‘It’s lilies, Justin has them shipped in.’ She spoke softly, glancing coyly at him. He looked down into her upturned, exquisite face. She gazed into his dark eyes as he lifted his hand and hooked one finger into the opening of her dress. He drew her a fraction closer. She felt his rough finger run along the lace of her brassière, then he withdrew his hand, afraid that he had gone too far.
‘So you do want me,’ she said softly.
Hoarsely he grunted, ‘Yes.’
‘Maybe one day we’ll do something about it.’ She turned and ran on, leaving him standing there with a huge hard-on, unfulfilled and feeling idiotic.
‘Did you have a good day, darling?’ Angela asked, as he turned on the shower.
‘No.’ He began to strip off his clothes. ‘Caught bugger all.’
Angela looked at her watch. It was already almost eight. ‘You were out a long time.’
‘James didn’t show up. I went to have a talk to him, but he’s gone off to some disco. About all he’s interested in doing.’ He stepped out of his tracksuit. ‘You do anything?’ he asked, not really interested.
‘I had a pleasant day.’ She smiled. ‘Would you like to order dinner before your shower?’
He glowered and said she could order for him, so she walked out of the bathroom. She hated to see him naked. There was something so monstrous about him: with his deep-tanned face and arms and the hideous vest marks over his torso where his skin was still alabaster white. He was grotesque.
She ordered filet mignon for them both, a chilled tomato and lime soup and fruit. Then she called Daphne Hangerford to see if she would join them but received no reply, so she tried the Baroness instead.
‘Have you heard?’ drawled the Baroness, excitedly. ‘Cedric Hangerford has gone bankrupt. The stud farm has gone, plus their two homes. It was all over The Times! That’s why he ran off from here with his tail between his legs. He must have known!’
‘How awful,’ said Angela.
‘Mmm, isn’t it?’ The Baroness hung up, wishing she had someone else to gossip with, and Angela realized that she hadn’t mentioned dinner arrangements. Oh, well.
She was looking through her wardrobe, undecided as to what to wear, when Dahlia tapped on the door. Angela opened the door in her robe and Dahlia presented her with a small tissue-wrapped parcel tied with a pink ribbon. ‘I was asked to make sure you received this before dinner,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Angela said softly, and her heart fluttered. She couldn’t wait to rip it open, sure of what it would be. And it was. A pair of Laura’s panties and a little note asking her to wear them to dinner, as it would make her feel close. As a postscript she added that she longed for their next cross-stitch session.
Daphne Hangerford, her hair newly cut and tinted in what would have been a rather flattering style for someone twenty years younger, sat polishing her nails. The manicures had made a world of difference to her hands but she had put on a considerable amount of weight over the holiday. Right now she didn’t care; her brain wouldn’t function and she was confused.
She had placed call after call to her husband, her lawyers, her trainers and the stables but she couldn’t get through. She was distraught and even more so when she opened her purse and discovered she had only a small amount of money left. She had a cheque book but she couldn’t use that and her credit cards were all heavily in the red. She was sure Clarissa didn’t have any money with her. However, she had their return tickets for London and decided she was going to leave as soon as possible. Her panic spiralled out of control when she couldn’t get hold of her daughter. When the phone rang she grabbed it but it was only the kitchen staff wanting her order for dinner.
She demanded to speak to someone about leaving immediately, and after a short while Dahlia knocked on the door. ‘I have to get off this bloody island. I have to leave,’ Daphne screamed.
‘Certainly, Lady Hangerford. Would you care for your maid to pack your cases? You will be able to get the launch first thing in the morning — it leaves at seven fifteen. Will your daughter be accompanying you?’
‘Clarissa? Yes, of course.’
‘I will make arrangements to transport you to the airport, and if you wish I can also arrange for a limousine to collect you at Heathrow.’
Suddenly the panic subsided, and Daphne deflated like a pricked balloon. ‘Thank you, that is most kind. I can’t seem to work the phones. I have to call my husband.’
‘By all means. Would you care for me to get through for you?’
Daphne clasped her hands in relief.
‘It may take a little while — connections have been problematic lately.’ She listened, then asked to speak to Lord Hangerford and passed Daphne the receiver.
Daphne’s hands were sweating, but she waited until Dahlia had left the room before she spoke into the phone. She could just hear a distant, ‘Hello? Hello? Who’s speaking, hello?’
‘Is that you?’ she barked.
‘Yes.’ His voice was slurred.
She eased herself into a chair, sweat trickling between the rolls of fat on her belly. ‘What’s going on? I’ve seen the papers. Is that why you left? And how dare you not tell me, you bastard!’
‘Yes, it’s true,’ he stammered. ‘But you know the media — someone must have tipped them off. I couldn’t tell you. I just had to get away and give myself time to think.’
‘But the money situation?’
He broke down sobbing.
‘What about William? Couldn’t he help us?’ shouted Daphne. She was shaking with nerves. Hangerford began a tirade against William. ‘There’s more, Piggy!’ He used her pet nickname, which she hated: it always spelled trouble when he used it.
‘What else could there be?’ she said flatly.
‘I’m leaving you.’
‘What?’
‘I said, I’m leaving you.’ Then he told her about Judith, the twenty-six-year-old stable girl with whom he had been having an affair. He didn’t mention that Judith had a private income, and that although it wouldn’t keep him in the style to which he was accustomed, it was better than joining the dole queue and meant he would have a roof over his head.
By the time their conversation had ground to a sickening halt, Daphne Hangerford was in a semi-stupor. She eased her bulk slowly from the wicker chair, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of gin and another of tonic water. She’d never been a great drinker and she was reminded of Katherine Benedict. She remembered the last conversation they had had. Katherine had been sitting surrounded by her dogs. She had been drinking heavily. ‘I am sorry to have to ask you this, Daphne, but I need you to repay some of the money I lent Cedric. I’m in a rather difficult position. I’ve had to use my children’s trust funds to tide me over and...’ This reminded Daphne that Clarissa also had a trust fund. It was still intact and her husband didn’t know about it. She giggled. It had been her secret; hers and her beloved father’s. He had seen his son-in-law carve his way through his daughter’s inheritance, so he made sure his grand-daughter’s future was secure. There was a few hundred thousand, if not more, that she could get her hands on. Daphne Hangerford raised her glass and vowed that her husband would see her in court if he tried to get his hands on one penny. ‘Thank God for you, Daddy!’