The Woman from Paris(23)

“No, I don’t need time,” Phaedra replied softly. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really can’t. Thank you for calling, Lady Frampton, it means a great deal to me.” And she hung up.

Antoinette was stunned. She remained on the bed, holding the receiver to her ear, unable to accept that the girl had refused her. If Antoinette had desired to see her before, she now longed with all her heart. It was as if Phaedra was a link to George, that if she could reach her, she’d reclaim a little of her husband. But she couldn’t reach her; the more she stretched out, the further Phaedra pulled away. She replaced the receiver and put her head in her hands. What on earth was she to do now?





5


Rosamunde found Antoinette on the bed, staring dejectedly into space. “She won’t come,” Antoinette exclaimed as soon as she saw her.

“Who won’t come?”

“Phaedra. I called her and invited her to stay, but she won’t come.”

“How unappreciative.” Rosamunde folded her arms across her sturdy bosom.

“I think we scared her off.”

“She should be thankful you’re so kind, Antoinette. No one else would be that generous.” Antoinette lifted her eyes, and Rosamunde saw the torment in them. “Oh, Antoinette, this is all so bloody!” She sat beside her sister, her big heart filling with fury. “Ungrateful girl! How dare she come down here, drop a bombshell, and then disappear without so much as a backwards glance? It’s unbelievably rude!”

There was a knock on the door, then Tom’s concerned face appeared through the gap. “Are you all right, Mum?”

“Phaedra has declined to come and stay,” Rosamunde informed him importantly. “Your mother is very upset, quite understandably.” She patted her sister’s knee. “You’ll be all right, old girl. This will all go away, I promise.”

Antoinette shook her head. “No, it won’t. I can’t rest knowing that a part of George is walking about the London streets and I’m not even able to talk to her.”

“She’ll come round,” said Tom. “Just leave her be for a while. We weren’t exactly friendly, were we?”

“No, we weren’t,” Antoinette agreed. “It was probably very hard for her, too.”

“What did she expect? You can’t throw a grenade and expect a field of flowers to bloom,” Rosamunde added.

“Mum, can I drive Dad’s Aston Martin back to London?” Tom asked.

“It’s yours now, darling. You can do whatever you want with it.”

He grinned. “Great!”

“Are you leaving now?”

“Got to get back, I’m afraid. Josh and Roberta have just gone. They didn’t want to disturb you. Where are the keys?”

“In the drawer in the hall table.”

He bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Of course she is,” Rosamunde replied briskly. “I’m here to look after her, and David’s just across the garden.”

“Good. I’ll be down on the weekend.”

“Drive carefully.”

“You bet.” He grinned again, imagining himself at the wheel of the gleaming Aston Martin, roaring up the motorway.

When David heard the news that Phaedra had refused to come to visit, he was desperately disappointed. He drove the Land Rover around the farm with Rufus in the well of the passenger seat, mulling over the possibilities. Phaedra might change her mind. After all, she had braved the funeral and was obviously curious to meet them. His father had generously provided for her in his will; perhaps she would now feel more warmly disposed towards his family. But the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Phaedra was unlikely to change her mind. They had made her feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. Why on earth would she wish to return to that unpleasant scene?

He hated to see his mother so upset. Losing her husband had been a colossal blow, but discovering he had an illegitimate daughter would have floored most grieving widows; not Antoinette. She considered Phaedra a living part of her dead husband. Perhaps she was even hoping that in some magical way the girl could bring a bit of him back. David knew his mother wouldn’t find peace unless she made friends with her stepdaughter.

There was only one thing to do. He’d have to go to London and convince Phaedra to come down. The mere thought of seeing her again filled him with nervous excitement. He recalled the first time he had laid eyes on her in the church: the halo of blond curls, the translucent skin, the pale innocence of her eyes, the compassionate way she had smiled. He mentally told himself that he had to calm down, that she was his sister, his own flesh and blood, and he couldn’t have her. But he brushed his reservations aside with a joyous toss of the head. He’d worry about that later.