Jason eyed the girl sitting opposite curiously. She didn’t look much older than twelve now truth be told and he certainly couldn’t remember having seen her here before. He would never have forgotten hair as red as hers or eyes as big and green. With her petite build, she reminded him of a small sprite and looked as though she belonged more in the woods than here in a kitchen.
‘Are you staying here?’ he asked as the silence began to stretch, ‘I mean it’s not a problem,’ he added hastily, not wanting to insinuate that she wasn’t welcome. God knows if she was prepared to put up with the archaic plumbing and his wandering grandmother, she was welcome to stay. Another pair of hands never hurt.
Aileen shoved a plate of homemade shortbread in front of him. ‘Nicole just wanted to get out of the city for a while, get a bit of peace and quiet, and I tol’ her to come straight up here. You don’t get more quiet and peaceful than Bloodstone Tower.’ Jason grimaced. ‘And therein lies the problem,’ he muttered ruefully.
‘You want to talk about it laddy?’ Aileen asked matter of factly, ‘How’s the laird doing?’
Hugo Buchannan was not really Lord of anything, but Aileen had been here as long as Jason could remember, and throughout that time she persisted in calling his father by a title that no longer existed.
‘He’s improving slowly,’ Jason grunted, taking another sip of his whisky, ‘But it’s going to be a while before he’s back on his feet, and until then he’s going to need someone to look after him. Not an easy task I’m afraid,’ he continued waving at the kitchen around him.
He hadn’t yet confided his plans for the Tower to his father or Aileen, and he wasn’t sure how either would take it. His father would be delighted to have him back home full time, but the old man lived in cloud cuckoo land when it came to finances. And then there was Kit. He had no idea whether she would get behind his plans for their future, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared to go ahead without her by his side.
‘I could help you out for a while.’ The small voice from his side brought him out of his reverie and he looked down at Nicole with the first burgeoning of hope.
‘I can’t stay for longer than a couple of months,’ the petite woman continued, ‘But I have some first aid training and would be happy to help your father get back on his feet while you look for someone more permanent. I’m sure Aileen and I could cope between us.’
Jason looked over at the two women. Aileen was nodding her agreement, and for the first time that day he felt the band of almost panic constricting his chest begin to ease.
‘That would be amazing if you could, at least in the short term,’ Jason responded, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice, ‘I’ll pay you of course.’
Nicole smiled in answer. ‘You don’t need to pay me, just put me up and feed me and I’ll be perfectly content. I love the tranquility of Bloodstone Tower, it’s exactly what I need right now.’ Jason smiled back, wondering what had driven her to leave London. ‘Well you’ll get that in spades,’ he murmured finishing his whisky, ‘We’ll talk more in the morning if you don’t mind, right now I’m absolutely exhaus…’
A sudden commotion outside caused him to pause, frowning. Spike the cat was yowling, hissing and spitting outside the kitchen window at what appeared to be a stray dog if the noise of barking and growling was anything to go by.
‘What the blo…?’ Jason broke off as the kitchen door was thrown open, allowing Spike to dash in, closely followed by a large Springer spaniel. Jason’s heart dropped into his feet.
‘You’re going to have to do something about that bloody bag of fur and bones or Pickles is likely to have him for his bollocking breakfast one of these days.’
Jason stared in horrified disbelief as the large figure of Charles Shackleford appeared in the open doorway.
‘Don’t worry lad, your problems are over,’ the Admiral boomed, casting a benevolent glance towards the three startled faces staring at him from the table. ‘I’m here to do my bit to keep old Scotty on this mortal coil for a tad longer, and Jimmy’ll be up here tomorrow to do his bit. One look at us and your dad’ll be on his feet in no time, just you wait and see…’
Chapter Six
Aunt Flo pours the wine and hands me the first glass without speaking. Then, seating herself back in the chair opposite, she puts a blanket over her knees and stares down at her drink for a few seconds. When she finally looks up, her expression is set and determined.
‘I think we’ve both put off having this conversation for far too long Kit, but things need to be said and I’m afraid we’re beginning to run out of time to say them.’ She pauses and I frown, alarmed at the sense of finality in her voice, but before I can open my mouth, she holds up her hand. ‘Please sweetheart, let me speak. I’ve rehearsed these words in my head so many times, and if I’m ever to have a good night’s sleep again, I need to get them off my chest.
‘As you know, I escaped from your father’s control with the help of Charles Shackleford’s friend Boris… er… good God, I don’t even know his second name.’ She sighs irritably before continuing, ‘Unfortunately your father, Luke, was injured in the process.’
‘Don’t you mean killed?’ I interrupt, unable to help myself. Aunt Flo frowns before dropping her bombshell. ‘What makes you think your father was killed?’
I stare at her without speaking, completely blindsided by her revelation.
‘Kit your father isn’t dead; he’s still very much alive. That’s why I had to stay away from you for so long.’
~*~
Tory ran her hands through her hair and glanced at the clock. Three thirty in the morning. Throwing the covers back, she climbed out of bed, weariness making her stumble as she made her way to Isaac’s crib situated a few feet away. ‘Hey little man,’ she whispered to her son who gave no sign of having heard his mother, being too intent on screaming the house down.
‘Come on sweetie pie, let’s get you fed.’ Leaning down, she scooped up the red-faced bundle and turned back towards the bed where her eyes lit on the side that was Noah’s, empty but for a disgruntled Dotty.
Her husband was in London for the premier of Nocturne. The Science Fiction movie Noah had been working on during their brief break up over last summer was finally having its premier in London’s Leicester Square. Tory had hoped she’d be able to attend the glittering event alongside Noah, but the small bundle in her arms dictated otherwise.
Sighing she began feeding Isaac, her mind going back to the TV coverage of the premier that had been shown earlier. Noah had looked absolutely stunning as he always did in a dinner jacket, and she’d felt the familiar stab of anxiety coupled with a sense of unreality that always swamped her whenever they weren’t together. There were the usual bevy of beautiful women surrounding him, and after ten minutes, she’d switched the program off and taken herself off to bed.
Looking down at her son now, she bent her head and whispered, ‘Don’t worry little man, daddy loves us best.’ Tory hoped it was true.
~*~
‘But, I thought you shot him?’ My voice is husky with shock.
My aunt nods her head. ‘I did, and believe me, at the time I thought I’d killed him. In fact, I hoped I had.’ Her voice in contrast to mine is scathing and angry. ‘But I should have known better. The bastard recovered after a few months in hospital.
‘You and I were living in a flat in Bristol during that period and I lived in total fear that he would decide to press charges and I‘d be dragged back to the States to answer for what I’d done.
‘But of course that wasn’t your father’s style. He was all about control, and he still wanted control of me and more importantly, you Kit. I knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d tracked us both down, but the only way he could find you was through me.
‘I changed your name and we stayed off the grid as far as possible. My father had died while I was in America, but my mother was still alive. When I finally ran out of money, I contacted her and she set up a standing order that kept us both off th
e streets. She didn’t know the whole story, but she knew enough not to ask where I was living.’
Aunt Flo pauses, closing her eyes briefly, and when she continues, her voice is filled with bitter regret. ‘I never saw my mother again, but I made the mistake of going to her funeral. I only stayed for one night and left you back in Bristol with a friend.’
‘Who?’ I butt in, wanting – needing – to know everything now the can of worms has finally been opened. My aunt shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s what happened while I was in Dartmouth that matters.’ She stops again, grimacing as the memories come flooding back. ‘While I was here, I bumped into Luke’s parents and found out he was on his way back to the UK. It was obvious they didn’t know exactly what had happened between the two of us, and more importantly they had no idea their son had fathered a child.
‘They were however, very aware of the scandal their son had caused during his time in Charleston and that disgrace had somehow found its way back to the wealthy Dartmothians, to such an extent that Luke’s parents found themselves ostracized by their peers and were busy relocating to Brighton to escape the shame.
‘In a panic, I rushed back to Bristol. I had no idea what to do, but knew I had to protect you at all costs.’ She takes a long gulp of her wine, but this time in the interim I say nothing, engrossed in the story. It feels like just that – a story. One that happened to someone else.
My aunt takes a deep breath and continues, ‘My brother Gareth had left Dartmouth along with his childhood sweetheart when I was still a teenager – even all those years ago they both had itchy feet.’ She pauses, grimacing slightly before continuing, ‘My brother was the lucky one – he managed to escape our father much earlier than me.
'We weren’t close, I heard nothing from him while I was in the States and neither of them came home for mum’s funeral. However, one of Gareth’s oldest friends did. He told me he’d heard that Gareth and Sylvia had got married and were living in the Midlands. He gave me my brother’s contact details, and in desperation, I called him when I got back to Bristol.
‘We met up in Gloucester and I told him everything that had happened. At the time he seemed like an answer to my prayers.’ She looks over at me and her face is filled with sorrow. ‘His wife had lost a child – a girl – a year earlier, and they’d been told by doctors there would be no more. Apparently, Sylvia had taken it harder than my brother.
‘You were still young, not even three years old. It seemed like the perfect solution – even though it broke my heart to let you go.’ I stare mutely at her face, vaguely registering that her features are a mask of anguish, and feel a lump come into my throat.
‘The deal was that they passed you off as their own,’ Aunt Flo whispers into the silence. ‘After a few months in Nottingham, they returned to Dartmouth with no one the wiser. I went to London, and that’s when I started writing.’
‘But what about my moth… Sylvia’s parents?’ I ask, ‘They were still alive then weren’t they? Didn’t they know that I wasn’t their natural grandchild?’
‘They didn’t ask,’ Aunt Flo responded wearily, ‘I think they were so glad to have their daughter back, they didn’t question the cock and bull story that Sylvia and Gareth fed them.’ My aunt pauses and looks over at me with a slight smile. ‘They loved you very much Kit. I think if they’d lived longer, things might have been very different.
‘Sylvia was never very maternal. I don’t think she ever looked on you as her own. Perhaps my brother did, in the beginning, but when his wife’s parents died, his wander lust returned and you became an encumbrance that kept them in one place.’
‘Is that why you came back?’ I ask, unable to help myself.
My aunt sighs before speaking. ‘Luke – your father – managed to track me down in London as I knew he would, but by then he was a shadow of his former self. His injury – the injury I’d inflicted on him – had taken its toll on his health and he was no longer the charismatic man he’d once been. He very nearly convinced me that he’d changed completely and I was so close to telling him where you were.’ I feel my heart constrict painfully at the thought that I might have had an opportunity to know my real father, but at her next words, that brief daydream died without really being born.
‘When I told him you’d been adopted,’ he beat me with his walking stick, and I think he would have killed me if he hadn’t been stopped by the man who’d recently become my agent.’
‘Neil,’ I breathe and she nods. ‘He saved my life that day, and very possibly yours. Luke was arrested and spent the next three years in jail. While he was there, he had a stroke – possibly caused by being shot in the head by yours truly.’ My aunt’s voice shows no remorse or pity towards the man who’d caused her so much anguish. ‘The last I heard he was living with his parents in Brighton.’
‘Didn’t he tell the police what had happened in the States when they arrested him?’ I ask, not because I think he deserved any leniency, but the fact that he’d nearly beaten my aunt to death indicated that he wasn’t exactly a man to let bygones be bygones.
‘I think he was afraid it would go worse for him if he dragged up everything that happened in the US. At the end of the day, his sentence for committing grievous bodily harm was fairly lenient. He thought he’d be out in three years to continue his reign of terror. But it wasn’t to be.’ The only inflection in her voice as she finishes, is one of satisfaction, and I can’t blame her for that.
‘I came back when I knew he couldn’t hurt you anymore,’ Aunt Flo continues, her voice softening. ‘I was horrified by the way Gareth and Sylvia had treated you and I did my best to make it up to you.’ She pauses and holds out her hand. I take it, watching bemused at the tears running down her face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers, ‘Everything I did, I did out of love for you, to keep you safe.
‘I bought this cottage and did my damndest to make sure you spent as much time here as possible. I should have told you the truth, but it never seemed to be the right time. Can you ever forgive me?’ Her voice breaks and she muffles a sob with her other hand.
Tipping Pepé unceremoniously from my lap, I jump up to enfold her in my arms. ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ I murmur gruffly, my own voice rough with unshed tears. ‘There’s only one person to blame in this whole sorry mess and that’s the madman who sired me. But he’s got exactly what he deserves and I’m so glad I can’t remember him.’
I stroke her hair, holding her as she weeps. ‘You’ve been my mother and father Aunt Flo, in every way that really counts, and I have no wish to ever see that bastard.’ My voice is vehement and passionate, but there’s a small voice in the back of my head that’s asking if the last bit is genuinely true…
~*~
The sun was streaming in the windows when Tory woke up again. Dotty was spooning her and it was a wonder her snores hadn’t woken up Isaac.
Oh my God, Isaac! Tory shot up in bed and ran over to the crib, only to breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of her son’s big blue eyes gazing up at her seriously. Picking him up, she padded back to the bed, laying him gently on his changing mat so she could change his nappy before feeding him. Dotty sat up and stretched, giving a small sniff to the baby’s head.
Contrary to everyone’s concerns that she might feel her nose put out of joint, the little dog appeared to adore the Isaac and spent much of her time sitting as close to him as possible. Now however, it was clearly well before her preferred getting up time, and, after a token lick on his forehead, Dotty snuggled back down in the covers with a small sigh.
Smiling, Tory deftly changed the little boy’s nappy and, leaning back against the headboard, prepared to feed him. Grabbing the remote, she switched on the TV before settling her son to his satisfaction. The news was on, but Tory, bending her head to add her own kiss to his delectable forehead, wasn’t watching. Suddenly though, she heard Noah’s name and she glanced up, thinking it was about last night’s movie premier.
Instead there wa
s a lurid photo of her husband and Gaynor Andrews, his former lover, locked in what appeared to be a passionate clinch. Distantly Tory could hear the reporter’s voice over as she stared in shock at the graphic photograph.
‘Is Noah Westbrook’s fairytale marriage over? This photograph, splashed all over Social Media, was taken in the early hours of this morning after last night’s premier of his new movie, and it most definitely suggests that the actor may well have fallen back into the arms of his former love interest, actress Gaynor Andrews…’
Chapter Seven
‘Bloody hell, is there nothing to eat in this bollocking mausoleum? No wonder old Scotty prefers it in hospital.’
Jason clenched his jaw as the Admiral’s strident tones echoed into the great hall from the kitchen where he’d evidently been looking for some breakfast. Glancing down at his watch, Jason registered that it was seven thirty in the morning. He’d been up all night looking at his father’s accounts. Throwing down his pen wearily, he stood up and stretched before reluctantly heading towards his uninvited guest.
‘Aileen doesn’t start until eight,’ he said through gritted teeth as he entered the kitchen, ‘If you can wait a while, I’m sure she’d be delighted to show you some good old Scottish hospitality.’
The Admiral glanced round with a loud humph, before stomping off towards the back door with Pickles in tow. Without bothering to say anything further, he threw open the door and slammed it behind him, leaving Jason staring open mouthed. Obviously not a morning person.
Shaking his head, Jason headed over to make a pot of coffee. After breakfast he intended to head over to the hospital to talk about his father’s rehabilitation.
He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the Admiral’s offer to care for his old friend. If anything, the Admiral’s nursing style was more likely to ensure that his father cashed in his chips at the first opportunity. Sighing, he put the problem of Charles Shackleford to the back of his mind to be dealt with later. He would call Mabel this afternoon to see if she could persuade her headstrong husband to come home. Failing that, he’d have to resort to Tory, or possibly commit murder…
Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy Page 5
