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

“Well,” Delia was saying, “if you remember, a very long time ago, my two main ambitions were to marry you and run Canleigh … and now, albeit a few years later than I intended, it’s all going to come true.”

“What are you talking about?” said Philip, thoroughly alarmed.

“You and I will marry … at last … oh, don’t look so surprised.  You know we’re made for each other and need to spend the rest of our lives together … and as for Canleigh … Ruth is sacking Louis and appointing me as estate manager.  So, how about that?”

Philip untangled his hand from Delia’s, ran his hand worriedly across his brow and groaned.  “Delia, you’ve got it all wrong.  Ruth has sacked Louis, that’s true enough, but on the advice of her accountants … and me … she’s interviewing prospective candidates for the position tomorrow.  You’re only kidding yourself if you think Ruth will appoint you … and I … I have agreed with her.”

The room went deathly quiet but from outside the pigeons could be heard clearly, along with the jingle of the horses’ bits in their mouths as they tore at the grass on the lawn.

Delia could feel the rage.  It was engulfing her.  Starting at her toes and rushing to her head.  Her body was being consumed by it.  Her skin felt as if it was on fire and inside there was that awful pounding feeling swirling around, about to burst forth at any moment.

“Why the hell are you poking your nose in,” she shrieked.  “What the hell has it got to do with you who is the estate manager at Canleigh?”

Philip swallowed and stared out of the French windows at the horses.  He would give anything to just walk out, mount Miranda and gallop away.  What a bloody mess but he had to come clean and tell her the truth.  It was obviously going to be damned unpleasant, just as it was when he had fallen in love with Sue and ditched Delia all those years ago but there was no way out.  He had to tell her.  He drew in a deep breath and clenched his hands.

“A fair bit, actually, seeing as my future wife cares for it and my soon to be stepson is the legal owner.”

Delia looked at him, shock written all over her face.  She caught a glance of herself in the mirror over the fireplace.  The scar stood out, red and angry, the thick layer of foundation she had applied earlier not doing the brilliant job it should.  She looked almost deranged, with the terrible wound on her face, her eyes wild with fury and her tousled dark hair.  Philip had loved seeing it like that when they made love.  He often commented on it and that was why she had messed it up a bit before she came downstairs.  What a bloody waste of time that had been as yet again he was breaking her heart.  Why did he always fall in love with other women?  Why wasn’t it her?

“It’s this, isn’t it?” she screamed, pointing at her face, pulling her hair back so that he could see it clearly.  “You think I’m ugly and repulsive.”

Philip put up his hands.  “No, Delia.  Of course not.  Don’t be ridiculous. That doesn’t make any difference whatsoever.”

“So, what is it, then?”  She paused, trying to calm herself and thinking hard.  Philip possessed pretty strict morals so it must be Lucy.  It had to be Lucy.  She was an illegitimate child … a bastard … and the father was Vicky’s husband.”

Philip moved across the room, towards the door, ready to make his escape.  “I’m so sorry, Delia but it’s nothing you’ve done …   really … or what you are or what you look like.  I like you … I enjoy being with you, especially the riding, but I don’t love you as you want me to.  I never have and I never will.  I told you all those years ago and now I’m telling you again.”

“No, no, no, no,” Delia screamed, tears streaming down her face as she threw herself at him, beating his chest hard with her hands.  “I won’t let you do this to me … not again.  How could you, Philip?  How could you … I love you so much … it’s you and only you … you know it is.  You have to marry me.  I can’t live without you … you know I can’t” she sobbed piteously, her tears splashing onto his shirt.

“Don’t Delia,” he uttered desperately.  “Please don’t.  I am sorry but it won’t do any good.  I love Ruth … I asked her to marry me last night and we’re intending to have a spring wedding.  You’ll have to accept it.  You have a good life here … with Lucy.”

Delia sprang away from him, her eyes wide with hate.  “You won’t marry that scheming little bitch.  Christ, how I hate her.  She tried it on with Richard, then seduced my poor, deluded father and now you … bloody hell, I hate her more than I’ve hated anyone … and I hate you too, Philip,” she yelled as he tried to restrain her from attacking him by holding her hands.  She struggled to get free, resorting to thrusting a knee into his groin and grabbing the heavy brass poker from the fireplace as he doubled up in pain.

“I’m going to kill you, you bastard.  If I can’t have you, she certainly won’t,” she shrieked, smashing the poker onto Philip’s head and as he fell to the floor with a thud, continued to bring it crashing down, raining blow after blow on his body, the blood spurting up from his face and obscenely splashing the innocent whiteness of the negligee.

“And I’m going to finish her off too,” she whispered hoarsely.  “She won’t get away with thwarting me