by Lynda Stacey
Just for a split second she couldn’t decide which would make her more nervous: him being home, or the fact that he might not be home at all.
Her eyes were once again drawn to the huge gothic multi-paned windows. There was a glow which seemed to come from within. Madeleine stood on her tiptoes and watched the people who were congregated inside. Women beautifully dressed in evening wear, men all in black formal dinner jackets, bow ties and crisp white shirts. All held champagne glasses and selected hors d’oeuvres from the vast silver platters that were carried around by waiters. Everyone was smiling, laughing and chatting. A bay bush blocked her view and she struggled to see. It was times like this that she wished she’d been just a few inches taller. A cast iron planter stood to the left of the window and she used it to balance on, as her eyes became drawn to a stone built inglenook fireplace that stood impressively within an oak panelled wall. A disorderly pile of logs lay beside it on the tiled hearth.
A man reached forward, chose a piece of wood and threw it onto the already roaring fire. Looking quite at home, a woman stared into the flames and tucked her feet up on a dark blue Chesterfield settee, just as a man passed her a drink, kissed her on the cheek and smiled lovingly towards her. It was a scene of tranquillity. Everyone looked so very happy. All radiated a glow of warmth, joy and contentment.
Then, from a room to the back of the hall, there was a scream. A scream so shrill and loud, it sounded like the final note of an operatic soprano. People moved away from the glow of the fire and almost ran towards the room beyond.
‘He’s dead, he’s dead, murdered,’ a rotund woman shouted as she ran through the crowd towards the window, her hands waving frantically in the air, shaking them above her head, followed by a second scream.
Madeleine panicked, jumped down from her perch and ducked behind the bay tree. Again, her stomach churned and she began to shake. The tree she cowered behind was hardly the hiding place of the year, its thin willowy trunk and small cast iron tub barely hid her at all. But fear overcame her and she did not dare move. She had to think rationally, had to decide what to do. Something wasn’t right. The guests hadn’t seemed overly alarmed, nor had the waiters and it occurred to her that one or two had actually laughed.
Holding her breath, she began to move slowly around the outskirts of the house. She should have phoned her father first, arriving like this was probably not the best of ideas, after all it was suddenly obvious that the hotel was in the middle of a party and the last thing he needed was her turning up like the proverbial bad penny.
She needed to get to her car without being seen and began creeping from one bush to another, one eye on the house, the other on her car which now seemed to be much further up the lane than she’d originally thought.
‘What the hell?’ a man’s voice bellowed as she felt herself being grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. Her arms and legs lashed out, kicking and punching as best she could. She managed to land one definite punch before she landed flat on her back; her arms were pushed upward and she was pinned to the damp tarmac, as a man’s body straddled her from above, making it difficult to breathe.
‘HEEEEELLLLLPPPPPP … I can’t … I can’t … breathe. GET… OFF … ME. Ouuuuuuuuchhhhhhhhhhh …’
‘Be quiet for goodness’ sake, you’ll disturb the guests.’ He manoeuvred his weight, allowing her to regain her breath. ‘What the hell are you doing creeping around? Staking the place out?’
Albeit terrified, logic took over and Madeleine began to calm down. Her attacker was asking questions, not the normal actions of a man who was trying to murder or hurt someone.
The daylight had quickly turned to dusk and Madeleine squinted to take in the stranger’s appearance. His hair looked a little unkempt. His chin seemed to be covered in thin, trimmed stubble, but his smile showed a set of perfectly straight teeth. His breath smelled of fresh mint and he was dressed in army combat clothes.
‘I want to see my father,’ she suddenly managed to blurt out as once again her fighting spirit returned and she began flailing her legs in a desperate attempt to kick her attacker.
His gaze suddenly changed from stern and angry to amused and just for a moment their breathing fell into unison as they stared at one another in silence.
‘Feisty little madam, aren’t we?’ he said and as quickly as he’d pinned her to the floor he had jumped up and his hand was held out towards her. ‘You getting up, or staying down there?’ His voice was deep, with a distinct Yorkshire accent.
‘I wasn’t planning on being down here in the first place, you asshole. Do you often go around attacking people and throwing them to the floor in the middle of winter?’ Madeleine growled as she stared up at him.
‘Firstly, it was still autumn the last time I checked and second, I only attack people who look like they’re about to rob the place.’ He picked up her handbag and passed it to her.
‘Semantics,’ Madeleine tried to baffle him with words as she nervously looked over her shoulder. ‘I came to see my father and then I changed my mind. The hotel looked busy. I was heading back to my car and trying to be discreet. Until you knocked me flying.’
He began laughing and couldn’t stop. ‘Ma’am, it’s a hotel. Of course it’s busy, what did you expect? We’re having a murder mystery weekend.’
‘Ma’am? Ma’am?’ Madeleine questioned. ‘Who the hell do you think I am, my mother?’ She glared at him and nervously began brushing the dirt from her trousers.
There was a momentary silence as Madeleine slowly digested what he’d said and looked over her shoulder. She caught his eye and a smile crossed her lips but she quickly tried to disguise it. ‘Fine, so that explains it, a murder mystery weekend.’ She blushed and kicked at the gravel.
She looked down at her trousers and once again began to rub the grime from them.
He bowed his head and held out a hand. ‘The name’s Bandit.’
Madeleine shook his hand. ‘Bandit? Is that your name, really? Didn’t your mother like you?’
He laughed. ‘It’s a nickname, given to me when I was in the marines. It kind of stuck, but if it offends you, the real name is Christopher, Christopher Lawless. Now, you say your father lives here? Shall I call the boss or do you want to go and creep around in the trees some more?’
‘Providing the boss is still Morris Pocklington, go ahead. I’m sure my father will be pleased to see how you welcomed his daughter to—’ Madeleine stopped in mid-flow as she looked up to see her cross-armed father standing before her on the doorstep of Wrea Head Hall.
Chapter Six
Madeleine watched as her father paced nervously around the room before settling himself in a green leather captain’s chair that was situated behind the Victorian double-sided mahogany desk. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, his hands tightly clasped together, and looked at her.
‘I wouldn’t ask, but I have to get away from Liam and I’m desperate, I literally have nowhere else to go.’ Madeleine twisted her hands together as though wringing out wet cloths and studied her father for the first time in years. He looked distinguished, his hair and beard were both mottled with grey, but the expensive cut gave him an eminent look. She knew she’d shocked him by turning up at the hotel, yet he appeared to be calm, patient, and looked thoughtful before speaking.
‘Why come now, Madeleine? Why would you want to come and live here now? Couldn’t you stay with your mother? After all she did a good job of dominating you as a child.’ Her father spoke quietly, yet sternly and watched for her reaction. ‘I mean it’s not like she ever really allowed us to keep in touch now, is it?’
Madeleine gulped and her stomach fell, making her close her eyes, while she waited for the room to stop spinning. ‘Mother … she died. Just before Christmas. I thought you knew.’
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry. No one told me. I had no idea.’
Madeleine sat back in her chair. She didn’t understand why her father looked so shocked. Liam said he’d phoned him. But if
her father hadn’t known, it did explain why he hadn’t been in touch.
‘Are you sorry she’s dead, or sorry that you didn’t know?’ She knew she sounded abrupt, but felt as though she needed an answer to the question.
‘Both. What happened?’
Madeleine watched his reactions. He genuinely looked shocked and after the way Liam had acted of late, she had no reason not to believe her father. ‘She had an anaphylactic shock, as you know she was allergic to nuts. We still don’t understand it; she was normally so careful.’ Madeleine felt herself begin to tremble. The day of her mother’s death was still vivid in her mind. She remembered walking into her mother’s house to find her curled up in a tight ball, her eyes wide open; her face was the palest ashen grey, yet her lips the brightest red, all contorted and swollen. Her Epi-pen lay beside her, empty, as though it had been discharged, but hadn’t worked.
Madeleine stood up to hide the tears that threatened to flow. She allowed her finger to run along the dark wood panelling that surrounded the room. It generated a feeling of texture and warmth. ‘I realise it’s a big ask, you know, coming to live here. But as I said, when I had to give my flat up, I moved in with Liam and now … now I have nowhere else to go. I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life and I don’t know what to do. I just don’t trust him. He’s changed, one minute he’s the most loving person you could meet and the next he’s cruel. I have to think of Poppy.’ She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose before she could continue. ‘I don’t expect to come here rent free. I’m happy to work, earn my keep so to speak and what’s more I wouldn’t be here for long. I promise. As soon as my royalty cheques come through, I’ll find somewhere else to go.’
Morris closed his eyes. He’d waited years for the day that his daughter might want to spend time with him, wished that one day she might walk in through the door, meet him for dinner or allow him to be a part of her family. Now here she was, asking if she, her daughter and her Spaniel puppy might all move into the hall.
So why didn’t that make him happy?
‘I tried to see you, so many times,’ he whispered. He thought of the day he’d called at her flat. He’d felt so alone, so in need of support. His wife, Josie, had died and even though Madeleine had never met her, he felt it only right that she should hear of her stepmother’s death from him. But Madeleine hadn’t been home and Liam had sent him away, insisting that Madeleine wouldn’t want to see him and adamant that he should leave before she returned.
‘Really, I … I didn’t know. Mother always said you couldn’t make it, couldn’t see me and that you had better things to do.’ It was apparent to him that Madeleine was thinking of her childhood and it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d been to visit her more recently.
‘It was never like that, Maddie. I always wanted to see you. Your mother wouldn’t allow it, especially after I married Josie …’ He paused. ‘… Margaret didn’t want me, but she didn’t want anyone else to have me either.’
‘I didn’t know.’
Her father nodded and once again defensively crossed his arms. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
He saw her smile. ‘I saw a picture of you in the Yorkshire Post. You were standing in front of the hotel after some charity event that you’d been involved in last year. Looked like you’d raised loads of money. I was so very proud of you.’
He gasped. The last thing he’d ever expected was for Madeleine to ever say she’d been proud of him. He hadn’t even realised that she’d known where he was.
‘So, how long have you owned the hotel?’ she asked, hoping to change the subject. Her eyes searched the room in a desperate attempt not to cry for the years that she’d lost.
‘Around nine years. I bought the place with Josie.’ His arm swept upwards. ‘We wanted to make it the most romantic hotel in the north. All Josie, of course, she was the romantic one.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you both succeeded. It’s beautiful.’
Madeleine once again studied the wood panels. She thought of Josie, of the stepmother that she’d never met and she wondered what she was like. How they lived and what kind of life she and her father had had together. There were so many questions that she wanted the answers to, but knew she’d never dare ask. Jealousy seared through her as she silently thought of the life he’d had without her.
‘It was all Josie, she used to make the hall sing with happiness. Its beauty and romance was all down to her.’
Madeleine’s eyes opened wide. Her father spoke in the past tense. Did he mean that Josie had left, or died?
She had no idea which it was, but immediately wished that she could run and hold her father as she saw the pain flash across his face.
‘I did try to see you, after Josie died.’ He had watched the shock cross Madeleine’s face and was sure she hadn’t known that Josie was dead. ‘I came to your flat. Spoke to him.’
‘Really, did you, when?’ She genuinely looked shocked and it became immediately apparent to him that she appeared to know nothing about his visit, about how rude Liam had been and how he’d been sent away, full of grief.
He’d waited for days in the hope that Liam had told her of his visit, but she hadn’t called. Instead of a sympathy card she’d sent a letter. The letter had broken his heart; it had told him to stay away. To keep out of her life, that she was more than happy without him and not to contact her again. He’d been distraught and had read it over and over again until finally, he’d believed it and his dreams of rekindling his family had ended. And on a day when he’d needed Madeleine the most, he’d stood alone by Josie’s grave, surrounded by staff and strangers, but no family member to call his own.
‘Maddie, you know I wouldn’t turn you away. I’ve wanted you here for years. You’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you want.’ He spoke the words, but glanced down at the desk drawer where the letter had been locked. The gold key held his attention and he thought for a moment before looking back up. If Madeleine hadn’t been aware of his visit, then who had sent him the letter?
Was it possible that Madeleine would have written a letter in that way and then turn up, asking if she could move in and expect it not to matter?
‘Well, we could sure use an extra pair of hands around here. Your contribution to the hotel would help.’ He wanted her to come, wanted her to know that she was welcome, but didn’t know how to show her his feelings.
‘Here, write your address down. I’ll organise a van for you.’ He passed her a pad, rummaged in the drawer and pulled out a pen, tossing it across the desk.
Morris wanted her to write, he wanted to see the words on the page, see her handwriting, the style and the fluidity that she wrote in, and what’s more he wanted her to do it without realising what he was up to. If she didn’t know about the letter, which he suspected she didn’t, it was the only way he’d know for sure if she’d written it or not.
He knew he was being distant, withdrawn and probably a lot more unwelcoming than his daughter might have expected and maybe he was being unfair. Madeleine had become a beautiful young woman. She was sitting before him and for the first time in her life, she was asking for his help.
‘I know of a good removals firm. I’ll get one over to you tomorrow.’ He stood up and walked over to a unit. Pulling a directory from its shelf he began thumbing through the pages.
Madeleine closed her eyes, realising for just a moment how little she knew her own father. They’d spent most of their lives apart, even though none of it had been his fault. It was true what he’d previously said; her mother had dominated her life. She’d given birth to Jess, and her dark olive skin and jet black hair had made it immediately obvious that Morris was not the father and that Jess had been the result of her mother’s infidelity. She’d left him just a few days later, feeling that she didn’t have a choice. But by doing that, she’d taken Madeleine away from her father, thus robbing them of each other.
Everyone had said that her father would r
e-marry. He’d always been a family man and loved family life. However, she couldn’t help but feel just a little sad that he’d spent so many years living in another house, with all those Christmases, birthdays, holidays and bedtime stories that she’d missed out on. How different her life could have been with him in it.
She looked up.
‘Dad.’ She paused and grabbed at her breath. ‘Is … is it okay to call you that?’ For some reason Madeleine found it hard to continue. She immediately looked back down at her mud-covered shoes and searched for the right words. ‘It’s been so long.’
Morris Pocklington gulped. He was shocked at the question. He knew he’d been distant towards her, but didn’t know how else to be. Had he really been such a bad father?
He looked at the young woman that sat before him. It was the same young woman that he’d held moments after her birth, the same baby that he’d spoon-fed and the same child who had sat on his knee. He’d read her books, over and over again, taught her how to ride a bike and now, she was all grown up. She was beautiful and appeared to be intelligent. He closed his eyes, wishing he’d been there to watch her grow. There had been so many times in the past when he’d wanted to be there for her. Yet, never once had he imagined a day when she’d turn up at his home, and ask if she were still allowed to call him ‘Dad’.
‘Have I really been such a bad father that you’d have to ask?’ The words were simple yet anxious and his eyes filled with emotion and tears.
He held out his arms to where his daughter sat. He desperately wanted to hold her and knew that it was time to at least try and put the past where it belonged. He knew it would be difficult, knew the past would haunt them both, but knew he had to try.
‘I’d really like to hug my daughter, if that’s okay?’
He watched as Madeleine stood up and walked towards him. Slow and tentative, yet somewhere deep inside, she was still his little Maddie. His fingers rested on her shoulders as the tears continued to well up in his eyes. His emotions twisted one way and then the other.
