by Liz Fielding
‘The Clarendon family used to live over there,’ he said, pausing at a gap between the trees and looking across the river to where a four-square Georgian house nestled beneath a rise in the Downs. ‘The families were very close. My father and Christabel Clarendon were practically betrothed in their prams.’
His father… ‘The house is the headquarters of an IT firm now,’ she said. ‘Steve told me.’
‘Steve?’
‘The security guy. They had a false alarm there last night.’ She turned to look up at him. ‘Betrothed?’
‘They were both only children,’ he said, moving on. ‘There was land and money on both sides and it was the perfect match.’
‘It takes a bit more than that.’
‘Does it? Arranged marriages are the norm in other cultures and they’d known one another since they were children. There would be no surprises.’
‘There are always surprises.’
‘Yes…’ They were climbing now through the woods and he stopped before an ancient beech tree that had once been coppiced and had four thick trunks twisting from its base. He looked up. ‘It’s still here. The tree house.’
He put a foot on a trunk that had been cut to form steps and, catching a low branch, pulled himself up to take a look, then disappeared inside.
‘Is it safe?’ she asked, following him. ‘Wow… This is some tree house.’
‘Gary built it for me,’ he said.
‘Gary?’ The floor was solid planks of timber, the roof a thick thatch where swallows had once nested, the sides made from canvas that rolled up. There was a rug and a pile of cushions, faded, torn, chewed or pecked. ‘Why?’
‘His dad worked on the estate. Gamekeeper, gardener, whatever needed to be done. When Gary left school, he became his dad’s assistant and did odd jobs around the estate. One of those odd jobs was to keep me amused during the school holidays. One summer he amused me by building this.’
‘He did a great job.’
‘It was more than a job. He was like an older brother,’ he said. ‘The kind that teaches you all the good stuff. The stuff that adults tell you is bad for you.’
‘Drinking, lads’ mags, smoking the occasional spliff? I’ve got brothers,’ she reminded him when his eyebrows rose. ‘You can’t know how much I wished I was a boy.’
‘Can I say, just for the record, that I’m glad you’re not?’
‘Oh, me too,’ she assured him. ‘Men wear such boring shoes.’
He looked down at the purple ballet pumps she was wearing. ‘Pretty.’
For a moment she had a vision of him bending down, taking one off, kissing her instep… She cleared her throat. ‘What did you do up here?’
‘When I was younger I used it the way any kid would. Hideout, den, a place to keep secret stash. We used to sit up here watching badgers at dusk.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘It was… Of course, Gary never put that much effort into anything without an ulterior motive. When I was away at school, he brought girls here.’ He shrugged. ‘I did too, when I was older.’
‘The young master seducing the village maidens?’ she teased.
‘Rather the opposite,’ he said and his sudden grin sent a lump to her throat for a magical youth that had been somehow blighted. ‘I’ll check it out, clean it up for your nephews and nieces.’
‘Does that mean you’re staying?’
‘I’ve put off the foundry until Monday but they can’t start without me. Is there room?’ he said, sliding his arms around her waist, drawing her close, and the down on her cheeks stood up as if she were a magnet and he was the North Pole.
‘No problem. I’ll share. Your room is pretty much as you left it, give or take a few things. I borrowed some of the chocolate-box pictures for the blog. I’ve had a lot of interest,’ she rushed on, to cover just how important his answer was. ‘There’s a greeting card manufacturer…’
‘That’s the take,’ he said, ignoring the throwaway distraction. ‘What’s the give?’
‘Me,’ she said. ‘If there’s still a vacancy for a muse?’
‘So when you said share…?’
‘I could bunk in with Patsy, but I barely know her, while we’re—’
He groaned, pulling her into his arms, kissing her with a hot, sweet, haunting tenderness that could rip the heart out of you. It was the perfect kiss you saw in the movies, the kiss a girl dreamed about before life gave you a reality check, the kiss you’d remember when every other memory had slipped away into the dark. When he finally drew back, rested his forehead against the top of her head, he was trembling.
‘Darius…’ She cradled his face in her hands, wanting to reassure him, to tell him… ‘You kept the beard,’ she said shakily.
She felt him smile against her palms. ‘You said you liked it.’
‘As I was saying, we’re compatible in practically every way.’
‘I doubt your parents would be impressed with our, um, compatibility,’ he said, climbing down the tree, lifting her after him. ‘And then there are those three overprotective brothers of yours. I’m seriously outnumbered.’
‘That’s ridiculous, Darius. It’s your house.’
‘No. I’ll get a room at the pub.’ He took her hand and began to walk up the path towards the house. ‘I thought we might go back to the beginning, slow things down a little. Maybe date?’
‘Date?’
‘An old-fashioned concept, involving the back seat of the movies, Sunday lunch in a country pub, dancing.’
‘You dance?’
‘I can learn.’
‘Well, perfect, but what about the muse thing?’
‘Getting naked? Inspirational sex?’ He grinned. ‘We can do that too.’ They had reached the edge of the lawn and they both turned to look at the house. ‘We appear to have company,’ he said as they spotted the small red car at the same moment that the woman leaning against it spotted them.
‘Brace up, Darius. It’s my mother.’
TEN
‘Mum!’ Tash gave her a hug. ‘How lovely! Can I introduce Darius Hadley, the owner of Hadley Chase?’
‘Mr Hadley.’ Her mother’s eyebrows remained exactly where they were. It just felt as if they’d done an imitation of Tower Bridge.
‘Darius,’ he said, offering his hand with a smile Tash recognised from the pages of the Country Chronicle. Protective camouflage that he wore in public, but never with her. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for pitching in and helping like this.’
‘I’m helping my daughter,’ she said. ‘I thought you were on your own, Tash, or I wouldn’t have been so concerned.’
‘I was and, believe me, if you’d had any idea you would have been a lot more concerned. Three electrical blow-outs, a gazillion spiders and the fright of my life when the security guard peered in through the window.’
‘Well, really! How thoughtless.’
‘No…thoughtful. Darius was concerned about me, too, so he called their office and asked if Steve could bring me some fish and chips. He was perfectly sweet. He made up the Aga, made sure I knew how to set the alarm and checked all the outbuildings before he left.’
‘I’m really glad you’re here, Mrs Gordon,’ Darius said before she could comment. ‘I didn’t think I’d be able to get away, but I’ve put back the project I’m working on until Monday. I met Natasha in the village just now when I stopped to book a room at the pub.’
‘He’s just shown me the most amazing tree house, Mum,’ she said, taking out the keys and unlocking the front door and, just like that, they were through it and in the hall; no drama about the big moment when he stepped back into the house. ‘The kids are going to love it. I’ll make some coffee. Why don’t you show my mother the portrait of Emma Hadley, Darius?’ she suggested, pushing him in a little deeper. He glanced at her, the only sign of tension a touch of white around his mouth. ‘She’s going to give a talk to the Women’s Institute on the history of this place.’
‘Of course. It’s in the library, Mrs Gordon,’ he said.
‘Laura,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you staying in the village?’
‘Well, obviously I’ll be here, doing as much as I can, but this is your holiday. You won’t want a stranger—’
‘Nonsense! Of course you must stay here.’
Tash grinned. Bazinga…
*
‘Mum, Mum, we’ve found a boathouse! There’s a single scull!’
Patsy rolled her eyes. ‘I told you not to go near the river without an adult, Michael.’
‘Tom and Harry and James are down there, river dipping with the little kids.’
‘Are you interested in rowing, Michael?’ Darius, who was cutting the lawn, had stopped for a drink of the fresh lemonade Patsy had brought out.
‘He’s been desperate to try it ever since the Games,’ she said.
‘Well, let’s go and take a look at it. I’ll need a hand to get it down. Any volunteers?’ He glanced around at the women stretched out on the grass, soaking up the sun, studiously avoiding looking at Natasha, who took the view that the one-hour rule didn’t apply to her and was busy washing down the external doors and windowsills.
‘Take Tash,’ Patsy suggested. ‘Please. She’s making us feel guilty.’
‘Natasha?’ he prompted. ‘Do you want to give these women a break?’
‘They’re on holiday, I’m not.’ But she peeled off her rubber gloves and joined him.
‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked as they followed Michael down to the river.
‘Not especially,’ she admitted. ‘You’d think in a house of this size we might manage a few minutes on our own. If the kids had been ordered to chaperone us, they couldn’t have done a better job of it.’
‘Your mother knew what she was doing when she insisted I stay,’ he said. ‘If it’s any consolation, I’m not getting much sleep, either.’
‘Memories?’ she asked.
‘More the fact that my childhood bed no longer smells of dog, but of you. Which is very disturbing, especially when I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours under the close-eyed scrutiny of your three very large brothers who, let me tell you, are nowhere as easy to charm as your mother.’
‘Maybe you should stop being so charming to their wives,’ she suggested, a little tetchily, he thought.
‘You want me to be charming to you?’
‘No! That is so not what I want and you know it.’
He knew but they’d reached the boathouse and Michael was dancing with impatience, waiting for the slowcoach adults to catch up.
‘Anticipation only increases the gratification,’ he said.
‘That had better be a promise.’
‘Cross my heart,’ he said, drawing a cross over his chest, just as she had, and she groaned.
‘Come on!’
‘Okay, let’s see.’
The buckles on the straps were rusted but they finally managed to free them and lower the scull into the water and then watch as it filled with water.
‘I’m sorry, Mike; the hull is cracked.’
‘Can it be fixed?’ he asked once they hauled it out of the water and Darius had located the damage.
‘Maybe, but it’s a fibreglass hull and will have to go to a special workshop.’ Seeing his disappointment, he said, ‘You know, if you’re really keen on trying this, Michael, I’ll find you a club in London where you can get some proper training.’
The boy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wicked!’
‘You’d better go and ask your mother. Tell her that it’s my contribution to the medal tally in 2020,’ he called after him.
Natasha was grinning. ‘He’s a great kid.’
‘Patsy worries about him. I think that’s why she volunteered for your work party. She can’t watch him twenty-four-seven and he’s getting to the age for trouble.’
‘Sport is a good alternative.’ She looked at the scull. ‘Was this yours?’
‘It belonged to my father. He was a rowing blue. When I was a kid like Michael, I used to sit in that seat, put my feet and hands where his had been and try to feel him.’
‘You never knew him?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘He was a lecturer at the School of Oriental and African Studies. He lived there during the week and came home to the estate cottage where he and Christabel had set up home for the weekends and during the holiday.’
‘That doesn’t sound like a great way to start a marriage.’
‘It was her choice, apparently. She didn’t like London.’
‘What happened?’
‘Not a what—a who. An Iranian student of such shimmering beauty that one look was all it took for my father to lose his head, his reason, his sanity.’
‘Your mother.’ And, when he glanced at her, ‘The name is the giveaway.’
He nodded. ‘My father abandoned Christabel and his unborn child without a backward glance and went to live in France with Soraya.’
Unable to bear the musty boathouse, the memory of that boy trying to reach out to a father he’d never known, he walked out into the clean air, kicked off his shoes and sat on the crumbling dock. These days his feet trailed in the water, soaked into the bottom of his jeans.
Natasha picked her way carefully over the boards and sat down beside him, her toes trailing in the water, waiting for him to continue or not as he wished.
‘My grandfather cut him off without a penny, hoping it would bring him to his senses,’ he said. ‘But he was senseless.’
‘And Christabel? What did she do?’
‘She took it badly, lost the baby she was carrying. A boy who would have been the heir to all this.’
‘Poor woman…’
‘Her parents sold the house across the river and moved away. Gary told me that she’d killed herself.’
‘No!’
‘My grandfather denied it but I was never sure so I did a search a few years back.’ He plucked a piece of rotten wood from the plank beside him, shredded it, dropping the pieces in the water. ‘She lives in Spain with her husband, three children.’
‘Did you get in touch with her?’
‘I wanted to. I wanted to talk to someone who’d known my father so I went to the house, hoping to see her. They were just going out…’ He shook his head. ‘Rumour always has a grain of truth. She might have tried something desperate and she didn’t need me descending like a black crow in the midst of her lovely family, raking up the past.’
Tash felt tears sting the back of her eyes and the lump in her throat was so big that she couldn’t say anything. Instead, she squeezed his hand.
He glanced at her. ‘Is that approval? I got something right?’
‘Absolutely.’ She slid her arm around his waist and he put his arm around her shoulders so that her head was resting against his shoulder. ‘What happened to your parents?’ Something bad must have happened or he wouldn’t have been living with his grandparents.
‘When I was a few months old, Soraya’s mother became desperately ill and she had to go home. She left me with my father, which seems a little odd, but they weren’t married and maybe she was afraid to tell her family that she was living with a married man. That they had a child.’
‘I think I’d find that pretty difficult, to be honest.’
‘It seems they already knew. Two days after she left, my father received a message from her father. He wanted to bring his family to Europe and, to get exit visas, they needed money to bribe officials. A lot of money. The bottom line was that if he wanted to see Soraya again he would have to pay.’
‘But…that’s appalling!’
‘My father, beside himself, went to my grandfather, begged him for help and the old bastard gave it to him, but at a price.’
‘You…’ She’d known there was something, but could never have guessed anything so desperate. So cruel.
‘He’d lost his heir. His son was unfit in his eyes. I wasn’t the golden child of the perfect marriage
, but I was all he had left.’
‘You were the price he had to pay to rescue your mother.’
‘Ramsey drew up a legally binding document surrendering all parental rights to them. I was to live with my grandparents, they would have full control of my education and upbringing and I would be my grandfather’s heir on the condition that my parents understood that they would be dead to me. And my father signed it.’
‘Of course he signed. How could he do anything else? He loved your mother, Darius; he couldn’t abandon her.’
‘No. I was safe and she needed him.’
A kingfisher flashed from a post into the water. A duck rounded up her fluffy brood. Somewhere along the riverbank a child shrieked with excitement. All bright, wonderful things, but what had been a charmed day now had a dark edge to it.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘My grandfather handed over the cash, my father left for the airport and that’s the last anyone ever heard of him or my mother. Not that anyone was looking.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘When he died, I insisted that Ramsey carry out a proper search for them before the house was put on the market. If either of them were alive this belonged to them.’
‘Was there nothing in the house you could sell?’
‘Unfortunately, the Hadleys weren’t great art collectors. No one had the foresight to commission Gainsborough to paint the family portraits, buy Impressionists when they were cheap, snap up a Picasso or two.’
‘Ancestors can be so short-sighted. What about land? Or the cottages?’
‘The land is green belt and can’t be built on. The cottages are occupied by former members of staff. I’ll use what’s left from the sale to rehouse them.’
‘And the London flat?’
‘When he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Ramsey insisted my grandfather sign a power of enduring attorney in my name. I sold the flat to finance his nursing care. There’s some money left, but not enough to pay the inheritance tax.’
‘Your grandfather might have raised you, Darius Hadley, but you are nothing like him.’
‘At seventeen I was halfway there. Arrogant, spoilt, thought I owned the world. If I’d stayed here, I would have been exactly like him.’
