Save Her by Abigail Osborne (novel books to read .txt) 📗

She had just pulled the book out of its place, when a cough sounded behind her. She whirled around.

Alistair.

‘Is there a reason you are in Cecelia’s study?’

His tone was conversational but she was not deceived. Sophie’s brain went momentarily blank as she stared into his compassionless eyes. He was thin and tall and his winter-white hair accentuated his bright blue eyes. Although he had crow’s feet around his eyes, his skin was yet to become papery and translucent like others his age. She knew he was in his late sixties, but he did not look it. A rich diet of malice, cruelty and money appeared to have kept him young and vibrant.

‘Er, yes. I’m borrowing a book of Cecelia’s. Greg asked her for me, and she told me where it was.’ She brandished the book. It was the first time she’d even looked at the cover. What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

Alistair’s eyes X-rayed her, his eyebrows raised slightly. ‘I did not have you pegged as the procreating type. I thought you were much more sensible than that.’ He sounded uninterested, but his eyes pinned her to the spot, searching for an ulterior motive.

‘There are many things you don’t know about me, Alistair. I’m full of surprises.’

‘If only that were true, dear Sophie. I think you’ll find I know everything there is to know about you. I think there are a few people downstairs that would be crushed if they knew what I knew.’

Her heart thudded in her chest. Does he know? she wondered. No. It’s not possible. There were only two people in the world who knew Sophie’s darkest secret. The secret she had locked in a trunk in the shadowy recesses of her mind where she pretended it didn’t exist. No, he didn’t know. He was trying to psyche her out. Hadn’t she spent over five years watching him toy with people until they no longer had faith in who they were.

She straightened up and gripped the book in her hands, her knuckles turning white. She forced her body to saunter towards him and then stopped in front of him. ‘My dearest father-in-law, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.’ Clutching the book hard to prevent her shaking hands from betraying her, she walked out of the room, not realising that she had taken part in the first battle of a war she could not hope to win.

10

‘Of course I bought this house for you, Sam,’ Cecelia would always say, but in reality she viewed the three-storey, four-bedroomed terraced houses as an extension of her own home. She had her own set of keys and would come and go as she pleased.

Early on in her marriage, Flora had asked Sam to have a word with Cecelia. She was fed up with being on edge all the time, waiting for the next unannounced visit. It was only when she informed him that she was too nervous to have sex with him that he somehow managed to find the time to talk to his mother. He had informed her that same evening that it was taken care of and his mother would no longer visit without an invite and proceeded to carry her over his shoulder, up to the bedroom.

The next morning, she found Cecelia sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea, reading the Financial Times. Nothing had changed. In fact, it got worse. Cecelia began to have things sent to the house she thought would ‘smarten the place up a bit’.

Sam could tell Flora it was a conciliatory gesture until he was blue in the face. But it was obvious to Flora that Cecelia was marking her territory. Why else would she think it appropriate for them to display a piece of art called ‘Harpy’? Honestly, how Sam was successful in the business world when he was so bloody naïve was beyond her.

The fact that, today, Cecelia had knocked on the front door, should have warned Flora that something was terribly wrong. The steps up to the house meant that when she opened the door she was stood over Cecelia and from this vantage point, Cecelia looked shrunken and antiquated. That was until she pushed her way into the house without waiting to be invited in. The knock at the door obviously just for effect.

She walked through the hallway to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, tutting that there was no staff available to make her a drink. She didn’t even acknowledge Flora, who just followed mutely like a sheep.

After sipping her drink, Cecelia set it down on the counter and pinned Flora with a steely gaze. ‘We need to talk about this frankly ridiculous notion you’ve got of moving out of this house.’

Flora had expected Cecelia to go to Sam, not her. Surely, Cecelia realised that she would have more power over Sam than she would over Flora? Unless she had already tried, and Sam had stood his ground. That notion warmed Flora’s heart and gave her strength. Her spine straightened and she stood taller, readying for a fight. This time she would face Cecelia and not rely on Sophie or Sam to fight her battles.

‘If you feel you need a bigger space then we can help you look for something…’ Cecelia paused apparently looking for the right word. ‘…suitable.’

‘It’s not about space, Cecelia. The house we are moving to belonged to my parents.’

Cecelia waved a hand dismissing her words. ‘Yes, yes, I’m well aware of that. But surely, if your parents were alive today, they would want you to live somewhere like this.’ Cecelia spread her arms wide, gesturing to the kitchen around them. ‘I mean, really, Moss Side. Perhaps if they had lived in a better neighbourhood, they might still be with us.’ Cecelia’s words may have been spoken softly but they were designed to wound.

Flora swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked away unshed tears. Her body felt encased in ice, she was unable to