Shelley Scott drew a satisfied breath and decided this was about the best thing she had ever done in her four years as an interior designer.
'It's perfection, Miss Scott!'
'You're pleased?'
'Pleased! I'm enthralled with my new home!' Sarah Weston turned to smile at her fiancé. 'David, darling, I'm so glad you engaged Miss Scott's firm to make a lovely home for us.'
David turned to the girl who was by now used to praise of this kind. His eyes focussed on her face and he thought it was even more beautiful than that of his fiancée. The smooth alabaster skin, the high cheekbones and widely spaced eyes, the high forehead portraying intelligence and the golden-bronze hair above it, waving slightly so that there was a quiff at the front which seemed to match the up-curling ends that reached almost to her delicately-sloping shoulders. Shame she was not married, he mused, for some man was missing out all right.
'We're inviting you to our wedding,' said Sarah. 'You'll come, won't you?'
Shelley nodded at once. From the first she had taken to this young couple and she was delighted at the idea of being a guest at their wedding. She would never have attended a wedding at one time-for it would remind her too poignantly of her own. But it was six years ago now-no, almost seven! How time did fly! She had recovered totally, she assured herself even while the image of her handsome husband would rise before her, and she would see that smile, the warmth in his eyes, the tenderness, the love….
So dark, he was, but then his mother was Greek, a lovely looking woman who had married into the English nobility, hence the perfection of her son's aristocratic features; he had all the good breeding of his father plus the classical background of the Greeks… and he was also possessed of their ardent nature.
'Well, we must be getting along, Miss Scott.' David's quiet voice brought Shelley from her musings and she nodded her head.
'I must be off, too,' she said and it seemed that David just had to ask, 'You have a date?'
'Yes, with my boss.'
'Oh… you and he are-'
'Just good friends,' broke in Shelley with a laugh. 'We often discuss business over a pleasant dinner.'
'He's married already?' from Sarah curiously and Shelley shook her head.
'A confirmed bachelor,' she returned and picked up her handbag from the deep armchair where she had dropped it on entering the luxury London flat twenty minutes earlier. She had had this final appointment with the engaged couple, just to see if all was to their liking. 'Stephen and I are fortunate in that we haven't had any complications in our relationship.' She spoke in a quiet yet clear voice which held a musical quality which added to her attractions.
'You mean-you're able to maintain a platonic relationship?'
She smiled. David had recently become rather concerned about her, she thought.
'That's right. We couldn't have worked together like we do if we'd allowed emotion to rear its-head.'
'You were going to say its "ugly" head,' cut in Sarah with a sudden frown. 'Have you never been in love, Miss Scott?'
'Once… or perhaps twice,' she mused and she was now thinking of someone other than the man she had married. Paul, her very first boyfriend who had later been the cause of the divorce….
'Twice? But you haven't yet met the right one, obviously.'
Shelley said nothing. She often told herself that she had not yet met the right one. But then, once again, Nick's face would appear before her mental vision.
'Goodbye, Miss Scott.' David was at the door, a hand resting on his fiancée's shoulder. 'We'll see you at the wedding.'
***
Shelley let herself into the hall of the attractive mews house which nestled in a little backwater, away from the hustle and bustle of the city and yet was so very convenient for Shelley's office. Not that she spent much of her time there; she was more often on the site of her activities, planning, drawing numerous sketches and then supervising the various people who were working from those sketches.
Somehow, she was feeling depressed today, and was glad, therefore, that she and Stephen were to dine out-at the Ritz. Stephen knew all the details of the breakup of her marriage; he was the only one-apart from those personally involved-who was in possession of the facts. The facts… Stephen knew the real facts whereas Nickolas and his mother and sister knew only what appeared to be the facts.
'Oh well,' she was saying to Stephen a few hours later, 'it's all in the past. And if Nick had really loved me he'd have listened to my explanation.'
She didn't know just how or why the conversation had drifted from business to the very private affair of her divorce.
'You ought to look around for someone else.' Stephen, thirty-five and good-looking in a rugged sort of way, had mixed feelings about his number one assistant, as he called her. For although he felt she deserved happiness with a charming partner, he knew that if she did marry then she would most likely give up her job and raise a family.
He did not like to think how he would get along without her uncanny flair for colour-combinations, her instinctive knowledge of what particular type of furniture would suit a particular type and shape of room. Stephen reckoned that half the business that came to him was on account of the reputation which Shelley had built for herself since she had come to him, a green girl, just over four years ago. She had been floundering before then, getting over the traumatic experience of her divorce and at the same time trying vainly to settle into a job. Nothing seemed to be just what she wanted-and, thought Stephen, the decision of her mother and her new husband to go and live in Spain did not help.
'You do not look around,' she said at length. 'The right one comes-or he doesn't. It's fate and nothing more nor less.'
'You're very philosophical about it all.' A small pause and then, 'You never hear anything about your ex-husband?'
'No, nothing. I don't even know if he's still in England. I know he had expectations in Greece in the form of a large estate on the island of Corfu. His mother's sister had always said that her property was to go to Nick.'
'But Nick was very English, you said.'
'He was, yes….' Her voice trailed to silence as she recalled her husband's passionate nature… inherited from his mother, of course. And his temper! Shelley would never ever forget the terror of that last scene when he had threatened to strangle her.
'His mother's still here?'
Shelley nodded her head.
'She lives in the ancestral home left to her by her husband-Nick's father-for life. On her death it comes to both Nick and Anna, so it might have to be sold.'
'You never think of visiting his mother?' Stephen lifted his wineglass to his lips and studied Shelley from above the rim. The candlelight was in her hair, and it also accentuated the alabaster skin, lending it a peach bloom sheen that was very alluring. Not for the first time Stephen wondered if the time would come when he would suddenly find himself in love with her.
'No, never. She didn't say much at the time, and I don't think she hates me, but she never tried to bring Nick and me together again.'
He looked at her strangely.
'You believe that was possible?'
She paused in thought before shaking her head.
'No,' she admitted and with an unconscious little sigh. 'No, there wasn't any hope after-after that awful scene.'
'Don't think about it,' advised Stephen in soothing tones. 'He was a brute-'
'He had some sort of an excuse,' she broke in, but weakly.
'No excuse! You were his young bride and he should have known you'd never be unfaithful!'
Shelley shrugged her shoulders. It was marvellous, she thought, how one managed to get over these things. 'Time heals' was a truism indeed.
'It's all water under the bridge now,' she returned indifferently. 'It was fate that Nick and I weren't meant to end our days together.'
'You scarcely began from what you've told me.'
'We had seven months together.'
He observed her with a keen look.
'And you were happy?'
'Deliriously so.'
'Did he not show this jealousy before-before the business with your former boyfriend, I mean?'
'He was always jealous, but of course he had no real cause to be… until….'
'Do you ever see this Paul-But no, or you'd have told me, wouldn't you?' Stephen picked up the basket containing crusty rolls and offered it to her. Absently she took one and then realised there were nicer things to eat than bread. She put it on her plate and looked across at her companion.
'I hope I never set eyes on Paul again as long as I live,' was her fervent reply at last. 'I wish I'd never met him in the first place.' She took butter, again absently, and broke the roll.
'Let's change the subject,' suggested Stephen, glancing around and mentally counting the celebrities-two titled men, a film star and her latest boyfriend and a publisher entertaining a couple of his authors. He transferred his attention to Shelley, who had never used her married name-in fact, Stephen didn't even know what it was. He had never asked her and she had never vouchsafed the information. She smiled at him across the candlelit table and he responded. Her face was pale and her eyes a little sad; her hair in the subdued light seemed to become the warm colour of tawny brown highlighted with pure gold.
'Yes, let's,' she agreed and then asked, 'What shall we talk about?'
'I've had two potential clients in today.'
'You have?' Shelley was interested. 'Anyone famous?'
'Not that I know of. The first lady seemed to be wanting to get the house she's just bought ready for the return of her husband from Nigeria where he is at present working for an oil company.'
'It's a house, then, not a flat?'
'Both are houses. The second was a man who's bought a manor house in the Cotswolds and he wants it completely renovated inside. He's having work done outside, I believe, but of course that's not in our line.' He paused a moment and then, 'I want you to take it over completely because it sounds just your particular mark-'
'A manor house in the Cotswolds?' she broke in and her companion noticed a strange expression cross her face. 'Whereabouts?'
'A place called Allswick-a real beauty spot; I know it well. The house is called Allswick Manor and it's Tudor….' His voice trailed and he was frowning slightly now. 'Is something wrong?'
She shook her head, a mechanical gesture rather than a negative one. Allswick Manor…. The home which she and Nick had planned to buy when the owner eventually decided to sell. Mr. Hawks, it was who owned it, and he had fallen into conversation with the young couple at a party and the next thing he was inviting them to his home. But he was intending to sell up and settle in Canada with his married daughter, for his wife had died a few months before he met Shelley and Nick. They were so thrilled when he showed them over that they at once begged to be given the first chance to buy the property, surrounded as it was by acres of wooded land and with a delightful stream dancing through these grounds. It wanted a great deal doing to it but the young couple had the money-at least; Nick had for he was a millionaire, while Shelley even then had her flair for interior design, although she had never had the chance to try it out for they were living at Ravenscroft Hall, the stately home of the Montpelier family. Alida Montpelier, though Greek, had seemed over the years to have acquired all the arrogance and nobility of that ancient line, and Shelley had at first gone in awe of her. But they had managed to get along together… until the incident with Paul….
'You're miles away, Shelley.' Her boss's voice slid into her mind-wanderings and she glanced up to meet his eyes. 'Where were you, for heaven's sake?'
Should she tell him? She decided against it because she felt he would want to spare her feelings and, therefore, give the task of renovating Allswick Manor to someone else.
And despite the fact that it might hurt a little, Shelley very much wanted to have the task… the task of putting that lovely house into the sort of order she had envisaged.
Stupid, really, she mused after a space. Far better to fight shy of going anywhere near that particular property. And yet she said, 'I was thinking of this manor house; it sounds intriguing-and as you say, it's just up my street.'
'It's for a couple who are getting married. The man's name is Longford-' He stopped suddenly as if trying to recollect. 'Yes,' he went on, face clearing; 'that's the name.'
'Mr. Longford. When does he want to see me?'
'I said you'd meet him at the property on Wednesday afternoon at three o'clock.' Stephen took a drink of his wine. 'I'll give you the address when you come into the office tomorrow.'
Later he drove her home and she was still thinking of Allswick Manor and the plans she and Nick had made for its renovation. New bathrooms… a nursery… a study for Nick, using a room which Mr. Hawks had been using for the storage of unused furniture…. The gardens landscaped to include fountains and terraces and rustic bridges over the stream.
'The children'll love to play on them,' Nick had said tenderly.
A sigh escaped Shelley as she entered her sitting room and threw off her coat. So many plans… at only seventeen. Nick was just twenty-four but seemed so mature that he could have been several years older. And now she was almost twenty-four and he thirty-one.
Although it was almost midnight Shelley was wide awake-and of course she knew the reason. Allswick. Impatiently she chided herself for the memories, and decided all at once that she wouldn't do the renovations after all. She would take on the other house, for the woman whose husband was returning from Nigeria. What was her name? Did Stephen give it to her? No, she did not recall his doing so.
She had been in bed for an hour before sleep claimed her. Memories again had kept her wide awake, memories of that fateful episode when Paul had called at Ravenscroft Hall to return some records and books he had borrowed from Shelley over a year ago. And she was alone in the sitting room, her husband being out and her mother-in-law resting. Anna, Nick's sister, was in the village, shopping. For some reason Paul suddenly became sentimental, then declared the marriage to have been a mistake.
'You and I, Shelley, were meant-'
'Paul,' she had interrupted swiftly, 'please don't say such things as my marriage being a mistake. I adore Nick and he adores me.'
'It all happened far too quickly,' he protested. 'Why, you never gave yourself time to get to know him properly.'
'I just knew I loved him the moment I set eyes on him, Paul,' she replied seriously. She had been so very young, gloriously, madly in love and she had no wish to have any other man's company, and this was more than obvious to Paul who, becoming angry and jealous, seized her and crushed her protesting body to his in the most intimate way.
'Your mother didn't approve of him-a foreigner!' he reminded her.
'Let me go! My mother let me marry him, didn't she?'
'Reluctantly. She told me she was terrified that, being a Greek, Nickolas would seduce you-'
'Don't-stop it!' Wrenching herself away Shelley, breathless and with her cheeks burning with anger, pointed to the door. 'Please go, Paul. I'm married and our little affair is forgotten.'
'Not by me! I ought not to have let you go! I love you, Shelley-' He leapt close and grasped her wrist, jerking her slender body to his. It was clear that he was in the throes of some deep emotion and she began to twist and writhe, actions which only served to increase what she realised was Paul's swiftly rising passion. She was soon helpless and exhausted, clinging to him for support, allowing him to kiss her because she had not the strength to fight him. Every vestige of strength had left her.
And it was at this moment that Nick came into the room, to jerk his tall lean body to a halt as he stared disbelievingly at the scene before him.
'What the hell-!' Galvanized into life, he tore across the room, took Paul by the scruff of the neck and threw him so violently that Shelley winced as his head hit the door.
'Nick,' breathlessly and with a fervent relief which her husband in his anger failed utterly to notice. 'Oh, Nick-'
'Who is this man?' he thundered, face like an evil mask. 'Who, I said! Answer me!'
'Paul… we went out together-once-'
'You took her from me!' almost screamed Paul suddenly, gaining courage. 'We're in love-surely you can see that!'
Nick's eyes were fiery as a tiger's as he turned on him.
'You're in love!' His teeth ground together. 'Explain yourself before I-'
'Nick-don't!' cried Shelley in terror lest her husband should hit the other man. 'Let him go-and-and I'll explain in-in a minute….' She was weak and drained, her eyes filling with tears. 'I can't think what made him-him-'
'Kiss you, and fondle you!' Fire blazed in her husband's dark satanic eyes as he turned to her. 'I'll strangle you-' He broke off as the door opened and his mother stood there; just behind her was Anna, eyes almost popping out of her head as they took in the scene, for it was plain that something dramatic was happening. It was her mother who broke the short silence as she asked, in a mild sort of tone that seemed ludicrous in the situation, 'Is something the matter, Nick?'
For a moment he seemed unable to speak for the fury that consumed him, and Shelley recalled how she had seized the moment to make her escape, gathering the strength to cross the room and brush past the two in the doorway.
Nick had come to her within minutes and she did not ask what had happened downstairs. She really had no chance anyway, for Nick in his unbridled fury shook her till her teeth rattled, demanding an explanation which he never afforded her the opportunity to give. He was plainly beside himself and Shelley, outraged by his rough handling of her, and by his readiness to condemn without a hearing, began to pack a bag the moment he had stalked from their bedroom. That he would cool and eventually ask for an explanation did hover at the back of her mind, but her one resolve at the moment was to leave him, to go home to her mother.
Mrs. Scott was all too ready to take her daughter's side, reminding her that she had warned her about marrying a foreigner.
'He's half English,' began Shelley, already regretting her hasty action in leaving Ravenscroft Hall.
'And half Greek. The Greeks are notorious for their ruthlessness towards their wives; they regard them as chattels, and ill-treat them. What awful marks he's left on your arms, my darling! I could go over there and kill him! Oh, why didn't you marry Paul?'
Shelley had said nothing; she was weak and listless and wondering how long it would be before her husband came for her, as he must have guessed where she was.
'I think I'll go and lie down,' she said in a voice edged with tears. 'If Nick comes-'
'I'll send him packing!'
'No, Mother-please. He'll be ready to say he's sorry, and to listen, so call me, won't you?'
How sure she had been that Nick would come and take her home! But she had reckoned without his Greek characteristics of arrogance and pride, and she had not taken in to account his youth. Angry and hot-headed, feeling in every way humiliated, degraded even, he had waited for Shelley to make the first move. So time elapsed, with each beginning to believe that the other did not care. Neither mother made any attempt to close the rift, and in fact Mrs. Scott was instrumental in widening it, although her daughter never knew of this. Never knew that it was her mother and her alone who had engineered the divorce.
***
Shelley awoke with a headache, frowning as she remembered lying awake, tossing and turning as memories flitted about in her head. She remembered having decided not to take on the manor house at Allswick, but now, as she went into the neat little kitchen to make some tea, she changed her mind. What quirk of fate caused this she would never know… but it was to have momentous consequences which made her so unsettled that she reached the point where she could have almost thrown up her job.
