“I want to stay here … all his things are here. I want to be as near to him as possible,” Ruth whispered, as Vicky pulled back the covers and helped her into the bed. “The funeral, Vicky … what about the funeral … it needs to be arranged … I can’t deal with it, Vicky. I can’t.”
“Don’t worry. I can do it. I’m becoming quite an expert,” Vicky said grimly, “what with Richard and Barrie … and now Father. Alex is getting in a temporary manager for the club and is coming up today so he will help me. There’s absolutely nothing you need to do if you don’t want to … but what about Stephen? Don’t you want to see him?”
Ruth shook her head. Her face felt so sore from all the crying and her eyes were still watering. Where did it all come from? “No. I can’t weep all over him. It will frighten him. Let him stay happy with Tina. She will look after him for now.”
The pills worked their magic and for nearly a week Ruth slept, blissfully unaware that the body of the man she loved so much was being laid to rest beside his father, mother and Richard in the churchyard. She had been told when the funeral would be but couldn’t accept it.
“I don’t want to go,” she had whispered to Vicky when she had told her about the arrangements with the funeral directors. “I just can’t bear the thought of seeing his coffin being placed in the ground. I can’t do it, Vicky. I just can’t. I am so sorry.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Ruth. Alex and I will be there and everyone will understand.”
So, Vicky became chief mourner at her father’s funeral. Delia was still in hospital, having been informed of her father’s death but showed no desire to attend the ceremony. Ruth took another couple of pills and slept through it all.
CHAPTER 37 CANLEIGH – AUGUST 1977
Ruth smiled at Philip, sitting beside her, driving his brand-new cream Volvo estate car towards Canleigh. Stephen, now three and a half years old, was in his child seat fast asleep in the rear, having enjoyed a birthday party he had been invited to by Lady Caroline Compton who lived in an enormous gated detached mock Tudor house in Alwoodley and whose son, Marcus, had just turned three too. Not long after becoming Duchess of Canleigh, Ruth was invited to an event for Cancer Research held by Caroline at her home. The two women hadn’t exactly become firm friends but they liked each other and joined forces occasionally to fundraise for a variety of worthy causes and as their boys were the same age and liked each other, they were allowed to play together, sometimes at Canleigh but more often than not at Caroline’s.
Ruth and Philip had dropped Stephen off at Caroline’s at the appointed time. He looked tremendously cute toddling into the house carrying a big box wrapped up in shiny blue paper with a massive dark blue ribbon top; his present for Marcus. Then they drove into Leeds and spent a pleasant afternoon strolling around the art gallery where Ruth went into raptures over oil paintings by John Atkinson Grimshaw, a Victorian artist who produced beautiful, haunting pictures of Leeds and Yorkshire. They then toured the shops and bought some clothes for Philip, who had decided he needed a few things and appreciated Ruth’s opinion on what he should buy. Hungry and in need of a cup of tea, they followed up with a scrumptious afternoon tea at the Queens Hotel before heading back to Alwoodley to collect Stephen.
The birthday party was attended by thirty lively youngsters and Stephen, delightfully full of beans and never shy when meeting new people, had thrown himself into all the party games with gusto. As a result he was exhausted, flushed and over-excited by his afternoon of fun and frivolity and once he was securely fastened into the rear of the car for the journey home, and regaled Ruth and Philip with tales of what games he had played and shown them the prizes he had won, fell promptly to sleep.
How happy they all were now, Ruth reflected as they headed out of Leeds towards Canleigh. Three years ago, her life had teetered on a knife edge and she could never admit to anyone that in the horrendous days following Charles’ death, she had contemplated suicide more than once. To have been with him for eternity, to have ended all that pain and misery, had seemed the only thing she could do. For a while nothing else mattered and it took a very long time before Ruth could laugh again, tears always on the surface, threatening to fall the moment Charles was mentioned or something happened to remind her of the golden time they shared together.
Her pleasure at being mistress of Canleigh had diminished rapidly. While Charles was alive the relatively quiet life they led was delightful but once he was gone the Hall seemed more like an expensive museum rather than a home and after Stephen was put to bed, the day staff departed and the Hardy’s retired for the night, the house was inhospitable and lonely. She noticed noises she hadn’t before and grew jumpy and nervous at the slightest sound. It was difficult to sleep and even her joy in reading disappeared. She picked up a book, read the first few pages and then put it down. The television could hardly hold her interest either, nor the radio. She tried to paint but
