sat up, startled. ‘Paul? What is it? Did you forget something?’ That morning he had left before she was awake, and she had not heard him return the night before.
‘I’ve just had lunch with your brother.’
‘Oh?’ Clare felt her stomach tighten warningly. Deliberately she resisted the urge to scramble to her feet. She stared hard at the litter of crisp dead leaves nestling in the moss against the bricked border of the flower bed, and waited.
‘He tells me someone has offered to buy Duncairn.’ His voice was even.
‘That’s right.’ Clare tried to sound casual. ‘Crazy isn’t it? I expect they wanted to develop the hotel.’ She carefully avoided looking at him.
‘No doubt. May I ask how much they offered you?’
‘They didn’t mention a figure. They said if I were interested we could discuss a price, but as I have no intention of selling, there is nothing to discuss.’ She knew she was speaking too quickly.
‘And you weren’t even interested enough to find out how much they were considering offering you?’ His tone had a mocking, dangerous ring.
‘No.’ She stood up abruptly, her shoulders hunched, and took a few steps away from him, studying a bruised rosebud with exaggerated care.
‘What if I told you that it was worth a fortune to the right person,’ he said quietly.
‘It wouldn’t make any difference.’ She turned to face him. ‘I suppose James told you that he thinks they want it for an oil terminal or something. Well, even if they do, I don’t care. I’m not selling.’
‘Not a terminal, Clare. They think there is oil there.’
She stared at him. ‘I don’t believe you!’
‘It’s true. Whether you believe it or not, and whether there is really oil there or not is immaterial. The fact is, one of the oil companies believes there may be, and they want to acquire the land. Under different circumstances, I might have agreed with you and said keep the land, although rents and revenues are unlikely to be worth much, but we need the capital, and with the oil industry in such turmoil, the sensible thing is to go for money in the hand. Now. If this company wants to invest in a speculative deal, then you should take their offer. It will be a big one.’ He was watching her intently, his voice still carefully even. ‘They might change their mind later.’
‘No.’ Clare clenched her fists. ‘Don’t you see? I don’t want to sell.’
Paul sighed. ‘I appreciate your sentimental attachment to the place, but you must overcome it. People have to move with the times.’
‘No. No they don’t. Aunt Margaret left Duncairn to me. She meant me to have it for ever.’ She was trying to breathe calmly.
‘And pass it on to your children?’ Paul’s voice was acid.
Clare froze. ‘Mine or James’s,’ she whispered at last.
Paul sat down on the wooden bench near her. Behind him the mellow London stock bricks of the wall radiated a gentle heat from the sun. He took a deep breath, determined to seem calm. ‘Clare,’ he said with exaggerated patience, ‘I do appreciate your feelings, darling, but they are totally irrational. When the price is right one must always sell.’
‘And everything has a price, of course.’ She sounded very bitter. ‘So, tell me, Paul. What is the price for Duncairn? Were you thinking of driving them up? Holding an auction perhaps in a marquee in the castle grounds? What is it to me, after all? Just some scrubby moorland, some inaccessible cliffs, the feus of a fishing village, a ruin and a hotel that makes no money! You’re right. I should sell it at once! I can’t think why I should have delayed.’ She flung herself towards the door. Then she stopped and faced him again. ‘Money! That’s all you think about! For God’s sake, why do we need any more capital? Haven’t we got enough? We’ve so much more than most people have.’ Her voice had risen passionately.
‘No, we haven’t got enough. As I told you before, Clare, one cannot have enough money,’ he replied coldly. ‘And as your aunt failed to leave you any at all to administer the estate, and as you seem convinced she had your welfare at heart, I can only assume that she had some idea of its worth. It may be that she did after all leave her property divided equally between you and James. And if that was the case, she expected you to sell.’
‘She did not.’ Clare stared down at him. ‘You know perfectly well she did no such thing. I don’t understand you any more, Paul. If we needed the money, this would make sense, perhaps. But we don’t.’ She pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Do we?’
For a moment he hesitated, then he shook his head. ‘I need all the money I can get, Clare. For investment.’ He gave a hard, humourless smile. ‘And I intend to get it. And I am not going to let you stand in my way.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence as Clare stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ she managed to ask at last.
‘I mean, I intend to see to it that you accept that offer. You’ll have no children, Clare, to pass on some stupid old woman’s sentimental vision of a family seat to. The Gordon connection with that land would die with you anyway, because I’m damned if you’re leaving it to your brother. He’s got enough as it is.’
‘I could still have children, Paul –’ In her confusion at his sudden rage Clare seized on her one bit of hope. ‘You said there is nothing wrong with me –’
‘No! Accept the fact. You will never have children. John Stanford told me so, Clare. We didn’t want to hurt you, we didn’t want you to blame yourself, so we agreed to say nothing to you. But it’s you. You who can never have a baby!’ He stood up, his face taut, his bitterness, anger and impotence focussing at last on her, battering her, determined to hurt her as he had been hurt. ‘Inheritance means nothing when the line is barren, you might as well face it. Do you think if you did decide to leave Duncairn to James that he would keep it for one single minute? Of course he wouldn’t. He would sell.’
‘Paul –’
‘No, Clare. No more crazy excuses. I want you to give me that letter. I’ll contact the solicitor –’
‘I burnt it.’ Quite suddenly she was completely calm. She looked at him coldly. ‘I have no intention of selling, Paul, or of letting you do it for me. The land is mine. And it will remain so.’
Their eyes locked. For a moment she thought he was going to hit her. Then, abruptly, he pushed past her and went into the house. A few minutes later she heard the front door bang.
For a long time she sat quite still on the bench, her mind a blank. The October sun had slipped behind the rustling, paper-dry leaves of the plane tree in the garden behind theirs, throwing cold, flecked shadows over the paving. She shivered violently.
Barren. The most desolate word in the English language. No pregnancy; no baby; no sons; no daughters. Just a useless empty woman, hated by her husband. The look in his eyes had been more eloquent than any of the words he had thrown at her. He disliked her and he despised her. The change in him which had started the day Aunt Margaret’s will was read was now complete. The Paul she knew, the Paul she had married, had disappeared. His charm, his sense of humour, his carefree extravagance – all had gone. Had he never loved her then,
