Captive Destiny. Anne Mather
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had to think of his shareholders first, and in any case, her mother had not wanted his assistance. Instead, she had sold the house standing adjacent, to the Kyle home, and moved herself and Emma into a tiny flat in Abingford, overlooking the yard of St Stephen’s Church.
During this traumatic time, Emma had seen little of Jordan, or his parents. She had not thought a lot about it, being in the grip of her own grief, and needing to comfort her mother. But as the weeks passed and the scandal died down, he still continued to avoid her, and her suspicions were born.
It took some time before the truth gradually began to sink in. Jordan had been interested in her only so long as she was her father’s daughter. By marrying her, he would have gained ultimate control of both family’s shareholdings. Once that situation no longer applied, he had decided to cut his losses. Why marry a girl without a penny to her name when there were plenty of well-heeled ladies around only too willing to share their inheritance with a man as attractive as Jordan Kyle?
She had considered the possibility that perhaps her father’s suicide and the scandal which had ensued might have affected his feelings towards her, but she couldn’t believe Jordan to be so small-minded, so the obvious explanation seemed the most probable.
Whatever, Emma had suffered a severe relapse herself. Her relationship with Jordan had been such that she had never given the idea of not marrying him any serious consideration, and to discover that he had deceived her in that way had been more than she could bear. As soon as she was capable of finding a job, she had taken herself off to London, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the Kyles as was humanly possible. Her mother had encouraged her decision, and Emma had decided that so far as her mother was concerned, the break-up of their relationship had not been unexpected.
Inevitably, time wrought its own miracles of healing. Emma was lucky enough to get a job in an auction house in London. She had always been interested in antiques, and her apprenticeship there served her in good stead when she finally returned to Abingford. She came back when she discovered her mother was finding it difficult to live on the allowance she made her, and for a while Emma shared the flat with her again.
It was about this time she met David Ingram once more.
She had met him first in Jordan’s company. David was a freelance commercial artist, working at that time on an advertising campaign for Tryle Transmissions. She had known immediately that she attracted him, but whether that was because she was the boss’s girl-friend or not, she could never be sure. What had always been apparent was that any girl who could hold a man like Jordan had to have something, and several of his friends had made passes at her when they thought Jordan wasn’t looking.
Emma had quite liked David, although she had sensed his feelings towards Jordan contained quite an element of envy. He had always had an intense ambition to be wealthy, and having money meant a lot to him.
From the minute he learned that Emma was back in Abingford to stay, he had started dating her, and within a very short time he asked her to marry him. Emma had demurred, insisting that they hardly knew one another, secretly wondering whether Jordan might ring her once he knew she was home again. She knew he was still unmarried, unattached, if what the papers said was true, and she cherished hopes that perhaps time would have worked its miracle for him, too.
But as the weeks and months went by, and there was no word from Jordan, she was forced to accept that so far as he was concerned, their affair was over. Her mother, guessing her feelings, had ridiculed such foolishness. David, she said, was a far better candidate than Jordan Kyle could ever be, and besides, she wanted Emma to have nothing more to do with that family.
The crunch came the night Emma casually encountered Jordan at the charity ball. He had spoken to her politely, but that was all. His eyes had looked straight through her and she had known that whatever there had been between them was dead—and buried. That was the night she had accepted David’s proposal, and lived to regret it. His accident, just four days before the date of the wedding, had destroyed any idea she might have had for cancelling the ceremony. Instead, it had been conducted around his bed in the hospital, the only thing, they said, that would give him a reason for living. A reason for living …
Emma pressed her lips together tightly now. That was ironic. From the moment David learned that he was paralysed from the waist down, he had despised the life he was forced to live, and gradually he was forcing Emma to despise her life, too. It was as if there was a malignant cancer growing inside him that was gradually corrupting his soul, and Emma seldom looked into the future without a sense of despair.
If only David had accepted his disability. If only he could appreciate how good it was to be alive, instead of persistently bemoaning his lot in life, and allowing the envy he had always possessed to poison and destroy what little happiness they might have had.
‘Emma!’ She heard him calling her now, the irritability evident in his voice. ‘Emma, what in God’s name are you doing? Does it take half an hour to make a cup of coffee?’
‘Coffee!’ Emma started guiltily. She had forgotten to turn on the percolator.
‘I won’t be long,’ she called in reply. ‘I’m just finishing the dishes!’ and as if to emphasise this point she clattered plates and dishes on to the draining board.
But later that night, lying in the lonely isolation of her bed, she gave in to the frustrated tears that stung the backs of her eyes. She and David didn’t even share a bedroom, he having decided he needed the double bed they had once intended to use for his own use downstairs, while she occupied the single divan in the bedroom upstairs. How could she suggest going to the West Indies? she thought helplessly. Apart from anything else, it was unfair to David to even think of such a thing when he was stuck here at home, hating the cold weather. There had never been money for expensive holidays. Even the accident insurance had been denied to them on a technicality, which Emma had never understood, and without her job in those early days they would have had to have applied for social security.
Besides, what could Andrew Kyle have to say to her that was so desperately important that he should send for her practically on his dying bed? It didn’t make sense to her, so how could David be expected to understand, let alone agree to the trip?
She sighed. Jordan would not be surprised if she refused. Relieved, was his more likely reaction. After all, how boring it would be for him having to escort her all that way, and embarrassing, too, if she chose to bring up the past. But she wouldn’t do that, she thought, fumbling under her pillow for a paper tissue. She had some pride! Of course, he didn’t know that, and now he would never find out.
THE attic at Mellor Terrace was dark and gloomy, the only light coming through a tiny window set up high in the roof. There was no electricity, and Emma had to use a torch to see what she was doing. It was chilly, too, but she had put on thick trousers and a chunky sweater, and the effort of her exertions was keeping the cold at bay.
Looking round the cobwebby interior of the attic, she wondered how many years it was since anyone had been up here. Mrs Ingram had shuddered at the prospect of climbing the rickety old staircase that coiled to the upper regions of the house, and she had shown little interest in Emma’s plans to clean the place out. One of her arguments for Emma giving up her job was to imply that she had not the time to keep up with her housework, but she ignored the fact that she had not entered the attic so long as Emma had known her.
David had been much less emphatic. On the contrary, he had stated that as there was never likely to be more than two of them living in the house, the three spare bedrooms provided more than enough storage space without disturbing the dust of decades that filmed everything in the attic. He had got quite annoyed with her for bringing the matter up, and it was one of those occasions when Emma had kept her own counsel.
But since then she had had private thoughts about it, and this morning she had needed something energetic to do, something to take her mind off her decision to refuse Jordan’s invitation. Cleaning out the attic had seemed an ideal occupation,