Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
T here’d been no more snow overnight. The morning began bitterly cold, but gradually a weak sun forced its way through the murky clouds and the temperature rose, sending flumps of snow crashing from the treetops and staining the higher areas of Spindlewood’s undulating lawn seaweed green.
Watching from the turret, Laura couldn’t help feeling disappointed that she wasn’t going to have her white Christmas after all. But, thinking about Clayton at Mistletoe Cottage with his lovely trees, she was glad the conditions had improved. Besides, she didn’t want people to miss out on her party because of the weather, and of course Mum and the rest of her family needed to make their journey safely, too, if they were all to spend Christmas together.
Yesterday afternoon she’d received a short text from Spencer saying he realised that she hadn’t come over because of the snow, and he’d see her soon. Her first thought had been to wonder why he hadn’t phoned instead of texting, but when she rang him soon after and heard the wariness in his voice, she realised he must have been worried after all about why she wanted to talk to him.
For a moment, she’d felt sympathy for him – an automatic reaction – after all, this was the man she’d been in love with. It had taken all her strength and nerve to contain her emotions as she’d told him, in a calm, factual way, of her recent discovery.
He’d hardly waited until she’d finished before he began to speak. Laura had cut him short. ‘Spencer, just tell me if it’s true. That’s all I need you to say.’
There’d been a short, heavy silence. And then, predictably, he’d launched into his version of the story which he must have got off pat, having clearly told it a hundred times before. Laura had listened as patiently as she could, without interrupting.
‘I don’t have to ask what lies Clayton Masters has been feeding you,’ Spencer said finally, with a hint of a sigh, ‘but you really need to trust me on this. Louise Masters’ death was not my fault, only certain people seemed to think it was fine to go against the court’s ruling and pillory me for it.’
‘It wasn’t Clayton who told me about it. He’s never said a word against you, as it happens.’
‘Well, who did then?’ Spencer had said belligerently.
Laura decided to ignore that. It was none of his business how she knew, and she certainly wasn’t going to argue the toss about who was telling the truth and who was lying; it was pointless.
Instead, she’d said, ‘You’re using an assumed name and you know exactly who filled me in on that little deception.’
‘Ah, yes, your “best friend”. Some friend she must be to go around upsetting you for no reason.’
No reason?
‘The point is, Spencer, you never told me. How was that ever going to work? So much for trust.’
‘It was never important. I’m the same man, whatever I choose to call myself.’
‘A man I thought I knew inside out.’ Laura’s stress levels had spiked at this point. ‘Obviously, I was wrong.’
‘Laura, names don’t mean anything. They’re just labels.’
‘Why did you change yours, then?’ she’d snapped back.
She hadn’t given him the chance to answer; she would only have heard more excuses, more tales of woe. Instead, she said simply, ‘I can’t be with you anymore. It’s over.’
And then his voice had softened as the protestations started. He loved her, they could have a good life together, she should look to the future, not the past; all that. And then he’d played his trump card. Except that it wasn’t.
‘Laura, listen, you remember I said we should make this Christmas Eve special?’
As if it wasn’t already . ‘Yes, so…’
‘I was going to ask you to marry me, at the party.’
‘What, in front of everyone?’ She hadn’t been able to stop herself from saying that, even though it was hardly relevant anymore.
‘Yes. If you’re going to do something, you should do it in style.’
Whose style ? Certainly not hers. A vision of Spencer going down on one knee in a room full of partygoers had flung itself wildly into her brain. She’d have hated that, and the worst part – the saddest part – was that Spencer didn’t know her well enough to understand that.
She wasn’t sure she believed he’d planned to propose, anyway. It sounded suspiciously like a last attempt to win her over. But by that point, she was past caring whether it was true or not; she’d felt nothing except the pain of Spencer’s betrayal.
And so, it was done. He’d tried to persuade her to let him come over so that they could talk properly.
‘No. I’m sorry, Spencer, or whoever you are today. There’s no point,’ she’d said.
And then she’d cut off the call. Or maybe he had, she didn’t know which, now.
Laura came away from the window and went to the shelves they’d had made especially to fit the curved walls of the turret room. Most of them were filled with books, but one held a collection of framed photos: a grinning James, up to his shins in nettles in the wilderness that had been their garden when they’d first moved here; the two of them arm in arm beneath the rose arch before it actually had any roses – her mother had taken that one; Holly on James’s shoulders in a park; herself with Holly on a holiday beach… Her chest suddenly felt heavy, her breathing laboured, as she was overcome with sadness. She didn’t want to cry – she refused to let the tears come, although at that moment she could have cried a lakeful of them.
Delayed reaction, she supposed.
Returning to the window, she gazed out at the garden, imagining how gloriously vibrant it would look in spring when the crocuses and daffodils, and then the tulips, were back. Later would come the dramatic sheaves of acid-green euphorbias, the showy, sugar-pink peonies, the stately gold-and-purple irises, and the creamy white nicotiana and lace-cap hydrangeas which seemed to glow in the fading evening light. There were so many good things to look forward to. Her sadness almost passed for now, Laura smiled.