Brittle Bondage

But, as was to be expected, this evening Daisy chose to be a little too forthright in her opinion of Mr Caldwell’s behaviour. ‘Is he drunk?’ she hissed, in the kind of stage-whisper guaranteed to carry to the back of an auditorium, and the elderly antiquarian regarded her with unconcealed dislike.

‘If you can’t teach that child any better manners than that, then perhaps you ought to find somewhere else for her to stay until you get home from work,’ he declared contentiously, and Rachel thought how strange it was that some days just lent themselves to discord. Perhaps this wasn’t a good night to ring Ben after all. In the present climate, he was likely to oppose her every suggestion.

‘I think you should apologise to Mr Caldwell at once, Daisy,’ she said now, putting the question of how she was going to deal with Ben aside for the moment. She wanted no complications with her job to add to her other problems, and although Daisy stared at her with accusing eyes, she recognised an order when she heard one.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered mutinously, and although Mr Caldwell looked as if he would have liked to pursue the vendetta the shrill peal of the phone diverted his attention. And, by the time the call was over, he had forgotten all about chastising Daisy. A situation Rachel had assisted by making sure her daughter kept out of his sight until it was time for them to leave.

Consequently, she was in no mood to contemplate ringing Ben, after she had just watched Daisy demolish a plate of fish fingers and chips. Her own plate was barely touched, and, deciding she deserved some compensation for the day she had had, Rachel rescued a chilled bottle of hock from the fridge. She had put the wine to cool in anticipation of Simon’s joining her for supper that evening, but as he wasn’t coming now she had no reason to wait before opening it.

Pouring herself a glass, she carried it into the family room, standing in the middle of the floor, surveying these so familiar surroundings. It was the one aspect of her relationship with Simon that didn’t fill her with enthusiasm. She would miss this house; she would miss living here. For all its less favourable associations, she had been happy here. It was her home. It had been her home for the past seven years. She couldn’t cast it off without some feelings of remorse. And lamenting what might have been if Ben hadn’t torn their lives apart …

‘Can I watch television, Mummy?’

Rachel turned to find her daughter regarding her from the open doorway, and although her melancholy mood inclined her to be generous, she didn’t immediately grant her request.

‘Do you remember what happened this afternoon?’ she reminded Daisy severely. ‘You were rude to Mr Caldwell, and I said there’d be no television for the next two days.’

‘I remember.’ Daisy wedged her shoulder against the door.

‘Well, then?’

‘But it’s not fair.’

‘It is fair.’ Rachel steeled herself against her daughter’s mournful expression. ‘You know perfectly well you don’t make personal comments about anyone. I’ve already had to speak to you once today about your attitude towards Simon.’

‘This is different,’ argued Daisy hotly.

‘How is it different?’

‘Well …’ Daisy sniffed. ‘You said people who drink shouldn’t drive,’ she declared, and Rachel sighed.

‘So?’ But she knew what was coming.

‘Well, Mr Caldwell had driven, hadn’t he? All the way from Romanby. What if he’d had an accident? What if someone—some child—had been killed?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘Nothing happened.’

Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘But what if it had?’

‘That still doesn’t excuse your behaviour.’

Daisy expelled her breath on a noisy sigh. ‘But he wasn’t supposed to hear!’ she protested fiercely, and Rachel had to suppress an unforgivable desire to laugh. Daisy looked so indignant; so frustrated. And, while there had been no excuse for what she’d said, she was only a child. Things seemed so black and white when you were only nearly nine. It wasn’t until you were older that you saw the shades between.

All the same …

Rachel was still undecided what she should do, when Daisy pushed herself away from the door, and dragged her feet across the carpet to the window. The curtains were still undrawn, and the bowls of spring bulbs Rachel had planted the previous autumn were reflected in the glass. She watched Daisy as she plucked broodingly at the delicate shoots, thinking how much more like her father she became with each succeeding year. Not just in her looks, though she was going to be tall, like him, and her mop of unruly curls was every bit as dark; but also in temperament: Daisy could be just as moody as her father, if things didn’t happen to go her way.

Beyond the windows, it was getting dark, though not as black as it had been in the depths of winter. Already there were signs that the evenings were getting longer, and in another month or two, they’d be able to sit outside after supper. Though not here, Rachel reminded herself yet again. If Simon had his way, they’d be moving to Kingsmead, when Daisy’s school broke up for the Easter holidays.

And it was the thought of this, as much as anything, that persuaded Rachel to give in. However much she might tell herself that Daisy had as much to gain from the move as she did, to begin with it wasn’t going to be easy for her. For either of them, admitted Rachel honestly. Much as she cared for Simon, living in a cottage at Kingsmead was going to make a big change in all their lives.

‘Oh, all right,’ she was beginning, ‘we’ll say no more about it——’ but she never got to finish. As she moved towards her daughter, intent on healing the breach that had opened between them, searching headlights swept across the lamplit room. The cutting of a powerful engine left an uneasy silence in its wake, and even before Daisy let out a crow of excitement Rachel sensed instinctively that it wasn’t Simon’s car.

‘It’s Daddy! It’s Daddy!’ cried Daisy, dancing up and down in undisguised delight. She glanced round at her mother, all her previous ills forgotten, and grinned expectantly. ‘Did you hear what I said? It’s Daddy! Did you know he was coming? Oh—do you think he’s going to stay?’

Not if I have anything to do with it, thought Rachel grimly, as her daughter flew past her on her way to open the door. Dear lord, this was all she needed. She should have known better than to think she could dispose of Ben with just a phone call.

Tom between the need to gather her scattered defences and the equally potent need to greet Ben as if his arrival hadn’t just plunged her into a state of blind panic, Rachel emptied the remaining wine in her glass in one convulsive gulp. She wished now she had chosen brandy instead of the pale white juice of the grape. She could have done with something stronger before she saw her husband again.

And, foolishly, her hand went to her hair, the tawny brown hair that Ben had always liked her to wear long. As if it mattered what she looked like, she thought, reassured that the French plait was still in place none the less. Not that she could compete with the glamorous women she had seen him escorting around town in the articles she collected so assiduously. Nor would she want to, she assured herself impatiently. But at least she hadn’t put on too much weight or gained a lot of grey hairs.

And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him since that awful morning when she had found him and Elena together. In the early days of the separation, he had come back to the house on several occasions to collect books and papers he had left behind. He’d always warned her he was coming, of course, and most times she had made a point of being out. He had had a key that fitted their locks in those days. It wasn’t until later that she’d had them changed.

But that was over a year ago now. Recently, their only contact had been through Daisy. As she remembered this, she heard his voice in the hall outside and her mouth went dry. Whatever he had come for, Daisy had invited him in.

She realised that if she waited any longer he would find her there, frozen in the middle of the living-room carpet, clutching her empty wine glass, like a talisman. So, putting the glass down, she took the necessary steps to bring her to the door. He was not going to disconcert her, she told herself fiercely. But her hands were cold and shaking, and there was a feeling of raw apprehension pooling in her stomach.

When she reached the doorway, she paused, steeling herself to face the man who had once been her only reason for living. God, how naive she had been in those days, she reflected bitterly. However much she loved Simon, he would never have that kind of power over her. No man would. Ever again.

‘Hello, Rachel.’

Despite her determination to take control of the situation, Ben beat her to the punch. Even though he had been laughing with Daisy, and fending off her efforts to climb all over him, he still seemed to sense the exact moment when his wife appeared in the doorway. Straightening, he adjured Daisy to behave herself, and swept back his hair with a lazy hand. And, as she met those night-dark eyes, and saw the veiled hostility lurking between the thick fringe of his lashes, Rachel knew in that instant that this was not a conciliatory visit.

‘Hello,’ she responded, resisting the effort to check that her skirt was straight, and that the hem of her blouse hadn’t escaped from her waistband. The skirt was dusty, she knew, after unpacking the china Mr Caldwell had left her with that morning. There might even be a ladder in her tights. If only she’d thought to look.

‘How are you?’

His question was perfunctory, and she thought how typical it was that once again Ben should have taken her unawares. He stood there, cool and assured, in a black cashmere sweater and black trousers, totally in control of himself and this conversation. And she was letting him do it. This was her house, dammit, until she moved out anyway. He had no right to come here and treat her like a visitor in her own home.

‘I’m fine,’ she said now, icily. ‘You?’

‘Tired,’ he admitted carelessly, though there didn’t appear to be a tired bone in his lean-muscled body. On the contrary, he looked fit and aggressively masculine, his superior height reminding her what it was like to look up at a man again.

At five feet nine, taller in heels, Rachel was generally on eye-level terms with the men of her acquaintance. Not least Simon, who was inclined to be self-conscious about his lack of height, and encouraged her to wear flat heeled boots and shoes when they went out together.

‘Really?’ she remarked now, refusing to feel any sympathy for Ben. ‘Then I can’t imagine why you’ve driven all this way. I did say I’d ring you later. There was no need for you to make a personal call.’

‘Wasn’t there?’ Ben’s mouth had a faintly ironic curve to it. ‘Well, I beg to disagree.’ He glanced down at Daisy, doing her best to attract his attention. ‘Where my daughter’s concerned, nothing is too much trouble.’

‘She’s my daughter, too,’ retorted Rachel, and then wished she hadn’t allowed him to force her into such a revealing remark. She’d get nowhere here if she let her temper get the better of her. That was obviously why he’d come. Because he knew it would put her on the defensive.

‘Aren’t you going to offer Daddy a drink?’ Daisy protested now, clearly not unaware of the tension between her parents and doing her best to neutralise it. ‘Mummy’s just opened a bottle of wine,’ she told her father innocently. ‘I’ll get you a glass, shall I? While you and Mummy go and sit down.’

‘I don’t think——’

‘Your father can’t drink and drive——’

Rachel and Ben spoke simultaneously, and Daisy looked from one to the other of them with anxious eyes. ‘Daddy won’t be driving any more tonight, will he?’ she asked her mother frowningly. Then, turning to her father, ‘You’re not driving straight back to London, are you?’