‘I knew I should have gone to England,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Bobbie never did have much of a stomach for fighting dirty.’
It was she who had masterminded the plan they were now putting into action, she who had been the driving force behind it, and unlike Bobbie, she who knew she would never have fallen into the trap of ‘liking’ those cussed and accursed Crightons, as the twins had grown into the habit of calling them when they had inadvertently stumbled on the secret that their mother had found so shameful that she hadn’t wanted them to know about.
It had been their grandfather in the end who had answered their questions. And even now, although they were adult and had known the story for many years, their mother still did not like to talk about it or hear it mentioned because it still hurt her so much, all the more so, Samantha suspected, because of their father’s very distinguished and strait-laced Puritan ancestry.
Not that knowing the truth made their father love their mother any the less, nor did they, but it still hurt to see her vulnerable.
‘It’s not fair. Why should Mom be the only one to suffer?’ Samantha had demanded of Bobbie. ‘It wasn’t her fault. We should make them pay.’
‘But how can we?’ Bobbie had asked her.
‘I’ll think of a way,’ Samantha had promised.
And so she had ... or rather she had thought she had until Bobbie started to turn chicken-hearted.
If only she wasn’t committed to her college classes and her vow to make up for the time she had taken off to travel. Still, there was no point in regretting that now; she would just have to make sure that Bobbie didn’t weaken still further.
In Chester, Bobbie paced her bedroom unhappily. She just didn’t possess Sam’s fiercely stubborn determination and adherence to any cause she took on; she lacked her sister’s strength, she knew that. It wasn’t that she cared any the less about their mother. It was just...
Face it, she told herself sternly, you’re a coward. You just can’t abide any kind of fighting or confrontation. You’re a real scaredy-cat, she taunted herself.
But what was she so afraid of? Seeing the friendship and warmth in Olivia’s and Joss’s eyes turn to dislike and contempt when they discovered how devious and underhand she had been, or seeing the triumph in Luke’s when all his suspicions of her were confirmed?
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN Olivia rang later in the day as she had promised she would, Bobbie took a deep breath and made a fervent mental plea that she was making the right decision as she confirmed that she wanted to accept her offer of a job.
‘You’ll do it! Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Olivia enthused, adding, ‘I was so afraid that you were going to say no.’
Bobbie bit her lip as she prayed that Olivia would never have cause to wish that she had refused whilst she listened to her explain the finer details of their arrangement.
‘Oh, and don’t worry about transport,’ she told Bobbie. ‘We’ll provide you with a car. You’ll certainly need one because we are rather isolated, I’m afraid.’
Well, at least that solved the problem of how she was going to explain away being able to afford the cost of a hire-car, Bobbie acknowledged as Olivia went on to detail the generous amount of time off she would be given plus the use of the car for her personal needs.
It was agreed that Olivia would pick her up at the hotel in the morning, but despite the other woman’s enthusiasm, Bobbie was not surprised to discover that her hand was shaking and her stomach churning with nauseous apprehension when she finally replaced the receiver.
Still, at least there was a positive advantage to leaving Chester—she would not be likely to see Luke Crighton again.
‘I’ve told Joss that you might be coming to work for us,’ Olivia had informed her. ‘He’s thrilled to bits!’
Bobbie spent the rest of the evening packing her things and trying to ignore the sad little voice of her conscience.
After all, how could she have faced her twin sister if she had refused such a golden opportunity? And, given the choice, she would much rather confront and deal with her own conscience than Sam’s ire!
‘Here we are, home safe and sound,’ Olivia announced with a smile as she drove in between the gateposts towards the pretty low-roofed brick building that was her home and that, as she had already explained to Bobbie, had originally been a small block of three farm workers’ cottages.
‘They came up for auction along with a couple of paddocks just before we got married. It was Luke who tipped us off about them. He knew it was exactly the kind of place we were looking for—something large enough in which to bring up a family and with a good bit of land, but nothing too grand or expensive.
‘For the first six months we owned it, the place was completely uninhabitable, and we were still virtually knee-deep in builders and decorators and the like when Amelia was born.’
‘It looks wonderful,’ Bobbie enthused as she gazed appreciatively at the neatly painted windows and the mellow warmth of the old bricks.
‘Come on,’ Olivia instructed her as she stopped the car. ‘Let’s go in. Caspar is dying for you to arrive.’
‘I hope I’m not going to let you down.’ Bobbie hesitated. ‘I ... I really don’t know that much about babies or small children.’
‘Neither did I until I had Amelia,’ Olivia confessed cheerfully. ‘She liked you,’ she added warmly. ‘I could see that, and quite frankly that’s much more important to me than a long string of qualifications. Mmm...I’m surprised that Caspar hasn’t come out to welcome you.’
Uncertainly, Bobbie followed Olivia as she led her, not to the prettily painted front door of the now-amalgamated cottages but around the side of the house and through a gate into a walled courtyard area and towards what Bobbie guessed must be the back door.
As Bobbie followed her through it into the kitchen, she heard Olivia exclaim, ‘Ruth! I didn’t realise you were here!’ Bobbie followed Olivia’s gaze and saw an elegantly dressed, serenely attractive woman whose still dark, well-styled hair made her look nothing like the age that Bobbie knew her to be.
If Ruth’s clothes and supple, slender body looked elegant, the pose she had adopted on the floor where she was obviously playing with Olivia’s baby daughter most certainly was not. Her carelessly sprawled body and the warm, rich uninhibited sound of her laughter surely belonged more to a girl in her late teens or early twenties rather than a woman of such maturity, Bobbie decided, her own body stiffening slightly in a mixture of wariness and covert disdain as Ruth scrambled to her feet, still laughing as she explained, ‘Caspar had to go out—an urgent meeting. He phoned and asked me if I could come over.’
‘Oh, Ruth, we impose on you far too much,’ Olivia apologised as she hugged her great-aunt warmly, ‘but not, I promise you, any more. This is Bobbie. She’s going to be looking after Amelia for us for a few weeks to give us time to find a more permanent nanny.’
If Ruth Crighton’s demeanour and body language seemed surprisingly youthful, then the look of extraordinary wisdom and kindness in her eyes told a very different story, Bobbie acknowledged, shaken by the unexpectedness of the emotions that overwhelmed her as Ruth held out her hand towards her. Her first instinct was to step back from her to avoid any kind of physical contact with her. But her mother had had an old-fashioned attitude towards teaching her children good manners and Bobbie found that she was automatically extending her own hand.
Ruth’s clasp was firm but feminine, the bones in her hand fine and delicate. Bobbie had to look away and blink frantically in case the sudden r
ush of tears to her eyes betrayed her. The feel of that elegantly shaped, long-fingered hand with its smooth, delicate, English-rose skin was almost unbearably familiar.
‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,’ she heard Ruth telling her warmly before adding, ‘Joss drew a most intriguing verbal picture of you.’
‘I suppose he told you that I was a giant.’ Bobbie smiled back, taking refuge from her own chaotic emotions in making a joke about her height.
‘Actually, no, he didn’t,’ Ruth denied. ‘He told me that you liked reading tombstones and that you were just the right height for Luke.’
To her own dismay, Bobbie realised that she was actually blushing.
‘He also said that you were American and that he liked you,’ Ruth added with another smile, tactfully ignoring Bobbie’s embarrassment.
American and he liked her or American but he liked her? Bobbie wondered as her self-consciousness subsided and she was unable to stop herself from asking dryly, ‘I see. Does that mean that normally the two aren’t found to be compatible?’
Ruth’s eyebrows rose, her fine eyes rather thoughtful as she studied Bobbie’s face. There was no doubt that the American was a vibrantly beautiful young woman. Ruth could see intelligence as well as pride in her expression, but even more intriguingly she could also see an unexpected hint of uncertainty and defensiveness.
‘Oh dear,’ Olivia broke in ruefully. ‘I suspect that must mean that Joss has been telling you tales about how certain members of the Crighton clan have in the past been chauvinistically anti-American. I can remember how shocked I was when Caspar told me that he’d heard about it, but that’s all in the past now, Bobbie,’ she said reassuringly. ‘If it ever really existed.’
‘There was a certain amount of local resentment and male jealousy of the American forces stationed here during the Second World War,’ Ruth supplied quietly, ‘but that was all a long time ago and I believe what ill feeling there may have been has been exaggerated into a bit of a shaggy-dog story.’