White Rose Of Winter. Anne Mather
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Julie bent her head. ‘Why naturally? You haven’t shown much interest up until now.’
Robert uttered an expletive. ‘I don’t want to waste time arguing with you, Julie. Just tell me the facts. I could hardly discuss this in front of Emma, could I? And my mother’s too emotional about it for us to have a coherent conversation in front of her.’
Julie looked up indignantly. ‘And I’m not emotional, of course. He – he was my husband, that’s all!’
Robert reached for a cigar from a box on a low table, lighting it with suppressed violence. She could see it in the hardening of his facial muscles, in the grim way his teeth held the cigar, in the impatient flick of the table lighter.
‘What do you want me to say, Julie?’ he asked, straightening. ‘Do you want to hear platitudes from me? I think not. We’d both know they were not sincere. But I did love my brother, whatever you may think, and I want to know about his death. Now – will you tell me?’
Julie turned her back on him. She couldn’t bear to look at him while she spoke about something that was still painful to her.
‘You – you had the doctor’s reports,’ she said tightly. ‘You didn’t come to see him.’
‘No. A fact I bitterly regret.’ His voice was harsh.
‘Do you?’ Julie sounded sceptical, but she didn’t pursue it. ‘Well, I don’t know what more you want to hear. I didn’t know about the first attack, if that’s of any interest to you. Michael forced the doctor to keep the truth to himself. I thought he was overworked, tired. I never suspected the heat was affecting his heart. He had put on weight, of course. He drank quite a lot, but then so did everybody. In any event, I don’t believe Michael took it really seriously himself. But when the second attack came, so soon after the first, he hadn’t the strength to fight it …’ She broke off, fighting back the emotionalism that threatened to overwhelm her. Michael had been such a young man, a good man; he had not deserved to die.
‘I see.’ She heard Robert move and pour himself another drink. ‘Was he in much pain, before he died, I mean?’
Julie shook her head. ‘Oh, no. The drugs they prescribed kept him more or less comatose. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize me. But I think he guessed it was hopeless.’
‘You should have sent for me.’ Robert’s voice was abrupt. ‘You knew I would have come if I had known – if I had guessed—’
Julie looked unseeingly through the slats of the venetian blind. ‘He wouldn’t allow me to send for anybody. I don’t know why. But I couldn’t go against his wishes.’
Robert walked across the width of the lounge to her side. She hadn’t looked round, but she was conscious of him with every fibre of her being. ‘I would have come to the funeral,’ he said shortly. ‘But I was out of the country when your cable arrived. And naturally the burial took place so much more quickly than it would have done here.’
‘Yes.’ Julie finished her drink and moved away from the window. Away from him. ‘Is that all?’
Robert swung round, his expression hardening at the resignation in her voice. ‘Are you so indifferent?’ he muttered.
‘Indifferent!’ Julie put a hand to her throat defensively. ‘My God! You think I’m indifferent?’
‘Well, aren’t you? I can’t see any tears in those limpid green eyes!’
Julie found it difficult to breathe suddenly. ‘That’s a foul thing to say!’
‘Why? Am I mistaken? Are you really the bereft widow?’
Julie stared at him for a long moment, anger strengthening her weakening resolve. ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ she demanded fiercely. ‘I didn’t ask to come here! I didn’t ask to be patronized by the powerful Pemberton family! I want nothing from any of you – you, least of all!’
Robert’s face paled slightly under his tan and she realized that for once she had succeeded in really getting under his skin. ‘That’s right, Julie,’ he snarled. ‘Show your true colours! Show what a selfish coarse little bitch you really are!’
Julie took a step forward. She wanted to slap that sneering violence from his face once and for all. But even as she moved the door opened to admit Lucy Pemberton.
Lucy was wearing a long black gown of heavy silk, several strings of pearls about her still youthful throat. For all she was almost sixty, life had aged her little, and looking at her now Julie found it hard to believe that she had not been well enough to come to the airport to meet them.
But it was no use harbouring grudges. In a few days, a week at the most, she would find somewhere for herself and Emma to live, and then she would be free of the Pemberton family for good.
‘Hello,’ said Lucy, when she saw them both. ‘You’re still here, Robert?’ Was that a note of reproof in her voice? ‘I thought your appointment was for seven-thirty. It’s gone that already, you know.’
Robert stubbed out the cigar he had been smoking and dropped it carelessly into the ashtray. ‘There’s no hurry, Mother,’ he remarked, in complete control of himself again.
‘I’m not sure Pamela would agree with you, darling.’ There was definitely a note of reproof now, and a brief dismissing glance in Julie’s direction. ‘You must meet Pamela, Julie. Pamela Hillingdon. You may have heard of the family. She and Robert are getting married in the spring.’
Julie managed to appear unmoved by this news. ‘Really,’ she said evenly. ‘But I doubt whether I’ll ever have that opportunity. She and I no doubt move in different circles.’
Robert had been reaching for the handle of the door, but at her words he turned abruptly to face her, his eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t understand what you mean, Julie,’ he stated flatly, and his mother drew her brows together in delicate bewilderment.
‘You’re not going to be difficult, Julie, I hope,’ she exclaimed, and received a quelling glance from her son which Julie found hard to comprehend.
‘Well?’ Robert demanded. ‘Exactly what are you saying, Julie?’
Julie felt her cheeks colouring in spite of her determination to stay cool. ‘Surely it’s obvious,’ she stated steadily. ‘I – well – Emma and I can’t live here. Within the next few days, I intend to look around for a job and somewhere for Emma and myself to live—’
‘What?’ Lucy put a trembling hand to her temples and sank down weakly into the nearest chair. ‘Oh, Julie, you can’t be serious!’
‘It doesn’t matter whether she is or otherwise,’ snapped Robert obliquely. ‘She hasn’t yet been informed of the facts of the case.’
‘What facts?’ Julie pressed her palms together apprehensively.
Lucy looked up at her son. ‘You didn’t tell her?’
‘I didn’t get the chance.’ Robert raked a hand through the thick darkness of his hair. When he was disturbed as he was now it was painfully easy to remember the last confrontation she had had with him, and Julie bent her head to avoid the cold brilliance of those grey eyes.
‘Will you please tell me what I’m supposed to be told?’ Julie wondered how long her legs would continue to support her. ‘Is there some reason why I should not be permitted to do as I like?’ She looked up suddenly, her eyes guarded. ‘Because if there is, I shall fight it.’
‘Oh, Julie, please.’ Lucy fanned herself with one hand. ‘Don’t be difficult! We only want to do what’s best for – for you, and for Emma.’
Robert flicked back his cuff and glanced at the broad gold watch on his wrist and Julie stiffened. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your appointment,’ she exclaimed. ‘Just