“Oh, Charles … please don’t. I can’t bear it,” she cried.
“Listen to me, darling. I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that abuse from Delia this afternoon.”
Ruth squeezed his hand sympathetically. “Delia is in a terrible place right now and I expect when she is physically and mentally better, she will be sorry.”
“Delia is rotten to the core,” he said, his voice growing weaker. “She is no daughter of mine. Not any longer and whatever you do, Ruth, don’t allow her to return to Canleigh … not under any circumstances … for your safety and that of Stephen. I hate to say this but she is pure evil. Don’t let her anywhere near you. Remember that, Ruth. Promise me ….”
“Yes, darling. I promise,” she replied swiftly, anxious to quiet his agitation.
“I love you, Ruth. Thank you for being such a wonderful wife and mother. I die happy knowing you’ll be here to see everything is as it should be. I know I’m leaving everything in capable and caring hands.”
“Oh, Charles,” she cried, unable to restrain herself any longer, clutching his hand as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Please don’t leave me. I love you too much. I can’t go on without you.”
“Yes, you can my love. You have to. You have Stephen. I want him to grow up and be a credit to us … and then there is Vicky. After all she has been through, she will need your support and love. I’m pleased young Alex is fond of her. I do hope they marry one day. Now, come. Cuddle me close. I’m very tired and want to sleep.”
Ruth wiped her eyes with a tissue from the box beside the bed and lay down beside him, listening as his breathing grew quieter, dreading its cessation but knowing it wasn’t far away and there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it. His life was slipping away and she was totally helpless. She wanted to scream and beat the walls in anguish but couldn’t. She had to remain as tranquil as she could for him. Her weeping and wailing could come later but sheer exhaustion took over and as she lay waiting and listening for the inevitable silence that was to come, her eyelids became heavy and slumber overcame her desire to remain awake.
It was daylight when she awoke, still in her turquoise dress, now creased and crumpled. She stared at it for a second, wondering why she wasn’t in her nightclothes and in bed. Then, with horrendous clarity hitting her with an almighty force, she remembered and drawing in her breath in terror looked down at Charles beside her. He was still warm and for an instant, she thought there was a flicker of a smile on his face but she was wrong. He would speak no more. He would never hold her again; laugh with her, play with Stephen, write his books, tour the estate, drive the Rolls. He was gone and she was alone.
“Oh, no … oh, Charles ….” Her whisper was hoarse as she touched his face. His eyes were closed and one could assume he was still asleep but he wasn’t. He must have drawn his last breath an hour or so ago while she had slept soundly beside him. How could she not have been awake at the crucial time? Why hadn’t instinct woken her up?
She remained sitting in the big bed beside him for nearly an hour, trying to accustom herself to the reality that her wonderful, caring, companion was dead. He had been everything to her; friend, lover, confidant, advisor. Their time together had been relatively short but life was unimaginable without him and she couldn’t get her head around it. The future was too bleak and lonely to contemplate. She didn’t want to tell anyone what had happened. While she sat here, beside him, she could still pretend he was only sleeping and would wake up any minute; smile, kiss and cuddle her as he had every morning since their marriage. It was the happiest time of the day for Ruth, when they were alone together, warm and cosy in bed, entwined in their own little cocoon. She didn’t ever want to wake up without him beside her. She wanted to remain with him; go with him even but that was impossible. She had responsibilities. He had reminded her of that.
Outside the birds were singing. It was going to be a lovely fresh spring day. The sort of day they would walk around the lake with Stephen, laughing and joking … or even have a trip to the seaside … Filey or Scarborough. They would take a picnic and eat ice cream. Stephen’s face would be covered with it and Charles would wipe it off with a tissue and tickle him and make him giggle. They would have a lovely day and then come home to have a relaxing evening together. A nice dinner and then retire to the library to read and listen to classical music. Mozart, Beethoven, Handel. Charles loved and appreciated them all. Then they would come to bed and make love, tenderly, lovingly, just as it should be between two people who adored each other.
A knock on the door made Ruth jump. The world was now about to intrude on their time together. He would be taken away. She would never see him again. She looked down at Charles and burst into a flood of tears. He was gone from her for ever. Her life would never be the same.
The door opened slowly and Betty Hardy, in a navy cotton dress and flat sensible shoes, popped her head inside and took
