DISORIENTATED, I WANDERED about the house for a good few minutes before I got my bearings and remembered the location of that little cloakroom where all my clothes were stashed.
From somewhere not far away I heard Kat’s screeching voice, then Damian’s, lower but getting louder and louder until a door slammed.
My heartbeat was too intrusive, pounding in my ears, interrupting my thought processes. A primitive need to escape was the only real item on my agenda. All the processing, reasoning, brooding and analysing could come later.
I found the room and fell on my knees before the velvet banquette, lifting its seat to peer inside. The interior was divided into little sections. My belongings were tucked into the slot at the far right. I dipped my hand in. The first thing I found was Patrick’s necklace.
I couldn’t move. I could only stare at it. Then I held it up to my cheek, bent over into a foetal position and wept my heart out.
There was no way I could ever have Patrick. He was too good for me. I suppose I had known this all along, and chosen to deliberately ignore or misread his signals accordingly. I just didn’t deserve him. And I should probably resign from my job as well. How could a mindless slut like me be a suitable role model for children? Especially the troubled children of St Sebastian’s. Everything was hopeless.
The door handle turned and my shoulders froze mid-shake. I gathered a shuddering breath, preparing to tell whichever jeerer or mocker it might be to take a running jump.
But the voice, when it spoke, was soft.
‘Thought I might find you here.’
‘I’m going. Just getting my stuff.’
My head was dull and achey from all the sobbing and my eyes were sore. I didn’t want him to see that I’d been crying. I held my position.
‘Yeah, looks like it,’ he said with a small chuckle. I heard his footsteps move towards me. He crouched down by my shoulders; I could see the shiny tips of his chauffeur boots, smell the leather and polish. He put a hand on my back. My spine sagged.
‘Damian …’
‘C’mon, doll, get dressed and I’ll drive you home.’
I braved the raising of my face to his, hurriedly dashing the wetness from my face with the heel of my hand.
‘Is that a good idea?’
‘Is anything we’ve done here a good idea? How else are you going to get back? Hitch a ride? You’ve no idea where you are.’
In the extremity of my angst I hadn’t considered this. He was absolutely right. My best guess was somewhere in Wiltshire, but it could as easily be any of six or seven other counties.
‘Well, where are we?’
‘The middle of nowhere, sweetheart.’ He sighed. ‘Malmesbury’s the nearest town.’ Score! I was right. ‘You’d need a taxi. There’s no railway station and no bus service back to the coast. You’ll have a fucking nightmare, darling, not to mention the snow’s played havoc with public transport anyway. Let me take you.’
I was too tired to resist, plus his apparently pathological flirtatiousness always hit something squarely at my centre.
‘Is it safe to drive?’
‘Snow’s starting to thaw. If I take it slowly, we’ll be fine. If the worst comes to the worst we’ll book the nearest hotel room for the night.’
‘God, Damian, what about your wife?’
‘Even she wouldn’t cast a lone woman out into the frozen wastelands. Besides, all that’s over now.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was on the cards, love. Don’t blame yourself.’
I snorted. ‘I don’t! I blame you.’
His hand patted my shoulder. ‘There. That’s better. No more weeping and wailing, eh? Get your kit on.’ He chuckled. ‘Never thought I’d say those words.’
He helped me to my feet, then inhaled sharply.