‘Bella, no man in his right mind would pay for this. I’ll call you from Edinburgh.’ The assurance was icy cold. The phone went dead.
Throwing herself face down on a sofa, she burst into floods of tears, shocking herself. She felt out of control, desperately hurt, desperately confused.
They had been together for three and a half wonderfully happy weeks. But sometimes she got scared; sometimes she admitted to herself that temperamentally she was not cut out for a relationship in which she could not say openly, honestly, I love you. She guarded her tongue more and more. It had become harder to keep up the free-and-easy sallies that demanded nothing, asked for no reassurance, never mentioned the future. And all of a sudden Bella knew that she was facing up to the reality of their relationship.
Rico didn’t want any more from her. He wanted her passion, not her love. She felt like somebody squeezed into a box that was becoming suffocating. Holding her emotions back didn’t come naturally to her. The longer she held them in, the more dangerous they felt. On the surface everything was fine but underneath she was always waiting for the ice to crack and plunge her into the icy water of disaster.
She rubbed absently at her aching breasts and then realised what she was doing. What on earth was wrong with the stupid things? Maybe it was the weight she was putting on—too many regular meals, too much rich food. It was time she went to a doctor. But look on the bright side, she reflected; at least you weren’t pregnant. Not that she had had much literal proof to the contrary, but a few tiny spots of that very light period had released her from her growing anxiety.
As she sprang upright a wave of dizziness left her light-headed. Stress, she decided. Rico was bad for her nerves. Stupid of her to start a row on the phone, though, especially when he wouldn’t be coming home until tomorrow. But then she had had every right to be angry. Rico had no right to ride roughshod over her wishes. Maybe he was keen to make her more socially acceptable, she thought bitterly. His live-in partner, the artist… no longer an undiscovered talent.
Face it, she conceded abruptly, you’re really hurt that he didn’t invite you to Edinburgh. It was so ridiculous too. Couldn’t she bear him to be out of her sight for even twenty-four hours? But whereas three and a half weeks ago, feeling as she did now, she would have cheerfully and spontaneously invited herself along the same period had reduced her ability to be that bold. Being careful was inhibiting. She snatched up a piece of charcoal and her sketch-pad and drew a caricature of Rico, complete with grinning bimbo on his arm, festooned in jewellery that resembled chains.
So they had had a fight. Fights were not infrequent, she had to admit. How had she ever thought they had nothing in common? Her mouth twisted. Both of them were stubborn, quick-tempered and bossy. But neither of them was prone to holding spite. They were both crazy about horses and they spent an awful lot of time together without ever getting bored. It had been like a honeymoon—two people wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of the rest of the world. She would keep that thought to herself. She was well aware that he was throwing the party to introduce her to his friends.
Late that afternoon Haversham announced a second visitor. Bella looked up from the magazine she had been somewhat sleepily studying and was astonished to see Griff bearing down on her.
‘Getting in here is like getting into Fort Knox,’ he complained grimly. ‘And as for getting the phone number… forget it. That is highly confidential information!’
Bella stood up with a frown. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m not here by choice.’ He sighed. ‘Look, if Hector had had a note of the phone number I wouldn’t be here—’
‘Hector?’
‘My boss is Hector’s solicitor.’ He reminded her of the connection through which they had met. ‘I’m afraid the old boy’s had a heart attack.’
Bella stared at him in mute horror and swayed sickly.
‘Steady on.’ Griff pushed her back down on the seat she had vacated. ‘You’re really fond of the old buzzard,’ he muttered in surprise. ‘He’s not dead but he’s not too good from what I understand.’
Afterwards Bella could never recall that drive to London with Griff. She spent the whole journey spinning between awful guilt and simple prayer. Had it been her decision to live with Rico which had prompted this? She had only seen Hector twice since then and he had still been trying to persuade her to leave Rico.
‘He is seventy-eight,’ the sister in Intensive Care told her quietly. ‘If he’s still with us in the morning, he has a chance.’
‘I thought he was only about seventy,’ Bella mumbled thickly through her tears.
‘You can sit with him for a while. You’re the only person he asked for.’
‘I’ll wait out here,’ Griff said resignedly.
She had forgotten about him. Awkwardly she turned to thank him for driving her to the hospital. ‘But don’t wait for me. I won’t leave until… well, until I see how it goes,’ she completed tautly.
Hector looked so frail, so shrunken lying in the railed bed. She covered his hand with hers, willed him to feel her presence, and sat there, gripped by the awareness that she had been far closer to Hector than she had ever been to her grandfather. Hector had understood her in a way her mother’s father never had.
In the early evening Hector’s solicitor, Mr Harvey, arrived. He gave her the keys to the house and mentioned, with a cloaked look, that if Hector made it out of Intensive Care he would be moved to a private room, and then to a convalescent home. Those were Hector’s wishes as laid down by him in the event of serious illness.
‘He’ll hate that.’ Bella sighed, refusing to believe that Hector would not live to see those wishes carried out. ‘What about his relatives? Why aren’t they here?’
‘Hector didn’t want them told,’ the solicitor admitted. ‘But I have informed them. They said that they would keep in touch with the situation by phone.’
It was a very long night. Around dawn Hector opened his eyes on Bella and smiled. Then, after weakly squeezing her hand, he drifted away again. She bought herself breakfast in the cafeteria.
She needed sleep. Accepting that reality, she caught a bus back to Hector’s house. She was in the act of wearily climbing the steps when a hand came out of nowhere and snatched the key from her grasp. She spun round.
‘Rico!’ she gasped in consternation, pressing a hand to her palpitating heart. ‘What a fright you gave me!’
He unlocked the door, pushed it back and thrust her inside. Slamming it, he rested back against it and released his breath in a hiss. His eyes were slivers of raw gold condemnation in his dark, set face. ‘You little bitch,’ he muttered raggedly.