by Sasha Morgan
Sebastian knocked on the bedroom door.
‘Come in,’ called Megan. She was sat in an armchair by the large bay window overlooking the grounds and had just finished breastfeeding Edward.
‘Just thought I’d check on young Eddie,’ he grinned.
‘Don’t let Tobias hear you call him that,’ laughed Megan. She ran her finger down the side of her baby’s face and kissed his forehead. Sebastian looked on affectionately, thinking it must be a wonderful feeling.
‘How are you?’
‘Great, just a little tired, that’s all.’
‘You were amazing, according to Tobias.’
Megan rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘I know, so he keeps saying.’
‘He’s in a good place. I’ve never seen him so happy.’
‘I’ve never been so happy,’ she replied, then added, ‘You seem much happier too, Sebastian.’ Her head was tilted to one side, as if assessing him.
‘Yes. I am.’ He walked over and gazed down at the now sleeping baby. Megan noticed him limp slightly.
‘Do you want to hold him?’
‘No, I won’t disturb him, he looks so peaceful.’ He stroked his tiny fist and instinctively it uncurled and wrapped round his finger. ‘Oh, isn’t he adorable?’ Sebastian’s heart melted.
A week later, as promised, Finula and Marcus came back to Treweham. Megan and Tobias arranged to meet them in The Templar and wheeled Edward in his Silver Cross pram, which Beatrice had proudly presented to them. As they entered the bar, Dermot’s voice boomed, ‘Congratulations to you both. The drinks are on the house!’
‘Thank you, Dermot,’ said Tobias, shaking hands with him, then turned to Marcus. ‘Marcus,’ he nodded.
‘Hello, Tobias, and congratulations.’ Marcus held out his hand.
‘Oh, let me see him!’ Finula poked her head into the pram. Edward was wide awake, his eyes looking straight into hers and she saw they were exactly the same as his father’s, and uncle’s. ‘He’s beautiful.’ Her hand went out to touch him and Megan noticed a ring on her finger.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, taking hold of her hand.
Finula gave a wide smile. ‘An engagement ring.’
‘And… you didn’t think to tell me!’ spluttered Megan.
Finula laughed. ‘It only happened last night.’ Then lowered her voice. ‘It was Marcus’ mum’s ring.’
‘I see. Here, let me have a proper look.’ A huge emerald dazzled brilliantly against a collection of diamonds surrounding it. ‘It’s gorgeous, Finula.’
‘I know,’ she giggled.
‘So, when’s the wedding?’ Megan turned to Marcus, who had been quietly watching them with a warm smile.
‘As soon as,’ interrupted Dermot overhearing. ‘I intend to put on a good show for them here, before I sell the place,’ which made everyone laugh.
67
Whilst Finula and Marcus were in Treweham, the question of the interview was put to Marcus. Both Tobias and Sebastian had quietly approached him and outlined their proposal and although Marcus had been quite taken aback initially, he soon saw it as an opportunity to rectify the issue of the missing footage.
They were in Tobias’ study, Tobias and Sebastian having collared Marcus as Finula made her way to the south wing to see Megan.
‘Are you prepared to go public, Marcus? It will mean a hell of a lot of press interest and intrusion.’ Tobias stared gravely at Marcus.
What choice did he really have? Marcus considered. He had to come up with something for the BBC. Besides which, the revelation would be sure to make the documentary a smash hit.
‘Yes,’ replied Marcus, ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Just one condition,’ said Tobias, crossing his arms, ‘Viola Kemp has no involvement.’
Marcus nodded, understanding his dislike of her after the way she had previously interviewed him.
‘I’ll make some calls, get—’
‘Let Jamie do it,’ cut in Sebastian. The two looked at him. ‘He’s more than capable, and it would be a chance to give him a real break.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. We’ll compose the questions, though,’ replied Tobias, ‘and make sure he sticks to them,’ he added in a dry voice.
‘Jamie’s hardly likely to make it difficult,’ Sebastian answered in his defence.
‘OK. I’ll brief Jamie and get hold of Len,’ said Marcus decisively.
Two days later and the interview was good to go. The lights and camera had been set up in Tobias’ study. His desk had been moved out of the way and the Chesterfield was placed under the portrait of Richard Cavendish-Blake.
Butterflies fluttered in Jamie’s stomach as he reread the questions on his clipboard. It was an amazing opportunity he’d been given and he intended to make the most of it. He knew Sebastian trusted him to do a good job and he so badly wanted to make him proud. Marcus had organised just the minimum of assistance with make-up, lighting and sound. Jamie scanned the room: all the equipment was in place and Len was ready. All they had to do was a sound check once Tobias, Sebastian and Marcus had been fitted with microphones. He took a deep breath when the three of them calmly sat down before him. Sebastian gave a discreet, sly wink, making him relax a little, and then Jamie took the huge, furry microphone, coughed slightly and spoke into it.
‘Testing one, two three. Testing one, two, three.’
‘OK, let’s roll,’ replied Len. There was a pause, then Jamie began.
‘Thank you, gentlemen, for agreeing to be interviewed. Marcus, it must be especially challenging to you?’
‘In a way, yes. Then again, I’m glad it’s all out in the open now.’
‘How did you feel when learning of your true parentage?’
‘I was always led to believe that my father had been killed in an accident. To be told the truth by my dying mam was astonishing.’
‘Tobias and Sebastian, how does it feel to have Marcus suddenly in your lives?’
‘He’s our brother and the family accepts this,’ Tobias answered resolutely. ‘I’m sure if our father had known of Marcus’ existence, then we would have been brought up with him.’
‘Diaries, written by Father prove he knew nothing about Marcus, which is a tragedy,’ confirmed Sebastian.
‘But they do document a relationship with my mam,’ explained Marcus.
‘And the DNA tests confirm we all share the same father,’ said Tobias.
And so the interview continued; three brothers united in one family. They spoke agreeably together, giving clear, concise answers, gelling seamlessly, with the picture of their father hanging above, looking down on them.
Inside the library next door, Megan, Beatrice and Finula sat quietly together, hoping to hear the interview through the open doors. Luckily Edward was peacefully sleeping in his pram. Tobias had allowed Len to film him for just a few minutes, much to the delight of Marcus – and Megan – who thought it would add a nice touch, showing the new heir of Treweham Hall in the documentary.
Beatrice moved to hover over Edward... What would her husband have made of all this? A new grandson as well as another son he didn’t know about? She’d accustomed herself to the situation now and had found a way to accept it. Sighing, she gazed in adoration at her beautiful grandson and gently rocked his pram.
Megan and Finula strained to hear the voices in the study, but couldn’t catch it all. They would have to wait until next autumn, when the documentary was due to be aired. Megan looked at Finula’s ring again.
‘I’ve just realised,’ she murmured, ‘we’ll be sisters-in-law.’
‘I know!’ Finula exclaimed, then quickly covered her mouth. ‘Who would have thought it?’ she whispered.
68
It was the day of Edward’s christening. February had passed in a blur at Treweham Hall, with all the hullabaloo of his unexpected, early arrival, and the days had shifted into early spring, bringing the cheery sunshine. Daffodils waved in the grounds, crocuses peeped out from the earth like colourful je
wels, and the early blossom of the trees was bursting into life. The smell of freshly cut grass and a warm, mild breeze filled the air, whilst the birds sang their merry songs.
As expected, Beatrice was in full swing organising the event, whilst Aunt Celia stood on the sidelines, showing her usual signs of irritation. Megan was just plain relieved that Beatrice was acting true to form and taking over as it gave her more time to catch up on her sleep, after what had seemed like endless nights of tending to Edward. Only now, two and a half months after he’d entered their lives, had her son allowed her a fairly decent nap. Tobias had helped, but instinctively it was Megan who lay in bed listening and watching his tiny chest rising and falling.
The two couldn’t imagine life without him. Grandma Beatrice worshipped him. Uncle Sebastian adored him. Even Henry was enamoured, in his own way. Megan gently poked his wriggling little arms and starfish hands through the sleeves of the very elaborate white christening gown. It was a family heirloom, which each generation of the Cavendish-Blakes had worn for decades. Megan imagined Beatrice doing the same with Tobias and she smiled to herself.
‘All ready?’ Tobias entered the nursery, looking handsome in a navy-blue suit. He lovingly stroked his son’s head, then kissed Megan.
‘Almost. It’s quite a tricky thing to get on.’ She pointed to all the folds of silk and lace draped over the changing unit.
‘I know,’ laughed Tobias. ‘It’s hard to think of me and Sebastian in that.’ Outside, from down the corridor they could hear the commotion Beatrice was causing in preparing for the event and they exchanged knowing smiles.
*
Sebastian couldn’t fail to hear it too. Chuckling to himself, he straightened his tie in the mirror and ran his hands through his blond hair. There, that’d do, he told himself and then he reached for his phone to ring Jamie, who ought to have arrived by now.
‘Hi there, everything OK?’
‘Yeah, just running a bit late. I’ll be about fifteen minutes. The posters look amazing, by the way.’ Jamie had collected them from the printers that morning. They depicted the cast of his upcoming production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream all resplendent in their costumes, surrounded by the lush, green woods of the Treweham Hall estate, in bright, vibrant colours.
‘Excellent!’ gushed Sebastian.
His new theatre company, The Folly Players, was really taking off now, due to his relentless determination and effort, although he was often fighting fatigue. He was regularly counselled by Jamie to ease off and take time out; that the main benefit of running your own company meant doing things at your own pace.
He had attended his first appointment at the MS clinic, which had proved encouraging. There had been no change in Sebastian’s symptoms and it looked like his condition had stabilised for the time being, rather than worsening.
*
Marcus and Finula had just arrived at The Templar. As usual, Dermot stood waiting at the entrance with a huge beaming smile on his face. Finula hugged him hard, then stood back in astonishment.
‘You’ve sold it!’ She looked up at the ‘Sold’ sign standing outside the pub.
‘Certainly have. Only just, though. Thought I’d let you see for yourself,’ he laughed. Already he had his eye on a cottage in the village, which had only been on the market a week.
Marcus joined them. He was looking forward to his stay in Treweham. Having made good progress with the documentary, he was treating himself to a bit of a break. He was keen to put his time to good use and fully intended to read his father’s diaries whilst he was here.
‘Who’s bought it?’ he asked.
‘A young couple. I think it’s a huge investment for them, but they seem pretty keen.’
‘Oh, good. I’m so glad it’s not been swallowed up by a big brewery wanting to rip out the heart and soul of the place.’ Finula gazed at the beautiful stone pub, which had been her childhood home. Now it looked like it would be someone else’s.
*
Dylan and Flora were rushing to get ready. Dodging each other as they pelted about their bedroom, Flora suddenly gasped.
‘I forgot to get a christening card!’
‘But you did get a present?’ Dylan asked, buttoning his shirt.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Oh, it’ll do. Come on, or we’ll be late.’
Together they scrambled into the car and drove past the training yard on the way to Treweham Hall. Flora saw Phoenix in the paddock and blew him a kiss through the window and Dylan shook his head in amusement.
*
Gary and Tracy Belcher had remembered to get both a card and a present. Tracy was wrapping the silver spoon engraved with the baby’s name on it in pale blue paper.
‘Very apt,’ chuckled Gary.
‘Why?’ asked Tracy.
‘If ever there was a baby being born with a silver spoon in its mouth, it’s Edward Richard Henry Cavendish-Blake,’ he answered with mirth.
‘They won’t think we’re having a dig, do you?’ Tracy asked concerned.
‘Nah, will they ’eck.’
Together they walked through the estate leading onto the gravel driveway of Treweham Hall. Gary was pleased he managed the brisk walk easily, without puffing for breath. Due to his fitness regime, he had once more transformed his body into the toned, muscled one he had had previously. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Tracy, or Dylan for that matter, who had given him a few horse-riding lessons as promised.
All the guests were greeted at the Hall by the proud parents and guided up the stairs into the chapel. Rays of sunlight shone through the stained-glass windows and the air was filled with the scent of roses and tulips that decorated the sills in pretty arrangements. Friends and family shuffled sideways into the small, wooden pews, then turned to face the stone font. Finula and Marcus stood next to Tobias and Megan, as godparents to baby Edward.
‘Edward Richard Henry, I baptise you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,’ the priest recited, whilst sprinkling the crying baby’s head with holy water.
Marcus looked into the font and saw his mam’s face reflected in the water. Not the sallow, sick face of a dying woman, but one with a healthy glowing complexion, rosy cheeks and a wide smile, just as he remembered her as a little boy being chased through the wildflower meadows of Roscommon. There she was, grinning at him. He gave a shaky smile back. In his heart he knew she’d guided him to Treweham. He was meant to find his brothers. He was meant to find Finula. He was no longer alone.
Acknowledgements
Researching for this book led me into the exciting world of theatre and visiting Stratford-Upon-Avon with all its cultural, thespian charm. It also sadly brought a sharper focus of the debilitating disease of multiple Sclerosis, and I'd like to thank Professor S Chhetri, Consultant Neurologist, and all his team for their valuable time and advice given.
As always a huge shout out to my publishers, Aria and its amazing team, especially to Sarah Ritherdon, my wonderful editor, Caroline Ridding, publisher, Yvonne Holland, copy editor and Michelle Jones, proof reader.
My publishing journey so far has had lots of support and I sincerely thank all the reviewers for their kind words and most of all, you the reader. It really makes all the writing angst worthwhile!
Love,
Sasha x
Sasha Morgan lives in a rural, coastal village in Lancashire with her husband and Labrador dog. She has always written stories from a very young age and finds her fictional world so much more exciting than the real one.
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