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The phone rang for so long that Polly was just about to give up, assuming that Briony must be out, when her daughter eventually picked up her receiver.
‘Mum…Hi…I’ve just come in…’
‘Er, Briony, there’s something I want to tell you…’
Amazingly Polly discovered that she felt not just a little nervous but also rather apprehensive about telling Briony about her plans. Taking a deep breath, she began to do so.
The silence with which Briony heard her out was distinctly ominous, and Polly knew that her motherly intuition had not been mistaken when Briony demanded sharply, ‘Mum, is this some kind of joke? You can’t leave Uncle Marcus like that. You just can’t…’
‘Briony—’ Polly began but her daughter was obviously in no mood to listen, overriding her with her voice full of passion and accusation.
‘Mum, how can you even think of such a thing after everything that Uncle Marcus has done for us…for you…? I thought Suzi was just being a bit bitchy when she suggested that you might be in danger of falling for Phil because of your age, but it seems she was right, and—’
‘Briony!’ Polly interjected in shock. Why was it that those closest to her had such a low opinion of her and seemed so determined to pigeon-hole her in some kind of potential mid-life crisis area? ‘This has nothing to do with Phil on any kind of personal level. He has offered me a job, that’s all.’
‘That’s all? But you’ve always…But you’ve already got a job…You’ve got Fraser House…’ Briony protested.
‘The job that Phil is offering me has a lot more scope,’ Polly explained as calmly as she could.
‘A lot more scope for what?’ Briony asked her bitterly. ‘A lot more scope to go to bed with Phil Bernstein? What does Uncle Marcus think about all of this?’
‘He doesn’t know. Not yet,’ Polly was forced to admit.
‘You haven’t told him!’ Polly could hear not just the reproof but also the shock in her daughter’s voice. ‘Mum, I don’t believe—’
‘Before you say anything else, I think you ought to know that the reason I haven’t told Marcus yet is because I can’t. He’s in China and I have no idea when he’ll be back.’
‘Have you tried asking Suzi?’ Briony asked her carelessly. ‘She might know.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ Polly agreed tersely. ‘Tim Webb is drawing up a letter for me to send to Marcus, telling him I want to terminate my managership. Which reminds me, I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, Briony, but I’ve decided that I want to sell my share of Fraser House.’
‘What? Mum, no! You can’t do that…’
Polly’s heart sank as she heard the distress and the panic in her daughter’s voice. She just didn’t need this. No way did she need it, but also there was no way she could explain to Briony, woman to woman, just why she wanted to completely sever her contact with Marcus.
‘Fraser House is home, Mum…our home. Ours and Uncle Marcus’s.’
‘Briony,’ Polly intervened. ‘I do understand how you feel, darling, but please listen. Marcus has already made plans to move to his own house; you know that. You’re away at college…Surely you can understand that it’s time for my life to move along as well as both of yours?’
‘Yes, maybe, but where are you planning to move it to, Mum? Phil Bernstein’s bed?’
‘Briony, that’s enough,’ Polly told her sternly. ‘I’ve already told you Phil’s offered me a job, that’s all. I do understand how you feel about Fraser House…’
‘No, you don’t,’ Briony told her passionately. ‘You don’t understand anything…’ And before Polly could say anything Briony had slammed down her phone, leaving Polly listening to silence.
Shakily Polly replaced her own receiver. Even as a child Briony had always had that little bit of impetuous temper. Polly knew perfectly well that within a very short space of time Briony would telephone her, overcome with remorse and guilt, but her reaction still hurt.
There was no mistaking where Briony’s loyalties and sympathies lay.
Wearily Polly massaged her aching temples. Her heart might be aching with desolation and grief but she still had a hotel to run. At least keeping busy would keep her mind off Marcus and Suzi—and off last night.
All day she had been aware of an unfamiliar heaviness, a lassitude almost about her body, a wayward, wilful tendency to remind her very physically and determinedly where its desires lay—not that she needed reminding, not for one minute. There was nothing she longed for more than to be loved by Marcus. Nothing she longed for more and nothing she was less likely to get.
