“Don’t you worry, Anne. I am leaving as fast as I can pack a bag. I know you will be really pleased to finally be shot of me and believe me, I will be more than happy never to see you again either … and pull yourself together, Delia. You’re making a dreadful mess of your face.”
Margaret walked onto the terrace and ground her cigarette out with her shoe, knowing how much it would annoy Anne. She turned back into the room and looked mockingly at her mother-in-law who was still holding a sobbing Delia.
“If I were you, I would have a serious word with your precious son to make sure he provides me with a somewhat comfortable future if he knows what’s good for him.”
“You are a scheming, poisonous woman, Margaret. He will be well rid of you. We all will,” replied Anne, badly wanting to say more but reining herself in in front of Delia.
“Where … where are you going to go?” asked Delia tremulously.
“Barbados. The flight leaves this evening from Heathrow so we have to get back to London as fast as possible.”
Delia looked at her mother with shock. “We? . . . You’re not going with that dreadful man, are you? The one … the one outside.”
“Oh, for goodness sake grow up Delia. What if I am? For virtually all my adult life I’ve had to endure the restrictions your father has imposed on me in some form or another. Well, not anymore. Life is for living and I’m going to do just that. Simon is good fun and I have no intention of giving him up just yet.”
A car horn could be heard outside, honking loudly, penetrating the hostile stillness in the room.
“That will be Simon now. I have to throw some things together quickly. We don’t want to miss the plane.”
Margaret laughed gaily and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her although her stiletto heels could be heard clicking on the stone floor of the entrance hall as she headed to the front door, no doubt to tell her lover what was happening.
Anne guided Delia outside, desperate to get some fresh air. There was a wooden bench further along the south terrace and they sat down, Anne furious at her daughter-in-law, and Delia in shock. They both sat perfectly still, not saying a word.
Delia couldn’t believe what had happened. The situation was out of control and she didn’t know which way to turn, wanting, on one hand, to hang on to her mother to prevent her leaving and on the other, to rush outside and carry out a murderous attack on the person who was so blithely ruining their lives. She seethed. It was him, that odious man, that creature who had just had the gall to sully her home with his very being. He was the one to blame. He was the culprit, the seducer of women, the perpetrator of the crime.
Delia’s heart beat faster and faster, her anger mounting dramatically and she sensed it was only moments before there would be an uncontrollable urge to lash out. Thrusting her hands into the pockets of her jeans she stood up abruptly.
“Where are you going, Delia? Please stay here with me until they leave,” urged Granny worriedly.
For once Delia ignored her, so furious she was unable to speak. She walked back into the library and walked around the room quickly, trying to cool her temper. On the second turn, she realised there were voices in the hall. Gingerly opening the library door, she saw her mother disappearing upstairs with that awful man behind her. Her mother was giggling like a silly schoolgirl while his hands wandered suggestively over her hips.
Delia gritted her teeth and wrinkled her nose. The detestable smell of Simon Parfitt's sweet, sickly expensive aftershave mingled strongly with the beeswax polish used earlier by the staff on cleaning duties. Delia walked across the entrance hall, opened the front door and looked outside. Her gaze immediately took in the sports car standing insultingly on the gravel only a few feet away. Delia could contain her anger no longer. She marched straight back into the library and grabbed the paperknife from her father’s desk. It was extremely sharp and Delia had been warned more than once not to touch it.
“Delia! What do you think you are doing,” cried Granny, stepping into the library from the terrace with a horrified look on her face.
Delia ignored her. Stopping only to grab a heavy paperweight, she ran back into the entrance hall and opened the front door, the hot sun almost blinding her as she hurtled down the short flight of stone steps.
“You bastard … you bastard!” she cried as the tears flowed freely down her face. “You shan’t take my mother away! I won’t let you!”
She brandished the paperknife, forcing it with all her might through the thick rubber tyres of the car, the first hissing so loudly it caused her to collapse on the ground, frightening her out of her wits. Regaining her equilibrium Delia furiously stabbed at the remaining three tyres, ceremoniously rounding off her act of vandalism by hurling the paperweight through the windscreen, shattering the glass to smithereens.
In a state of near collapse, Delia turned
