The End of her Innocence

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’ asked Darius Maynard, his voice a snarl of pure anger. ‘Or have you just gone raving mad?’

CHAPTER TWO

CHLOE took another step backwards, aware that she was burning from the soles of her feet up to her hairline, and probably beyond.

Oh, God, let me wake up, she prayed frantically, and find this is only a nightmare.

When she could speak, she said hoarsely, ‘You—you! What are you doing with Ian’s jeep?’

‘Correction,’ he said brusquely. ‘My jeep for the past eight weeks. Cartwright was trading it in for a newer model and I bought it.’

‘You’ve been back here for two months?’

‘For over six, actually.’ He added curtly, ‘If it’s any concern of yours, Miss Benson.’

Her flush deepened, if that was possible. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’

What on earth was going on? she wondered. Why had he returned when his banishment was supposed to have been permanent? How could that kind of breach possibly have been healed? Sir Gregory surely wasn’t the type to welcome back the prodigal son. And how did Andrew, the betrayed husband, feel about it?

Above all, why had no-one mentioned it? How was it Ian hadn’t said, ‘By the way, I’ve sold my jeep, and to Darius Maynard of all people.’

‘Why would you know?’ He hunched an indifferent shoulder. ‘You haven’t been around much to catch up on the local sensations.’

‘I’ve been working.’

‘Most people do,’ he said. ‘Or are you claiming particular credit?’

I am not going to do this, Chloe told herself, swallowing back the impetuous retort that had risen to her lips. I am not going to stand here bandying jibes with Darius Maynard.

Because he’s perfectly correct. However I may feel about it, his return is absolutely none of my business and I must remember that. I will remember it.

‘Not at all.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And now I must be going.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I—apologise for what just happened. It was a genuine mistake.’

‘It must have been,’ he drawled. ‘After all, we were never exactly on goosing terms, were we, Miss Benson? I wasn’t aware you had that kind of relationship with Cartwright either.’

‘Clearly, you also have some catching up to do.’ She turned away. ‘Goodbye, Mr Maynard.’

She got back in her car, started the engine and swung the vehicle out of the forecourt towards the Willowford Road.

I’m shaking like a leaf, she thought, which is totally ridiculous. Yes, I’ve just made a complete fool of myself, but if it had been anyone else, they’d probably have helped me to laugh off the embarrassment somehow, not made it worse.

Of all the people in the world I never wanted to see again, he must be in pole position. Yet here he is, turning up like the proverbial bad penny. I wish I could ignore him, but we both have to live in the same small community, so that’s impossible.

On the other hand, she thought, his return might be purely temporary. He’d frequently been absent in the old days, and might not be planning to stay for any length of time now. That was what she would hope for, anyway.

Besides, she added firmly, she would be too busy planning her wedding and her life with Ian to pay any heed to the Hall, and the vagaries of its occupants.

She’d travelled about a mile when the petrol light showed it meant business by letting the car slide slowly but very definitely to a halt.

Swearing under her breath, Chloe steered it to the verge. She’d had one thing on her mind at the filling station—escape—and this, of course, was what it had led to. Something else she could lay firmly at Darius Maynard’s damned door, she thought, fuming.

She could use her mobile, she supposed. Send out an SOS to Uncle Hal or Ian to come to her rescue, but that, apart from leaving her looking like an idiot twice in one day, wasn’t exactly the upbeat, triumphant return to Willowford that she had planned.

Better, she thought, grimacing, to start hiking, and as she reached for the door handle, she saw in her mirror the jeep come round the corner, drive past her, then pull in a few yards ahead.

She felt a silent scream rise in her throat, as Darius Maynard got out and walked back to her.

No, no, no! she wailed inwardly. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible.

‘Having problems?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘Just—collecting my thoughts.’

‘Pity you didn’t collect some petrol while you were about it,’ he commented caustically. ‘I presume that was your purpose in the filling station, rather than renewing our acquaintance in that unique manner. And that’s why you’re stuck here?’

‘Whatever,’ Chloe returned curtly, loathing him. ‘But I can cope.’

‘Presumably by drilling for oil in the adjoining field. However, God forbid I should leave a damsel in distress.’

‘Especially when you cause most of it.’ She made her voice poisonously sweet, and he winced elaborately.

‘Giving a dog a bad name, Miss Benson? Inappropriate behaviour, I’d have thought, for someone with her eye on a vet.’

She bit her lip. ‘It happens that Ian Cartwright and I are engaged.’

‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Does he know that?’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Chloe demanded furiously. ‘We’re engaged and we’ll be married by the end of the summer.’

‘You know best,’ he said softly. ‘But I do hope you’re not mistaking a girlhood crush for the real thing, Miss Benson. You’re no longer a susceptible teenager, you know.’

She said in a small choked voice, ‘How dare you? How bloody dare you? Just get out of here and leave me in peace.’

‘Not without lending a kindly hand to a neighbour,’ Damian retorted, apparently unperturbed. ‘The jeep is diesel as I’m sure you remember, but I do have a petrol can in the back, and a brisk walk back to the filling station in the sunshine should do wonders for your temper.’

He paused. ‘So, do you want it, or would you prefer to wait for the next chivalrous passer-by, yes or no?’

She would have actually preferred to see him wearing his rotten can, jammed down hard, but she bit her lip and nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Boy, that must have hurt.’ His grin mocked her, before he turned and strode back to the jeep, lean-hipped and lithe.

He hadn’t changed, she thought with sudden bewilderment, watching him go. The past seven years didn’t seem to have touched him at all. Yet how was that possible?

No conscience, she thought bitterly. No regret for the havoc he’d caused. The ruined lives he’d left behind him.

She picked up her jacket from the passenger seat, and let herself out of the car. As she unfastened the boot, Darius came back with the can. He glanced down at the array of luggage and whistled.

‘My God, Willowford’s own Homecoming Queen. You really do mean to stay, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She placed her jacket carefully across the top-most case, smoothing its folds as she did so. Hiding, she realised with annoyance, the fact that her hands were shaking. ‘I have every reason to do so.’

‘But I don’t.’ His mouth was smiling but his eyes were hard as glass. ‘Is that the hidden message you’re trying to convey?’

‘As you said, it’s none of my concern.’ She held out her hand for the can. ‘I’ll make sure this is returned to you.’

‘By courier, no doubt.’ He shrugged. ‘Forget it. I have others. And now, I fear, I must tear myself away.’ He walked towards the jeep, then turned.

‘I wish you a joyful reunion with your family and friends, Miss Benson,’ he said softly. ‘But as for that peace you mentioned—I wouldn’t count on it, because you’re not the peaceful kind. Not in your heart. You just haven’t realised it yet.’

He swung himself into the jeep and drove off, leaving her staring after him, her heart pounding uncomfortably.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ said Aunt Libby.

‘That is so not true.’ Chloe hugged her again. ‘I’m the same to the ounce as I was a year ago. I swear it.’

She looked round the big comfortable kitchen with its Aga, big pine table and tall Welsh dresser holding her aunt’s prized collection of blue-and-white china and sighed rapturously. ‘Gosh, it’s wonderful to be home.’

‘No-one forced you to go away,’ said Aunt Libby, lifting the kettle from the Aga and filling the teapot. Her tone was teasing, but her swift glance was serious.

Chloe shrugged. ‘They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. You know that. Besides it’s been an education, seeing how the other half live.’

‘The village will seem very dull after Millionaires Row.’

‘On the contrary, I know for sure where I belong.’ Chloe paused. ‘Has Ian called? I took your advice and rang him to say I was arriving.’

‘I think he was out at Farsleigh today. It’s a bad reception area.’ Her aunt passed her a plate of raisin bread.

‘Heaven,’ said Chloe, as she took a slice, smiling to conceal her disappointment over Ian. ‘Is this the Jackson equivalent of the fatted calf—to welcome home the prodigal?’ And paused again, taking a deep breath. ‘So, how is everything and—everyone?’ She tried to sound casual. ‘Any major changes anywhere?’

‘Nothing much.’ Mrs Jackson poured the tea. ‘I gather Sir Gregory is making progress at last, poor man.’ She sighed. ‘What a tragedy that was. I’m not a superstitious woman, but it’s almost as if there’s been some dreadful curse on the Maynard family.’

Chloe stared at her, the flippant retort that there was and that she’d seen it alive and well an hour ago dying on her lips.

‘What do you mean?’

Mrs Jackson looked surprised. ‘Well, I was thinking of Andrew, of course, being killed in that dreadful accident.’

Chloe’s cup clattered back into its saucer. ‘Andrew Maynard—dead?’ She stared at her aunt. ‘Never!’

‘Why, yes, dear. Surely you saw it in the papers? And I told you about it in one of my letters.’

Had she? Chloe wondered guiltily, knowing that, once she’d made sure that everyone at Axford Grange was well and happy, she hadn’t always read on to the end.

‘I—I must have missed a page somewhere. What happened?’

‘He was in the Cairngorms climbing alone as he often did. Apparently, there was a rock fall, and he was swept away.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible.’

‘And Sir Gregory?’

Aunt Libby shook her head. ‘A stroke, brought on by the news.’

Chloe picked up her cup. Swallowed some tea. Schooled her voice to normality. ‘I thought I glimpsed Darius Maynard when I stopped for petrol. Is that why he’s come back? Because he’s now the heir?’

‘I think that it was concern for his father rather than the inheritance that brought him.’ Aunt Libby spoke with gentle reproof and Chloe flushed.

‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve—never liked him.’

‘Something for which your uncle and I were always profoundly grateful,’ her aunt said with a touch of grimness. ‘He was always far too attractive for his own good.’ She sighed again. ‘But he’s certainly provided Sir Gregory with the very best of care, hiring a charming girl as his live-in nurse who seems to have inspired the poor man and literally brought him back from the grave.

‘And Mr Crosby, the agent, reckons Darius is really putting his back into running the estate these days, so perhaps he’s become a reformed character during his absence.’

And maybe pigs might fly, thought Chloe. She took another piece of raisin bread. ‘And—Mrs Maynard. Penny. Is he still with her?’

‘No-one knows or dare ask. She’s certainly not at the Hall. And she didn’t attend Andrew’s funeral, or the memorial service.’ Mrs Jackson refilled her niece’s cup. ‘Apparently Mrs Thursgood at the post office asked Darius straight out if he was married—well, she would!—and he just laughed, and said, “God, no”. So we’re none the wiser.’

‘But it’s hardly a surprise,’ Chloe said evenly. ‘He’s never been the marrying kind.’

‘On the other hand, he’s never been the next baronet before either,’ Aunt Libby pointed out, cutting into a handsome Victoria sponge. ‘That may change things.’

‘Perhaps so.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s considering the charming nurse up at the Hall.’

‘Lindsay?’ Her aunt sounded almost startled. ‘Oh, I don’t think she’d do for him at all.’

‘But, then, who would?’ Chloe helped herself to a piece of sponge with its strawberry jam and cream filling. ‘If I go on like this,’ she added wryly, ‘I’ll be the size of a house by the time of the wedding.’

Aunt Libby gave her a swift glance, then looked back at her plate. ‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘If anything, you could do with a few pounds. Real men don’t want skeletons to cuddle.’

The wisdom according to Uncle Hal, no doubt, Chloe thought with an inward smile.

They were such darlings. Living proof of how well marriage could work, given the chance. And if their childlessness had been a sadness, they’d kept it well-hidden, opening their home and their hearts to her instead, when her mother, Aunt Libby’s younger sister, had died suddenly of a thrombosis only two days after giving birth.

Her father, an engineer in the oil industry had been on his way back from Saudi Arabia to see his wife and child when the tragedy happened. Devastated by his loss, and with two years of his contract still to run, he knew that taking his newborn daughter back with him was impossible. Apart from the environmental problems, he’d been an only son and had no experience with infants. He’d been almost at his wits’ end when his grieving sister-in-law had stepped in, making her momentous offer, which he’d thankfully accepted.

The original plan had been that Chloe should go to him as soon as he found a more appropriate job, but another contract succeeded the first, and from the conversations the Jacksons had with him when he was in the UK on leave, they knew that he’d become an ex-pat in spirit as well as fact. That he liked his life just the way it was. And contributing to his daughter’s support was as far as he was prepared to go.

Eventually they heard that he’d met an American girl and was going to remarry, and resigned themselves once more to Chloe’s loss. Only it didn’t happen.

Her father’s new bride-to-be, Mary Theresa, had reacted badly to the idea of a female stepchild when it had been put to her, and Chloe remained in Willowford.

She’d eventually been invited to Florida to see her father and meet her stepmother, together with the twin boys born a year after the marriage, but the visit was not a success, and had not been repeated. Now he was little more than a name on a Christmas card. Her birthday was clearly a date with associations he preferred to forget, and although this was bound to sadden her, she decided she could not altogether blame him.

But at some point she would also have to decide whether he, or Uncle Hal who’d loved her like his own, should give her away at her wedding. And that could be tricky.

When tea was finished she loaded the china and cutlery into the dishwasher and switched it on, then checked her mobile phone for a message or a text from Ian, but there was nothing.

She sighed inwardly. ‘Do you need a hand with supper, or shall I take my things up to my room now?’ she asked her aunt, replacing the phone in her bag.

‘Yes, go and unpack, dear.’ There was an awkward note in Mrs Jackson’s voice. ‘We’ve been decorating upstairs, doing some renovations too, so you’ll find it all rather different. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘On the contrary, I’m intrigued.’ Chloe spoke lightly, but when she opened her bedroom door, her reaction was stunned.

It was completely unrecognisable from the cosy, slightly worn haven that she’d loved, she thought numbly.

The rose-coloured carpet she’d begged for in her early teens had vanished, replaced by stripped, sanded and varnished boards. The pretty sprigged wallpaper had given away to plain walls in a rich, deep cream, and the curtains she’d made herself to go with the carpet had disappeared too. The new drapes were in a vivid blue, matching the tailored spread fitting the single brass bed.

The familiar shabby furniture had gone, but the small cast-iron fireplace was still there, filled with a display of blue teasels. And a fitted cream wardrobe and a mirrored dressing chest now occupied the alcoves on either side of the chimney breast, which Uncle Hal had once shelved to hold her books, toys and ornaments.

It was smart, shiny and new, and it looked terrific, but it was now very much a guest room, she realised with a swift pang. There was nothing left of her at all.

And the bathroom across the passage was an equal shock. The big cast-iron bath and wide basin had made way for a modern white suite, glittering with chrome accessories, and a glass cubicle with a power shower had been installed in the remaining space, while the walls and floor were tiled in turquoise and white.

But what’s brought all this on? Have they had a lottery win I don’t know about? Chloe wondered as she went back to the room that no longer belonged to her. Although the window seat was still there, and the view over open fields where cows grazed quietly hadn’t changed.

She paused, her mouth twisting. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought with sudden impatience. You’re a grown woman, not a child to be hankering for a pink carpet, a collection of pottery owls and a complete set of the Famous Five books.

Things change, and you ‘re about to move on yourself, so stop whingeing and get a grip.

She unpacked swiftly and neatly, stowed her cases under the bed, then returned downstairs.

Aunt Libby turned from the Aga with a look of faint apprehension as she entered the kitchen.

‘What happened? Did some TV makeover team come knocking at the door? It all looks amazing.’ Chloe knew her smile was a little too wide and too bright, but her aunt seemed reassured.

‘Well, no, darling. Your uncle and I have a different reason for smartening the place up.’ She paused. ‘You see, we’ve decided to downsize.’

‘Downsize?’ Chloe’s smile was wiped away, and replaced by shock. ‘You mean you’re—going to sell the Grange?’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh, heavens, has something happened to the practice? Is it the recession?’

‘No, no, on the contrary.’ Mrs Jackson’s reassurance was swift. ‘It’s busier than ever, and that’s the problem. It’s always been a twenty-four-hour service, and your uncle isn’t getting any younger.

‘It’s been a wonderful life, of course, and he’s never wanted anything different, but now he’s seriously considering retirement. Giving himself time to do the things he’s never been able to fully enjoy before. His fishing, for instance. And he might even take up golf again. And we both used to love quite serious walking.

‘So, they’ve been interviewing for a new assistant, and one of Ian’s friends from college might be interested in becoming a partner.’

‘This isn’t just a dream for the future, is it?’ Chloe said slowly. ‘This is a real plan for now.’

‘Well, nothing will happen for a while, and wherever we go, there’ll always be a place for you, Chloe. Never doubt that. But, at the same time, we know you have your own life to lead and we’re so proud and so happy for you.’

‘But you’re not intending to leave the area, surely?’ Chloe felt as if the flagged floor was shifting under her feet.

‘Almost certainly,’ her aunt said briskly.

‘But I thought you loved Willowford.’

‘It’s a fine place,’ Mrs Jackson nodded. ‘And it’s been good to us, but I don’t think your uncle and I ever felt we’d end our days here. We’ve had a survey and valuation done on the Grange, and it seems we can afford to pick and choose where we’ll go next.’ She smiled. ‘It’s quite an adventure.’

‘Yes,’ Chloe agreed quietly. ‘Indeed it is.’

And I—I have my own adventure to embark on too, so I shouldn’t begrudge Uncle and Auntie a thing.

‘We’ve started de-cluttering, as they call it, already,’ Aunt Libby went on. ‘You gather so much stuff over the years that you don’t need, so the charity shops for miles around have reaped the benefit.

‘Oh, not your things, darling,’ she added quickly. ‘We boxed and labelled it all for you, and put the cartons up in the attic, ready for whenever you want them.’

There’d be room at the cottage for them, thought Chloe. Although she’d get rid of the toys, except for the teddy bear her father had bought on his way home from Saudi to see his wife and new daughter. And the books which she’d keep for her own children—when they came along.

She waited for the usual glow of anticipation that occurred whenever she contemplated her future with Ian, but, for once, it seemed curiously muted. On the other hand, her entire homecoming hadn’t been as expected either. It had been thrown off course by that dire humiliation at the filling station and had never really recovered.

I’ll be better when I hear from Ian, she told herself, and at that same moment the telephone rang in the hall.

‘And that’s almost certainly for you,’ said Aunt Libby, turning back to the meat she was browning for a cottage pie.

‘So what’s happened to the dream job?’ Ian asked, once the ‘it’s wonderful to talk to you’ preliminaries had been dealt with. ‘Did you get fired?’

‘No, of course not.’ Chloe was taken aback. ‘On the contrary. They wanted me to go with them for the summer to run their villa in the South of France.’

‘And you turned that down for Willowford? Amazing.’

No, Chloe wanted to say. I turned it down for you.

Aloud, she said, ‘I felt it was time to come home, back to real life again.’ She paused. ‘So, what time shall I see you tonight?’

He sighed. ‘Can’t manage tonight, Clo. There’s a pony club committee meeting and I’m chairing it because Mrs Hammond’s away. You must have known for ages that you’d be back today. I wish you’d told me sooner.’

‘So do I.’ She felt deflated, and oddly close to tears. ‘But I wanted to surprise you.’

‘Well you’ve done that all right.’ He paused. ‘Look, why don’t I book a table at the Willowford Arms for tomorrow evening? Catch up with everything over dinner?’

Or why don’t you suggest we see each other for a drink when your meeting is over? Or rush over here now?

She put a smile in her voice. ‘Sounds great.’

‘Then I’ll pick you up just before eight,’ he said briskly. ‘Got to dash. I’m expecting a call from the Crawfords. Their whippet is about to litter and they’re a bit concerned.’

It’s a twenty-four-hour service, Chloe told herself as she put the phone down. Aunt Libby reminded you of that just now. And you’ve always known it—lived with it for the greater part of your life. Planned to stick with it. So you can’t jib now.

A vet is like being a doctor, only the patients can’t tell you their symptoms, and a successful practice is built on trust and availability. Haven’t you heard Uncle Hal say so a hundred times over spoiled meals and cancelled outings?

It’s not the end of the world. You’ve just endured one of those days, that’s all, but everything starts again tomorrow.

Just keep thinking of that, and it will all work out just fine.

CHAPTER THREE

CHLOE lay back in the bath, appreciatively absorbing the scent of the rose geranium oil rising from the warm water.

In less than two hours, she’d be with Ian, and the time between would be spent pampering herself as never before.

I want to be irresistible, she thought, smiling inwardly.

All the same, she wasn’t finding it as easy to slip back into the swim of things as she’d expected, although her uncle’s affectionate greeting the previous evening had been balm to the soul, and he and Aunt Libby had tranquilly accepted that Ian was needed elsewhere, so she’d be eating cottage pie with them.

‘That whippet’s a beauty but she could be tricky. Let’s hope this litter is the first and last,’ had been Mr Jackson’s only comment.

‘So what are you doing with yourself today?’ he’d asked that morning as he stood up from the breakfast table, stuffing his folded newspaper into his jacket pocket.