“I feel I should take her home. You are so busy and I’m sure the Hardy’s will look after her and I could always get a nurse in.”
“No, Charles. Really. She is perfectly all right here. Philip is a huge help. He sits with her every evening and runs up and downstairs with trays … and I think it’s best she is away from Canleigh at the moment. You don’t have much time to spend with her, the Hardy’s have that huge house of yours to run, and a stranger looking after her would do Delia no good. At the moment, she needs people around her who understand her and who love her too. It’s doubtful she will go back to school this term so leave her here until the summer holidays. Once Richard and Vicky are home, I’m sure she will be much better and ready for a lovely holiday up at Blairness.”
“You are so kind, Constance and yes, you’re probably right but I do feel it is a lot to ask of you.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from her mother … and if she is going to come and see Delia, have you?”
“No. Susan managed to discover which hotel in Barbados Margaret is staying in and I left a message but so far we have heard nothing. I can’t say I’m sorry. Margaret has done irreparable damage and I’m not really sure whether it would be a good thing for her to see Delia or not … and if she does come, the press will probably follow and I don’t want to go through all that again. The last few weeks have been hell having to avoid them.”
“That’s true. The less they know the better. Goodness knows how they found out about Delia’s shenanigans with Parfitt’s car but they certainly made a meal out of it,” Constance said, handing the loaded tray for Delia to Charles.
Charles stood up and took the tray with its carefully arranged salad, omelette, buttered crusty bread and one of Delia’s favourite puddings; apple snow, made from fruit grown in the orchards at Tangles.
“This smells and looks delicious. I can’t imagine how Delia could refuse to eat this,” he smiled wryly, knowing that there was every likelihood she would.
Walking out of the kitchen, bearing the tray, he sighed deeply, remembering the newspaper headlines the day he had returned from seeing Richard and Vicky. Yet another couple of pages in the ‘News Today,’ along with other tabloids who had cottoned on to the story, were covered with details of Margaret’s swift arrival and departure from Canleigh and pictures of Parfitt’s car as it was towed out of the estate. It was a mystery who had told them it was Lady Delia Canleigh who had viciously attacked it but everything that was known about her had to be printed, along with an old photograph of her as bridesmaid at a friend’s wedding. The weather had been atrocious that day and the image of Delia, soaking wet and cold in her skimpy dress and scowling into the camera, did her no favours. She looked a thoroughly bad tempered, spoilt child.
As he walked up the creaky black wooden stairs, smelling the beeswax polish Constance had used on them earlier in the week, his worry for his daughter enveloped him. For all his concern about Delia when she was galloping across fields, jumping recklessly over anything in her way, he would do anything now to see her up and eager to ride, to see the sparkle in her eyes at the anticipation of a few hours on horseback. It was nothing short of a tragedy to see his headstrong daughter reduced to such a pitiful state.
“She’s angry at the whole world, especially herself, her mother, Parfitt and yes, even the Dowager, for dying and probably you for not being at Canleigh when you were needed most. You will just have to give her time, Charles. She will get better, I promise, but at the moment she needs peace and time to acknowledge what has happened and to realise none of it is her fault,” Dr. Arnold had stated.
“Does … does she need professional help?” he had asked.
Dr. Arnold rubbed his chin before he spoke. “No, I don’t think so. To be honest she just needs the love and care of you all … and as soon as she starts showing any interest in anything, get her outside with the horses. She doesn’t have to ride … but she will gain a lot of comfort from just being with them. She doesn’t have to put on an act for them. She can tell them things, get it all off her chest, and no-one will ever know. They won’t judge her, admonish her or turn from her.”
Charles had known he was right. They all had to be patient. Thinking about what Delia had gone through on that dreadful day was pretty appalling. Firstly the poor child had been dragged out of school without a proper explanation, then he had been so wrapped up in dispatching with his marriage he had shouted at her for running in the house, and not realising she had heard every word of his row with his wife, had then left her to Margaret’s tender mercies. What a ghastly mistake he had made but then he had been so wound up himself, so angry, so desperate to get down to Victoria and Richard to tell them before they
