by Sasha Morgan
‘I think it would be better if Flora was on this shot, too,’ he told Jade.
‘OK. Flora, if you could just position yourself next to Dylan – oohh!’
But Phoenix apparently didn’t like that either, as he opened his bowels and dumped a huge pile of dung at Jade’s feet. Dylan’s lips twitched at the horror on Jade Fisher’s face.
‘Perhaps just have Flora in this shot?’ He knew when he was beaten. There was no way Phoenix was going to behave the way they wanted him to. Jade stepped gingerly away from the steaming pile of crap.
‘Hmm, maybe we could take a few shots with you at the stable doors, with the horses safely inside?’
‘Good idea,’ smiled Dylan.
Flora tried not to laugh as she led a disgraced Phoenix away. ‘You naughty boy,’ she quietly chuckled. The horse neighed in response.
Dylan was a natural in front of the camera, his good looks and charm oozing through the lens. Once Flora had returned they were photographed together in the office. Dylan made sure his arm was protectively around her, in an attempt to instil some confidence in her. It worked, as Flora assertively answered Jade Fisher’s questions. Any sign of hesitation was met with Dylan’s calm support. The interview was mainly focused on him, however, much to Flora’s relief. Dylan was self-assured, artless and keen to promote his yard, praising all his staff, but especially his assistant trainer.
‘That Delany’s Racing Yard is a success is hugely down to this one’s commitment,’ he said, squeezing Flora affectionately.
‘And yours, too,’ she chipped in.
Dylan’s head swooped down to kiss her and the camera went into overdrive. Jade slowly smiled to herself. This was going to be one hell of a feature.
60
It had been quite a start to the New Year for the Cavendish-Blakes. True to his word, Tobias had arranged for both himself and Marcus to undertake the swab tests as soon as possible. He had contacted the family doctor, ensuring full discretion. The DNA results had confirmed, as predicted, that Marcus and Tobias undoubtedly shared the same father. This then left Tobias with the duty of telling both Sebastian and his mother.
Gathering them together in his study for privacy, he gave strict instructions to Henry that he didn’t want to be disturbed. As best as he could, and as gently as possible, Tobias outlined the whole state of affairs. He was matter-of-fact, but also spoke of the turmoil his father must have suffered. He showed both of them the diaries as if to prove this. He also had the DNA results to hand, in case they needed to see evidence for themselves. Both Sebastian and Beatrice sat, stunned into total silence.
‘I know it’s a lot to take in,’ Tobias spoke gently, ‘but give yourselves time to adjust.’
‘Bloody hell, another brother.’ Sebastian shook his head, hardly believing his ears.
‘Half-brother,’ cut in Beatrice with force. Both sons turned to face her, understanding the resentment she obviously felt.
‘This doesn’t change anything, Mother,’ Tobias reassured.
‘How can you be sure?’ she asked, arms crossed.
‘Because by his own admission, he’s a Devlin. He doesn’t want the family name or anything else, just to know more about his father.’
Beatrice’s face crumpled with emotion and Sebastian put his arm round her. ‘He’s no threat to any of us, Mother.’
‘But why didn’t your father tell me?’ she said in a strangled voice.
‘Because he didn’t know, of that I’m convinced. Anne Devlin bolted, without any trace. I suspect your in-laws had something to do with that.’ Beatrice’s head shot up in alarm.
‘You mean they paid her off, to leave?’
Tobias shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised, judging by their reaction to the relationship.’
‘My God…’ Beatrice stared into space.
‘I’d say we’re the only ones unscathed in all of this,’ Sebastian remarked wisely. ‘It’s Marcus that’s been affected the most.’
‘I agree.’ Tobias turned to his mother. ‘I’ve invited Marcus to read Father’s diaries. He deserves to learn all he can about him.’
Beatrice continued to stare into space, making no response. Tobias scrutinised her face. What was she really thinking? For once Tobias saw her in a slightly more critical light. Maybe because he was comparing her comfortable, cosseted life to the harsh reality Anne Devlin had been faced with. Had she any inkling at all about her husband’s first love? Had he ever confided in her, especially as they had met soon after Anne Devlin’s disappearance?
‘Does Marcus want to go public about this?’ Sebastian asked.
Beatrice gave a gasp.
‘Not for the time being,’ replied Tobias, then added, looking at his mother, ‘but it’s his prerogative if he ever chooses to.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Sebastian.
61
The DNA results had left Marcus with a sense of peace that he hadn’t expected. Although confirming what he already knew deep down, having solid proof validated his place with the Cavendish-Blakes. It also gave him access to his father’s diaries, which he fully intended to read and discover all about the man for himself. But just now was not the time. He had a documentary to co-edit and produce, which was going to take much of his time.
Which brought him to the next task: leaving Treweham – and possibly Finula. He had to return to Shropshire and get back to work. He was due to meet with Libby in the London studio next week. Normally, this would fire adrenalin within him, but this time it was dampened by the prospect of having to be parted from Finula yet again. He could tell she was feeling the same, although neither had spoken about it as both knew it was inevitable.
It was early morning and they had just finished eating breakfast when Marcus broached the subject.
‘Finula, we need to talk.’
She looked directly at him. ‘Yes, we do.’
‘I have to go back home. I really need to start working—’
‘I know,’ Finula interrupted. ‘Let me come with you.’
Marcus sighed. ‘Darlin’, I’ll be busy, preoccupied, I won’t have time to give you like I did on your last visit.’
‘I don’t mean to visit. I mean for good.’
Marcus frowned. ‘To live together?’ His hopes soared, never expecting to hear this. Would she really leave Treweham, her dad and this pub? It was all she’d ever known.
‘Yes. I can’t be here without you… I’d be miserable.’ Finula was baring her all, but didn’t she always? That’s what he loved about her, and how he did love her. He took both her hands over the breakfast table.
‘You’d come and live with me, in Shropshire, and leave your dad?’
Finula nodded. ‘Yes. It’ll be hard, but watching you go alone would be harder.’
He squeezed her hands and leant over the table to kiss her. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
That evening both Finula and Marcus sat Dermot down to tell him the news. Dermot, fully expecting this, had prepared himself. It had also given him the opportunity to reflect on his own future. He, too, had made a life-changing decision. After sitting quietly and listening to his daughter tell him she was finally flying the nest, he nodded sagely and put her mind at rest.
‘It’s time, Finula.’ He patted her hand and looked at Marcus. ‘I wish you both every happiness.’
‘Thank you, Dermot,’ Marcus replied, feeling reprieved, ‘and you must come and visit us in Shropshire whenever you want.’
‘I will do just that, son, especially as I’ll have plenty of time on my hands.’
Finula looked puzzled.
‘I’m selling up,’ Dermot explained.
‘You’re selling The Templar?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘I’m not getting any younger and, well… I’ve had enough. Simple as.’
‘Good for you, Dermot,’ Marcus smiled.
‘But… but what will you do, Dad?’
‘Retire, Finula, bloody well retire and p
ut me feet up!’
They all laughed, each glad this difficult conversation had ended so light heartedly. ‘Seriously, Fin, I’ll sell up and downsize. Get a cottage in the village. I couldn’t leave Treweham; this is my home.’ He looked warmly at the pair of them. ‘And you two have to make your own home now.’
So, the next day when Marcus had to set off for Shropshire, Finula was able to wave him off without that dull, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she’d anticipated. Instead she smiled brightly and kissed him tenderly.
‘Have a safe trip.’
‘Will do. I’ll ring when I get home.’
‘Funny to think it’ll be my home too soon.’
They had arranged for Finula to drive to Shropshire after Marcus had finished working in London. That way she wouldn’t be on her own and it would give her a chance to pack and say goodbye to everyone in Treweham. It would also give Dermot a few days to arrange extra staff to cover for her. He also intended to contact the estate agents and get the sale of The Templar started immediately.
Dermot had quietly taken Marcus to one side earlier on.
‘I take it you’ll be making an honest woman out of my daughter?’
‘You have my word, Dermot,’ Marcus replied in a serious tone.
‘Good, because I’d like your wedding to be this place’s last do for me.’
Marcus smiled, fully understanding where Dermot was coming from. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll happen, if she’ll have me.’
‘Oh, she’ll have you all right. She wouldn’t be leaving me otherwise.’ The two men shook hands.
Once Marcus had safely left, Finula made her way to Treweham Hall. She wanted Megan to be the first friend to know she was leaving. Walking in the bright sunshine along the lane leading to the magnificent Hall, it dawned on her how much her life was about to change. This village, with its quaint charm, honey-stoned cottages, babbling brook, ancient church, humped-back bridges and village green was about to be replaced with black and white Tudor cottages and sleepy, rolling green hills. It both excited and frightened her. Above all else, though, one thought kept her stable: she would be with Marcus.
Henry opened the door with a polite, stiff nod.
‘This way, please.’ He led Finula to Megan’s drawing room in the south wing. It still made her grin the way Henry stood on ceremony.
‘Finula!’
‘How are you? Tired?’
Megan was fully blooming with only eight weeks to go before her due date.
‘Absolutely. Come and sit down. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Henry hovered awkwardly and coughed. ‘May I arrange tea, madam?’ He’d been given strict instructions by Tobias to look after Megan, which meant in Henry’s book to wait on her hand and foot.
‘Oh, would you? Thanks, Henry.’
‘Certainly, madam.’ He bowed slightly and left. The two of them exchanged knowing smirks.
‘So, what brings you here, any news?’
‘Well, apart from making sure my best friend’s not having to move an inch,’ she grinned, ‘I do have news. I’m moving to Shropshire to live with Marcus.’
‘You’re going? To Shropshire?’
‘Yes,’ Finula laughed, ‘are you surprised?’
‘No. It’s just strange hearing you say it. Makes it real, I suppose.’ Whilst being happy for her friend, Megan couldn’t help but be saddened. She’d miss her dreadfully.
‘And Dad’s selling The Templar,’ Finula added. ‘He wants to retire and downsize to a cottage.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. So it’s all change.’
‘It certainly is. When will you be going?’
‘In two weeks.’ They faced each other, neither spoke for a few moments.
Megan gulped. ‘So soon.’
There was an empty silence.
‘I’ll keep coming back to see you and the baby, and you must come and visit,’ Finula’s voice cracked. Her eyes filled and she quickly blinked.
‘Oh, Fin, come here.’ They hugged each other.
‘It’s a new exciting chapter – embrace it,’ Megan spluttered between tears.
62
Libby sat in the studio patiently waiting for Marcus to join her. She glanced at the various screens and equipment before her, itching to get started. For the umpteenth time she searched her laptop for the missing interview. She was utterly bewildered. What on earth had happened? It was unheard of. Never in her thirty-year career had something so drastically wrong occurred. It both baffled and disturbed her. Was she losing her touch? No. Libby reminded herself that both Len and Marcus hadn’t been able to locate the interview with Tobias Cavendish-Blake on their laptops either. It was a mystery. She grimaced, imagining the wrath of Marcus. However, when he did arrive Libby was pleasantly taken aback.
‘Hi, Libby. Good Christmas?’ he smiled, taking a seat next to her in front of the screens. Libby stalled for a moment, totally unprepared for his congenial manner.
‘Er… yes, and you?’
‘Marvellous,’ he beamed.
She paused again. Was he being sarcastic? But no, he hummed merrily to himself as he unpacked his laptop. Libby decided to address the elephant in the room.
‘Marcus, what are we going to do about Tobias Cavendish-Blake’s interview?’ She scanned his face for some kind of reaction with baited breath.
Marcus sighed and turned to face her. ‘In all honesty, Libby, I don’t know.’
‘Where did it go?’ She was beginning to sound panicked.
‘Hey, Libby, don’t stress. I’m the producer, as well as the co-editor,’ he added drily. ‘If anyone’s head’s on the chopping block, it’s mine.’
Libby blinked. Who was this sitting next to her and where was the real Marcus Devlin?
‘But… he was paid a hefty fee… questions will be asked.’
Marcus gave a curt laugh. ‘Oh, I know that.’ He ran his hand through his hair, showing the first sign of any pressure.
‘What do you think’s happened?’
How should he answer that? Say he suspected it could be some kind of divine intervention, paving the way for his future happiness?
Instead he shrugged. ‘I have no idea, Libby.’
‘What are we going to do?’ she persisted.
‘Like I said, I have no idea, Libby.’
Libby blinked once. Had he had some kind of personality transplant? Where was the confident, ambitious, tell-it-like-it-is, highly successful, award-winning TV producer? ‘Let’s work on what we do have until I think of something.’
‘Do you think Tobias would give another interview?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘No, and I wouldn’t ask him for one. How unprofessional would it appear to admit to losing the footage of his first one?’
Libby nodded in agreement.
‘Listen, let me worry about it, OK?’
‘If you say so,’ she reluctantly answered.
Soon they were deep in concentration, scanning every one of the rushes, making the necessary cuts to carve out a cohesive story, with not only narrative, but substance with an interesting slant. Each selected scene was placed in order and checked for continuity. As they were only working on the rough cut at this stage, revisions and new ideas could always be added at a later stage.
The two worked well together. Marcus was quick to offer suggestions, his creative imagination running wild, which was counterbalanced by Libby’s level-headed logic and experience. The combination was a winning formula. Their track record proved this.
They couldn’t help but smile to themselves at the Belchers’ interview. Gary’s enthusiasm and joie de vivre was in stark contrast to the stilted, clipped tones of the other interviewees.
‘Replay that,’ laughed Marcus. Libby giggled and pressed the rewind button. Gary’s animated face lit up the screen again. He’d just been asked by Viola how it felt living on the Treweham Hall estate.
‘Smashing. All this space is a far cry from where we came from, innit, T
racy?’
Marcus and Libby chuckled.
‘Turn the volume up, let’s capture his northern accent. It’s an interesting angle for the Cotswolds.’
They carried on watching.
‘We came into money,’ Gary told the camera with a big beam.
‘Pause,’ said Marcus. ‘That’s another good slant, and look at his wife’s face. She wasn’t comfortable with him announcing that.’
‘Should we home in on it?’
‘Definitely, let’s get a close-up of her reaction.’
Together they worked through the rushes and made excellent progress. After nine hours, and only thirty minutes stopping for lunch, they eventually called it a day. Hiring the studio cost good money, so Marcus was keen to get as much done as possible.
‘Let’s go for something to eat,’ said Marcus, ‘or do you want to head back home?’
Again, Libby couldn’t help but notice the change in Marcus. He seemed much more relaxed somehow. Perhaps having dinner with him would be a pleasant experience after all.
‘No, let’s eat. We deserve it after that.’
‘Libby, I haven’t worked you too hard, have I?’ He genuinely looked concerned.
‘Yes,’ she laughed, ‘but I enjoy working with you, honestly. You may be a slave driver, but you produce awesome documentaries.’
Marcus smiled. ‘Well in that case, dinner’s on me.’
63
The last two weeks Finula had left in Treweham were going so fast. Each day she’d packed more and more stuff, not bearing to part with anything.
‘Will you just look at all these boxes?’ Dermot exclaimed, poking his head inside his daughter’s bedroom.
‘I know, I’ve tried my hardest to have a good sort out and get rid of any rubbish, but I can’t. It’s all precious.’
‘What, even your Brownie manual?’ Dermot squinted his eyes at the piles of books.
‘It’s part of my childhood, Dad!’ Finula insisted.
