Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars
Page 38
Charlie made no reference to the fact that his father had asked him to do the interview as a favour to Artie, and she was grateful to him for that. In the months that followed, they would meet at events and they were always friendly. Then one night in Atlantic City, after a Democrat campaign meeting, they found themselves staying at the same hotel. He invited her for a nightcap in the small residents’ bar, and not realising his staff had gone for the night, she agreed.
They talked and laughed until the early hours, and she found herself telling him about her father. Not used to drinking, she poured her heart out, about the violence and fear that overshadowed her childhood. Her anger at her mother for not leaving, for not keeping them safe from him, and her anger at Lorena for giving her such a stupid name, it all came out. Charlie said he loved that she was called Scarlett O’Hara and that she was every bit as hot as Vivien Leigh.
He listened without judging and congratulated her sincerely on how far she’d come. Undoubtedly the whiskey played a part, for she had never told anyone about her past, but Charlie was easy to talk to. She felt she could trust him. They met a few more times after that night, both knowing an affair was inevitable. And so it began, she was his mistress, the other woman. She looked at herself in the mirror some mornings and said that to herself, but those sordid, dirty little words just couldn’t be applied to what she and Charlie had. With him, it was honest, it was love.
She tried to block out Julia and his children, the eldest now about to start middle school. If the relationship was good, he wouldn’t be seeing Scarlett. That’s what she told herself. He never gave her any of the standard lines, that his wife didn’t understand him, that he was only staying for the sake of the kids, that they’d be together properly when the kids left school. He simply never discussed it. His life with Julia was one thing, his life with Scarlett something else completely and never the twain shall meet.
She pretended that it suited her, that she was so taken up with her career that a full-time relationship would be just too restrictive. But as the months went on, she knew she was lying, to him and to herself. She never raised the subject with him, probably, she told herself, because she wasn’t at all sure of what his reaction would be. He told her all the time that he loved her, that she was not like anyone he’d ever met, that she was gorgeous, but still she was not convinced. If he had to choose, would she be the one? He used to joke that she was his Vivien Leigh and always signed his texts ‘Rhett’ or just ‘R’. She always thought it was cute, though she wished he could have chosen something other than her ridiculous name to make jokes about. In the cold reality of what had happened, she realised that he wrote R in case anyone found the texts. Charlie was protecting himself.
And now, the worst possible thing had happened. She’d destroyed everything she’d worked so hard to build.
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Acknowledgements
To finish a book, you have to be selfish. As a mother of four with a full-time job, opportunities for selfishness are few and far between unless you are lucky enough to have someone else to do the endless driving, collecting, feeding, cooking, shopping, funding, and conflict resolution, which is part of everyday life in our house. I am that lucky. Without Diarmuid’s endless patience, love and support, both moral and practical, there would be no books. I would also like to thank my friends whose encouragement to a man (and woman) has been invaluable. You never doubted me, even when you probably should have. Ye mean the world to me and ye know who ye are.
Thanks to my family, who are always on hand to cheer the victories and give each other courage in the darker days. The Ewan McGregor story is true, by the way.
To my editor Helen Falconer I owe a huge debt. Through her talent and wit, she manages to turn what could, and possibly should, be a difficult process of carving up your first draft into something fun. Her observations regularly have us both in fits of laughter. Thanks Helen, you are wonderful. My gratitude also goes to my lovely sister and brother-in-law, Sheila and Richie, for allowing me to shoot the photo for the cover in their beautiful home. To my colleagues and friends Beth-Anne and Cecille for fixing my French, merci beaucoup!
Finally, to Conor, Sórcha, Éadaoin, and Siobhán, my proudest achievements yet.
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
The Tour
Shadow of a Century
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Shadow of a Century
Copyright © 2015 by Jean Grainger
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.
eBook formatting by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
Print ISBN: 978-1-5009042-9-6
Would you like a free Jean Grainger novella sent directly to your device?
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For my dad John, who always told us stories.
Contents
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Glossary
Also by the Author
Acknowledgements
Other Books by the Author
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
What if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse –
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Easter 1916
William Butler Yeats.
Chapter 1
Scarlett set the alarm on her new cream Mini Cooper. It emitted a satisfying beep as she crossed the underground parking lot of the Examiner Building. She felt a surge of pure joy. For the first time in her whole life, everything was perfect. She looked great, an expensive new wardrobe saw to that, and she knew that she was unrecognisable from the insecure girl she had once been. The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. The young cub reporter from the sports desk nodded, and then stared at the floor. She smiled to herself. She didn’t intend to be intimidating but she was now senior staff so the kid probably didn’t know what to say to her.
As the elevator ascended to the
fourteenth floor and the editorial suite, she had to remind herself once more that this was really was happening. Her years slaving for Artie on the Yonkers Express were behind her and here she was, a senior political correspondent for the Examiner, one of the biggest nationals in the country.
She glanced at her iPhone. It was odd that Charlie hadn’t texted; he usually did, to check that she had gotten up. He was always gone by 5 a.m. on the nights he could stay, but last night he couldn’t make it. She understood. In his position, his time was rarely his own. She smiled as she thought of the private messages he was sending her on Facebook last night while he was supposed to be deep in discussion with the representative of a powerful lobby group for tax reform on a video conference call. Ron Waters was a crashing bore according to Charlie, and a Republican through and through, so he was never going to vote for Charlie or his party anyway, but he had to be seen to show willingness. He promised he was trying to get her some face time with the guy, though, for another high profile Examiner piece.
The elevator door opened and the bright, modern, busy Newsroom buzzed in front of her. Hundreds of screens flashed images, and lots of reporters, IT people and administration staff seemed to teem constantly from all directions. She breathed deeply, almost inhaling the atmosphere and didn’t miss Artie and his chain-smoking ways one little bit. She made her way with enthusiasm to the office of Carol Steinberg, the editor in chief.
Scarlett could hardly believe she was heading into her eighth month of working here, the time had flown by and her star was definitely on the rise. The piece she had done on the extremist Islamic mullah on the Lower East Side was garnering a lot of attention. Her pieces on Charlie were also getting her a lot of column inches, much to the chagrin of many of the other journalists in the city. Carol’s text saying ‘Get here ASAP’ had come through when she was driving into the office anyway. She was looking forward to the meeting. The urgency of the text suggested some exciting development. Scarlett knew that Carol had a reputation as ball-breaker, that she intimidated almost all of the staff, but Scarlett admired her. She had to be tough to get where she was and one day Scarlett intended to hold a similar position.
Was she imagining it or did the noise in the office, usually so deafening, suddenly drop to a murmur? The political team were standing together at their corner by the bank of flat screen plasma TVs. She wasn’t imagining it; they had all stopped talking and were staring at her. They must be really ticked off about the mullah story, she thought.
She pushed open the opaque glass door of Carol’s office and entered the sumptuous surroundings. The TV beside her desk was live paused, and Scarlett instantly recognised Charlie’s handsome features, stilled in mid-sentence.
‘I’m assuming you’ve seen this?’ Carol’s voice was quiet but lacked her usual warmth.
Scarlett was nonplussed, ‘No, is this from today? I haven’t seen…’
Carol interrupted her by pressing play on the remote. Charlie was unshaven and tired looking. He looked as if he’d slept in his shirt. His familiar voice filled the office.
‘Words can’t express my regret. I have offended my party, the good people of this city who elected me, and most painfully of all, I have let my family down. I feel deep shame and embarrassment at my reckless and unprofessional behavior, and though I don’t deserve any special favours, I would ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, to restrict your interest to me and to leave my family out of this. They are innocents in this whole thing and are suffering enough at this time. Thank you.’
Charlie turned away and went back into the offices behind him in a hail of questions and flashing cameras.
‘I don’t understand.’ Scarlett’s voice cracked. ‘What happened?’
Carol gazed at her with thinly veiled fury.
‘Last night Charlie Morgan was in a video conference meeting with Ron Waters, the Republican senator. Morgan was sending him some data to support a point he was making, but he inadvertently sent him a message of an explicit sexual nature, clearly intended for someone else. The message also mentioned this newspaper by name. To add insult to injury, the message went on to outline how boring and stupid Morgan thought Waters was. Waters immediately reacted and exposed Morgan, who has, about an hour ago, admitted that he is having an affair with a journalist, the person for whom the message was intended. In addition, he has told the world who that journalist is.’
Scarlett felt nauseous. Blood thundered in her ears. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. Charlie would never do anything like that to her. He couldn’t, he loved her.
‘I took a chance on you, Scarlett. You are only twenty-six, very young to hold the position you did.’ Scarlett heard her use of the past tense and every fibre of her being prayed that this wasn’t happening.
Carol went on, her voice icy, ‘I appointed you over others who have more experience, and who felt they deserved it more than you. I thought you had something, that’s why I convinced the board to take you on. I’m at a loss for words. How could you throw everything away, everything you’ve worked for, and more to the point, how could you have dragged us into this mess with you? We pride ourselves on the highest standards of journalistic integrity here at the Examiner. You have let us down, very badly. To have an affair with a politician for someone in your position is to relinquish all moral and professional authority.’
Carol’s tone conveyed nothing but disgust. ’Your in-depth interviews with him that we printed have made us look as foolish and corrupt as you are. But to be involved with a married politician, especially one whose unique selling point is his position as a family man, something you wrote about with such empathy… words escape me, Scarlett. I’m so disappointed in you. I thought you were so much better than this. Get your things now, rather than coming back for them, and try to get away without the gathering press outside seeing you leave, though they are already circling the wagons.’
She paused, and then added coldly, ‘And Scarlett, if you give any interviews about this I’ll drag you through every court in the country. Do I make myself clear?’
Carol got up and without a backward glance left the room.
‘There she is! Scarlett! Scarlett, over here! Just turn around! C’mon Scarlett …’
Scarlett emerged from the car and pushed her way up the steps to the front door of her brownstone, blinded by the incessant flashing of cameras as she pushed through the heaving mass of bodies. Every hack in New York was out in force, circling like vultures. News anchors smugly did their pieces on camera down the street. The fact that the target was one of their own had obviously made it even more tantalising for them. Many of them resented her growing profile, and felt she was too young and had come out of nowhere, so they were thrilled to see her crumble. No such thing as loyalty in this business, she thought, while trying to keep her face immobile.
She fumbled for her keys in the bottom of her new Prada handbag as the reporters jostled and pushed to get closer to her. Her red hair was escaping from the chignon she had hastily tied in the car, and she could feel the make-up slide from her face as she began to sweat. Despite her best efforts to look calm and collected, she was cracking. She couldn’t find the damn key, and her hands began to shake badly as she gritted her teeth, determined not to cry, refusing to show any weakness. They’d love that. Not that anything could make this situation any worse, but to have her tear stained face splashed all over every tabloid and gossip show in town would be the final straw.
‘Come on Scarlett, just one shot. At least this way you get to look good!’ There was a collective cackle.
Would she have been any different if it was one of them? If she was to be honest, probably not, except that salacious sex scandals were not really her thing. Mercifully, she finally found the key, and despite her shaking hands, managed on the third attempt to get it into the lock. She quickly slipped inside and slammed the heavy door shut, leaning her back against it, adjusting her eyes to the relative gloom of the hallway.
Relief flooded through her. Everything was as she’d left it this morning. The highly polished mahogany staircase gleamed, its snow white carpet runner fluffily breaking the austerity of the architecture. The house smelled exactly as it had done, of lilies and cleanliness, an oasis of serenity.
She went into the kitchen at the end of the hallway and immediately shut the blinds. Alone, in her new beautiful home, she disintegrated into wracking sobs. The strength that held her together for the past two hours suddenly drained out of her. The paintings, mirrors and everything else she had gathered so lovingly over the years were invisible to her now. That was it, it was all over. Her life was over. This just couldn’t be happening. That press conference playing over and over in her head.
How could Charlie have hung her out to dry like that?
Dreading what she was about to see, she typed ‘Charlie Morgan confesses all’ into YouTube. She watched in horror as he explained that he was a weak, foolish man who loved his family, and he deeply regretted his inappropriate liaison with the political correspondent Scarlett O’Hara.
Facebook, Twitter and bloggers were already on the puns. Torturing herself, she scrolled through, “Charlie’s Scarlett Woman,” “Morgan really has Gone with the Wind,” “Frankly my dear.” It went on and on and on.
Scarlett hated her name. She used to dread meeting new people and enduring their shocked expressions, the attempts to hide a smirk, or the all too common ‘did you know there was a movie...?’ When she met Charlie, he told her he wanted to be her Rhett Butler. She felt a sharp stab of pain at the memory. Normally anyone who would have said such a thing would have felt the sharp end of her tongue, but he was different. Even though he constantly joked and teased her about it, she forgave him. She forgave him everything, and then he betrayed her.
Chapter 2
Scarlett sat on her Roche-Dobois oatmeal sofa that had cost almost a month’s salary. She fought back the panic at the thought of her mortgage and credit card bills now that she was unemployed. She could hear the raucous laughter of the journalists outside the door. She longed for someone to help her, somewhere to go, but she realised that in recent years she had had no time to keep up friendships. She avoided her mother, and she had no other family. Charlie took up any spare time she had, waiting for him to call, or grasping precious moments with him. Without him and her job she had nothing, absolutely nothing. A feeling of hopelessness, something she had not felt for so long, came creeping back.