So, Helena thought, she’s lost her job, is losing her brother and is now facing six months stuck in this cottage with no clear idea of her future. Looking at Candace’s profile, she felt an onrush of pity. The emotion was transitory but surprising. She couldn’t imagine letting herself drift into Candace’s situation. It was that dreadful, domineering old man, dying so slowly for two years, who had caused the mischief. Why hadn’t Candace broken free of him? She had nursed him as conscientiously as might a Victorian daughter, but there had been no love. It hadn’t needed any perception to see that. She herself had kept away from the cottage as much as possible, as indeed did most of the staff, but the truth of what was going on was known, by gossip, innuendo and by what they saw and heard. He had always despised his daughter, destroyed her confidence as a woman and a scholar. Why, with her ability, hadn’t she applied for a job at a prestigious university instead of one near the bottom of the pecking order? Had that old tyrant made it clear to her that she deserved nothing better? And he had needed more care than she could reasonably provide, even with the help of the district nurse. Why hadn’t she put him in a nursing home? He hadn’t been happy in the one at Bournemouth where his father had been nursed, but there were other nursing homes and there was no lack of family money. The old man was rumoured to have been left close on eight million pounds by his father, who predeceased him by only a few weeks. Now that probate had been granted, Marcus and Candace were wealthy.

Five minutes later Candace had left. Helena thought over their conversation. There was something she had not told Candace. She couldn’t imagine that it was particularly important, but it might have proved an added source of irritation. It would hardly have lightened Candace’s mood to be told that Robin Boyton had also booked himself in at Rose Cottage for the day before Miss Gradwyn’s operation and the week of her convalescence.

Chapter 13

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