“Oh, this is heaven,” said Delia on entering the kitchen. The mouth-watering aroma of the cauliflower cheese and jacket potatoes keeping warm in the Agar made her realise just how hungry she was.
“We’ll eat as soon as you have had a bath,” said Constance. “You’ll get a chill if you don’t have one.”
She turned to Philip who had entered the kitchen. “Please go up and run the water and put a few drops of my lavender oil in. There are fresh towels in the airing cupboard too. I’ll make a nice hot pot of tea and Delia can take a cup up with her.”
Constance noticed Delia was pressing her forehead with her hand.
“Headache?” she asked.
Delia nodded. “It’s frightful … and getting worse.”
Constance rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers, produced a packet of paracetamol, and filled a glass of water from the kitchen tap. “Take two of these and gets yourself upstairs. You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve had a hot bath and a decent meal. Then we’ll get you to bed, my girl.”
Once Delia had left the room, Constance bustled about the kitchen, worrying about the best time to tell the child about her grandmother. Constance badly wanted to cry herself. She had spent many hours with Anne over the years, tending to abandoned and wounded dogs and cats. Anne could be pretty formidable but if one was on her wavelength where animals were concerned there were no airs and graces and she was a friend for life.
She bit her lip anxiously and wished fervently Charles hadn’t dashed off so quickly to see Richard and Vicky. No-one had been able to contact him as he was obviously still driving, although Hardy had left messages at both schools for him to ring Constance or Ralph the first chance he could. It would be horrendous if he found out about his mother’s demise from a stranger … or even worse, the press.
Margaret had naturally proved to be her usual useless self by leaving Canleigh almost immediately with her paramour, stating there was nothing more she could or wanted to do. She had a plane to catch and catch it she would. She rang for a taxi and with Parfitt in tow, left the estate, leaving bemused reporters still at the gates, loving every minute of the comings and goings and taking lots of pictures. Hardy had taken charge, pronounced Anne was dead, and called Dr. Arnold, advising he enter the estate from the rear to avoid the reporters.
Constance sighed. Poor Hardy. He had a lot on his plate and knowing how worried he was about Delia, she was pleased to be able to ring and inform him that the girl was safe and well. He was deeply upset about Anne. Dr. Arnold had confirmed it was a massive stroke which had killed her, probably brought on by massive stress. With so many reporters camped at the main gates and to avoid more speculation and gossip, it was decided it was best to move Anne to her bedroom for the night and arrange for removal of the body out of the house once Charles had been in touch and his instructions sought.
Delia, warmed and comforted by the hot bath and wrapped up in Constance’s dressing gown, re-entered the kitchen and Constance gestured for her to sit at the table while busying herself dishing up the promised food. She glanced at Delia and bit her lip again. Delia noticed and smiled uncertainly. Constance appeared agitated and upset and Delia couldn’t figure out why and hoped it wasn’t due to her behaviour today. Constance and Granny were the two people in Delia’s life whom she revered and who gave her the most love and understanding and it would be horrible to think she was the cause of any distress for either of them.
Guilty she remembered Granny’s look of shock as Delia vandalised Parfitt’s car and instantly felt deeply ashamed of what she had done. She was in for a real telling off from Granny, and when Father heard about it, he would be furious. Delia groaned.
“Oh dear, is it your head?” asked Constance sympathetically. “Perhaps you should have another paracetamol.”
Delia shook it gingerly. “No, it’s easing now, thank you. Constance, is anything the matter? If it’s me you are worried about, you needn’t be. I shall be all right you know. We Canleighs are a tough lot,” she attempted to joke.
Constance moved away from the table and nearer to Delia. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to do it while she had Delia to herself. She knelt down beside the teenager, took her right hand and looked her in the eye.
“I am so very sorry but I have something to tell you,” she said, stroking Delia’s hair with her free hand. “Your Granny … she died this afternoon.”
The blood drained from Delia’s face and she couldn’t speak for a moment or two. Her brain seemed to be frozen. She couldn’t understand what Constance was saying. Granny. Dead. She couldn’t be. Constance had it all wrong.
Delia stared back at her, waiting for Constance to apologise. Tell her it was all a dreadful mistake and that Granny was alive and well. But she didn’t. She remained quite still, her eyes full of sympathy and then she nodded her head gently, confirming her words.
“No! No, Constance,” Delia cried, shaking her head in denial. “You don’t mean it. Why are you saying that? Granny is fine. She’s just been a bit off colour lately. She wasn’t feeling well earlier. That’s why Daddy said she was staying at the Hall for a bit. But she was okay when I … when I ….”
Delia dissolved into tears remembering how Anne had clutched on
