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

Rolls with him, Delia had decided to treat herself.  She had always hankered after a Ferrari but Philip had been aghast about spending so much money on a car but one day she would have one.  She would just have to work on him a little harder.

“It’s okay, I suppose,” she said, lacking enthusiasm.

Delia looked at her sister appraisingly.  Vicky was still too thin.  She was wearing jeans so her legs weren’t visible but the short-sleeved t-shirt revealed skinny arms and no bust to speak of.  However, she looked far better than the scarecrow who crept around Canleigh two Christmases ago.  Her eyes sparkled, her creamy skin was clear of blemishes and her short dark hair shone with health.  She would look good in her bridesmaid dress.

“You look well, considering,” remarked Delia starchy.  “Have you had anything to eat?”

Vicky shook her head, hating the inevitable questions about food.  “I didn’t want dinner so Hardy is bringing up some sandwiches and coffee to the library.”

“Right,” said Delia, resigning herself to having to spend some time with her sister after all.  “I’ll ring down and tell him I’ll join you.  I don’t want much either.”  She turned regally, leaving Vicky to follow her into the library.

Having rung Hardy from the phone on her father’s desk, Delia sat down opposite Vicky on the two Chesterfield sofas either side of the fireplace.

“Mrs. Hardy told me you had one of your heads.  Are you feeling better?” asked Vicky, trying to sound sympathetic.

“A bit.  But it seems I might have the beginnings of a blasted cold as well,” Delia sniffed into a tissue.  “I’m going to have an early night.”

“Yes, you must.  You need to be fit for the wedding.  I am so looking forward to it.  Do you know this is the fifth time I’ve been a bridesmaid?  I do hope it’ll not ruin my chances of being a bride,” said Vicky, knowing she was prattling again but Delia still made her feel so damned inferior and silly.  Why did her poise and self-confidence evaporate as soon as she was with Delia?  She wasn’t like that with anyone else.

Delia settled herself in the corner of the sofa, arranging cushions at her back, ignoring Vicky’s inane chatter.

“I was speaking to Richard on the telephone last night.  He tells me you have a new boyfriend.  Do you want him at the wedding?  If so, I shall have to look at the table plan again.”

“Barrie,” nodded Vicky enthusiastically, wishing he was there now.  He was full of confidence and would easily deal with Delia.  “Oh Delia, you’ll really like him … he’s simply gorgeous … good looking, really generous, great fun to be with.  I just adore him.”

Delia cringed, remembering Richard’s caustic comment that the delightful Barrie, also at Oxford Uni, was a lazy letch who had only latched onto Vicky because he could see a golden future for himself, married to a wealthy Duke’s daughter.  Richard was concerned and was hoping Vicky would see through Barrie before there was any talk of an engagement.

Vicky continued enthusing about Barrie.  “I can’t wait for him to get here tomorrow.  I had to drop him in Manchester as his aunt is dying and he desperately wanted to spend some time with her … they are very close apparently.  He’s coming up by train.  I’ll drive to the station and meet him.”

Delia had gone very quiet, thinking how lucky she was to be marrying Philip.  He certainly wasn’t after her money or the kudos of her family’s status.  She knew him so well, loved him so deeply, felt safe and secure with him and just knew their future life together was going to be all that she hoped for.  She was truly blessed.

“Have you … have you heard from Mummy?  Is she coming to the wedding?”

Delia froze.  Even after all these years the hate she felt for her mother was still there.  It teetered below the surface all the time and just the mere mention of the woman brought that horrendous day back abruptly.  Sitting here in the library, she could hear again the row between her parents, could feel the slap of her mother’s hand, and could see the disgusting pictures in the newspaper.  Her pulse raced.  Murderous thoughts charged through her mind.  It was frightening, this anger, mostly directed at her mother but to a lesser extent on Simon Parfitt and then Father.  Delia had never quite forgiven him.  There was an uneasy truce between them but all respect for him had vanished that day, along with her beloved Granny.  Delia raised her eyes to the portrait above the mantelpiece.  Darling Granny looked down at her, a faint smile on her lips.  How she wished Granny could be here now, helping her with the wedding arrangements and then in St. Mary’s, watching her marry Philip.  Granny would have been so happy for her.

“Delia?  Have you … have you heard from Mummy?”  Vicky repeated.

“Good heavens, no!” exploded Delia.  “What a stupid question!  Neither I, nor Father, would have her on the premises … that’s if she knew I was getting married of course.  I certainly haven’t told her.  Anyway, I can’t.  I  haven’t the foggiest idea where she is.”

“On some tiny Caribbean island apparently, Carriacou … somewhere near Grenada.  There was a piece about her in one of the tabloids a few weeks ago.  Parfitt wasn’t mentioned so I’ve no idea if she is still with him.  She’s opened some kind of bar.  There was a picture of her … she looked … she looked … there’s no other word for it but tarty.”

“Bitch!”

The venom in Delia’s voice made Vicky shiver.  Her sister looked positively evil and Vicky regretted mentioning their mother.  After such a long time it was to be assumed Delia might have gotten over the trauma but obviously not and Vicky decided never to mention