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She found herself being invited to join local clubs and so-
cieties, and to serve on the committee for the annual charity fete, which was always held in the Hall's grounds.
On Nick's instructions, she sent out invitations to lunch and dinner parties, and weekend guests, and steeled herself to play hostess—with, she'd come to realise, surprising success.
On the down side, Adele was still occupying the Dower House, and finding excuses to come up to the Hall too regularly to suit Cally, who was usually left shaking with anger after her visits. But without an electric fence it seemed impossible to keep her out.
And Cally was powerless to prevent Adele's knife slipping beneath her ribs either.
'You're looking tired, my pet,' she'd remarked solicitously only the previous day, encountering Cally in the garden on her way up from the stables. 'But don't worry. I hear on the village grapevine that Vanessa Layton's coming back this week, so Nick will soon have an alternative outlet for all that incredible masculine energy.'
And she drifted off, leaving Cally to stare after her with murder in her heart.
But at least she knew now. and could be on her guard, she told herself. Although there was little she could do about the situation. Nick, as he'd demonstrated with chilling force over the past weeks, was his own man, and would do precisely as he wished.
Adele, she thought, sighing, vicious little jibes notwithstanding, was the very least of her difficulties. Her relationship with Nick was the problem that overrode all others, and filled her mind and heart, waking or sleeping. Or rather, the lack of it.
The harsh words they'd exchanged a few weeks before had been their last real conversation, she acknowledged miserably. When he was at the Hall they met at mealtimes, which were conducted in silence, apart from a few polite and formal exchanges.
Probably, Cally admitted, for the look of the thing. Although she suspected the Thurstons were already aware that the atmosphere could be cut with a knife most of the time.
Each morning Nick went for an early-morning ride on Maestro, his chestnut gelding, before leaving for the day, but it was never suggested that Cally should join him, and he avoided the routes she used with Baz.
'Just as well,' Lorna had commented cheerfully, when Cally had diffidently raised the subject. 'He's a terrific rider, and he really pushes Maestro.' She laughed. 'I have a job to keep up with him on a young horse, so poor old Baz wouldn't get a look-in—although he might try, and it wouldn't be good for him.'
'No.' Cally had forced a smile. 'No, of course not.'
At other times he worked in his study, and it was made clear he was not to be interrupted.
He was treating her much like an employee, she thought. There'd been a time when she'd believed this could be a way for her to cope. But she'd been wrong.
And the pattern was repeated on the occasions when she was required to accompany him to London, to attend formal dinners in the City and other social events. Her wardrobe, most of it selected under Nick's stringent supervision, had expanded dramatically to meet these new demands, and she had the beginnings of an astonishing jewellery collection to match.
She could not, of course, question his generosity, which was unfailing, but then he'd made it clear he expected her to do him credit in public.
So the clothing and jewels were merely props, she thought, to be handed back when her run-of-the-play contract ended. But what else could she expect?
In public, Nick was the most quietly charming and attentive husband any young wife could wish. And only Cally knew of his cool aloofness when they were alone together.
Except at night...
She felt her whole body shiver, and Baz, as if sensing her sudden restlessness, flung up his head and whinnied. She murmured to him, running a soothing hand down his neck.
Nick had meant every word he'd said before they'd parted in that pale dawn, she thought wretchedly. They had not spent
a single night apart since, even though the demands of work took him on punishing trips all over the country and he often returned very late, almost grey with tiredness. Those were the times when he simply turned his back and slept, while she lay beside him, staring into the darkness, aware of an ever-deepening sense of isolation.
At such moments Cally yearned to reach out to him and draw him close. To let him sleep away his exhaustion in her arms, his head pillowed on her body. But she had never dared initiate such a move, in case she was rebuffed.
She had learned her lesson on the evening they'd been scheduled to attend a banquet in London. Cally had worn a new dress in taffeta, long-sleeved with a full skirt and scooped neck, the colour of autumn leaves. It had been Nick's choice, and she'd had to admit that the shade complemented her newly highlighted hair and lent a sheen and glow to her pale, creamy skin.
