The End of her Innocence. Sara Craven

happened to the wife?’

      ‘She left too.’

      ‘So are they together? She and—what do they call him?—I can’t go on saying “the spare”.’

      ‘Darius,’ Chloe said. ‘Darius Maynard. And I don’t think anyone knows where he is or what happened to him. Or even cares, for that matter.’

      Tanya drew a deep breath. ‘Well the place is clearly a seething mass of steaming passion and illicit desire. I can see why you want to get in on the action. And the heir needs another wife, presumably.’ She gave a wicked wink. ‘Maybe you could do better than a country vet.’

      ‘No way.’ Chloe drained her beaker. ‘To be honest, I think quite a few people found Andrew Maynard a bit of a stuffed shirt and didn’t altogether blame Penny, who was incredibly beautiful, for looking around. But Darius already had a bad name locally, so no-one ever thought he’d be the one to get a second glance.’

      Tanya’s eyes gleamed. ‘What sort of bad name?’

      ‘Expelled from school. Drinking, gambling, mixing with the local wild bunch. Parties that people only whispered about behind their hands.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Plus rumours that he was involved in other even worse things—illegal dog fighting, for instance.’ She added bleakly, ‘No-one was sorry to see him go, believe me.’

      ‘Well, for all that, he sounds more interesting than his brother.’ Tanya finished her coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better get back. I thought while the monsters were missing, I could fumigate the toy cupboards.’

      Left alone, Chloe washed out the beakers and put them in the drying rack.

      For the life of her, she could not fathom why she’d told Tanya all that stuff about the Maynard family. It was seven years since it had happened, she thought, and should have been relegated long ago to some mental dump bin.

      She suddenly had an image of a man’s face, tanned and arrogant, nose and cheekbones strongly, almost harshly, sculpted, the mouth wide and sensual. From beneath a swathe of dirty-blond hair, compelling green eyes had stared at the world with disdain, as if daring it to judge him.

      Yet it had done so, and, starting with his father, had condemned him as guilty. The adulterer who’d betrayed his brother and been sentenced to exile as a result. Although that could have been no real hardship for Darius Maynard, she thought. He’d always been restless and edgy. Willowford was far too small and tame a world for him and always had been.

      But it suits me just fine, she told herself, biting her lip. It’s a decent little place with good people. Somewhere to put down roots and raise the next generation. It gave me a loving home when I was a small baby, and now it’s given me Ian. It’s security.

      Sir Gregory had been part of that, she thought. A large, rather forbidding man, but rock-solid like his house. A pillar of his community, as the saying was. And Andrew Maynard was much the same. An outdoor man with a passion for climbing, more conventionally handsome than his younger brother, courteous and faintly aloof. Part of a continuing line or so it had seemed.

      Except, ‘Thank heaven there are no children to be hurt,’ Aunt Libby had said quietly when the scandal broke.

      But Darius had always been different—the joker in the pack. A throwback to some other, wilder time with his dangerous mocking smile, and cool smoky drawl.

       My God—little Chloe grown up at last. Who’d have thought it?

      She was suddenly aware she was gripping the edge of the sink so hard that her fingers were hurting, and released it hastily with a little gasp.

      Memories were risky things, rather like pushing a stick to the bottom of a tranquil pool and watching the mud and debris rise. Far better, she thought, to let the water remain still and unsullied in case it never truly cleared again.

      Oh, get a grip, she told herself impatiently as she returned to the sitting room. Put your microscope away.

      It had all happened long ago, and should remain in the past where it belonged. If not forgotten, then ignored, as if Sir Gregory had only ever had one son. And as if that son had never married the Honourable Penelope Hatton and brought her back to Willowford Hall to tempt and be disastrously tempted in her turn.

      I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, thought Chloe. We all did. I think I even envied her.

      But now everything’s changed. I’m the one looking forward to a happy future with the man I love. And, if she knew, she might well be the one envying me.

      It had been raining first thing when she set off from Colestone, but now the skies seemed to be clearing and a watery sun was showing its face.

      A good omen, Chloe thought happily, switching the car radio to a music station, and humming along as she drove.

      Rather to her surprise, she’d found herself genuinely sorry to leave the Manor. After all, she mused, it had been the focus of her attention for the past year. Besides, however indolent and self-absorbed they might be, the Armstrongs had been generous employers in the only way they knew, and she’d liked the other staff.

      In the bag beside her on the passenger seat was the pretty carriage clock they’d bought her as a farewell present, and she’d been moved almost to tears as she thanked them and promised it pride of place on her future mantelpiece.

      ‘As for you,’ she’d muttered as she hugged Tanya. ‘I’m going to be needing a bridesmaid.’

      ‘Happy to oblige,’ Tanya whispered back. ‘Unless I get arrested for twin-strangling in the meantime.’

      Her successor had arrived—a widow in her forties with a brisk air. She had dismissed Chloe’s computer system, saying that she had her own methods, at the same time running a suspicious finger along the office windowsill in search of non-existent dust.

      Life at the Manor, Chloe thought wryly as she wished her luck, could become quite interesting quite soon.

      She stopped at a roadside pub for a lunch of ham sandwiches and coffee to fuel her for the final two hours of her journey, choosing a table outside in a sheltered corner of the garden where bees were busy among the honeysuckle.

      With the excitement of all the coming reunions bubbling away inside her, she almost had to force herself to eat.

      As she poured her second cup of coffee, she reached into her bag for her mobile phone.

      She’d called Aunt Libby again the previous evening to tell her what time she hoped to arrive, and while her aunt had seemed her usual warm self, Chloe had detected another faint nuance beneath the welcoming words.

      ‘Is something wrong?’ she’d asked at last. Libby Jackson had hesitated.

      ‘I was wondering if you’d spoken to Ian yet—informed him you were coming home, this time for good.’

      ‘But I told you, Aunt Libby, I want to surprise him.’

      ‘Yes, darling, so you said.’ Another pause. ‘But I can’t help thinking that a complete change of your whole life-plan like this, which involves him so closely, really needs some prior warning.’

      ‘Not unless he’s developed some serious heart condition and you think the shock could kill him.’ Chloe was amused. ‘Is that it?’

      ‘God forbid,’ said her aunt. ‘When last seen, he looked as strong as a horse. But I keep thinking of these dreadful surprise parties people keep giving, which I’m sure are far more fun for the organisers than the recipients. Just a thought, my dear.’

      And maybe it was a good one, Chloe decided, clicking on Ian’s number. But it went straight to voicemail, indicating that he was working. So she left a message then rang the cottage, and announced herself on the answer-phone too.

      Belt and braces, Aunt Libby, she thought. So now he should be ready and waiting.

      She smiled