Beneath the dry old smell of dust and leather books that filled the room, he could still smell quite distinctly the scent of
Fern’s perfume. Her perfume, he admitted tiredly, not the light, flowery scent which she always wore, although he could smell that too.
Fern… Even her name was evocative of fragility, vulnerability, of soft, hidden, secret places, of tenderness and delicacy, like the pale uncurling fronds of the plant after which she was named.
Over the years he had watched… had been forced to watch as his stepbrother cruelly and he was sure deliberately bruised that delicacy with his abrasiveness, his public criticism of her, his unthinking and, to Adam, uncaring attitude towards her. But through it all Fern continued to love him, to see no fault in him, to give him all that she had so plainly never felt able to give Adam himself.
Apart from that one occasion, that one brief moment out of time when she had come to him, turned to him… needed him and appealed to him.
And had later withdrawn from him, rejecting him in horror and disgust, running from him, distraught, refusing to wait, to listen.
Sometimes, despite everything that it had meant to him, he wished it had never happened. It had changed their relationship irrevocably, denying him the friendship they might have shared, denying him the right even to take his place in her life as a member of her family; denying everything but her rejection and his own anguished pain.
Fern… As he took his leave of Lord Stanton and got into his car, he wondered bleakly how anyone could ever imagine that he could possibly find or even want to find happiness with a pretty child like Lily.
There had been women, attractive, intelligent, appealing women—available women—whom he had tried to love, but love was not something that could be forced. It either existed or it did not, and, perhaps because it had been so intense, his love for Fern had burned out of him any ability to feel that same emotion for anyone else.
But Fern loved Nick. Loved him and was married to him, and whenever she saw him, Adam, she treated him as though he were a leper. No… worse… Fern was not the type to turn away from a person who was afflicted in any kind of way. It was not in her nature.
Perhaps because of her upbringing, she had a compassion, a sense of awareness and responsibility towards others that some might see as old-fashioned and out of place, but which to Adam only emphasised all the qualities within her that he had originally fallen in love with.
No, Fern was not the sort to pass by someone in need. Unless that someone happened to be him.
He had a council meeting this evening and if he wasn’t careful he was going to be late, he admitted as he drove back into town.
He lived in a small elegant town house off the main square of the town and in a quiet side-street. It had a long rear garden which stretched down to the river and it was an ideal base for him.
A base, but not a home… not like the home which Fern had made for Nick, even though his stepbrother seemed not to appreciate it, or spend much time in it with her. But if Fern loved him…
If! There was no ‘if’ about it, he reminded himself grimly as he drove homewards.
* * *
‘So, Adam, what’s all this about you being involved in some scheme to pull down Broughton House?’
‘I’m sorry, Anthony, but my clients’ affairs are not something I can discuss with you,’ Adam told his fellow councillor evenly.
Anthony Quentin and he did not always see eye-to-eye on council matters and he suspected the other man’s interest in Broughton House sprang more from the point of view of self-interest rather than out of genuine concern for the community, although he could always be wrong, Adam admitted fair-mindedly.
However, as the owner of the town’s largest privately owned supermarket, Anthony was bound to have a vested interest in any information appertaining to a possible competitor.
The meeting was almost at an end and people were starting to drift away, but Adam stiffened suddenly as he heard Nick’s name mentioned.
A quartet of people standing in front of him were discussing Venice, remarking on how determinedly she was insinuating herself into various aspects of local life.
‘She’s in London at the moment,’ he heard one of them say, and Anthony Quentin, who was standing next to him still and who had also overheard their conversation, winked and dug Adam in the ribs, telling him,
‘And she’s not the only one either, is she? I saw Nick earlier. He said he was leaving for London… Quite a coincidence, eh?’
‘Not really,’ Adam contradicted him coldly. ‘I should imagine that at any one time several inhabitants of the area could quite easily find themselves in London over a similar period.’
‘Hey, come on… I’m not saying anything. I like Nick… always have done. Mind you, I wouldn’t blame him if…’
‘If what?’ Adam asked him freezingly.
He stopped abruptly when he saw the look Adam was giving him and shrugged. ‘Stuck-up bastard,’ he muttered to himself five minutes later as he headed for his car. Of the two of them he always had preferred Nick. It had been good of him to tip him off about Adam’s plans for Broughton House. He had seen what happened to local businesses when these large chains started operating huge hypermarkets on the outskirts of a town. Clever old Adam, to get himself involved. He wouldn’t be surprised if Adam wasn’t hoping to pick up an architectural contract as well as his share of the sale of the land, he reflected acidly to himself as he got into his car.
Just as well that Nick had warned him of what was in the wind and that had been a good idea of his to get up some sort of protest group. Adam Wheelwright wasn’t the only one who had influence in this town, not by a long chalk he wasn’t. Looking down his nose at him like that. Just as though half the damned town didn’t know or guess what Nick was up to. Not that he blamed him. Fern was a nice enough woman… could have been quite pretty if she wore a bit more make-up, dressed herself up a bit… She was certainly a good wife, though… a bit like his own. Good, but dull. Not very exciting between the sheets; but then that wasn’t always a bad thing in a wife. A nice, sensible, loyal wife who knew her place in life, leaving a man free to indulge himself—discreetly of course—with someone who could provide him with a little bit of excitement on the side. Yes, Nick was a man after his own heart, a lucky devil too if he was having it off with Venice. He wouldn’t have minded taking an interest in that direction himself, although Venice was a bit too independent for his tastes, and a bit too fond of making her views and her presence known. That kind of woman couldn’t always be relied on to know her place and to keep to it.