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'And I had no idea your name was Caroline until Tempest said it,’ he went on, as if she hadn't spoken. 'Why did you call yourself Cally?'
She shrugged defensively. 'When I was learning to talk, that was all of Caroline I could manage. It—stuck.'
He shook his head. 'No wonder I never stood a chance. He's a rich man, isn't he? A multimillionaire.' There was a note of self-pity in his voice that jarred on her. 'And you've let him buy you.'
Have I? Cally thought. Then, if so, why am I paying the price?
Aloud, she said wearily, 'Kit—let's not over-dramatise the situation. I'm going back to my husband—that's all. It was bound to happen sooner or later.' At least that's what I have to believe. She paused. 'And please remember I offered you nothing.'
'No,' Kit said bitterly. 'I'm not likely to forget that.'
Cally slammed the empty drawer shut. 'Also, you seem to be overlooking the fact that Gunners Terrace is alive and well,' she said crisply. 'We just happen to have won a famous victory, and Leila, Tracy and the others are jumping for joy out there. You should be over the moon for them too, joining in the celebrations.'
'Well, perhaps I'm not in a celebratory mood,' he snapped back, just as Nick appeared in the doorway, glancing expressionlessly between Kit's wrathful flush and Cally's taut self-containment.
'Finished up here, darling?' he asked pleasantly. 'Because it's time we were leaving.' He walked over to her, sliding an arm round her body, his hand resting on the curve of her slender hip in a gesture of total possession.
Cally saw Kit register the gesture, then turn away sullenly.
'Yes,' she said. 'I'm—ready.'
There hadn't been much to collect. A few pens, a picture one of the children had painted for her, and a paperweight that Mrs Hartley had given her when Cally had inadvertently revealed it was her birthday the previous day. It was a lovely thing, in shades of azure and emerald flecked with gold, like a dive into a sunlit tropical sea, and she could not have left it behind. She'd brought nothing at all from the flat, which would be cleared out by the landlord—whose protests Nick had silenced with a month's rent in lieu of notice.
Money really seemed to be the answer to everything, she thought bitterly.
One by one, her tenuous ties to this place had been cut. Now nothing remained but her future with Nick, and that was only temporary.
Her whole life had suddenly become a leap into the dark.
She said quietly, 'Goodbye, Kit. I hope the whole project goes from strength to strength.'
"Thank you.' He did not look at her.
For a moment she wanted to scream at him. Do you know— do you have any idea what I've done? The sacrifice I've had to make?
But that would imply his attitude was justified, that she owed him some kind of explanation. Whereas she knew she didn't, and it was best to let the matter drop—walk away. With her husband's arm holding her like a ring of steel. Staking his claim.
As they reached the main door, she said tautly, 'Why don't you just give me a label to wear—"Nick's Woman"?'
'I thought I had.' His tone was clipped. 'In St John's church, twelve months ago.'
Cally winced, but could think of nothing to say in reply.
Everyone was waiting outside the Centre to see them leave, and the euphoria was almost tangible.
Tracy came rushing up and enveloped her in a hug. 'You don't look as if you slept much last night, you lucky girl,' she whispered with a giggle. 'Be happy. And don't forget us.'
There was a terrible irony in that, thought Cally, forcing a smile and nodding.
'Come along, darling.' Nick drew her close to his side again, his fingers laced with hers in a parody of intimacy as they walked to the car. He turned to give a last smile—-a wave. Like visiting royalty, she thought, swallowing back the bubble of hysteria that was threatening to overwhelm her.
It was almost a relief to find herself inside the car and driving away from it all.
I should have done that a long time ago, she thought broodingly. Instead of hanging around, waiting tamely to be found. And now it's all too late...
'Will you miss Wellingford?' Nick's tone was casual.
'No,' she said. 'I never planned to stay. Especially after Mrs Hartley died. She was a terrific lady.'
'But not particularly blessed in her sons.' he commented ironically.
She shrugged. 'Perhaps they take after their father,' she said, adding pointedly, 'It can happen.'
And heard him laugh softly.
They were soon on the motorway, the big car comfortably eating up the miles, transporting Cally swiftly and silently to her new life and all that it implied.
Although it seemed she would at least be miserable in luxury, she told herself wryly. The car was air-conditioned, its windows tinted to diffuse the brightness of the sunlight.
