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‘You’ve made it very comfortable,’ she remarked when the older woman returned with a tray of tea things. ‘You’re happy here?’
Her father’s death must have hit Dorothy hard. She’d lost the man who’d been the centre of her narrow life for years, had lost her home and her livelihood. Caroline felt a nagging sense of responsibility. If Dorothy was having difficulty making ends meet—the legacy wouldn’t have amounted to much after her father’s debts had been paid—then something would have to be done about it.
‘Oh, yes.’ Dorothy filled two cups from the squat brown teapot, handing one to Caroline who had put the damp towel aside and was watching the steam rise from her borrowed jeans. ‘I miss your dad, of course I do, and I thought I’d be lonely, but I’m not really. There’s always someone to talk to and, like I said, I can see all the comings and goings from my window.’
And report them, innocuous or not, to the first willing ear she happened to come across, Caroline thought with a wry smile as she refused the sugar bowl. She probed gently, ‘I know you won’t be pensionable age, Dorothy. So how are you managing? Don’t be afraid to say if you’re not. I’ll probably be able to help.’
‘Bless you, I’m managing fine.’ The other woman sank into a roomy armchair, beaming. ‘When Mr Dexter’s company took over the house he explained why he couldn’t keep me on, not as full-time housekeeper anyway. He needs someone young and street-wise to keep up with all those energetic young tearaways he’s going to take in. But as soon as the first lot arrives I’m to go there for a few hours each day and just help out here and there, get to know them, be a sort of temporary granny, he said. And until they do arrive he pays me a handsome retainer.’ She stirred her tea reflectively. ‘He’s a good man, that.’
Of course he was, Caroline conceded silently, a lump in her throat. The best. So why had it taken her so long to admit it to herself? She’d been so intent on clinging to the misconceptions of the past that she’d been blinded to the truth.
Her father hadn’t been able to love her. So had she, subconsciously, believed that, because he couldn’t love her, no one else could, either?
Was that why she’d so easily believed the lies about Ben, convinced in the dark, hidden parts of her mind that he had never loved her, had merely used her?
She set her empty cup down and rubbed at the frown that had appeared between her eyes. She wasn’t into self-analysis. Up until now her thoughts had run in a straight line—no looking back—mapping out her life, building her career, seeing things as black or white, no shades in between acceptable.
Huffing out a breath, she smiled for Dorothy, glancing at the window. She wouldn’t be going in search of Maggie now; let her keep her secret. There was no point in hurling recriminations for the damage that had been done in the past. Caroline had to look to the future, the possibility of sharing it with Ben because she knew now that he hadn’t lied when he’d stated categorically that he had never touched Maggie Pope.
She said briskly, ‘I think the rain’s stopped.’
She went to investigate and Dorothy joined her at the window. ‘Yes, you’re right. But you don’t have to rush off, do you?’
‘Afraid so.’ She grimaced at her crumpled, borrowed clothes. ‘I have to get back and change.’ Michael was coming at four, but hopefully she wouldn’t be leaving with him. She had to see Ben, retract all the hurtful things she’d said, ask him to forgive her and tell him she loved him.
A watery sun was turning the raindrops on the grass of the village green to sparkling diamonds and from w
here she was standing she could see the picturesque but shabby Poacher’s Arms. And partly hidden by the stand of trees in the centre of the green the sleek profile of a Jaguar. Ben’s?
As if in answer to her unspoken question the main door opened and Ben strode out, his face grim, followed closely by Maggie, her blonde hair tousled as if she’d been trying to pull it out by the roots, her eyes red and puffy.
And then, dancing around the adults, a tall, coltish child, dark plaits flying around her animated face.
‘Maggie’s child.’
Caroline hadn’t realised she’d spoken the instinctive words aloud until Dorothy confirmed, ‘That’s right. She’ll have grown a bit since you were last here! Gone twelve now, she is. Angela, they call her—though she’s no angel—up to every mischief she can find! She’s the image of her dad, though, don’t you think?’
The giant hand that squeezed her heart made Caroline feel nauseous. The dark braids were a shade or two lighter than Ben’s raven hair, but the wiry, coltish grace, the half-tamed joy of living that animated the lively face…
Caroline couldn’t answer but Dorothy didn’t need confirmation of her remark, her voice avid with her love of gossip as she said, ‘Wild horses wouldn’t make him admit he’s Angie’s father but everyone knows it. They’ve been caught at it, if you take my meaning, more than once. He’d never marry her and make the kid legitimate, of course. Our Maggie’s too far beneath him. Well, she’s slow on the uptake…’ Dorothy tapped the side of her head meaningfully ‘…a bit rough and ready, so he wouldn’t tie himself to the likes of her. You know him well enough to see that, what with his position and everything.’
Caroline bit down hard on her bottom lip. She desperately wanted to make her excuses and leave but she couldn’t move.
Rooted to the spot, she saw Ben grin as he said something to the child, dig in the pocket of his jeans and count coins out into the small, outstretched palm. Watched the little girl skip across the green towards the store, watched Ben turn back to Maggie, his face frigidly serious now.
And Dorothy droned on, oblivious to Caroline’s turmoil, ‘Mind you, he visits now and then, I’ll say that for him. You can see him come and go out of opening hours, usually this time of day. Probably helps out a bit financially, I wouldn’t know. But so he should, he’s not short of a bob or two, as you know.’
Caroline caught her breath as the hand around her heart squeezed tighter but she managed to uproot her feet from the floor, unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth, rasping, ‘Sorry, I really must go.’
To get away from the words that were drilling holes in her head.
‘Must you?’ As always, Dorothy Skeet was enjoying her gossip. She dipped her head towards Ben, his face emphatic as he spoke to Maggie. ‘Mr Dexter can give you a lift back when he’s ready.’
‘No!’ The negative was torn from her. She turned and fled.
CHAPTER TEN
CLEARING the sharp bend in the narrow lane which put her safely out of sight of the entire village and Dorothy’s no doubt astonished eyes, Caroline stopped to catch her breath and let her thumping heartbeats settle down to a more sedate pace, her silky, fine dark brows pulling together in an exasperated frown.
