The Breaking Point

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

Christa Chalford came to Queen's Lacey as a beautiful young bride, deeply in love with her husband Tony. But her mother-in-law, Julia, soon makes it clear that she will never give up her tyrannical reign as mistress of Queen's Lacey and that she regards Christa as an interloper. Knowing that nothing would please Julia better than the break-up of her marriage, Christa fights her mother-in-law with all her young strength. So it is Tony's brother Richard, warm-hearted, idealistic, that she instinctively turns for solace. While Julia, the implacable enemy, watches and waits... A captivating love story from the 100-million-copy bestselling Queen of Romance, first published in 1956, and available now for the first time in eBook.

Release date: July 24, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 192

Sample

THE first rays of the rising sun touched the leaves of the walnut tree which stood in the middle of the lawn facing the old farmhouse, and turned them to gold.

The birds sang, life on the farm stirred and became suddenly noisy. Tranquillity no longer brooded over Queen’s Lacey. There was a violent clucking and scurrying of hens as they were let out of their houses; a lowing of the cows in the big clean cattle sheds which had the white starkness and brightness of hospital wards. The owners of Queen’s Lacey—one of the most progressive and prosperous farms in the district—and one of the oldest, for it dated back to 1658—were never behind the times. Mrs. Chalford and her three sons had recently added another hundred head to an already big herd of Friesian cattle, making two hundred and fifty in all. And the latest system of keeping poultry had been installed over a year ago. They were justifiably proud of their chickens—one thousand of them, being the special joy and concern of the youngest brother, Pip.

Now a short stocky Estonian boy—one of the ten farm hands who were employed by the Chalfords—came out of his cottage and made his way to the milking shed. He had married an English girl and settled in Buckinghamshire. They occupied one of the cottages on the estate. Another Estonian looked after the chickens; the rest of the staff were English. The Estonians were popular. They worked hard and were polite, charming boys.

The farmhouse looked its best at this early hour with the first rays of the sun slanting on the fine old roof and mellowed bricks. It was a long low building with character and must have been built originally for a nobleman of the Stuart period, later given over to farmers. It had a certain importance and dignity. Over the stone portico there grew a mature and lovely wistaria which was not yet in bloom. In June the flowers hung like great branches of pale violet grapes interspersed with feathery fronds of green.

As a rule nobody in the family stirred before seven o’clock when Mrs. Chalford had her tea. But she and her sons rarely failed to meet for eight o’clock breakfast in the big dining-room which contained some of the best walnut panelling in the county.

But this morning, Anthony Chalford, who was twenty-eight and the eldest of the sons, had already bathed and dressed before the Austrian cook, Mitza, started to make tea.

Tony had had a bad night. He, who as a rule slept the clock round, had found himself waking up, looking at his watch to see what time it was; hearing the distant chimes of a church clock; putting his light on, reading last night’s paper, trying to sleep again. Always with his thoughts returning to Christa—and what he was going to tell his mother about her in the morning.

At a quarter to seven, wearing corduroy slacks and a blue fisherman’s jersey, with silk scarf tucked into the neck, he walked next door into the room where his brother Richard slept.

Richard was twenty-six. He shared the family passion for Queen’s Lacey and for farming, but he was less of a materialist than the rest of them. He liked literature and music and was the only one who ever opened any of the books in the small library which had belonged to their father. Old Chalford had died when the three boys were still at Shrewsbury.

Mrs. Chalford was the farmer. She had neither time nor taste for the arts, although when she was not busying herself with the farm she did some beautiful tapestry work.

Each of the boys had known that it was her wish that they should make farming their career. Tony had taken his degree in law. Having got this degree, however, he decided to use his brains and knowledge entirely on his mother’s behalf and had become the business manager and financier of the family; the one to whom they all turned in problems of stocks and shares. Tony believed that the present prosperity was due to his brains and management. He did little, really, on the farm itself and left it to Richard who had taken a degree in agriculture at Cambridge like Francis—the younger brother—more generally known in the family as ‘Pip’.

All three boys, once they left the Varsity, returned to Queen’s Lacey; each to take his part in the running of the farm, without question.

Julia Chalford had brought them up with this sole idea. She had taken it for granted that it was what they would do. She was a dominant, strong-minded woman and her control had always been absolute. Quite apart from the fact that they adored the place and wanted to return to it, there was the money angle. Their father had left them little except Queen’s Lacey and the land that went with it. Every penny was in the hands of their mother. She, herself, had been the daughter of rich landowners in Kent and come to Queen’s Lacey as a bride thirty years ago.

She was generous to her sons within limits. She saw to it that the money never went out of her control. The boys received a generous income, but it was an income that could be stopped at any moment that Julia Chalford liked to raise a finger.

So far everything had worked well and peacefully. Richard, at one time, had hankered slightly after a more artistic life, but two years of National Service in the Army had done a lot toward changing his attitude. He had loathed soldiering, and returned to the peace and beauty of Queen’s Lacey, thankful to be a farmer again.

Now young Pip had just finished his two years in the Army and was taking his particular place on the farm. He seemed to enjoy it and if he had no particular talents, he plodded on and played his small part.

Anthony, with no respect for his brother’s feelings, pulled back the curtains and flooded the room with sunlight.

“Do you mind—I want a word with you.”

Richard sat up. He scowled and ran hard brown fingers through a thick mop of chestnut hair. He never wore a pyjama top, summer or winter. His fine muscular body looked golden brown against the whiteness of the sheet. He very often went around the farm like that without a shirt, which offended his mother’s susceptibilities.

“Really, Richard,” she would protest, “you are a gentleman—I do think you oughtn’t to look like one of the farm hands.”

Richard always laughed which annoyed her. She was a woman of cold dignity and pride and disliked any form of joke being directed against herself or her family.

Now Richard frowned at his brother, and blinked at the wristwatch he had forgotten to unstrap last night. He then flung a pillow at Tony’s head.

“For the love of Mike—it’s not seven yet!”

Anthony picked up the pillow and returned it to the bed.

“Sorry, but I’ve something on my mind.”

“Well, that’s new. You haven’t got much in it,” said Richard and yawned loudly.

Anthony looked at him darkly, a slight colour had risen to his cheeks.

“Well, if you’re going to be so unpleasant—” he began.

“Oh, come on—I’m only pulling your leg, Tony—what is it?” asked Richard, and sat up and reached for a cigarette and lit it. Folding his arms, he smoked, regarding his brother less angrily. He was really quite fond of Tony, although in Richard’s opinion he had inherited their mother’s worst qualities. That awful lack of humour—that pompous touch. If there was one thing Richard could not abide it was pomposity. Greatly though Richard respected his mother, he had never quite understood her. Tony was equally difficult to understand. They were both curiously cold and aloof; never gave anything away; so good—so honest and integral—yet, somehow, in Richard’s estimation, so inhuman. Funny that you could grow up with people like your mother and brother, know them all your life, and yet not know them at all.

Richard’s own nature was warm and open and even inclined to be emotional. He could not remember ever having seen his mother betray emotion except on the day that her favourite dog—a golden retriever—had been run over by a car belonging to a neighbour. Then and then only Julia Chalford’s cool dignity had broken. She had knelt beside the dying dog which was pinned under one of the wheels, looked with terrible eyes at the driver (poor chap! how the boys had pitied him) and said:

“You careless fool!”

Then she had burst into tears and run into the house. The boys had buried the retriever. When they met their mother at supper again, she seemed quite composed and herself again. She had never spoken of the dog from that day to this, which was seven years ago. And she never did speak to the man who had run over him. She could be an implacable enemy.

Richard imagined that Tony might be equally implacable if crossed. On the other hand, Tony had a surface charm that he could use at times with great success. It was Richard’s opinion that Tony enjoyed exercising this charm and that he liked being popular, even if such popularity was short-lived. Richard had known one or two people who had started by enthusing over the charming Anthony Chalford when first they met him. Tony would be delightful and show great interest in them, then suddenly cool off and for no reason except that he was bored—treat them like dirt. He was a disappointing character.

Of his two brothers, Richard preferred Pip who was a quiet rather shy youth, completely dominated by his mother and bullied at times by Tony. He adored Richard who championed his lost causes.

There were long periods when Richard and Tony worked here at the farm, but saw little of each other apart from it. For they had their own friends, and seldom liked each other’s. Richard had learnt that it was whenever Tony wanted something that he ‘turned on the charm’. He was producing it now. Ordinarily he would have been furious at having a pillow thrown at his dignified head. Now he approached Richard with an ingratiating smile.

Richard grinned back at him; puffing at his early morning cigarette which he always felt to be the best of the day.

“Really, Tony, you manage to look the belle of the ball even at this hour,” he said, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Tony who was inordinately conceited, did not object to this remark despite its unfortunate phraseology. He knew that he had a good figure. Even at work on the farm he never failed to look debonair. He was as fair as Richard was dark. He wore his hair brushed back smoothly from the temples. He had the kind of skin that burns in the summer and was very pale in winter. His eyes were a cool blue. He had thin aristocratic features. Richard always said that Tony ought to have gone into the Diplomatic Service or stood for Parliament, but curiously enough, of the three boys, Tony was the one who most sincerely loved Queen’s Lacey. He was immensely proud of the magnificence and prosperity of the farm. He had been delighted when the other day an expensive magazine had sent journalist and photographers down and Queen’s Lacey had appeared in print—occupying two prominent pages.

The paragraph about himself had especially pleased Tony.

Mr. Anthony Chalford is a tall, good-looking young man—eldest of the three sons in one of the most remarkable Buckinghamshire families. He is seen here beside the latest type of tractor.

The article had gone on to say that the Chalford family had occupied Queen’s Lacey Farm for over a hundred years, and then touched on the remarkable qualities of Julia Chalford who had been left a widow while the boys were still at school; brought up her sons and run the farm during the war years and made such a success of it.

Tony sat down on the end of his brother’s bed.

“I’ve got something to tell Mother this morning which isn’t going to please her very much,” he said.

Now Richard’s eyes opened more widely. They were very bright attractive eyes, greenish in colour, with thick black lashes. He had an impish curve to lips that were fine-cut and sensitive. He said:

“Hello, what have you been up to? Got yourself into debt? Don’t answer, I know you haven’t. You’re far too careful with the £ s. d. Well—what can you possibly have done that won’t please Mama?”

Tony Chalford’s fair skin flushed up; it might almost be called a blush which somehow endeared him to Richard who thought it a regenerate sign. He had never known Tony to be ashamed of anything.

Then Tony blurted out:

“I—I’m going to be married.”

Richard, struck dumb, stared at his brother. Then he blinked his lashes very quickly.

“Crikey!” he said.

Tony coughed.

“I would have told you before but I hadn’t quite made up my mind.”

Richard blinked again.

“What about the girl—when did she make up hers?”

“At the same time, I suppose,” said Tony haughtily.

“You—going to get married—ye gods and little fishes, this will certainly shake our dear mother to the core!” exclaimed Richard.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“All the same,” said Richard. “You’re twenty-eight. I suppose it’s time you got married. If it comes to a matter of that it’s time I did, too. But I won’t. I’ve never met a girl I’d like to tie myself up to for the rest of my life.”

Tony only half listened to this. He was deep in his own thoughts and the anxieties that had pursued him all night.

Yes—he knew that it was time he got married. But Mrs. Chalford had never encouraged the idea of matrimony with any of her sons. Tony was, as he knew, the one on whom she leaned—the vitally useful person who helped her control the financial side of the farm. Richard was essential so far as work on the farm was concerned, the buying and breeding of the cattle—the produce. Pip was a mere boy still and too young to think of marriage. Anyhow, few marriageable girls were included among the friends who came to Queen’s Lacey.

“You sly old dog, Tony,” said Richard suddenly, “who have you been seeing without any of us knowing? What is all this about?”

Tony began to tell him.

HER name was Christa. Christa Morley. Tony had only got as far as that statement when Richard began to look more interested. The name caught his fancy.

“It’s unusual. I like it.”

Tony explained that Christa had a Scandinavian grandmother after whom she had been called. He also produced a photograph for Richard and remarked rather arrogantly, Richard thought, that she was ‘damned good looking’. Richard smoked his cigarette and studied the snapshot of Christa which Tony said he had taken a couple of weeks ago standing outside the door of the tiny cottage in a small mews, off the King’s Road, Chelsea, where Christa lived with her widowed mother.

‘Damned good looking’ Richard decided was an understatement, typical of Tony who lacked imagination. The girl was positively beautiful.

“Ravishing,” said Richard lightly and raised his brows as though surprised that anything as lovely should have fallen in love with Tony.

Certainly Mama was not going to be pleased. From what Tony was telling him, this girl Christa possessed none of the qualities which their mother would wish her daughter-in-law to have. She was well bred, which was something. But of course, Richard thought with one of his cynical turns of mind, old Tony would never have made ‘that’ mistake and married beneath him. Christa’s father had been a doctor. And Tony with great pleasure had dug out the fact that Christa had an aunt with a title. Christa was a Londoner—knew nothing about country life and would be quite disinterested in farming. Her mother ran a florist shop in Chelsea. The mother was charming, Tony said, and very plucky. She had been left with very small means on which to educate Christa, but had done so to good effect. Tony had met Christa by one of those accidents of fate; on his way to a wedding in Chelsea, he had stopped at the Morley’s little shop which they called The Greenhouse and bought a carnation. Rather sheepishly, he said to Richard:

“I think I fell for Christa the moment she put that flower in my buttonhole.” He added with his slight drawl, “And she did for me.” He went on to say that he had seen Christa quite often during the last four months. He had decided at last to get engaged and bring her down to meet his mother tomorrow. If it could be arranged, Christa could spend the weekend at Queen’s Lacey and get to know them all.

Richard raised his brows again.

He studied the snapshot which he was still holding in one hand. The girl had a nymph-like figure. Tony had caught her with one raised curved arm, her fingers touching the scarf which the wind was blowing away from her temples. Hers was a lovely classic pose. She looked very slender and had a wide sweet smile. The face was too small for Richard to see the features closely, but Tony described her as being in feature slightly like that enchanting actress, the late Gertrude Lawrence; tip-tilted nose, golden-hazel eyes, wide mouth, immense charm. Her colouring was fascinating. She had wheaten fair hair and a fine pale skin.

“I must say she seems ‘the tops’,” said Richard, returned the snapshot to his brother, and yawned, “Sorry I shan’t be here to meet her.”

“Why—where will you be?” Tony put the snapshot back in his wallet.

“You’ve forgotten, old boy, it’s my holiday. I leave this evening with Jimmy Oxley for the fair fields of France.”

Tony frowned.

“Oh, yes, of course. You and Jimmy are off. Oh, well, you’ll be back for the wedding.”

“The wedding.” Richard blinked and slid out of bed. He was not quite as tall as his brother, but beautifully proportioned. He gave one the impression of vitality and an alertness of mind and vision which Tony lacked. Tony was no visionary.

“The wedding,” repeated Richard. “So soon? Don’t tell me you are going to rush the girl to the altar. Mama will have a fit.”

“That’s the whole point,” scowled Tony. “I see no object in waiting. As a matter of fact there are all kinds of issues at stake, and many reasons why I want to get married as soon as possible. Christa’s mother isn’t at all well. The shop’s too much for her and, naturally, once Christa is my wife she wouldn’t be there to help. At the same time the little place seems to make money and the idea is that it should be taken over by a niece of Mrs. Morley. Gradually Mrs. Morley will retire. The niece is looking for a job now and doesn’t want to hang around, so the sooner we get it all settled the better. I know it sounds rapid to you but you must remember that Christa and I have been seeing each other for over four months.”

Richard, running a comb through thick hair which was the colour of dark chestnut bronzed by the sun, eyed his brother sceptically.

“You know your own business best, but I reckon Mama will need some time to get used to the idea of losing one of her little boys.”

“I think she will,” said the older brother gloomily. “But I shall soften the blow by telling her that Christa and I mean to live in the district.”

Richard pulled a clean shirt out of the drawer, walked to his window and looked out. What a day, he thought. He liked this view of the long drive with its fringe of Dutch elms; the grass pearled with dew. He watched the handsome black and white Friesians which were now being led by Vorrow into the field beyond the lily pond and rock garden which were his mother’s particular pride. He hoped that this good weather would persist and follow him to France on his tour of the wine country.

It was a little hard for him to concentrate on the thought of his brother’s marriage. His mind was full of this precious two weeks ahead. For the last couple of years he had taken his holiday in the spring abroad with Jimmy Oxley who had been at Shrewsbury with him. Like himself, Jimmy enjoyed literature, music and good food and wines. Richard never cared to be away from Queen’s Lacey for long. He loved every inch of this farm and enjoyed his work on it. But there were moments when the tie became irksome and more particularly the constant necessity to run things in the way his mother wanted. Greatly though Richard loved and respected her, this last year or so he had found his mother more difficult, and intolerant. The farm was run on the most modern and up-to-date lines but in paradox Mrs. Chalford herself was old fashioned, out of touch with the world. She disapproved of almost everything and everybody to such a degree that it had become tiresome.

He felt the need for independence of thought and action. That was one of the reasons that he upheld when arguing to himself against marriage, why he had become a sworn bachelor. He could not, would not, be dominated by a woman for the second time in his life. Mama was enough.

Tony, however, seemed anxious for further enslavement, Richard thought humorously. Well—let him get on with it. It might be quite nice to have a sister-in-law as attractive as Christa Morley. But he repeated to Richard that he thought their mother would be upset by ‘an ugly rush’. Tony looked stubborn.

“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to be adamant. As you know Mother’s word is law at Queen’s Lacey but I must manage my own personal life in my own way.”

“You’ll be lucky if you can,” said Richard and flung back his handsome head and laughed, then went off to the bathroom, whistling. His mind had reverted to the prospect of taking the car across the Channel this evening and getting away from the whole family.

His parting words followed Tony as he left Richard’s bedroom and went downstairs. They made him feel distinctly uneasy.

He strolled into the kitchen and found Mitza stirring the tea she had just made in a huge family teapot. She was a short flaxen-haired woman on the stout side, with weak eyes. She half shut them when she spoke because the light hurt them. She had been told repeatedly that she must get glasses but rejected the idea. That slit-like glance gave one the impression that she was mean or sly, but in reality she was a good-tempered creature who had far too much to do but did it willingly. She genuinely loved her job and Queen’s Lacey where she had served the Chalfords for the last six years. She had made this her home, and all her relatives in Austria being dead, she had no intention ever of returning there.

Like most of the employees at Queen’s Lacey she respected Mrs. Chalford and adored Richard who was the one person privileged to tease her. Mr. Anthony, she was not so fond of. In her mind she called him ‘Herr Chalford’, and likened him to a certain haughty gentleman who owned a Schloss in the Tyrol where Mitza and her mother had once lived and worked before the war. She never found ‘Herr Chalford’ as friendly as the other two young gentlemen. But she bade him a pleasant good morning and offered him a cup of tea which Tony accepted.

He grimaced as he sipped it.

“Must you make this frightful strong stuff, Mitza? It’s sheer poison.”

Mitza’s half-shut eyes glared at him, but she answered politely. “The whole house it complain if I make not strong tea.”

“I suppose you realize how the price has gone up lately?”

Mitza coloured and banged a saucepan as she took one down from the long row of shining copper pans which were her pride and joy. This big sunny room which led out into a courtyard, and beyond to the orchard and paddock, was her domain. She knew quite well that she was a splendid cook. Guests came from a long way to taste her apfel strudel. She knew also that no young modern girl would do as much work as she did, helped only by Betty the wife of the Estonian boy and Mrs. Akers the ‘daily’ woman from Coleshill. Mrs. Chalford trusted Mitza—left most of the management of food and meals in her care. Mitza had had many a fierce fight with tradesmen against rising food prices. Her loyalties were all for this family. She resented Mr. Anthony’s suggestion that she was being extravagant with the tea. The resentment glowed in her but she made no comment. Tony was the only one of the family who disliked Mitza. He called her sulky and unco-operative. He moved off without further conversation.

Mitza’s plump face was redder than usual and her lips tighter as she poured the criticized tea into a row of cups. The farm hands would all be coming in for a quick drink in a moment.

“Ach,” she muttered, “he is careful with his money, that one,” and with a viciousness she rarely displayed, she seized the tea caddy, dug her spoon into it and put ano. . .