The End of her Innocence. Sara Craven

do wonders for your temper.’

      He paused. ‘So, do you want it, or would you prefer to wait for the next chivalrous passer-by, yes or no?’

      She would have actually preferred to see him wearing his rotten can, jammed down hard, but she bit her lip and nodded. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Boy, that must have hurt.’ His grin mocked her, before he turned and strode back to the jeep, lean-hipped and lithe.

      He hadn’t changed, she thought with sudden bewilderment, watching him go. The past seven years didn’t seem to have touched him at all. Yet how was that possible?

      No conscience, she thought bitterly. No regret for the havoc he’d caused. The ruined lives he’d left behind him.

      She picked up her jacket from the passenger seat, and let herself out of the car. As she unfastened the boot, Darius came back with the can. He glanced down at the array of luggage and whistled.

      ‘My God, Willowford’s own Homecoming Queen. You really do mean to stay, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes.’ She placed her jacket carefully across the top-most case, smoothing its folds as she did so. Hiding, she realised with annoyance, the fact that her hands were shaking. ‘I have every reason to do so.’

      ‘But I don’t.’ His mouth was smiling but his eyes were hard as glass. ‘Is that the hidden message you’re trying to convey?’

      ‘As you said, it’s none of my concern.’ She held out her hand for the can. ‘I’ll make sure this is returned to you.’

      ‘By courier, no doubt.’ He shrugged. ‘Forget it. I have others. And now, I fear, I must tear myself away.’ He walked towards the jeep, then turned.

      ‘I wish you a joyful reunion with your family and friends, Miss Benson,’ he said softly. ‘But as for that peace you mentioned—I wouldn’t count on it, because you’re not the peaceful kind. Not in your heart. You just haven’t realised it yet.’

      He swung himself into the jeep and drove off, leaving her staring after him, her heart pounding uncomfortably.

      ‘You’ve lost weight,’ said Aunt Libby.

      ‘That is so not true.’ Chloe hugged her again. ‘I’m the same to the ounce as I was a year ago. I swear it.’

      She looked round the big comfortable kitchen with its Aga, big pine table and tall Welsh dresser holding her aunt’s prized collection of blue-and-white china and sighed rapturously. ‘Gosh, it’s wonderful to be home.’

      ‘No-one forced you to go away,’ said Aunt Libby, lifting the kettle from the Aga and filling the teapot. Her tone was teasing, but her swift glance was serious.

      Chloe shrugged. ‘They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. You know that. Besides it’s been an education, seeing how the other half live.’

      ‘The village will seem very dull after Millionaires Row.’

      ‘On the contrary, I know for sure where I belong.’ Chloe paused. ‘Has Ian called? I took your advice and rang him to say I was arriving.’

      ‘I think he was out at Farsleigh today. It’s a bad reception area.’ Her aunt passed her a plate of raisin bread.

      ‘Heaven,’ said Chloe, as she took a slice, smiling to conceal her disappointment over Ian. ‘Is this the Jackson equivalent of the fatted calf—to welcome home the prodigal?’ And paused again, taking a deep breath. ‘So, how is everything and—everyone?’ She tried to sound casual. ‘Any major changes anywhere?’

      ‘Nothing much.’ Mrs Jackson poured the tea. ‘I gather Sir Gregory is making progress at last, poor man.’ She sighed. ‘What a tragedy that was. I’m not a superstitious woman, but it’s almost as if there’s been some dreadful curse on the Maynard family.’

      Chloe stared at her, the flippant retort that there was and that she’d seen it alive and well an hour ago dying on her lips.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      Mrs Jackson looked surprised. ‘Well, I was thinking of Andrew, of course, being killed in that dreadful accident.’

      Chloe’s cup clattered back into its saucer. ‘Andrew Maynard—dead?’ She stared at her aunt. ‘Never!’

      ‘Why, yes, dear. Surely you saw it in the papers? And I told you about it in one of my letters.’

      Had she? Chloe wondered guiltily, knowing that, once she’d made sure that everyone at Axford Grange was well and happy, she hadn’t always read on to the end.

      ‘I—I must have missed a page somewhere. What happened?’

      ‘He was in the Cairngorms climbing alone as he often did. Apparently, there was a rock fall, and he was swept away.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible.’

      ‘And Sir Gregory?’

      Aunt Libby shook her head. ‘A stroke, brought on by the news.’

      Chloe picked up her cup. Swallowed some tea. Schooled her voice to normality. ‘I thought I glimpsed Darius Maynard when I stopped for petrol. Is that why he’s come back? Because he’s now the heir?’

      ‘I think that it was concern for his father rather than the inheritance that brought him.’ Aunt Libby spoke with gentle reproof and Chloe flushed.

      ‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve—never liked him.’

      ‘Something for which your uncle and I were always profoundly grateful,’ her aunt said with a touch of grimness. ‘He was always far too attractive for his own good.’ She sighed again. ‘But he’s certainly provided Sir Gregory with the very best of care, hiring a charming girl as his live-in nurse who seems to have inspired the poor man and literally brought him back from the grave.

      ‘And Mr Crosby, the agent, reckons Darius is really putting his back into running the estate these days, so perhaps he’s become a reformed character during his absence.’

      And maybe pigs might fly, thought Chloe. She took another piece of raisin bread. ‘And—Mrs Maynard. Penny. Is he still with her?’

      ‘No-one knows or dare ask. She’s certainly not at the Hall. And she didn’t attend Andrew’s funeral, or the memorial service.’ Mrs Jackson refilled her niece’s cup. ‘Apparently Mrs Thursgood at the post office asked Darius straight out if he was married—well, she would!—and he just laughed, and said, “God, no”. So we’re none the wiser.’

      ‘But it’s hardly a surprise,’ Chloe said evenly. ‘He’s never been the marrying kind.’

      ‘On the other hand, he’s never been the next baronet before either,’ Aunt Libby pointed out, cutting into a handsome Victoria sponge. ‘That may change things.’

      ‘Perhaps so.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s considering the charming nurse up at the Hall.’

      ‘Lindsay?’ Her aunt sounded almost startled. ‘Oh, I don’t think she’d do for him at all.’

      ‘But, then, who would?’ Chloe helped herself to a piece of sponge with its strawberry jam and cream filling. ‘If I go on like this,’ she added wryly, ‘I’ll be the size of a house by the time of the wedding.’

      Aunt Libby gave her a swift glance, then looked back at her plate. ‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘If anything, you could do with a few pounds. Real men don’t want skeletons to cuddle.’

      The wisdom according to Uncle Hal, no doubt, Chloe thought with an inward smile.

      They were such darlings. Living proof of how well marriage could work, given the chance. And if their childlessness had been a sadness, they’d kept it well-hidden, opening their home and their hearts to her instead, when her mother, Aunt Libby’s younger sister, had died suddenly of a thrombosis only two days after giving birth.