“She loves it, as much as any child likes school,” she said with a grin. “Although I’m not sure she likes having me teaching her art. She actually thinks she’s better than me, so she doesn’t really pay attention.”
Judy laughed, but then her face became more serious. “How about your dad? Any progress there?”
Abi shook her head. “No. I went to talk to him. He did know all about what happened with Natasha, and he says he went along with her plan because he thought Gideon had abandoned me. He said I couldn’t have coped with a baby on my own. He claims he didn’t know she visited Natasha, but to be honest, I don’t know if I can believe him or not. There’s still a lot I don’t understand. I really can’t forgive him, Judy. Not yet, anyway. Maybe never.” She stared out to sea, her face inscrutable.
Judy watched her for a moment. “And have you told her about ‘Nan’?” she asked. “Told her who she really was?”
Abi turned haunted eyes to her. “How can we? To find out that the one person she thought was her friend had in fact been the person who took her away from her mother and put her in the home? I can’t do that. Not now.”
A sudden noise behind them made them turn just in time to see Natasha explode out of the french windows and come running over to them.
“Abi, Abi, Chris is here, and he’s brought cake!” she cried, running over and turning a cartwheel in front of them. “It’s a birthday cake for Gideon, an’ it’s got candles an’ everything.” She landed back upright and ran back into the house.
“Still not calling you Mum and Dad, then?” asked Judy, raising her eyebrows.
“No, not yet.” Abi paused. “She refuses to until we’re married. She’s rather judgemental,” she added with a grimace.
Judy laughed. “She’s just like you, you know,” she said. “At least you haven’t got long to wait, only two weeks now.”
Abi and Gideon were getting married on Midsummer’s Day, and they had chosen to have the ceremony at the caravan site in Wales where they’d first learned of Natasha’s existence. Abi grinned and held out her left hand, now sporting a large emerald-and-diamond engagement ring. She let it glint in the sunlight, then rolled onto her back and stared up at the clear blue sky.
“Won’t it be lovely if the weather’s like this,” she said, wriggling with pleasure. “I’m so excited, Judy!”
Judy lifted her sunglasses and looked under them to get a better view of Abi.
“Me too,” she admitted. “Wasn’t it lucky the caravan site have a wedding licence? It’s not every one that does, is it? And I love the idea of being a maid of honour at my age! Are you sure Natasha doesn’t mind me doing it?”
Abi sat up and shook her head. “No, she’s cool about it. Believe me, if she wasn’t, you wouldn’t be doing it!” She grimaced. “Not that our daughter rules us or anything. She’s the flower girl, and gets to lead the dogs, as well.” Abi stood up and smoothed her short flowery dress with her hands. “Good job it’s only two weeks away,” she added casually. “I might not be able to do my dress up if we had to wait any longer.”
Judy stared at her. “Abigail Thomson!” she gasped. “Are you pregnant?”
Abi grinned and nodded, but put a finger to her lips.
“Yes, but not a word about it,” she said, “if Tasha finds out, she’ll give us hell for not waiting until after the wedding. I’ve only just found out myself. We’ll tell her on the honeymoon. Only you, me, and Gideon know, and I’d like to keep it that way until we’re married.” She sat down on the grass at Judy’s feet and caught her friend’s hands. “Oh, Judy, it’s going to be so different this time! Everything will be perfect.”
Judy reached out and gave her a hug.
“You deserve it,” she said simply, smiling at her friend. “One thing, though—What are you going to do about Simon? You can’t let him get away with what he did, can you?”
Abi shook her head, and pulled away from Judy.
“We don’t want to,” she said with a frown. “But to be honest, we can’t be totally sure that he did hide the letters. We decided not to do anything immediately, ’cause we wanted to concentrate all our energies on bonding with Tasha, so we’re going to wait until after the wedding, and then Gideon’ll try to contact him.” She scowled into the distance. “I’m sure it was him, but Gid says we mustn’t go public with it until we can prove it. Said he could sue us, or something…” She shrugged in annoyance.
At that moment, Gideon and Chris came out into the garden carrying a crate of Champagne and a tray of glasses. They put them down on the picnic table, and Gideon called back into the house. “Come on, everyone, drinks are outside.”
Judy’s husband Robert appeared, closely followed by Roger and Caroline Hawk, who were swinging their newly found granddaughter between them. Judy’s two small ones were playing just inside the conservatory, out of the blazing sun.
Abi got to her feet again and ran over to Gideon, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. Then, taking a bottle of Champagne and a glass, she called, “Let’s drink a toast to the birthday boy!”
She expertly popped the cork out, catching the frothing liquid in the glass. She filled the other glasses, and when everyone had one, Abi raised hers towards Gideon and said, “Happy thirtieth birthday, darling!” and took a sip of Champagne.
The others followed suit, and Judy watched with a grin as Abi surreptitiously emptied the rest of her glass into a large flowerpot.
Gideon raised his glass. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “Now I feel really old.” He put his arm around Abi and pulled her to him. “And I would like to make a toast, to my lovely wife-to-be and our beautiful daughter.” He smiled at them both. “And in two weeks’ time, we can do all this again at the wedding!”
Natasha hopped forward, pulled Gideon’s arm down, took a quick swig of his Champagne and ran off down the garden laughing.
****
Two weeks later Abi and Gideon stood on the top of a large sand dune and gazed out over the huge sweep of Rhossili Bay and out towards Worm’s Head. The bottom of Abi’s ivory satin wedding dress was slightly damp and very sandy, and she had abandoned her shoes at the bottom of the sand dune. Gideon had discarded his jacket, and his tie hung untied around the unbuttoned collar of his starched white dress shirt. He put his arm around her and held her close, dropping a light kiss on the top of her flower-entwined hair.
She looked up at him and smiled. “We did it,” she whispered. “We finally did it.”
A slight puffing sound behind them made them both turn in time to see a dark curly head appear as a little girl in an ivory bridesmaid dress struggled up the sandy path. She was followed by two Rough Collies.
“Here you are!” puffed Natasha, stopping on the top and breathing heavily. “Everyone’s looking for you. We’re ready for the cake.” She looked at them severely. “Mum, Dad, come now. You’re needed.” She wriggled between them, took their hands, and the three of them ran back down the sand dune together.
Watch for the next book in The NightHawk Series,
RHYTHM OF DECEIT,
soon to be available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Here’s a sample:
Friday 18th July, 2008
“Tasha! Catch Ollie, can you? He’s trying to go up the stairs again.” Abigail Hawk’s hand covered the receiver as she called to her daughter.
In a flurry of flowered skirt and long legs, Natasha shot past her mother and caught her eighteen-month-old brother just as he reached the third step. Grabbing him round the tummy, she swung him up in the air and around to face her. He chuckled his chubby baby laugh and grabbed a handful of her dark curls. Natasha grinned and, tucking him securely under her arm, carried him out into the garden, where she had been helping her father prepare the barbeque. Abi smiled to herself and uncovered the receiver.
“You still there, Judy?” she asked. “…Oh, just Oliver trying to go upstairs again. He’s getting far too adventurous.” She paused. “Oh, I know they do…You must have
had that all the time with your two…I was just wondering if there’s any chance you could have the kids for a couple of days next week?” She listened again and grinned. “Oh, thanks, Jude. You’re a gem. We’re going to London to talk to the record company… Yes, it is about time, isn’t it? He’s been planning on releasing a solo album for the last year. Maybe it’ll finally happen.” She listened again and laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t think that’ll ever happen, do you? Not after what Simon did. No, I think he’ll be going solo from now on. Anyway, see you on Tuesday, if that’s okay?…Bye for now.”
Abi smiled as she replaced the receiver. Things had been going pretty well for them during the last two years, and she had to admit to being extremely happy. Wandering over to the French windows, she stared out into the garden, where her husband Gideon was attempting to light the barbeque, hindered by the attentions of twelve-year-old Natasha and baby Oliver. She looked fondly at them, marvelling to think that less than three years earlier none of them had been together. She closed her eyes for a moment and gave thanks for the life they now all had, then stepped outside and ran to join them.
Gideon looked round and grimaced at her, his eyes harassed. “This bloody thing just won’t light,” he muttered, pushing his long dark hair back with a charcoal-blackened hand.
Natasha jumped in front of him. “Can I get the petrol, Dad?” she asked, her blue eyes dancing with mischief.
“No, you can’t.” Abi laughed, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Remember what happened last time?”
Natasha giggled and danced around the barbeque, blowing at it, trying to help it light. Abi sighed and took the matches out of Gideon’s hand.
“Here, let me do it,” she said and, leaning forward, rearranged the charcoal and the firelighters, then struck a match and pushed it in amongst them. Within seconds the firelighter caught and the flames began to lick around the charcoal. Abi stood back and surveyed her work with her hands on her hips. “You and fire are not good together, are you, Gid?” she said with a smirk. “Remember the gas fire in the caravan?”
Gideon reached over and took the matches out of her hand. “I’d warmed it up for you,” he said, trying to keep a straight face.
Abi stood on tiptoe and kissed his smutty cheek. “’Course you had,” she said, then wandered over to the stone wall that bordered the garden, gazing out over the long sweep of Sennen Cove. She sighed and smiled; life couldn’t be better.
****
Simon was hung over again. He lay on his bed with the curtains closed against the strong morning sun. Manhattan in July was far too hot for his liking, and he was beginning to regret not leaving the city the day before, to take up the offer of a bed at the house of a friend in Vermont. He’d spent the last two and a half years travelling around America and making significant inroads into the fortune he’d amassed during his years with NightHawk. Such significant inroads, he’d recently realised, that he’d need to start earning again in the very near future if he was to be able to maintain his current standard of living. Even his fairly substantial royalties from their albums weren’t keeping up with his expenditure. His dearest wish was to get the band back together and for everything to be as it had been before Gideon left. Simon formed his hand into a fist and pounded it hard into the bed beside him. He would never forgive Gideon for that. Or, more accurately, he would never forgive Abi. Quite irrationally Simon blamed Abi for the fact that Gideon had left the band so precipitously, even though she’d had no contact with him over the ten years prior to that. That they were now married, had discovered their lost child, and had another baby really rankled with Simon, and he had even managed, in his own mind, to conveniently play down his part in their original separation. The letters from Abi that he’d concealed from Gideon all those years ago still languished in his bag, and he was well aware that by now they would almost certainly know what he’d done. For that reason he appreciated that persuading Gideon to reform NightHawk was a lost cause. Simon realised he would need to launch his solo career or join another band if he were to get his finances back on track.
He knew that Charles Bond, the erstwhile bass player of NightHawk, was in New York with his current band, Velvet Shackles, and he’d arranged to meet up with him later in the day. He was hoping to be able to persuade Charles to form a band with him and then maybe rise to fame riding on the back of the previous success of NightHawk. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Simon realised that NightHawk without Gideon Hawk was a non-starter, but he was determined to get back out there and was relying heavily on the hope that Charles would help him.
With a grunt Simon swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He closed his eyes for a moment until the room stopped spinning, then made his way unsteadily into the shower. The cool water did a fairly good job of waking him up, and ten minutes later he was dried, dressed, and staring at himself in the mirror. The face that looked back at him was not a pretty sight. His curly blond hair was straggly and unkempt, and his ruddy face showed the ravages of time and hard living. He leaned forward and peered more closely at his image. It was hardly the face of a rock star. He was thirty-two, no longer the fresh-faced teenager who’d first arrived in America with NightHawk thirteen years earlier. He found it hard to imagine the groupies thronging around him now. He stood back and looked down at his overweight body. Time to hit the gym and sort himself out. He doubted his ability to survive the rigours of one concert, let alone a whole tour.
With a sigh he turned back to the bed, hastily threw the covers over, picked up his jacket—despite the heat—and room key, and slammed out into the corridor. He was staying in the Western International Hotel on Central Park West, the same hotel the band had been staying in the day Gideon announced his departure in November of ’05. It was the first time Simon had returned there since then, and he felt the old resentment again. He rode the elevator down to the first floor and strode out into the stifling heat of a Manhattan summer day. The last time he’d stayed there, he’d been mobbed by reporters and unable to leave his room without being approached. This time no one even registered his departure, and he crossed the busy street and entered Central Park without turning a single head.
Before meeting with Charles, Simon had an appointment with a tour manager the band had used back in their heyday. He was hoping to get some positive response to his idea of starting a new band with Charles.
As he crossed the park, he passed a newsstand and paused briefly to buy one of the English tabloid papers they had on sale. He carried it over to a shady bench and sat down to have a quick read. He grinned to himself when he saw the pictures of the dreadful weather most of Britain was experiencing and decided his decision to remain in the U.S. was a sound one. He flicked over to the next page and froze. A grainy black-and-white photo of Gideon, Abi, and the children arriving at some airport on their way back from holiday jumped out and gave him a mental slap across the face. Gideon was carrying the baby, and Abi had her arm protectively around the older child’s shoulders. They all looked happy, healthy, and to Simon’s mind smug, and he was tempted to tear the paper to shreds. He resisted and glanced at the caption beneath the photo.
Former NightHawk guitarist and front man Gideon Hawk and his family arriving home from their holiday in Greece on Wednesday. It’s rumoured Hawk is due to start recording a solo album later this month. When asked about the possibility of re-forming the band, Hawk immediately dismissed the idea.
Simon closed the paper and tossed it into the nearest bin, then got to his feet and set off across the park towards the office of Seth Cotterill, the former tour manager. Simon had had no contact with Seth since shortly after the band split, and he was a little unsure of his reception. As he rode up to the third floor he rehearsed what he was going to say, and when the elevator doors opened he ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and marched up to the door. He tapped sharply and after a moment received permission to enter. Seth Cotterill, a solidly built dark-haired man in his late forties, got
to his feet as Simon entered.
“Simon,” he said in his East Coast drawl, extending his hand. “Good to see ya. Take a seat.” The two men shook hands briefly, and then Simon took the seat opposite Seth’s desk and crossed his legs. “What can I do for you, man?” the tour manager asked, narrowing his eyes at Simon’s rather dishevelled appearance.
Simon wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and sat forward in his seat.
“I need to get back into the business, Seth,” he said. “I want to get a band going again with Charles Bond. Maybe get another guitarist and follow on from NightHawk. What d’you reckon? Will you help us?”
Seth leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips. “Nice idea, Si,” he said, “but NightHawk is nothing without the Hawk.”
“It won’t be NightHawk,” interrupted Simon, “but we could ride on the back of our earlier success. Bill us as former NightHawk members. That’s gotta stand for something, surely?”
Seth got to his feet and walked over to the window, keeping his back to Simon.
“The thing is, Simon,” he began, “no one’s interested in you or Charles.” Simon flinched. “If you could get Gideon to rejoin you and actually get NightHawk back, then I’d give you all the help you need.” He turned round and grinned. “Not that you’d really need any help, if that happened.” He saw Simon’s face and sighed. “Look, man, you and I both know that Gideon was NightHawk. Without him, no one’s even going to remember who you and Charles are. Get him on board, and we can talk again.” After a pause he continued, “I heard he’s about to do some solo work, so he’s clearly ready to get back in the saddle. Maybe now’s the time to ask him?” Simon was silent, and Seth looked at him inquiringly. “Simon? Is that possible? Or did you two fall out? I never really talked to any of you after the break up.”
Simon got to his feet. “Thanks, Seth,” he said with a wry grin, “that makes me feel much better.” He held up his hand as Seth started to speak. “No, don’t worry, not your fault. I’ll talk to Charles and see what he thinks. Maybe enough time has passed and we can find a way to get Gideon back. I’ll call you.” With a wave he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Storm Rising Page 31
