The Courtyard by Marcia Willett Read Free Book Online Page A

replaced the receiver. Her lips
trembled a little and she swallowed once or twice. Nell and Jack made her feel needed, important to their well-being. Loved even? She shook her head fiercely.
    â€˜What a fool I am, Lord,’ she muttered. ‘But thank you. Now. Where did I put that piece of paper?’

Five
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    GILLIAN TORE OPEN THE envelope containing her Barclaycard statement, stared with dismay at the amount required for the minimum payment and opened her eyes even wider in disbelief at the balance owing. Surely there must be some mistake? It had been rather exciting to find that, when she received her new card in her married name, the credit limit had been raised quite substantially but surely she couldn’t have used it all up and even exceeded it? She checked the list of names: Dingles, Russell and Bromley, Laura Ashley. Gillian groaned and, picking up the rest of her post, hurried out of the breakfast room and up the stairs.
    Mrs Ridley, coming through from the kitchen with a tray, watched her go. Gillian made no effort to help with the running of the house and it was only Mrs Ridley’s affection for Henry and her loyalty to him that prevented her from making Gillian’s life at Nethercombe a great deal more uncomfortable than she found it already. In her opinion, Henry had been taken in. Of course, Mr Ridley was all for making allowances, thought that his wife’s judgements were a bit harsh, but then he was hardly ever in the front of the house and Gillian was young and pretty. Mrs Ridley sniffed contemptuously, waddled across the hall and went into the breakfast room. Her stout short figure was wrapped in an overall which was tied firmly round her middle, giving her the appearance of an untidily packed parcel. She put the tray on the table and started to clear away the breakfast things.
    Upstairs Gillian gazed out of her bedroom window, across the
roofs of the Courtyard to the woods beyond, where the first tender haze of green was beginning to show. The early spring sunshine, the thin, pale, washed-out blue of the sky, heralded a break at last from the long wet winter months but Gillian barely saw the glory of the day. Hands clenched into fists, arms folded beneath her breasts, her view was inward. How on earth was she to pay? Henry had made it quite clear that he couldn’t afford any more at present. She had completely done over their bedroom and the paying of the bills had left him rather quiet. When they got married he’d opened a joint bank account and given her a cheque book along with a clear idea of the sum usually at their disposal. Gillian also kept her own account, unknown to Henry, into which she siphoned small amounts of money against a personal emergency. Well, this was a personal emergency but she knew very well that her own account was overdrawn and she’d been politely but firmly warned that no further cheques would be honoured until funds had been paid in. If she paid her Barclaycard out of the joint account, Henry would know. He always checked the statements when they arrived and Gillian was only too aware that Henry didn’t approve of credit cards. He was quite gullible enough to believe that her new clothes and shoes were merely ones he hadn’t seen before but he would certainly want to know what such a large cheque had been spent on and then he would probably want to see the Barclaycard account.
    Gillian’s heart gave a little tock of fear. There was nothing menacing or chauvinistic about Henry. He simply had a strong sense of right and wrong. She knew very well that he couldn’t afford the amount she’d spent on the bedroom but he gave it generously, was delighted with the result – Gillian had a remarkably sensitive eye for period and quality – and made it fairly clear that this must be all for the time being. She’d agreed quite willingly whilst taken up by the excitement of the choosing and buying and rearranging but