by Costa, Bella
"So it isn't on the market yet? How did you get one?"
"It's being built here in the USA and I know someone who owes me a favour. It's only on loan until I decide if I want one."
I'm seeing this man in a whole new light. He is a complete stranger to me.
"And the chauffeur, does he come with the car?"
"No Acacia, he is an employee. Rex."
"Where are we going?” I ask Chayton.
"To my home, in Bellevue."
"But your home is Donavan's Pass."
"Donavan's Pass is my family home, yes. It was my mother's," he replies cautiously. He takes one of my hands and studies my fingers intently. "Acacia, aside from what every-gold digging socialite in the state knows about me, which isn't much other than I'm loaded and single," he snorts in disgust, "there is more - so much more." He puts my hand on my lap and rests his on top, staring out of the window.
"Acacia...” I watch his smooth confidence stripping away as searches for words and I want to yell at him and tell him to leave everything as it is. That it will be okay, it's just a spat. We'll work it out. But I'm frozen as a sense of dread fills me. "Acacia, I'm falling for you and it scares me. I want so much more for you, for us."
What?
"I know a lot about you and have done for quite some time. I realise that this is unfair and perhaps wrong on some levels, and I will understand if you want to walk away from us. I just want you to understand that my intentions were, I hope, in the right place and I never meant to hurt you."
WHAT! "What do you mean? How long? Chayton, what the fuck, is going on?"
"We have been investigating Robert for a few years. We started just before you separated."
I stare at him in confusion. I try to think of everything I've read and heard about C.J. Donavan. He is supposed to have made his money in investments. That should have been a dead giveaway! "Investigating? I thought you were an investor?"
"I am. The investigation is a side line." He smiles a small tight smile. "There is a group of people, lawyers, bankers, politicians, businessmen even a high school headmaster,” he snorts, as if this is in some way amusing. “We carry out private investigations into high level corruption."
"What does that have to do with Robert? And what does it have to do with me?"
"Well, Robert was already under investigation by the proper authorities but someone was tampering with the evidence. The prosecutor suspected that Robert was bribing someone, either in the prosecution office or one of the investigating team. So we started having a closer look."
Chayton shifts in his chair. "You're familiar with Liberal Brotherhood now." His eyes bore into mine again and I nod cautiously. "I'm the chairman. The charity work is only part of what we do. Mainly to raise money, but mostly to make sure that all the smaller charities get their share of the market and to limit the amount of control, businesses and politicians have, who use charities to raise their profiles." I remember my snide comments at the masque ball. I was him!
"When we first sent the offer to Grant, the intention was to find out, if some of the money which had disappeared from your business was being laundered through the shelter. I'm not longer concerned with that,” he adds quickly, probably at the sight of my reddening face. “Did you know that your solicitor and Robert were at school together?"
"NO! Grant can't possibly have anything to do with this."
"Has he ever mentioned that he knew Robert?"
"No, but..." This can't be happening.
"Acacia, don't worry about it. It's just an angle we are checking out."
"So the shelter, you were using me?” I ask glumly as the large SUV pulls into a circular drive and stops outside an obscenely large house.
"It looks that way, but no. Trust me Acacia, please."
I watch him warily. "That's a tall order." I climb out as Rex opens my door and Chayton ushers me into the house. I follow silently as he leads me though an impressive hallway and then into a spacious living room.
"We would have made the offer anyway, just a bit later." He pulls me down onto a soft sofa beside him and I sit numbly.
"I had fully expected Grant to make the trip instead of you. When I found you lying cold and pale and only half dressed in the snow, I was angry.” It was almost a whisper. "You were so beautiful," he added softly. “Drink?” I shake my head.
"I was convinced it was all a ploy, that you had turned the tables on me by taking Grant's place so that you could try and get closer to me." He sees my annoyed frown and shrugs apologetically, "you'd be surprised at the lengths some women have gone through, in the past, to get my attention," he hisses.
"Then you ran hot and cold and it confused the hell out of me," he looked at me warily, "and made me more attracted to you. When I discovered just how dysfunctional your relationship with Robert had been, I started feeling protective. Very protective. I was – still am – unaccustomed to these feelings. I couldn't trust myself or bring myself to trust your motives."
Mistrust, I can relate to that. I stare at his face blankly. It's a hot, sexy, beautiful face, but the face of a stranger.
"How did Liberal Brotherhood come about?" I ask needing a few minutes of emotion-free conversation. He sits back and runs his fingers through his hair.
"A few years ago, I was going through a period of, well...self discovery and upheaval. At about the same time, I had become aware of some pretty high-level corruption and coercion in the local government. I wanted to do something about it, but frankly didn't know what, and my reflective stock take, wasn't helping." I watch the profile of his chiselled face as he gazes unseeing across the room while he talks.
"One night I pulled into a rural bikers bar, hoping to get thoroughly drunk without being recognised. Liberal Brotherhood were having their secret gathering. They...we...moonlight as bikers for anonymity but back then they were just a small private club of modern day 'men in tights' At the time their main purpose was purely charitable - a sort of all-year-round Secret Santa. I was invited to join the club, which had apparently been running for three generations, before long I had become their chairperson. I realised that between us we had just the right talent to do something about the corruption. It was an easy matter to marshal the brotherhood into doing more than just charitable work."
"Okay, so you're Washington States very own Robin Hood." I frown
He nods. "You asked me today about my family. The only living family I have is Savannah and an older brother. I think he's still living."
"You think?"
"I haven't seen him since I was ten. He left home to join the army and never returned."
"Do you think he ...?"
"No, he didn't die in service," he scoffed. "A birthday card still arrives for my mother every year. The post mark is always different."
"He doesn't know your mother has passed?" I gasp in horror. "That's terrible!"
"Yeah, well not as terrible as not being there for her, when she needed us!"
"Have you tried to find him?"
"No Acacia. It's his business." he spits bitterly. I know I'm pushing too far and I leave that thread of conversation well alone.
"Chayton I..." I what? What is it I want to say? What do I want to do? "I need to think this through. All of it - including the Liberal thingy." My voice is soft and surprisingly controlled.
"That is understandable. But please, please believe me when I say that we – that I – meant you no harm and I am truly sorry," he pleads. “Becoming involved was not part of the plan.”
"Sorry?" I have had enough and snap. "What exactly are you sorry for?" I yell. I stand up, tearing my hands from his and start pacing the room.
"Well? Do you want to elaborate? Because I have a long list of things I feel sorry for right now!" I am aware that I probably look like a mad woman, stalking up and down the room in heels, stockings and a revealing striptease outfit, in full rant mode. I have been known to reduce grown men to tears when I get started, but I just don't care!
"You're not going to answer? Fine! I'll tell you what I'm sorry for!" I continue.
"I'm sorry I ever got involved with that little prick! Yes! Compared to you, he doesn't have much to brag about! I'm sorry that I was foolish enough to hope that he was capable of loving me even a fraction as much as he loved himself! I'm sorry that I allowed him to slowly whittle away at my love, my confidence, my beliefs, my will, until there was nothing left; until I was just an empty shell of a person - the proverbial brainless, emotionless Stepford Wife!" I pause just long enough to wipe frantically at the scalding tears streaming down my face. I glimpse a movement and see him make to rise.
"No way mister! I'm far from done!" I point at the chair angrily and he wisely stays put, staring at me wide eyed.
"I'm sorry that because of him, I now spend my life actually feeling guilty for something I had no control over! I'm sorry that for one precious moment I was weak enough to open the gates inviting you in - the very monster I had built the gates to keep out." I end in a whisper, my irate rant, running on fumes.
We stare at each other warily across the room, both of us worn out. He looks so sincere and contrite that my heart goes out to him but I need to protect my own fragile threads of sanity. Finally, I find the energy to speak. "I'd like to go home now please," I murmur politely.
~.~
Both of us are locked up with our own despondent thoughts, an ocean separating us on the pale soft leather of the SUV's back seat. The silence is only broken by my brief phone call to Grace, advising her that I have found my own way home.
I say goodbye politely and let myself in. I feel like I'm dragging myself through treacle. My mind is trapped in a tempest of revelations. Grant has a possible history with Robert. Grant brought in Grace. Can I trust Grant and Grace anymore? Just how many puppet masters do I have? I wonder what Victoria is doing right now, if she would mind me banging on her door so late? Could Victoria be the only soul left in the world, I could possibly trust? I head up to my room and collapse on my bed in a tight protective ball as the dam bursts and my grief rips my soul apart.
Chapter 10
5th April
Time has shrunk to insignificance. My days blur into a sticky morass of grey and black as the depth of my hurt and near paranoia consumes me. I think I have eaten. I think I have washed. I think at some point I have removed my aching body from bed long enough to do these things. I can’t recall. My physical self continues to function on automatic - on survival mode.
My shattered, broken conscious is no longer connected to my body and I'm grateful. Grateful, because I know that if I could feel the emptiness, which now occupies the place my heart once beat in, I might not survive.
Chayton's betrayal of my trust has utterly destroyed me.
I'm lying on my bed, curled up in misery, heat pounding. Somewhere, a grating sound is pushing at my consciousness, insistent and determined. I sink deeper into the black, ignoring it. It stops. It will come back. It always does.
A new noise jars me rudely to awareness. The door to my room is rattling with the force of someone knocking hard.
"What?" I groan, realising how thick and dry my mouth is.
The door opens and Grace enters clucking. "Victoria is on my phone, Acacia. And you know why she is on my phone? Because you refuse to answer yours; so talk to her – now!" she orders and holds the offending piece of technology out to me.
I lift my hand to reach for the phone, surprised at how heavy my arm feels. Grace stalks out the room, closing the door behind her.
"Hello."
"Acacia."
"Victoria."
"I just phoned to see what condition your condition is in."
"Ha ha," I respond dryly.
"Well at least you understood the humour in that, even if you didn't find it funny. Have you eaten today?"
"Probably."
"Okay. Are you still hurting?"
"Yes."
"Alright, I'll leave you alone with your pain then and check up on you in a few days," she sighs.
Wait what? I claw my way frantically to lucidness.
"That's it?" I demand, my voice sounding stronger.
"That's what?"
"You're not going to try and get me to talk, or step out of the land of the living dead? You're not worried that maybe my current behaviour is perhaps a little unhealthy?" I sit up, still hugging a pillow.
"Welcome back." Her voice is soft but firm and I know I’ve just been conned.
I sit in stunned silence, trying to process my sudden and rude awakening.
Victoria waits a beat then orders slowly and softly, "Acacia, I want you to go and have a hot shower, scrub your hair, dress properly in anything but Pyjamas and join Grace for dinner; she has already ordered your favourite. When you have finished, I want you to do whatever Grace asks you to do. In the morning – phone me."
I don't know what to say.
"Do it now, Acacia. Speak to you in the morning." The line goes dead.
I let the phone fall to the duvet and stare at it. She is right. I've mourned long enough – however long that is. I need to fight this. Weary to the bone, I follow her instructions.
I take care to focus on the now. I listen to the sounds of water splashing in the shower and breathe in the fragrances of the soaps and shampoos, picking out the subtle combinations of fruits and flowers that make up each one. I feel the initial sting of the hot water and imagine it washing more than just the soap and dirt from my skin. I notice the softness of my towel as I rub myself vigorously. I study the grout on the floor tiles as I towel dry my hair. I feel the different textures of each item of clothing as I dress, noticing the new fragrance of the laundry detergent still lingering. I scrub my teeth, feeling the usual prickle it causes in my nostrils and try not to rub the prickle away as I usually would.
I open my blinds and take in the burnt orange clouds, washed by a setting sun. I pull a brush through my hair, feeling each root pull against my protesting scalp as I try to untangle the knots. Finally, I feel able to open my door.
Grace has ordered my favourite Subway, informing me that it is Friday night after all and we sit together at the breakfast bar. She doesn't mention my behaviour or Chayton or Donavan's Pass. She doesn't ask me how I'm feeling either – I'm glad.
Instead, she fills me in on the comings and goings of our guests, conversations held with Grant, and updates on the bills and accounts. Fabulously, wonderfully, marvellously normal stuff!
It's close to midnight before she allows me to trudge back to my room. I've helped with stock-take in the pantry, we watched television together and played cards. Now I'm grateful to be back in my private space. I remake my bed with fresh linen and open my window for a few minutes, to clear some of the demons from the room. Tomorrow, I vow silently, it will be better. It has to be.
~.~
7th April
I've had a rough weekend. I have started and deleted dozens of emails to Chayton - C.J. Donavan. To whoever-the-hell-he-is. I haven't sent a single one. I lean back in my office chair and gaze at the changing light outside the small window. I have been in complete denial about the depth of my feelings for this man. I had reasoned that it was the companionship, the sex, the idea, I was in love with.
The irrational truth is – it's him I love, so much, it hurts. It's probably better that the relationship ends now. The last thing I want is for him to smother me with some well-meaning pity or ill-perceived sense of duty if he finds out how much I love him.
If only it didn't hurt so much. I feel as if I have lost the high definition setting on all my senses. Colours aren't as bright, sounds aren't as clear, tastes and fragrances have become bland and my body's ability to fight gravity has become lacking. It's exhausting.
Grace lost it with me this morning over breakfast. I don't blame her really. At the end of her well-meaning rant, she made me promise to join her on the sofa this afternoon for one of her infamous movie fests. If I can actually focus on whatever movies she has ch
osen, the distraction might be good, for a few hours anyway.
I have slipped into comfortable sweats and an over sized t-shirt, pulling on a pair of thick socks before trudging heavily down stairs. Dressed comfortably usually helps me focus. I sigh and look at the umpteenth email waiting on my monitor, the cursor flashing after Dear Chayton, mocking me. To hell with it! I delete the email and shut down the machine.
I know that little May will be joining us, so I have between my office and living room, to find my happy face and slide it on. They are ready for me when I get there. Popcorn, pop, crisps and dip are all laid out on the coffee table. May is sprawled out on the rug with her duvet and pillows, bounding with young teenage excitement. Grace is smiling at me, patting the sofa next to her in expectation.
"Come on Acacia," beams thirteen year old May. "We're watching Twilight – All of them!" she oozes with excitement.
"Seriously?" I role my eyes at Grace.
"Honey, you haven't watched Twilight until you've watched it from my perspective!" she grins.
"Okay, press play!" I sigh, sinking into my chair.
Grace can be incredibly annoying to watch movies with. She doesn't tell you what's going to happen next – but she does talk non-stop throughout the film. Occasionally, the constant commentary can actually make a film more exciting to watch. We're on the third movie before she really gets started and whatever she's been slipping into her drink – and mine - is helping to fire up that wicked imagination of hers.
"You see...that's just the antithesis of what every woman needs," she quips. "A man who is a frozen popsicle, eats four-legged cauliflowers, and is a fast operator."
I snort into my glass of happy juice as May demands an explanation from Grace.
"The man is ice cold, and he has this misguided conception that the four-legged forest creatures he prefers to hunt are vegetables. As for the too fast...I'll tell you when you're thirty," she winks at May, who has only just got the joke, and is now giggling uncontrollably on the floor.
"Jake isn't so bad," May says eventually when her giggles subside.
