Was this a simple case of miscommunication and wrong perceptions? Or were those glimpses of social-climbing, attention-seeking Nigel real and dangerous? Did we have a fatal disconnect? Was that why I'd ended things earlier in the year?
I shivered in the warm summer sun as I remembered the woman at Avebury. Nigel isn't the one.
Chapter 12
Blair
I sat on the beach for at least half an hour just watching the birds and the water, letting my mind go blank. Trying to clear it of the constant refrain to remember. I hoped the tranquil environment and fresh air would clear my head.
My anger slowly faded to a slow simmer in the background. But I was as confused as ever. I needed to talk to Beth. Get her take on my situation. Check my messages. Wrap my head around real life again. Check in with people now that I was feeling stronger. Ground myself.
I glanced up at the cliffs. Damn, they were tall. Did they have to be quite so imposing? I studied them, frowning, weighing whether I had the energy to walk them again and find the elusive coverage area. Screw it. I had to try. I stood and brushed the sand off my butt.
Inside the cottage, I grabbed my purse, looking for my phone before I remembered it was plugged in and charging. I set my purse down on something. I snatched it up again, revealing Nigel's phone. In my anger, I must have set my purse on top of it. And now he'd gone off without it.
I'd been at the beach too long. It was too late to catch him. He'd been too far gone to come back for it. He was probably helicoptering to London at this very moment.
I bit my lip, torn. I had several options before me. Doing nothing looked pretty appealing right now. He didn't deserve my help. Yeah, there was that simmering anger. On the other hand, I didn't want him worrying he'd lost it in the ambulance or helicopter or wherever in his rush to the hospital. And sending someone over for it.
I picked it up and stared at it. I wasn't the kind of person to go through someone else's phone. It was an invasion of privacy, like reading someone else's diary. But if I could find the number of the hospital, or his buddy who worked there, and let Nigel know he'd left his phone here, it might save him some trouble and go a long way toward smoothing things over between us. A sort of peace gesture.
All right, good self, you've convinced me. Be the bigger person.
I took my phone, and his, to the terrace and settled into a chair with a view of the lake and woods beyond. My hands trembled as I opened his contact list. I even glanced around guiltily and laughed at myself. As if someone would be spying on me out here. As if I had anything to hide. I was doing a good thing, right?
Sometimes doing the most innocent thing can open Pandora's box. Sometimes you don't want to know what you don't know. Or are too naïve and trusting even to suspect.
I opened Nigel's contacts. There were scads of women in Nigel's contact list. And by scads, I mean dozens and dozens.
My heart raced. My head pounded.
Calm down. He was single most of the year. You had broken up. He didn't owe it to you to be faithful. Did you expect him to be a monk?
But why hasn't he deleted them?
Maybe he hasn't had time.
Shut up, voice of reason. You're just making excuses. He's had plenty of time. What about all that time he was sitting in the hospital next to my bed?
Maybe he wasn't sure yet that you'd get back together. That it would work.
But he told me that we talked about it just before I was hit. That we were planning to—
Just get down to business and find that friend of his.
I took a deep breath and kept scrolling. Amid the names of all those women, there was one for Chris.
Chris? I frowned, trying to remember. Chris? That name rang a bell. Didn't he have a friend, Christopher something?
It was worth a look. The contact info told me nothing, just a name and number. I decided to take a quick peek and see if there were any text conversations that would give me a clue whether this was the guy I was looking for. I searched for Chris and clicked without thinking, determined only to scan and see whether this might be the guy.
Uh…not a guy at all. A woman. A naked woman. Um, a naked woman doing herself. Punctuated with dick pictures Nigel had been texting her. He'd been sexting with this woman.
My stomach turned over. I felt lightheaded. I took a deep breath, trying not to be sick on the terrace. The phone trembled in my hand.
Okay. So he's been sexting? We weren't together. He was entitled to do whatever he wanted…
Until I saw how far the dates went back—well into last year. That was when the lid to Pandora's box flew wide open and the furies hit the fan. Woman after woman. Nigel had been sending dick pictures and sexting with dozens of women for years while we'd still been together. Or supposedly together.
Liar. Cheat.
Suddenly everything came into question. Was this afternoon call really about his uncle? Or was it a booty call? An overnight stay? Come on. That was suspicious. I hated the thoughts that ran through my mind. They were worse than the anger. Much worse. Self-recrimination. Blame. Feeling that I really didn't know the man I thought I loved, the man I'd been in love with for a decade.
It was easy enough to see how he could hide this from me. I mean, we were separated by an ocean and on separate continents ninety-five percent of the time. The bigger question was why? Why hang on to me? Why not cut me loose? Why make the pretense of a relationship?
The pictures explained his resistance to getting married. And another reason he didn't want to leave London and the UK. He had women all over the city and country.
Wait. I was remembering again. Snatches from my most recent visit. Nigel knew I wanted more. I wanted a life together and he still chose to keep me on the line. Bastard.
The phone trembled in my hand. I was cold and numb.
But that women weren't even the worst of what was in Nigel's phone. I was looking for a man, a buddy of his. And now I was damn well going to find him if I had to look through every bloody thing on his phone. This potentially fictitious buddy. I steeled myself to see every betrayal. I almost had to see them.
Finally, amid the little-black-book nature of his contact list, one guy did come up—Randy Dixon.
I nearly dropped the phone. Randy Dixon. Randy Dickless. With an American phone number and Seattle area code.
I almost laughed, maybe a bit hysterically, as the memory came back. Dylan. Comicon. That ass Randy hit on me. He's Austin's nemesis.
I didn't know how I knew that. I just did. Why would Randy be in Nigel's phone?
I had to find out.
Records of phone calls. At least a dozen. Text conversations. Randy contacting Nigel. Telling him he could help Nigel out if Nigel would help him. Just one little thing he had to do. One message to pass along for him. Plotting ways to bring Austin down and get him out of the picture. To keep him in the States. Plotting how Nigel could take his place in the promos and get me back.
My stomach heaved. I reached the bushes just in time. All that lovely café seafood lost. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and leaned over, telling myself to breathe.
I can't stay here. Damn you, Nigel! I can't stay another minute.
There was no longer any need to call Beth. My decision was clear. The evidence was damning.
Austin. Austin was an innocent victim. The thought made me almost sick again. The evil behind the act. The lack of concern for another person. I couldn't believe it of Nigel. The Nigel I knew wouldn't…
But that was ridiculous. He had. The evidence swam before my eyes.
Was Nigel so selfish and desirous of fame? His pride so stung? How could he be a party to framing an innocent guy?
Cam had told me that Austin was working on a top-secret project in a top-secret facility. But was there more to it than he was letting on? Was he being held under suspicion of something possibly criminal? That was what the conversation seemed to imply.
I didn't remember Austin yet. Not really. But I w
as furious on his behalf. I had to help him. I would help him. I glanced at the phone again. He needed, deserved, to have this proof of his innocence. I didn't have cell coverage here at the cottage. Think, Blair. Think.
If I took the phone to the cliffs, I could forward the texts. But then Nigel would know I'd forwarded them. I was in no mood to go to the cliffs now. I wasn't even sure I had the energy. I wanted to get out of here now. If I did, I couldn't take the phone and have Nigel accuse me of stealing it. I bit my lip.
I stared at the phone. I didn't have coverage, true, but that didn't disable the camera on my phone. I snapped pictures of all the damning texts. Nigel wouldn't have a clue I'd done it.
I ran to the house. The number for a car service was by the phone. I called and asked them to send someone immediately.
I ran upstairs and hastily threw everything I wanted into one suitcase. It only took a few minutes. I decided to leave the winter clothes and old case behind. They were part of another life, my old life I now longer wanted. I wasn't even exactly sure where I was heading. London? Edinburgh? I wasn't cleared to fly yet, so I couldn't go home to Seattle.
Right now, I just had to get out of here and get cell coverage.
The landline rang as I came downstairs with my suitcase. I eyed it warily. What if it was Nigel, realizing he'd left his phone?
I had to answer it. "Yes?"
It was the car service, explaining that security wouldn't let them in the gate. Could I meet them there?
Meet them there! Even in full health, it was too far to walk. Weakened and with a suitcase?
"Hang on. Let me call the house and get this straightened out," I said.
I called the house and security.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. With your celebrity status and the master away, we have instructions not to let anyone on the property."
"Then come get me and take me to the gate." I had no time to argue with them.
"Sorry again, ma'am. But we have orders to make sure you stay on the property. For your safety, I'm afraid."
I slammed the phone down, called the car service back, and dismissed them.
I'm a prisoner here.
I had to think. I grabbed my phone and headed for the cliffs and cell coverage.
* * *
Austin
I was in the habit of checking the news from the UK first thing in the morning. I woke early and grabbed my tablet, bringing up the UK news and Jamie sites. Looking at the social media feeds from Jamie.
And there it was—the thing I'd been dreading, the first promo piece from Blair and Nigel for the upcoming season of Jamie. They were sitting in an open-air café in a marina, chatting with Alistair Helyer, Reggie. There was that smug, smiling Nigel.
My heart stopped. I balled my first as the camera panned past Blair. There she was. With him. Nigel had his arm around the back of her chair in that possessive pose, as if she were his.
You can't imagine my feelings. She looked beautiful and bruised. And tired. She was wearing one of the sundresses she'd bought for the trip. One of the dresses she and Beth had picked up specifically because they knew I'd like it. One of the dresses she'd intended to wear on our trip through England.
Heartbroken. How do you describe having your heart completely snapped in two without sounding clichéd and melodramatic?
But was it my imagination, or did Blair look peeved? You had to know her very well to see it. The set of her jaw. A hardness in her eyes. And then she started giving Alistair hell.
She's defending Connor.
Smiling, witty, her old sense of humor back. Defending Connor and Jamie.
She's picking Jamie over Reggie.
Why should that fill me with so much damned hope and optimism? Of course she picked Jamie. Almost every woman did. But this was personal. There she was sitting between two Reggies. Two handsome Brits, one of them fawning over her, and she was defending Connor and Jamie. And by default, I hoped like hell that meant me. She was defending me. Whether she knew it or not, she was choosing me.
* * *
Blair
I had my phone out in front of me like a flashlight, hoping I had enough energy to make it to an area where I got cell coverage. I was looking for those almost imaginary-seeming bars of service with the urgency of looking for a lost child. Dear old uncle, should he recover from whatever medical emergency he was having, should really insist on a cell tower on his land. Although I was determined, and fueled by adrenaline, I was tiring quickly. I hadn't intended to make this walk twice in the same day.
I paused to catch my breath and forced myself to keep going. I was nearing the crest of the cliff when the first service bar popped up in the corner of my screen. I turned and looked back at the cottage across the way. I'd come a long way. I rested for a second with my arm on my knee. Just a little farther. I pushed on.
A few more steps, another bar. Texts starting pinging in, one after another. The reassuring sounds of civilization and modern communication. I ignored them. Time to read them later. A couple more steps; three bars now. I should be safe to send pictures. I brought up the photos of Nigel's phone screens.
I hesitated, stupidly. Sentimentally. Grieving. But only for an instant. What was the point of hanging on? Mourning something that maybe never was? Or only had been years ago when we were young and passionate.
I selected all of the pictures and texted them to Austin with the message, Your nemesis has been up to his old tricks. Sorry I didn't find these sooner.
I held my breath and watched as the messages sent. Would he notice I hadn't said, I love you? How could I when I didn't remember if I did? When I only knew I felt something for him? When I was so emotionally fragile?
When the messages were gone, I collapsed, cross-legged, onto the grass. I waited for a response, looking out across the sparkling water with tears in my eyes. Memories, one after another, began tumbling back so fast it was dizzying.
I crossed my arms and rested my head in them, trying to grasp everything.
My phone made a ping. I lifted my head and looked at the phone in my hand.
Blair? Is it really you? Are you okay?
Austin! Yes, it's me. You'll have to take my word on that, lol. I could be an evil impersonator, I suppose. Call me. I need to talk to you. I need your help.
My phone rang in my hand. "Austin!"
But the beautiful American accent that greeted me wasn't Austin's. "Sorry to disappoint. It's Lazer. Do you remember me?" he said.
"Yes." Yes, I remembered!
The tension left his voice. "I'm manning Austin's phone. He's still out of touch in the top-secret black-box facility. Did you get his text?"
"Maybe," I said, frowning. "I haven't had time to look. I just got cell coverage. I wanted to send the pictures before I did anything else. You saw the texts I just sent, obviously. That's why you called, right? Get them to Austin and get him out of wherever he is. I need him here. I need to know he's all right. That his life isn't ruined because of me."
The story tumbled out. All of it. Everything that had happened since I arrived at Heathrow, in condensed version. Except for the miscarriage.
"You remember?" Lazer said. "You remember Austin? He'll be so damned happy."
"I'm remembering." Tears filled my eyes.
"All right. Fantastic. This calls for a rescue mission. We have to get you out of there. Hang on, Blair." I heard a rustle. "What time is it, anyway? Okay. Almost eight fifteen in the morning here. Add eight hours. That makes it around four fifteen in the afternoon where you are.”
He sounded distracted. He was counting and doing some quiet math. "It will take me an hour or two to arrange things. And then eight hours or so to get to you. If we're lucky, and all the people I need to reach take my calls, we should be able to reach you in the early morning hours. Around three shall we say? That will give us a small margin of error. Can you hang on that long, Blair?"
"Yes." I smiled, blinking back tears.
"Good. I'll get the guys. With
these texts, I should be able to break Austin out. We'll be there. You're still at the cottage on the Beech House estate, right?"
"Yes."
"But you have cell coverage now?"
"Only out here on the cliffs."
"The cliffs?"
"Don't sound so worried." I laughed. "I'm not going to throw myself off. Not now. Not with a rescue imminent."
"Damn, Blair, you are back."
"Just get here. And you damn well better bring Austin."
"Aye-aye," Lazer said. "How do I reach you?"
"The cottage has a landline." I gave him the number. "Hurry, Lazer. Hurry."
After we hung up, I looked for the text from Austin that Lazer had mentioned. As I scrolled through my texts, I was moved almost to tears by the outpouring of love and support from friends and colleagues. I had caused a lot of people a lot of worry.
There were messages from the Jamie staff offering their encouragement. A few funny ones from Connor congratulating me on getting out of the hospital. More serious and sympathetic ones from Samantha Roberts. Messages from the PR department rescheduling engagements.
And one from the Seattle police department wanting to speak to me about Bob Price's "suspicious" death.
I froze. Suspicious death? Since when? Okay, sure, he hadn't looked good to me, like his meds weren't doing what they were supposed to—
Wait a minute! I was remembering again. At least that much.
What else? Headboards banging on walls. Erica calling for help. I squinted. CPR. Both of us. Nothing. I had nothing more.
Since when was it a crime to have sex with your husband? Even if he had a weak heart. For all I knew, it was the way he wanted to go.
I texted the detective that there was nothing I could tell him. I explained, in somewhat technical terms, about my head injury and memory loss. I hoped that satisfied him. I didn't want to get in the middle of a murder investigation, if that was what this was. And it was the truth. My memories were sketchy and unreliable. The strongest ones were emotional, as much feelings as fact.
Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel Page 14
