Relative Sins

It didn’t prevent the sense of isolation that enveloped her, however. Despite being surrounded by people, she had never felt more alone. Perhaps she should have kept Ben with her after all, she thought. At least he provided her with the confidence she lacked. But a child couldn’t be expected to understand how she was feeling, and it wasn’t fair to use him in that way.

Blinking back tears which she felt sure must look rather obvious, Sara endeavoured to regain her composure. After all, she’d made it this far; surely she could sustain herself for another couple of hours? This was almost the final ritual. All that was left was dealing with Harry’s will.

She moved closer to the huge open fire that added warmth and light to the somewhat sombre atmosphere of the hall. For all Perry Edmunds was an imposing house from the outside, inside it was inclined to be gloomy, with dark oak panelling and lofty ceilings that never seemed to garner any heat. It had been built in the last century, and such modifications as had been made were mostly superficial. And although it was supposed to be centrally heated Sara hadn’t felt really warm since she’d arrived from Brazil.

But that wasn’t really so unusual, she reminded herself quickly. Apart from the circumstances of her return, this northernmost county of England was a far cry from the corner of Brazil that she and Harry had called home. Naturally she’d noticed the change of temperature—in the inhabitants as well as in the weather, she thought ruefully.

She was shedding her coat and the fine calfskin gloves that she had worn to the funeral when Mrs Fraser reappeared to check on the extra staff hired for the occasion. After ensuring that everyone had been supplied with either sherry or whisky—Sara noticed that most of the men had chosen the latter—the housekeeper stopped beside Sara and assured her that Ben was quite settled in the kitchen.

‘He’s having lemonade and shortbread,’ she said. ‘I made the shortbread myself this morning. Now, just you take things easy. We don’t want you falling ill now, do we?’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’

A tall shadow fell across them, and Sara had no need to turn her head to identify the intruder. Where Alex was concerned she was discovering that she had a sixth sense. She would have liked to walk away, but politeness dictated otherwise.

‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said, her words addressed to no one in particular, but she was aware that Alex and Mrs Fraser exchanged a speaking look. Dammit, she thought, she wasn’t a child; she didn’t need anyone to fuss over her. And as for asking Alex for help…Well, actions spoke louder than words.

‘I’d better go and see how Alison’s getting on with the salmon,’ declared Mrs Fraser, evidently deciding that her presence was no longer needed. ‘You can tell your mother the buffet is ready, whenever she decides she wants it serving,’ she added to Alex. ‘I just hope there’ll be enough.’ She glanced around the thickening crowd in the hall and grimaced. ‘I’m sure Mr Reed just told me to cater for eighty, but it looks like there’s over a hundred here already.’

A hundred?

Sara glanced about her, realising that many of the people who had thronged St Matthew’s church had come to pay their respects. Because only some of them had gathered at Harry’s graveside she had imagined that they were the only mourners, but now she realised how mistaken she’d been.

She realised also that one of the reasons why Alex had positioned himself at her side was that eventually they would all drift in her direction. At present Harry’s mother and father were doing the honours, but Sara couldn’t expect to remain aloof for much longer.

All the same, she did not need his support…

‘It’ll soon be over.’

His words irritated her for no good reason, and she tilted her head to give him a studied look. ‘For which I’m sure you’ll be very grateful,’ she remarked, aware that she was being ungracious. ‘Tell me, is this one of your flying visits, or can your parents expect you to stay for forty-eight hours this time?’

Alex’s lips thinned. ‘I shan’t be going back to Kashmir,’ he said obliquely. And then, as one of his father’s tenants came to offer his condolences, he added, ‘I don’t think you know Will Baxter, Sara. He and his son run a small printing works in Corbridge.’

For the next few minutes Sara was obliged to shelve any alarm that Alex’s words might have engendered and accept the sympathy offered by a sequence of well-meaning strangers. So many people came to take her hand and offer some personal glimpse of the man who had been her husband that she lost track of names and faces.

But these were Harry’s friends, Harry relations—aunts and uncles and cousins whom Sara had never even met. She had got to know Harry in London, and had visited Edmundsfield only a couple of times before they were married. Harry had told her little about his life here—a fact which her mother-in-law had soon discovered. She was a stranger to these people, just as they were strangers to her.

Perhaps if they’d been married here…she found herself thinking now, and then dismissed the thought before it was fully formed. There was no way that she could have been married in Edmundsfield. For all her brief acquaintance, this village held only unhappy memories for her.

‘And I don’t live here,’ Alex was informing her evenly, and she realised that once again they were alone. Or as alone as any two people could be in such a gathering, she amended silently. But at least his words reassured her. He’d be going back to London if not to Kashmir.

‘I really think I ought to go and check on my son,’ she declared, avoiding any direct answer as he had himself. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

‘I bought Ragdale,’ he said before she could put enough space between them so that she could pretend not to hear. ‘I’ve left the Press Corps. I decided I needed some security in my old age.’

Sara swallowed, though the effort nearly choked her. ‘How…interesting,’ she said, obliged to say something before she rushed away. But the news was devastating, particularly as the Reeds were bound to want to see their grandson on a regular basis. God, hadn’t fate dealt her enough blows already? Was she now to be expected to treat Alex like a friend? Like a brother-in-law, she thought scornfully. A man she’d grown to hate.

When she returned to the hall a few minutes later it was Robert Reed who captured her attention. ‘We’re about to have something to eat,’ he said, ‘and I don’t want to hear that you’re not hungry. There’s scarcely anything of you as it is. Have you been starving yourself to stay slim?’

Sara managed a faint smile. ‘I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not,’ she teased, relieved to find that she felt no sense of intimidation with him. Harry had been like his father, she thought: competent but easygoing, never letting anyone rile him, never losing his temper out of hand. Or his head, she appended somewhat painfully, wishing desperately that he were still here. He’d been her friend, her lover, her anchor—the only man she’d ever known who’d thought of others before himself…

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6a325fb2-5bd6-5439-a059-673cbbd75f1e)

DESPITE her best efforts, Sara could only manage to eat one sandwich and the crumbled remains of a piece of Mrs Fraser’s shortbread. Even so, the sugary biscuit stuck in her throat, and she found herself drinking more than was wise to try and dislodge the constriction.

She knew that Harry’s father was concerned about her, which warmed that part of her that his wife had so unfeelingly chilled. And at least Alex hadn’t returned to disturb her, though the sight of him, chatting to a tall, elegant woman in her thirties, wasn’t exactly to her taste either.

She’d recognised the woman earlier, when she and her husband had come to offer their condolences. The Erskines—and Linda Erskine in particular—were old friends of the family. At one time Linda Adams, as she had been then, had been expected to marry one of the brothers, but circumstances had decreed otherwise, and Harry’s mother had informed them in one of her letters that she’d married James Erskine instead.

A great disappointment, no doubt, thought Sara now rather maliciously, remembering the way Linda had hung around Alex when she was here. It had seemed only a matter of time before their engagement was to be announced, and she knew that Harry had been surprised that his brother had ducked the issue. But then, Harry hadn’t known what manner of man his brother was…

Sara pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to think about any of that now—not here, not with Harry dead and Alex playing the grieving sibling. But how could he behave so ingenuously, she wondered, as if Harry’s death had devastated him as much as anyone else? He was the man who had betrayed his brother, yet he was acting as if they’d been the best of friends.

All the same, Sara’s eyes lingered on Linda Erskine and her brother-in-law with something less than indifference. The woman’s simple navy blue dress, worn with matching stockings and high-heeled shoes, served to enhance both a graceful neck and the silken ash-blonde hair that Linda wore in a fashionable chignon. There was a brooch at her shoulder which offered some relief from the rather severe outfit, but Sara thought, rather uncharitably, that its expensive setting was a reminder that Linda had married well.

From Sara’s point of view the exquisite emeralds, set in a twisted coil of white gold, were an all too unwelcome reminder of the home she had once had. Beautiful gems like those were freely available in South America, and Harry had offered to buy her an emerald ring for their fifth wedding anniversary.

Sara determinedly put that thought aside and glanced instead at her own appearance in the mirror over the fireplace. The dress she had been forced to wear wasn’t entirely suitable, being too thin for this northern climate. But it was plain and it was black, and she hadn’t exactly had a lot of choice.

The long coat she had worn to the church was infinitely more suitable. She’d bought it in London years ago, and for some reason she’d taken it with her when she moved. Being made of warm charcoal-grey wool, it had hidden the fact that the dress hung rather loosely on her spare frame. She knew she’d lost weight since Harry’s death, and she hadn’t been exactly robust before that. Food had never been that important to her, and since Harry had been killed she’d found it difficult to eat anything.

In consequence she found her comparison to Linda Erskine decidedly unflattering. Despite the fact that her skin was lightly tanned and clear of any blemishes, she was sure that it suffered from a lack of colour. The other woman’s make-up was smooth and immaculate, a distinctive touch of blusher heightening the impression of a perfect English rose.

Sara’s hand crept almost unconsciously to her hair. Unlike Linda’s, Sara’s hair barely brushed her collar at the back. In the heat of Rio de Janeiro it had been more sensible to keep it short, and although its russet strands were thick and shining it lacked the elegance of a longer style. Perhaps now that she was back in England…

But at that point she arrested her thoughts. For heaven’s sake, she thought impatiently, here she was, at Harry’s funeral, and all she could think about was how dowdy she looked when compared with a woman she scarcely knew. What did it matter to her if she looked a frump? She wasn’t here to gather compliments. She was here to bury her husband.

‘Sara? It is Sara, isn’t it?’

The voice at her shoulder was unfamiliar, and she turned almost guiltily to find Linda Erskine’s husband hovering at her side. His appearance caused her to look with some apprehension across the hall, but Linda was still standing with Alex and seemed indifferent to anyone else.

‘I—why, yes,’ she said, forcing herself to concentrate on her companion and not speculate on his wife’s behaviour. Though if she had been James Erskine she wouldn’t have left them, she thought bitterly. Someone should warn him that people weren’t always what they seemed.

‘I should introduce myself,’ he was saying now. ‘I’m James Erskine. Harry’s father and I have been friends for years. I was so sorry to hear what happened. Harry was a fine man and I admired him greatly. You have my sympathy at this most stressful time.’

‘Thank you.’ Sara wasn’t sure whether she should address him as James or Mr Erskine, and as she was having some difficulty in separating him from the rather envious thoughts she had been having about his wife she decided to use neither.

‘It must all be quite bewildering for you,’ James went on, revealing a genuine compassion for her plight. ‘Coming back to Edmundsfield must have been daunting. Not just another country, but a wintry one as well.’

‘Yes.’ Sara managed a faint smile. ‘You forget how cold it can be. I’m afraid I’ve been spoilt for the past five years. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to wear an overcoat.’

James smiled in return. ‘I, on the other hand, know what it feels like only too well. When you get to my age you have to take care of yourself. It wouldn’t do for me to leave my overcoat behind.’

Sara warmed to him. His friendly smile, his obvious willingness to joke about his age, his understanding all commended him to her. When the news of his marriage to Linda had reached them Harry had mentioned that James Erskine must be considerably older than his wife, but at that time Sara had dismissed the fact as being of no concern to her. But now…

‘How’s Ben taking it?’ James asked. ‘I expect he’s finding it a little strange too. Thank heavens he’s so young. He’ll recover so much easier.’

‘I hope so.’ Sara nodded. ‘He and I will have to sort our future out fairly soon. We won’t be going back to Brazil, of course. That goes without saying. But we have to find somewhere to live, and I have to find a job.’