Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘Summer’s lease hath all too short a date,’ said Will. He stretched out on the floor, putting his head in Leigh’s lap. ‘We’ll be back here shivering before you know it.’

  ‘Did you decide where you’re spending summer, Kit?’ said Frankie.

  ‘Italy. Maybe with Will.’

  ‘Let me know when you’re back, Frankie,’ said Leigh, twirling one of Will’s curls around her finger. ‘I’ll come over.’ Both girls were from Devon.

  ‘If any of you are up my way, on pain of death do you pass on through,’ said Will, whose parents lived in Warwickshire.

  ‘And you, Eliza?’ said Kit. ‘Where will I find you, if I get lonely?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t do lonely. I’ll be on Dad’s boat in Sydney, then back at Rose.’

  ‘Let’s meet up.’

  ‘OK.’ She finally smiled. It was hard to stay mad at him. ‘Come up to town; I’ll give you the tour of the Rose building. You too, Will. If you’re going to work there, you should come visit.’

  ‘So you were serious?’ said Will.

  ‘Deadly.’

  ‘Then yes, we will come visit your big pink rose.’

  A Rose Air member of staff ushered Eliza to Janette’s helicopter, waiting on the tarmac.

  ‘Welcome to Australia,’ said the pilot. And then they were off, flying north to the Harbour Bridge and onwards until they were above a marina at which were moored a number of enormous yachts. Eliza recognized Janette, and was suddenly overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of seeing her father again – it had been months.

  The helicopter dropped slowly onto the helipad. As the rotors wound down, Harry and Clare appeared, waving. She unbuckled herself and took off her headphones, impatient to be out.

  A crew member opened the door and helped her climb down. ‘G’day!’ he said. ‘I’m Timmo. It’s a real pleasure to meet Harry’s daughter.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Timmo!’ Eliza called over her shoulder as she flew across the deck and into Harry’s open arms. He was looking fit and healthy, and there was no sign of his limp. It was amazing what the love of a good woman could do for a man.

  ‘Look at you, Lizzie,’ he said, squeezing her tight.

  ‘Please don’t say I’m blooming, Dad.’

  His familiar warm broad chest and the scent-of-dad made her feel like a child again.

  ‘Clare!’ she said, finally disengaging herself and hugging her step-mother. Clare’s fair hair was pinned up in one of her trademark clever buns, with little plaits twirled around it.

  She held Eliza at arm’s length, giving her the once-over. ‘Looking fresh as a daisy after such a long flight! You’ll have to give me some how-to tips for RoseHealth.’

  They headed towards a door, Timmo following with Eliza’s bags.

  ‘The weather’s quite cool,’ said Clare. ‘I hope you’ve brought some warm clothes. Though we had someone go shopping for you – there are a few things in your wardrobe, just in case.’

  ‘We’ll be heading north,’ said Harry. ‘How do you fancy a spot of diving on the Barrier Reef?’

  They led her down a flight of stairs to a wood-panelled, carpeted corridor lit by recessed ceiling lights.

  ‘You’re in the same cabin as before,’ said Clare.

  The suite still made her gasp. The bedroom alone was probably four times the size of her Oxford shoebox. There were floor-toceiling windows, and the decor was black and white, with thick, cream-coloured carpets.

  ‘We’ll leave you to unpack,’ said Clare. ‘If you need anything, just ring through to the staff.’

  Having a billionaire dad certainly had its advantages.

  Later, after a reviving nap, Eliza freshened up. Under the bright bathroom lights, her skin was alabaster white. She pulled a face at her reflection. ‘Pale and interesting’ may have been the thing in Victorian times, but down here among the outdoorsy Aussies, she’d stand out like a corpse. Cursed red hair. Was even a faint tan too much to hope for?

  Eliza gave an enormous yawn as they finished dinner.

  ‘How’s the jet lag?’ said Clare.

  ‘Oh, not so bad. I like the Rose Air first-class bed things.’

  ‘The Rosebeds,’ said Harry.

  ‘One of yours, Dad? Really, in future you should leave the words to me.’

  ‘Well, I hope it did the job, because we’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. I’m expecting John Studley – he’s in Sydney at the moment, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to brief him on Maria’s table-flipping adventures.’

  John was a favourite crony of Harry’s – they’d known each other all their lives. He was on the board at Rose, as one of Eddie’s trustees now that Harry had signed over the majority of his shares to his children. John had been something high up in the Army, and Eliza found him rather intimidating.

  John had two sons, Gil and Rob, who were close to Eliza in age, and she had happy memories of playing with them when the two families got together. Thanks to Harry, the brothers had done internships at Rose.

  ‘Have you been in touch with Chess recently?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Not really. Terri said she’d been into Rose for an interview. Why?’

  ‘She’s dating Gil, apparently. John’s pretty happy about that.’

  Harry

  As Eliza and Clare headed off to bed, Harry poured himself a brandy and took it out on deck. Leaning on the railings, he gazed at the night sky, its indifferent beauty providing a welcome distraction from the situation facing him tomorrow.

  He sipped his drink and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the brandy’s warmth spreading, soothing.

  How do I handle this?

  Opening his eyes he looked up once more, as if seeking an answer from the heavens. Yet again, it was time for Harry to face up to his past. And yet again, he needed to have a difficult conversation with Eliza.

  Just when he’d been regaining her trust, bringing their relationship back on track, something else – someone else – had resurfaced to sabotage his hard-won progress.

  He downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Harry?’

  He started at the voice behind him, and turned to see Rebecca, a blonde, long-limbed crewmember, smiling in a way that suggested ‘anything’ meant exactly that.

  ‘Another of those?’ she said, glancing at his empty glass. ‘I could join you, if you fancy some company?’ Her eyes gazed directly into his.

  ‘One’s my limit,’ he said, hoping she’d pick up on his true meaning. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

  She pouted, then smiled again. ‘Any time, Harry.’

  He turned away.

  ‘You’ve still got it, Harry,’ said another voice, a moment later.

  He held out his arm, and Clare tucked herself beneath it. ‘I have indeed. And all thanks to you. I thought you’d gone to bed.’

  ‘Something’s troubling you, I could tell. Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘I think I probably do. You’d better brace yourself . . . ’

  Chapter 7

  Eliza

  ‘Before John gets here,’ said Harry, as he and Eliza breakfasted next morning, ‘I want to take you through the board membership. I know it’s your first day, but it’s important you understand who’s got the clout. We might need it, the way Maria’s carrying on. Then we can give John lunch, and he can bugger off and we can set sail. By this afternoon we’ll be cruising past the Sydney Opera House and out to sea. How does that grab you?’

  ‘Sounds brilliant.’

  On the way to his onboard office, Harry took Eliza up to the bridge and introduced her to the captain.

  ‘Captain Yates is a Kiwi,’ he said, as she shook his hand. ‘Far better sailors than the Aussies, but never let Timmo know I said that.’

  ‘Too right,’ said the captain.

  Harry and Eliza made their way downstairs and sat down at a table looking over the marina. Pads of paper and pens had been laid out, alon
g with a pot of coffee and cups.

  As Eliza poured, Harry pulled a pad towards him and began to write.

  ‘OK, Lizzie. Rose shares. This is how they’re divided up.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘When my father died,’ – he wrote Henry Rose at the top of the page – ‘the company was wholly family-owned and the shares were split three ways between me, Megan and Margot.’

  He drew lines down from Henry to Harry, Megan and Margot, like on a family tree. Then he drew a smiley face next to Megan, a grumpy one next to Margot, and a small crown next to his own name.

  ‘As you know, when I stepped down I signed three-quarters of my third over to you three.’

  He drew three lines down from Harry and wrote Maria, Eliza, Eddie, then sketched a grumpy face next to Maria, a smiley one next to Eliza, and a boy in a cap next to Eddie.

  ‘Cute. With you so far.’

  ‘Megan’s intending to sign her shares over to her daughters, as Chess will be starting at Rose.’ He added their names. ‘From what I hear, Helena has no interest in working for the company, so she’ll have a proxy vote.’

  ‘No surprises there. She’s wanted to be an artist forever.’

  ‘Now, as for Margot’s third, she’s always been happy for me to act on her behalf, as long as she gets her regular income.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Back in the nineties, when I needed to raise capital for the football channel, a proportion of the company was sold.’

  Eliza sat up straighter. That would be a certain Russian investor. ‘Him?’

  ‘We bought him out and onsold. Charles sorted it.’ He wrote down outside investors next to the family tree and, after a moment’s hesitation, drew a mean-looking bear then scored a line through it. ‘Satisfying.’

  ‘Dad—’

  ‘Those shares – twenty-four per cent of the company – are now mainly held by investment companies. They don’t interfere, as long as dividends and share prices hold up.’

  ‘Right. And that’s where Maria could be a problem?’

  ‘Exactly. They’ll notice if the share price drops significantly. We have to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Who are Eddie’s trustees again?’

  ‘Me, John Studley, and Eddie’s uncles Rich and Seymour.’

  Eliza shuddered inwardly. Uncle Seymour.

  Everyone had that one uncle.

  The Rose and Morrissey families had kept in touch after Janette’s death, for Eddie’s sake. She and Eddie had been to stay with Seymour and his wife on several occasions. Her step-uncle was loud, flamboyant, full of swagger. He’d had a habit of appearing by her bed in the mornings, coming in without knocking, to let her know breakfast was ready, or just for a ‘chat’ – while his eyes roved across the shape of her body beneath the covers. He’d pat her bottom as she walked past, would ‘accidentally’ brush her breasts. In the evenings he’d sit next to her on the sofa, pushing his leg against hers, touching her knee when his wife wasn’t looking.

  Before her final stay with the Morrisseys, when she was a teenager, she’d been physically sick at the prospect of seeing Seymour again, but Harry had been grieving for Janette and Eliza hadn’t wanted to add to his worries. So she’d gritted her teeth and gone, for his sake.

  Now she avoided family gatherings that included the Morrisseys.

  ‘John’s recommended bringing an associate of his onto the board,’ continued Harry, ‘and to mentor you when you’re full time. Cecil Walsham, a management consultant. I know him a little – he’s a Cambridge man, but we won’t hold that against him. When I started at Rose, my uncle, Richard York, showed me the ropes. I think it’s a good idea to get you that level of support too.’

  ‘Why have I never met your uncle Richard?’ asked Eliza.

  ‘He disappeared,’ said Harry. ‘It was all very mysterious.’

  ‘Oh. But this Cecil – he’s not family?’

  ‘I think that’s a good thing. Too many family board members can lead to infighting. I’ve done my research, and he seems a safe pair of hands.’

  John arrived, still looking like a military bigwig with his closely cropped hair and crisp clothes. After the niceties, the three of them discussed Maria’s moves to improve the moral landscape of the British press. Eliza told them about her sister’s intention to place family values at the heart of a new mission statement.

  ‘The mission statement’s a no-no,’ said John. ‘She’ll know that. Could be the excuse we need to call in the board?’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll speak to her, but if she’s set on this course of action, well—’

  ‘We’ll need to rally the troops,’ finished John.

  Harry

  Clare joined them for lunch. The sun had come out and the atmosphere was light as Harry and John shared anecdotes from their childhood. Their fathers had been big pals back in the day, and the two families had remained close.

  As always, John talked (read: boasted) about his boys, Gil and Rob. Poor chaps. While Harry appreciated the value of sons to one’s legacy goals, John was rather OTT in his ambitions for his.

  ‘Are they still interning at Rose?’ asked Eliza.

  ‘Just finished,’ John replied. ‘Gil’s training with the Civil Service. I’d like him to go into politics, eventually.’

  Culminating in prime minister, if John had anything to do with it.

  John turned to Eliza. ‘He’s going out with your cousin Chess. Isn’t that splendid?’

  Harry wondered whether John had somehow engineered their meet-up. Megan’s eldest daughter was super-bright, and her father, Charles – Harry’s best friend and brother-in-law – knew everyone who mattered. Chess would be the perfect politician’s wife.

  ‘It is,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Rob was due to start at one of the big accounting firms,’ John continued, ‘but Terri Robbins-More offered him a position on The Rack last week.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Eliza. ‘That’s great! But quite surprising, given her views on nepotism.’

  ‘It’s only a junior editor position,’ said John, ‘but Rob’s ambitious, could make a go of it at Rose, I think.’

  Did John anticipate that his position on the board, and the fact that Rob was Harry’s godson and Eliza’s chum, would speed his son’s rise through the Rose ranks?

  In fact, Rob Studley was unlikely to need a helping hand. He was clever – whip sharp – and possessed an exuberant, impish charm that would undoubtedly see him win at life. As a boy he’d been a cheeky little sod, rarely intimidated by his overbearing father, or by Harry.

  Rob should probably be in the sales department, not Editorial. He’d be a natural.

  A move to Sales would also put him out of range of Eliza, who seemed determined to work on The Rack again this summer, although Harry would rather she parked herself on the top floor to keep an eye on Maria.

  He thought back to when Rob and Eliza were children. When the Studleys visited, the two of them would run off into Richmond Park, returning hours later with grazed knees, their clothes streaked with grass stains. There had been a broken arm on one occasion, and he remembered a park keeper coming for a quiet word after the pair had been caught harassing deer.

  He smiled to himself as he pictured them standing in front of him, heads bowed for their telling-off, their curly hair – hers wild and red, his dark and floppy – tangled and full of grass seeds. Harry had never put a stop to their adventures. Rob had often been just what Eliza needed, what with losing two step-mothers and her father’s ongoing life-and-wife dramas.

  And that was all very well in childhood. But now, at Rose – probably not. Harry didn’t want Eliza distracted. And he couldn’t see Rob treating Eliza with the respect she’d be due as his superior.

  Perhaps he’d have a quiet word with Terri.

  Chapter 8

  Eliza

  As they finished up with coffee, Timmo brought a phone across to Harry. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but I think
you’ll want to take this. That call you were expecting? Perhaps in private?’

  Timmo was obviously more than a carrier of bags and bringer of coffee.

  Eliza saw the smile leave Harry’s face.

  ‘Ah, right. Excuse me, all, this shouldn’t take long.’

  Eliza also noticed Clare’s frown. She wanted to ask if everything was OK, but probably shouldn’t in front of John.

  ‘Well,’ said John, ‘I should be marching on. Eliza – come and see us when you’re back in London. Come for Sunday lunch.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  Eliza smiled as she thought of her childhood playmate. Rob’s internship had coincided briefly with her time at Rose, but she’d only seen him once or twice, as they’d worked on different floors.

  Harry returned, and Eliza noticed his distraction.

  ‘I should wend my way, Harry,’ said John. ‘A pleasure as always to see you and your delightful family. Don’t worry about seeing me off, if your man could do that?’

  Harry waved Timmo over. ‘Good to see you too, John. When I’m home, perhaps we should consider golf. Do you think we’re old enough now?’

  ‘Good Lord, Harry. I thought you’d sworn never to.’

  ‘I’ll need something to fill the hours, when my tiresomely capable daughter properly takes over the helm at Rose.’

  ‘Daughter-s, Dad. Plural?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘I think I’ll have a swim,’ said Eliza, as John left.

  ‘Wait,’ said Harry. ‘I need to speak to you first.’

  Eliza was again aware of her father’s discomfort. What was going on? Her stomach was tying itself in knots. What was Dad about to land on her now?

  ‘OK.’

  Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

  Clare touched his arm. ‘Tell her, Harry.’

  ‘Where to start? Eliza, you remember back when . . . everything came out in the papers?’

  Oh god. Another skeleton? Another affair? Or was this something to do with her mother?