Shining Threads (54 page)

‘Laurel dear, I do not question the purchases you make and so I would beg you not to question mine.’

‘I do not question it, Drew. I am merely pointing out that as you can only ride one horse at a time it seems imprudent to own half a dozen all eating their heads off in the
stables.’

‘They are all ridden, Laurel, except, of course, those ponies which were brought for Robert and Henry and Joel and which you will not allow them to mount.’

‘Robert and Henry are far too busy with their studies and Joel is too young . . .’

‘Rubbish! They must be allowed to play sometimes, Laurel, and as for being too young, Drew and I . . . no . . . Pearce and I for I am Drew . . . Pearce and I . . . when we were the same
age as Joel were . . .’

His voice faltered suddenly and his face took on an expression of uncertainty. The wine in his glass slopped over the rim and dripped on to the lapel of his immaculate evening jacket as his hand
trembled and he turned at once to Tessa.

‘You remember, don’t you, darling? We were all up in the saddle long before we were five years old . . .’

‘That may be so, Drew, but my sons are to be millowners’ – since you don’t appear to be producing any of your own, her tone said – ‘and not urchins who are
allowed to romp . . .’

He continued as though his sister had not spoken and when his hand reached for hers, Tessa took it soothingly appalled by the confusion he was in over his own name, the words she had been
preparing all day regarding the running of the mill dying away in the back of her throat.

‘. . . and when Tessa was six she was following us out on the moor, weren’t you, sweetheart? What times we had, the three of us, didn’t we?’

His face had become sweated, just a fine sheen on the glowing brown of his skin as though from some fire within him, and his eyes were the brilliant blue of a sapphire. He gripped her hand
fiercely, then, tipping back his head poured the wine, almost in one swallow, down his throat. He held out the empty glass to Briggs without turning and the butler filled it once more to the brim,
his own face impassive. This was the second bottle of wine he had opened and they had not yet finished the fish course.

Will Broadbent’s face, his hands and lips and . . . yes, the emotion he had allowed her to see were pushed savagely to the back of Tessa’s mind as she looked into the faltering face
of her husband. Her body which had been wild with longing only that morning, grew still and empty.

‘Indeed we did, my darling, though I had to fight you every step of the way to let me be part of it. You thought me nothing but a nuisance until I could prove to you both that I could do
everything as well as you.’

‘You mean the gate?’ He pushed his plate away, grinning, the splendid trout on it barely touched, leaning forward to gaze admiringly into his wife’s lovely face as he hitched
his chair nearer to hers. He had soon given up sitting at the head of the table as Laurel had wished him to do and as was proper for the master of the house, placing his chair next to his
wife’s at its foot, declaring he could not shout from one end to the other when he wished to address her.

‘What a devil you were when you took it into your head to best us, which was most of the time. But I really did think, for a moment only, believe me, that that bloody gate would be your
undoing.’

‘Drew, please, must you bring such language to my dinner table?’ Laurel raised a fastidious eyebrow.

‘I’m afraid I must, dear sister. If my wife does not object, which I’m sure she doesn’t, do you, my pet? . . . there, you see . . . then I cannot think it concerns
you.’

He indicated to Briggs to refill his glass and Laurel sat up straighter, her face even more rigid with disapproval.

‘And if I might just point out, Laurel, whilst we are on the subject, that as mistress of this house, this is my wife’s dinner table.’

‘Drew, be quiet.’

‘No, I will not be quiet, Tessa. I am acquainting Laurel with the fact that she no longer . . .’

‘Drew, how could you?’ Laurel’s eyes filled with tears and in the background where they discreetly hovered Briggs and Dorcas exchanged glances. ‘With Charlie hardly cold
in his grave, is it kind to remind me that I must relinquish what has been mine for so long?’

Drew’s eyes narrowed and the slightly cruel humour which he acquired when he was drunk, curled his mouth.

‘Really?’ he drawled, lounging back in his chair, but though he gave the impression of the dashing young man-about-town, cynical, arrogant, carelessly indifferent to anyone’s
feelings including his own – for had they not already suffered irreparable damage? – he still clung quite desperately to Tessa’s hand. ‘I cannot recall under what
circumstances you undertook to be mistress of Greenacres. My mother, who is the wife of its master, is still alive and now, in her absence and in view of the fact that my father has deeded the
property to me, as my wife, Tessa must take my mother’s place.’

‘I will not stay here to be treated so cruelly.’ Laurel rose to her feet, ready to glide from the room as she had done so often since Charlie died and with him the championship which
was her due as his wife, and the daughter of this house.

‘Laurel, sit down. Drew did not mean to be cruel and, whatever he might say, you
are
mistress here. You know you are splendid at it and that I would be hopeless.’ That was
true. ‘Besides, I am to be fully occupied with the . . .’

She had not meant to speak of it, really she hadn’t. She had seen the lost expression cloud Drew’s eyes, the uneasy confusion and even worse which came to plague him. It was mixed
with bravado which was meant to let her know he could manage very well on his own if she persisted with her lunatic scheme to run the mills, and yet it told her of his awful fear that, if she did,
he might lose his way again without her by his side.

‘With what, my sweet?’ His voice was deceptively mild and yet again his glass was held out to Briggs who hurried to refill it. ‘Let us guess. Come on, Laurel, sit down and we
will discuss the . . . what is it, darling, that you are to be occupied with? Can it be the charitable works with which married ladies concern themselves, as Laurel herself does, do you not,
sister? Or are you to begin making social calls, leaving cards and receiving them, spending your afternoons gossiping about fashion and the perfidy of gentlemen? Are you to accompany your husband
as once you did, so pleasantly and with such devotion, or, as I suspect, is it something else entirely?’

Laurel’s tears had vanished, dried up mysteriously at the prospect of not only watching the entertaining diversion of Tessa and Drew quarrelling but of discovering what was to happen to
her share of the Chapman fortune. As Charlie’s widow she owned twelve and a half per cent and surely she was entitled to know how soon she could reasonably expect to get her hands on it when
the mills were sold, as sold they must certainly be? Drew was incapable of running them as Charlie and her Aunt Jenny had done, not only by reason of the serious instability of his nature which,
though always wild and rebellious, had grown to gigantic proportions since Pearce’s death, but by his absolute contempt and antipathy towards anything remotely commercial.

Tessa sighed, wondering why Drew was not able to propel her into the fury which Will Broadbent could awaken in her, nor the hot desire of bodily need, her secret mind slyly added before she
could block it. Was the delight of it, the harmony of her marriage, cooled to mere pity and irritation, or were the last few months of frustration to blame for the slight wearing in the fabric of
her marriage? The truth of it was she longed, yearned, for someone to whom she could pour out the great wave of her fear and frustration: of her distaste for the days ahead in which somehow she
must turn chaos into order, turbulence into the smooth and pleasant life she had once led with Drew. She needed with all her heart to hear someone say, ‘Leave it, Tessa, I will see to it for
you. There is no need for you to bother your head about it. It is safe with me. Go and play with your husband who needs you more than the mills need you. He will not be able to function without you
to hold his hand and lead him through life, so go, go and leave it all to me.’ She would have liked nothing better than to wink audaciously at Drew, to joke and tease and take him to bed safe
in the perfect knowledge that tomorrow they could do as they pleased, as they had always done. Lie on the rug before the bedroom fire and make love until he was satiated with it. Saddle their
horses and gallop the moors until they were exhausted with it. Ride over to the Hall and amuse themselves with their friends, watch Drew drink and gamble feverishly until he was ready to come home,
to sleep in her arms, safe in her arms, loved and needed, both of them in their shared brittleness. For that was fast what they had become; easily broken, running away from responsibility, spoiled
and worthless, impatient with those who had their feet firmly on solid ground – like Will – restless and forever seeking some diversion to relieve them of that mortal affliction, the
affliction of boredom.

Or was she firmly to grasp this nettle which scorched her hands, hurt her quite dreadfully, and if she was, if she was to burden herself with it, the question was
why
?

Will Broadbent’s face danced in the shimmering flame of the candelabra which stood in the centre of the table. He was smiling quizzically, the question in his eyes unreadable.
Unreadable
! What had been in his eyes and in his mind was as clear as the light from the candles at which she gazed, and she had almost succumbed to it. Dear God, she had almost given in to
the lust he had shown so impudently. He had asked her weeks ago to be his mistress and, clearheaded, she had refused. This morning he had tricked her, confused her, got her into his arms before she
knew what was happening, his body telling her exactly what it wanted of hers. But he’d not get it. She was Mrs Drew Greenwood who loved her husband, wasn’t she, and Will Broadbent could
go to the devil. She despised him and his wild idea of forming . . . what had he said? . . . a company, a board of directors, perhaps taking on a partner who had business and managerial expertise .
. . shares, small but shares as an incentive . . . what had he said? . . . with herself as . . . as chairman. She could learn from them and if she learned she would make damn sure they did not
cheat her . . .

The chair on which her husband was sitting crashed backwards to the floor and across the table Laurel squeaked in alarm as Drew leaped to his feet.

‘Goddammit, Tessa, what’s come over you, lolling there with your chin in your hand and your mind obviously a million miles away from here? You’ve barely said a word this
evening beyond a remark or two about nothing in particular. Do you know what, Tessa? You have become a bore. Ask yourself when you last made me laugh, or indeed when you yourself smiled at
something? You used to be so splendid, always ready for anything, riding with Pearce and me, with Nick and Johnny and the others. They all thought you were the best sport, one of them, and now look
at you.’

His voice had become ugly and his eyes were an unnaturally livid blue as he waved his wine-glass towards her, spilling most of the contents on the carpet. At the back of the room Briggs sighed
inaudibly for it would not be Master Drew who had the cleaning of it.

‘You look . . . you look . . .’ Her husband searched about in his mind for an insult cutting enough to wound her, as he was wounded by her defection. ‘You look and sound just
like a bloody millowner.’

‘Well, that’s what I am, darling. That’s what we both are and if you won’t accept it, then someone must.’ She stood up and smiled, not at all put out, it seemed, by
his slashing attack, the invitation in her eyes plain enough for everyone in the room to see and understand. ‘So why don’t we just forget it for tonight? Bring some champagne –
see to it, will you, Briggs? – and we’ll have a toast, just you and I in our sitting-room. Come. Have you ever made love to an industrialist, my darling? No, well neither have I,’
they heard her say as she led her suddenly laughing, suddenly dazzled husband across the wide hallway and up the stairs. ‘It shall be a new experience for us both, I’m certain of
that.’ And surely, her puzzled heart asked, it would drive the image of Will Broadbent’s smiling face, his warm lips and hands from her mind forever?

26

The young architect, Mr Talbot, accompanied by the builder, Mr Hale, called on her several days later to ask her opinion on one or two alterations to the plans for the new mill.
Just small changes, they assured her, but if she was to study them she would see immediately the enormous benefits they would make to the access of raw materials from one department to another, the
easy movement of one process to another, the added safety of her operatives and, she would be happy to hear, they would be advantageous to her financially, shaving several hundreds of pounds from
the cost.

‘Why were these not thought of months ago when the plans were drawn up?’ she asked sharply.

‘We have had time to . . . to go over them more thoroughly, Mrs Greenwood, in relation to the site which was not cleared when they were first drawn up. And with this latest development we
also find we shall be able to begin building at once.’ Mr Hale twisted his tall hat in his hands, his eyes somewhat inclined to look, not at her, but through her.

‘But you said it would be another month at least before you could start the foundations.’

‘Indeed I did, but with some reorganisation it is now possible to dig out the footings at once?’

She was inordinately pleased with herself, taking this latest development as an omen that at last things were about to improve. In fact, almost overnight progress surged forward: the mill was
invaded by a positive army of brawny Irish labourers, the footings were dug out, the foundations laid and the walls began to grow with a speed which was nothing short of miraculous; and at home
Drew was convinced that it was only a matter of time before she would be his constant companion once more. Indeed, he had been so delighted with her plan to form a ‘company’ of
dependable, knowledgeable men to run the mills, he had even promised airily that he might be persuaded to sit on the board with her.