SARA WOOD - Scarlet Lady

At the time the shock had driven her out, screaming hysterically, fleeing to the nearest room and locking herself in. And she’d cried rivers of tears till exhaustion had brought sleep where she lay, poignantly, cruelly, on the bed in the nursery where there would be no child of hers now. The irony hadn’t been lost on her in the morning when she’d woken.

In a surprising act of generosity, Leo had agreed to keep their divorce a secret from everyone but his family and Chas for a while. It had meant that she wasn’t hassled by the Press. The lawyers had been paid well to ensure their secrecy and the divorce had been handled in a small market town where the sleepy court reporter had failed to recognise the woman called Virginia Brandon as Ginny McKenzie.

But then she’d been wearing a Paisley headscarf, an old trench coat and enormous spectacles. And Leo had turned up in a checked cap and an anorak. They’d nodded coldly and hadn’t even laughed at one another’s strange attire. Laughter hadn’t been something she’d expected to feature much in her life for a while. Her life had been shattered and the only thing she’d felt was cold—a stillness of her body as if the warm blood in her veins had turned to a trickle of ice. And she’d wondered if she’d ever be warm again.

The divorce had been alarmingly quick and straightforward. The lawyers had assured the judge that neither of them wanted or needed maintenance and that was that. Her marriage was at an end.

Despite closing down her emotions after the divorce, despite working every waking hour so that she could forget Leo and maintain her position in the modelling hierarchy and pay back her debt, she’d still felt raw inside. Every day she’d ached for Leo and wished that they could be together because her heart was breaking in the most painful way—slowly dying from disuse.

But she’d never shown those feelings to anyone. Look where it had got her when she’d flung her heart and soul into loving her husband! Ex-husband, she’d continually corrected herself, gritting her teeth with the pain of a chapter in her life that was now ended.

And how much had the humiliation of being rejected damaged her self-confidence? It had taken her a long time to smooth over the nerves she’d felt when facing the public. Hours of almost maniacal preparation, so that her face had been a perfect mask and every gesture had been rehearsed.

Only then had she been able to bear to confront everyone, knowing that they were whispering, gossiping, wondering about the ‘perfect lady’ who’d turned out to be a tigress in a variety of beds. Head held high, she’d coolly met their eyes with a challenge and they’d always looked away first.

But she’d become lonely, trusting no one but Chas, who rarely left her side and had become father and brother and friend to her. And now she was truly alone because even Chas didn’t quite know what was in her heart: an ache for the man she couldn’t have because they couldn’t live together, their lives having veered away from each other too dramatically ever to meet and link again:

Emerging from Heathrow with Chas and turning the key in her coupé parked in the long-term car park, Ginny suddenly wanted privacy. Divorced, theoretically free but forever a prisoner of Leo’s magnetism, she smiled faintly at Chas.

‘I’d like to drive myself. Just this once. Would you take a taxi?’

And, driving through the streets of London to her flat in Chelsea, she grimly steeled every bone in her body and held back the tears that had threatened from the moment her solicitor had telephoned her while she was in Paris to say that her decree absolute had come through.

Suddenly she had wanted to be home—and alone with her memories. She’d cancelled everything in her diary, saying that she felt ill. It was the first time she’d ducked her obligations.

Her marriage was dead and buried. Might as well face up to that, she thought. Her lip quivered and she bit it for daring to betray her.

‘Oh!’ she mumbled unhappily, driving into the mews and bumping over the cobbles to the far end. ‘I hate him! I hate him!’ And she wished it weren’t a lie.

There came the slam of a taxi door and Chas appeared by her window. ‘Want a shoulder?’ he offered casually.

Ginny shook her head, too upset to speak. She reached out her hand to temper the refusal and withdrew it after Chas’s brief pat. ‘I’m doing a Garbo,’ she said huskily. ‘Come in. But I’d like to be alone. I feel I’ve come to the end of an era. I need to plan the next.’ She managed a smile but it was feeble.

‘Sure. You must be tired. You’ve been going like the clappers. Glad you’re taking a break. I’ll keep everyone at bay.’

Thankful for his tact, Ginny flicked the remote control to open the doors and drove into the garage, leaving all her things in the car to collect later. On entering the flat, she absently picked up the mail on the mat and wandered into the kitchen to make some tea, shrugging off the elegant Ralph Lauren jacket in the soft shade of blue that...

She frowned. That Leo had loved. He would like this, she thought mournfully, indulging in self-pity for a few seconds. The flowing palazzo pants caressed her thighs, hinting at her slenderness, her flat, taut stomach. The sand-coloured camisole drifted elegantly over her breasts to the cinched-in waist. There was no one to appreciate the way she looked now.

She briskly put a stop to this line of thought and got out the tea-things. The healing brew, she thought wryly. When she really needed healing arms around her.

If only she’d been brought up by her real parents! she sighed, curling up in an old comfy chair while the kettle boiled. If so, there might have been a friendly cuddle for her now.

Ginny sighed wistfully. It was so sad that her own mother had been unable to care for her. Her mother had developed a serious phobia about cleanliness which had meant that when Ginny was born her mother had become hysterical at all the mess a baby brought. Or so the McKenzies, her adoptive parents, had told her. They would never reveal her mother’s whereabouts and Ginny was wary of discovering that her mother cared nothing for her.

Sarah Temple. That was all she knew of her mother—besides a few memories, dim but unpleasant. Vague recollections of being held grimly to a starched apron-front, a woman screaming, and a feeling of terrified guilt at the mess she’d made once when she’d had a tummy upset. Had her mother cried on and on for hours, or was that a faulty memory?

She thought with compassion of what must have been a tense, uptight woman who’d apparently been eager to give her away when she was four to a strict Scottish couple.

The McKenzies were well off. Andrew was a respected politician. That was how she’d met Leo—their fathers were both in politics and she’d reluctantly gone along with her adoptive parents to a country weekend at Castlestowe when she was nearly eighteen. Hated it. Loved Leo. Fool.

Hadn’t she seen the different worlds they moved in? Butlers, maids, cut-glass crystal, banners of long-forgotten battles and grim oil paintings of even grimmer ancestors?

Ginny wearily uncoiled her long, long legs from the chair and made the tea, carrying a mug in to Chas.

‘I’ve got some thinking to do,’ she told him, her face wan and strained. ‘I’ll be in the study. Use the TV in the drawing room if you want. It won’t bother me. And would you lock up later? I’ll probably be pacing the floor for a while. I have to get my head together. You understand?’ she asked in a hesitant plea.

‘Sure, Ginny,’ he said gently. ‘Let me know if you want anything. I’m here and I’ve got waterproof skin if necessary.’

Her pathetic attempt at a smile quivered on her lips and then she turned, almost broken by the tenderness of his expression. Because she had wanted Leo to look like that. And he hadn’t given a damn.