wing away. His hand moved on the nape of her neck, under the fall of her hair, softly, teasingly, sending a deep shiver pulsating through her body.
He whispered, ‘Kiss me…’
It would be so easy, she thought longingly, to yield to his persuasion. To let the desire of the moment sweep her away. To assuage the pain and the need of the past unhappy years by putting her lips against his. And by following wherever that led.
Oh, dear God, so disastrously, fatally easy.
She wrenched herself free. Took a step backwards, distancing herself. Out of harm’s way.
She said, between her teeth, ‘This is not a game, Gabriel, and I am not some toy. You don’t like to fail. I won’t be used. Checkmate.’
She turned and went out of the room, across the hall and up the stairs, without looking back and without hesitation, in spite of the scalding tears that were half blinding her.
Tears that she dared not let him see. Tears she could not allow herself to shed, because they were a sign of the weakness she could not afford.
And she knew with painful desperation that she was going to need all the strength she possessed—just to survive.
‘MY DEAREST child, what a nightmare for you.’ Sylvia Osborne’s hug was warm, but the look she directed at Joanna was searching as well as kind. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
‘Nor I.’ Joanna’s voice was constrained. ‘I still look up, expecting him to walk in…’
‘Of course.’ Sylvia drew her over to one of the comfortable, sagging, chintz-covered sofas and sat down beside her, clasping Joanna’s hands in hers. ‘If only we’d been here. Not that we could have done anything…’ She paused. ‘And now Gabriel is back.’ She let the words sink into another silence.
Joanna bit her lip. ‘Yes. Have you heard the terms of Lionel’s will?’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Gabriel told me when we spoke on the telephone this morning. It’s all quite unbelievable.’
Joanna swallowed. ‘He—he’s very angry about it, isn’t he?’
‘Small wonder,’ Sylvia said tartly. ‘Firstly he’s dragooned into that ridiculous marriage—which anyone could see was going to be a disaster, and which one would have thought might have cured Lionel of interfering in other people’s lives—and now, in spite of everything, he’s being manipulated again.’
‘But he doesn’t have to be,’ Joanna said flatly. ‘I’ve told him I’ll renounce my bequest. Go somewhere else. Start a new life. Only he won’t allow it.’
‘Well, of course not. However muddled his motives, Lionel has provided you with a future. Gabriel wouldn’t let you deprive yourself of that.’ She shook her head. ‘Verne men, my dear. Pride, stubbornness, and a keen sense of honour—particularly where their dependants are concerned.’
‘I,’ Joanna said very clearly, ‘have no wish to be a dependant of Gabriel’s.’
‘A view he shares, no doubt.’ Sylvia paused. ‘I thought he was coming with you. What have you done—murdered him and shoved his body out of the car?’
For the first time in many days Joanna heard herself laugh out loud.
‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ She shook her head. ‘He’s joining us presently. I—I had some shopping to do, so we decided to arrive here separately.’
As soon as she’d composed herself that morning, Joanna had changed out of her riding gear into skirt and sweater, topped them with her trenchcoat, and driven into Westroe.
She’d lunched on scrambled eggs on toast in a local tea room, and spent the rest of the time mooching grimly round the parade of shops, eventually buying a cream silk shirt that she didn’t need simply for appearances.
‘Separately, but not that far apart.’ Sylvia looked past her through the window. ‘Gabriel’s here now, surveying the frost damage in the garden with Charles.’ She patted Joanna’s arm. ‘Come and give me a hand with the tea things. In awkward situations, I always find it helps to appear busy.’
No one could feel uptight in Sylvia’s kitchen, Joanna thought, arranging sandwiches on plates and filling dishes with jam and cream for the batch of feather-light scones still cooling from the Aga.
Sylvia loved to cook, and she’d created an environment for herself that was warm and homely, as well as being an efficient workspace. Pans and utensils hung from racks, and the huge built-in dresser groaned under the weight of her favourite blue and white china.
‘I made a Dundee cake too.’ Sylvia passed it to her. ‘It’s Gabriel’s favourite.’
‘So it is,’ Joanna said slowly. ‘I—I’d forgotten.’
‘Well, why should you remember?’ Sylvia asked robustly. ‘It isn’t as if you ever cooked for him, after all, and got to know his likes and dislikes. As soon as the honeymoon was over, it was straight back to the Manor and the status quo. Not exactly the usual start in marriage that most young wives experience,’ she added drily.
Joanna smiled wanly. ‘I don’t think it made much difference in the long run. As you’ve already pointed out, it wasn’t a marriage made in heaven.’
‘But it didn’t have to end up in hell, either. Perhaps if you’d had a home of your own—some privacy where you could have slogged out your problems—it might have helped.’
‘There was never any question of that.’ Joanna arranged cups and saucers carefully on a tray. Because Gabriel never wanted to be tied down like that. It was convenient for him to leave me at Westroe while he got on with his own life.
‘And there were compensations too,’ she said. ‘When things were really bad, at least I wasn’t alone.’
‘No,’ Sylvia said with a snap. ‘You always had your stepmother, of course. A terrific consolation.’ She gave Joanna a steely look. ‘I suppose she’s sticking to the Manor like glue?’
‘Not exactly.’ Joanna’s hand shook as she poured milk into a silver jug, causing her to spill some on the worktop. ‘She’s moving to Larkspur Cottage for the next twelve months or so.’ She fetched a cloth and wiped up the milk drops. ‘It—it was Gabriel’s idea.’
‘Ah,’ Sylvia said neutrally, ‘I see.’ She spooned tea into the pot and poured on boiling water. ‘So you and Gabriel will be on your own together at last.’ She sounded meditative.
‘Only to fulfil the terms of the will.’ Joanna tipped sugar cubes into a bowl and placed it on the tray. ‘And through no wish of mine, believe me.’
‘You blame Gabriel for everything, don’t you?’ Sylvia’s voice was wry. ‘Would it help if I told you he knew about Lionel’s will and did his damnedest to talk him out of it?’
‘For his own good reasons, no doubt,’
