiday trips backwards and forwards from Europe but it was even worse now she was older and on her own.  Why had she chosen to come here of all places?

St. James’ Park became a regular haunt where she would sit on a bench near the lake and watch the ducks being fed, reminding her sharply of Canleigh, even though the never-ending stream of traffic up and down the Mall was a constant reminder that she was seated in a huge urban sprawl.  She was desperately homesick and ached for the countryside and Demon.  Not knowing what else to do she had sent Philip a telegram asking if he would look after the horse, knowing Perkins would be at breaking point if he had full responsibility for the animal for any length of time.  A curt reply had winged its way back, with the information that at her father’s request Demon was now at Tangles and would remain there