It would have been good to talk to Richard and Vicky but that was impossible. It was mid-morning and they would be in lessons and Philip was also at school and wouldn’t be home for hours.
A car door slammed below Delia’s window, interrupting her train of thought and she jumped out of bed to look outside, just in time to see the Rolls with her stony-faced father at the wheel. The car pulled away from the front steps and glided along the drive towards the main road. The white sports car was still there and the man was looking very red in the face, whether or not it was from the strong sunshine or embarrassment at seeing her father, Delia wasn’t sure.
She blew her nose loudly, splashed water on her face in the adjoining bathroom, then went straight to her wardrobe and changed out of her school uniform, pulling on a yellow t-shirt and blue jeans. A glance in the mirror revealed, unusually for her, a pale, pasty complexion and red, puffy eyes. Delia was repeatedly told she was going to be as attractive as Margaret but unfortunately, she didn’t look too good at the moment. But that wasn’t important now. She hurried downstairs and without hesitation opened the library door. If Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain … and all that.
Margaret was standing at the French windows talking crossly into the telephone and didn’t notice Delia behind her. Delia saw a newspaper, with what looked like a picture of her mother on the front, protruding from the wastepaper basket. She moved closer and picked it up. She looked. She blinked. She looked again. They must have got it wrong. This couldn’t be her mother with this … this Simon Parfitt. She looked in horror at the man standing with her mother. It was the man outside in the sports car … but it was another woman. It had to be. Her mother would never act in such a disgusting way, outside for all to see, although for decency’s sake her private parts had been covered over by black boxes. It was completely unbelievable. The man was obviously naked too and if that wasn’t enough the pair were obviously in the act of …. Delia’s mouth went dry. Although sickened and revolted she still turned the page and her mouth dropped open. There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind what was going on. Picture after picture of the couple passionately kissing and touching each other, first rolling on the ground, bare bodies entwined and then standing by a tree, the man’s hands all over her mother’s body.
It became startlingly clear to Delia why her father had been so angry. It was pornographic, sickening, shocking, sordid. Other people did things like this; other women, with no morals, no children, or husband to embarrass. Not Delia’s mother! Not the Duchess of Canleigh! Delia’s head spun. She looked at her mother who had her back to her and was still talking rapidly into the telephone. Delia was in total shock and Margaret’s next words did nothing to lessen her pain.
“That’s not a problem, Amelia,” Margaret was saying. “My bank account is extremely healthy at the moment but I intend to get a lot more out of the bastard. He owes me and he needn’t think he can kick me out without a penny. If I don’t get what I deserve he’ll regret it. The press will have a field day.”
Delia’s loud sob made Margaret turn. With a look of annoyance, she murmured something into the receiver and put the telephone down before walking across the room to remove the newspaper from Delia’s hands and placing it back in the wastepaper basket.
“That’s where that belongs,” she said firmly. “I was just about to come and talk to you actually.”
Delia stared wildly at her mother. “You’re repulsive,” she hissed. “Daddy was right. You’re a tramp!”
Margaret’s pent-up anger found release. Her hand shot out and slapped Delia smartly across the cheek. “You will never, ever talk to me like that again. Whatever I have done I am still your mother.”
“Margaret! How dare you take out your anger on Delia! Leave the child alone!”
Delia turned quickly to see the Dowager standing in the library doorway. She looked unusually fragile but still commanded respect. Relieved to have support, Delia flung herself at her grandmother, sobbing and holding a hand to her sore cheek. Anne put her arm around Delia in a gesture of protection.
“My son has informed me that you have been told to leave Canleigh, Margaret. I suggest you go without further ado. You have done enough damage to this family and I flatly refuse to allow you to upset Delia any further.”
Feeling particularly light headed with exhaustion, Margaret smiled cheerfully at her mother-in-law. For part of the journey back to Canleigh from London, she had been reluctant to relinquish her status but the more Simon talked about the possibility of her finally leaving Charles, the more attractive it sounded and she could feel a huge weight of depression lifting off her shoulders. Real freedom beckoned, a freedom where she could go where she liked, do what she liked, with no-one to answer to. No more kowtowing to Charles and his snobby old mother and being careful how her actions were interpreted. No more Canleigh, no more ghastly Blairness. Bugger being a Duchess. To hell with it all. What did it really matter as long as she had enough cash to do what she wanted? And she was going to get
