into deep and far-reaching plans for business expansion with her husband; she walked to the church with him on a Sunday, arm-in-arm, and was dutiful as a wife to all intents and purposes. Yet there was no other physical contact between them. Each made no demands on the other. Emma could not bring herself to address him as any other than ‘Mr Thomas’, as she had done for so long. And the one large bedroom had been divided in two, by means of placing a wardrobe down the middle.
Emma had taken over the duties of housekeeper from Rita Hughes, and a young lad had been taken on to help about the stores and warehouse. Already Emma had been instrumental in securing a more satisfactory warehouse along Cliff Street, and talks were underway to contract a sea-going vessel and reliable crew to run trading goods all along the coast. All in all, the arrangement between Emma and Roland Thomas was proving to be most satisfactory.
In the five weeks following the wedding ceremony, nothing had been seen of Foster Thomas, and no word of his whereabouts was ever heard. Emma hoped he might have crawled into some God-forsaken corner to rot away, but she suspected he had not, for creatures of his sort seemed always to survive, albeit by their predatory nature. She suspected also that, if any one person might know where he was, it would be Rita Hughes who, Emma knew, was besotted with the worthless fellow.
‘Back! Get back, you fool . . . outta sight!’ Foster Thomas gripped his fingers tight about the arm of his companion before, with an angry snarl, he swiftly drew her into the shadows. ‘She mustn’t see me,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, ‘not yet anyway . . . not until I’m good and ready!’ There was no mistaking the loathing in his eyes, as he ran them over the upturned face of Rita Hughes. Slowly, his eyes narrowed to thin, cruel slits as he raised a finger and drew it along the angry red weal that ran from the corner of his mouth, then down over his neck to the tip of his shoulder blade. ‘So! They think they have cheated me, do they? Well, let them think it! But I’ll have what’s mine. One way or another, I’ll have what’s mine.’ When he glanced down at her, with the fury alive in his eyes, Rita Hughes was forced to ask herself whether she was doing the right thing in hiding him. When he had turned up some twenty-four hours earlier, there had been no question in her mind that she must help him because wasn’t it true that they had cheated him, and that the news of his father’s wedding had been a terrible shock. Now, though, she began to wonder just what manner of revenge he intended, and for the first time, she was afraid. Yet, amidst her fears she was filled with a love and longing for him so desperate that she could never refuse him anything! All the same, when he watched Emma out of sight, his eyes following her every move, she wished she could turn from him. But she could not. When he began murmuring in a strange and fearful voice, ‘I mean to have everything . . . everything that belongs to me!’ she knew she would do all she could to help him. Foster Thomas sensed his power over her; sensed it and revelled in it. Yet he was careful not to disclose the fact that, when he vowed to get back everything that belonged to him . . . it included Emma. It must include Emma, above all else, because no other woman would do. Emma might have taken his own father for her husband, but she was his . When the time was right, he would claim her. But he would need to be devious, and ruthless. That did not bother him. What bothered him was how, when it became necessary, he would discard Rita Hughes, for she was besotted, he knew. No matter, he would use her, like he would use others; when they were of no more use, he would employ whatever means he could to dispose of them. In the depths of his dark and treacherous mind, Foster Thomas had begun a particular train of thought with Rita Hughes foremost in his thinking. It
Emma had taken over the duties of housekeeper from Rita Hughes, and a young lad had been taken on to help about the stores and warehouse. Already Emma had been instrumental in securing a more satisfactory warehouse along Cliff Street, and talks were underway to contract a sea-going vessel and reliable crew to run trading goods all along the coast. All in all, the arrangement between Emma and Roland Thomas was proving to be most satisfactory.
In the five weeks following the wedding ceremony, nothing had been seen of Foster Thomas, and no word of his whereabouts was ever heard. Emma hoped he might have crawled into some God-forsaken corner to rot away, but she suspected he had not, for creatures of his sort seemed always to survive, albeit by their predatory nature. She suspected also that, if any one person might know where he was, it would be Rita Hughes who, Emma knew, was besotted with the worthless fellow.
‘Back! Get back, you fool . . . outta sight!’ Foster Thomas gripped his fingers tight about the arm of his companion before, with an angry snarl, he swiftly drew her into the shadows. ‘She mustn’t see me,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, ‘not yet anyway . . . not until I’m good and ready!’ There was no mistaking the loathing in his eyes, as he ran them over the upturned face of Rita Hughes. Slowly, his eyes narrowed to thin, cruel slits as he raised a finger and drew it along the angry red weal that ran from the corner of his mouth, then down over his neck to the tip of his shoulder blade. ‘So! They think they have cheated me, do they? Well, let them think it! But I’ll have what’s mine. One way or another, I’ll have what’s mine.’ When he glanced down at her, with the fury alive in his eyes, Rita Hughes was forced to ask herself whether she was doing the right thing in hiding him. When he had turned up some twenty-four hours earlier, there had been no question in her mind that she must help him because wasn’t it true that they had cheated him, and that the news of his father’s wedding had been a terrible shock. Now, though, she began to wonder just what manner of revenge he intended, and for the first time, she was afraid. Yet, amidst her fears she was filled with a love and longing for him so desperate that she could never refuse him anything! All the same, when he watched Emma out of sight, his eyes following her every move, she wished she could turn from him. But she could not. When he began murmuring in a strange and fearful voice, ‘I mean to have everything . . . everything that belongs to me!’ she knew she would do all she could to help him. Foster Thomas sensed his power over her; sensed it and revelled in it. Yet he was careful not to disclose the fact that, when he vowed to get back everything that belonged to him . . . it included Emma. It must include Emma, above all else, because no other woman would do. Emma might have taken his own father for her husband, but she was his . When the time was right, he would claim her. But he would need to be devious, and ruthless. That did not bother him. What bothered him was how, when it became necessary, he would discard Rita Hughes, for she was besotted, he knew. No matter, he would use her, like he would use others; when they were of no more use, he would employ whatever means he could to dispose of them. In the depths of his dark and treacherous mind, Foster Thomas had begun a particular train of thought with Rita Hughes foremost in his thinking. It
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