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

Barrie’s deep tones made Delia curl up with delight.  He had such a sexy voice.  “I thought I should let you know that your wife is on her way back to your loving arms,” she mocked.  “I do hope she won’t cause us any problems.”

Barrie laughed dryly.  He had been hitting the bottle too by the sound of him.  He was usually careful about how much he drank but Delia was having a bad effect on him.  If she was around, he wanted to drink and if she wasn’t, he wanted to drink even more.  It was becoming a bad habit.

“Vicky won’t stop me seeing you,” he said with a slight slur.  “Nothing will stop that.  God, Delia, I want you now.  Why the hell aren’t you here?”

“Because I’m here, darling,” Delia smiled.  He was craving her body.  That was good.  She didn’t want him to go off the boil for quite a while.  “Let me know when you can get away on one of your golfing trips,” she laughed.  “There’s a smashing secluded country house hotel in Leicestershire I know with four poster beds, a fabulous indoor pool and spa treatments,” she said, remembering the Willows where she had recovered after her traumatic departure from Canleigh nearly two years ago.  “No-one will find us there and it will only take me a couple of hours to reach it and not much longer for you, I would have thought.  We can totally relax there and have a little fun.”

Crazy to see her again, Barrie willingly agreed and their trysts became a regular occurrence every Sunday and Monday when the club was quiet.  Barrie told Delia that Vicky had arrived home and funnily never said a word, just walked about like a ghost, pale and wan and kept out of his way as much as possible.  He never told Vicky where he was going every week and she didn’t ask but no doubt, she guessed.

But Delia didn’t care if Vicky gave a damn.  The affair with Barrie kept her from dwelling too much on the forthcoming trial.  As far as Philip was concerned, she let things remain as they were, wanting to figure out exactly what was occurring in the Kershaw household before making any kind of play for him.  She ascertained from one of the gardeners, who had begun work on the Canleigh estate long before Delia was born and knew everything and anything about anyone in the locality, that Sue Kershaw spent a lot of time away from Tangles.  Her parents, who now lived somewhere near St. Ives in Cornwall, were not in the best of health and needed assistance.  Her father had suffered a stroke and her mother was crippled with arthritis and finding it difficult to care for him.  There were plans to move them back up to Yorkshire but both were resisting, as they loved the little house and the area to which they had retired.  Anyhow, it meant Philip was alone for long periods but even so, Delia resisted the urge to visit him, although she had sent him a couple of bottles of malt whisky and a thank you card for caring for Demon so well and for so long.  He had telephoned Hardy to relay a message of thanks to her.

Apart from her sojourns with Barrie every week and her regular trip to Leeds police station on Wednesday mornings, along with visits to Oxford to meet and discuss the forthcoming trial with Danby and her Queens Counsel, Cubitt-Jones, who was planning to demolish the case against her in record time, she had little to do apart from ride.  She and Demon went further and were out longer than ever before, roaming the countryside in all weathers; snow, hail, wind, rain and with the odd day of winter sunshine thrown in.  She loved the freedom, the feel of her horse beneath her; his power, his love for her.  They were a team, him and her, and she never wanted to leave him or Canleigh again and she wouldn’t, not once the trial was over.  She couldn’t live in the main house with her father, Ruth and the sprog but the Dower house had been empty since Granny died.  Surely, her father could be persuaded to let her have it.  She would promise to keep herself out of trouble and out of everyone’s way if he did … at least until she was firmly in situ.

*   *   *

The first months of 1974 passed pleasantly and quickly, if Delia tried hard not to think about the trial and then, with a rush, it was going to be next week and then it was the following day and then … here she was, back in Oxford, standing outside the Crown Court.  It was a reasonably warm day with no sign of the celebrated March winds.  Delia had no need of a coat, and dressed in a navy blue suit, white blouse and navy court shoes with low heels; she looked demure, sensible, and very much like a dependable, truthful young woman.  Her hair was up and she wore just a slight touch of makeup to give her a bit of colour.  Her only jewellery was the pearl earrings her grandmother had left her and which she hoped would bring her luck.  She really needed it right now. Nervous and with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she walked into the building.

The trial started without delay at ten thirty.  Delia sat in the dock and looked hopefully across at the confident and optimistic Cubitt-Jones, who didn’t seem to be able to keep a smile off his long, thin face.  She looked around the court, wishing she felt as self-assured as he obviously did.  The public gallery was packed with a mix of people.  Middle aged men in suits, a couple of young male students with long, straggly hair and mouths writhing