Chapter 75
Victoria gripped the edge of the table until her fingers and forearms ached, struggling with a terribly strong urge to destroy everything she could reach.
Throw the teapot and mugs through the window into the gardens. Turn the remaining sandwiches and scone into mush between her fingers. Throw the tablecloth and whatever she could break off the chairs into the fire.
All of it absurd, and so wasteful.
And so much easier than having to spend one more moment thinking about what she had just done.
She managed to relax her grip enough to step back. To sit, and draw in a slow breath. Even to let that breath out without bursting into tears.
Was what Rob said truly all that upsetting?
Or was she reacting to her own horrendous and growing guilt about how she’d treated Cheryl Mallo
