The Winter Folly by Lulu Taylor Page A

plate read
Vanna Ford Stirling
. It was obvious she was American, just from the way she’d kept her surname like that. Delilah had stared at it,
curious. John had told her that his first wife was called Vanna. They had been married for four years and had split up amicably over a decade ago. She lived back in the States now, and had
remarried. She was probably signing herself Vanna Ford Stirling Smith, or whatever her new name was.
    ‘Vanna?’ John relaxed. ‘Yes, that’s her.’
    ‘Isn’t it a bit strange to keep a picture of her hanging up?’
    ‘Not really. Once a Stirling, always a Stirling.’
    She paused and said lightly, ‘Why did you two split up?’
    ‘Usual reason. We married too young. She fell out of love with this house, and eventually with me. And I couldn’t blame her. I can hardly bear this place myself.’
    ‘That can’t be true,’ Delilah murmured, nuzzling his shoulder. ‘It’s glorious. And it’s your home. You belong here.’
    ‘So they tell me,’ he said wryly.
    ‘Do you really not like it?’ She couldn’t understand it. The house enchanted her. Everywhere she looked, she saw something beautiful, and each time she passed a window she was
dazzled by the views across the lawns, parkland and woods.
    He thought. ‘I like parts of it. But . . .’ His gaze slid to her and then away again. ‘These old houses are saturated with the past – it’s hard to escape it, hard
to make the place your own.’ He’d squeezed her hand. ‘But your enthusiasm is helping me to look at it through fresh eyes. Forget the things I’d rather not remember.’
He fixed her with a serious look. ‘I don’t want you thinking that Vanna means anything to me. She doesn’t – not in that way. It was all a long time ago.’
    ‘I won’t,’ she said, happy that she had nothing to fear from the past. She had not really felt menaced by the spectre of an ex-wife, but it was good to be reassured.
    When they went up to bed, there was a beautiful package with her name on it nestling on her pillow. Inside was a ring, an antique aquamarine set with tiny flickering diamonds.
    ‘Will you?’ he said, his eyes hopeful and yet trusting. ‘If you can bear a miserable old cove like me?’
    ‘Of course, of course I will!’ She burst into tears of happiness and hugged him.
    The wedding was held as soon as they could arrange it, a small ceremony at a London register office with only close friends and immediate family, mostly Delilah’s.
John’s father, he said, was too ill to attend.
    ‘Don’t you have anyone else you’d like to come?’ John shook his head. ‘I can’t be bothered with all my aunts and uncles and cousins. I like to keep things
quiet with just friends. Do you mind?’
    ‘Of course not,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve got enough family for both of us. You can have as many of my relations as you’d like and you’re very welcome to
them.’
    Despite the grey skies and squalling winter rain, the day was all she wanted: romantic and stylish, with a lunch at a very expensive hotel after the ceremony. Then they went to Hawaii for three
long and delicious weeks of honeymoon. John taught her how to surf and they spent all day on the beach before returning to their luxurious chalet at the hotel for baths, dinner and bed. She really
couldn’t imagine it was possible to be happier. At night, he told her how much he loved and needed her.
    ‘You’re the light of my life,’ he whispered. ‘I mean that.’ ‘I love you too,’ she replied, overwhelmed with the bliss of being married to a man she
loved and who needed her so much. His mordant wit charmed her; even his black moods were interesting and a little romantic. She felt certain she could make him happy and help him forget the misery
of his childhood. Together, they could face anything.
    But as the end of the honeymoon approached, the atmosphere changed. John stopped smiling and joking, and his periods of silent withdrawal became longer. The