Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘You must come down to London when he’s back. He’d love to meet you too, Mackenzie.’

  ‘Call me Mac, everyone does.’

  ‘I hear you work in politics?’ said Megan.

  ‘For now. Getting fed up with it, to be honest. Too many big egos. Maybe, now I’ve inherited Mum’s share of Rose . . . can I talk to you about that sometime?’ She looked Eliza squarely in the eye.

  The remark sounded off the cuff, like the thought had just occurred to her. But Eliza could tell – she’d planned this. Cousin Mac wanted in. It was too soon to know whether this was to be welcomed, or treated with caution. On the one hand, with all the recent expansion, there could be a role for her, and she certainly had charisma – in bucketloads. But on the other . . . Mac’s share of the business was larger than Eliza’s, and she had a political background. Eliza felt a niggle of unease.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Next time you’re down, let’s have a proper chat.’

  It had taken a lifetime for them to meet. Surely a trip to London would take some time to eventuate.

  Chapter 33

  Eliza

  Eliza flicked through the Guardian as she took a break at her desk. She registered the date, 1st May, and smiled a melancholy smile, remembering May Morning back at Oxford, listening to the choristers singing from the Great Tower. Only a year had passed, but it seemed a lifetime ago.

  Rob’s divorce seemed to be taking for ever. It was almost a year now, and here they were, still skulking about, snatching the odd coffee, the occasional kiss.

  She shut the newspaper and threw it to one side. Gah! It was so frustrating! Here she was, a high-flying, powerful woman at the head of a company doing amazing things. She’d been nominated as Business Roundtable Woman of the Year and Vogue had just called her ‘spectacular’. And yet she was a twenty-four-year-old virgin who, thanks to the British public’s voracious appetite for celebrity gossip, was unable to be with the man she loved.

  She’d invite him over tonight. She needed to know – how much longer?

  ‘Beer?’ she asked, going through to the kitchen.

  ‘Sounds good.’ He plonked a box of handmade chocolates on the worktop. ‘For later.’ He looked her in the eye and her stomach clenched.

  ‘I phoned for pizza, hope that’s OK,’ she said, pouring their drinks.

  ‘Something nice and cheesy? Like all the lines I was thinking up on my way over.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘How much I love you. How this waiting’s so hard; how I just want everyone to know we’re together.’

  ‘About that—’

  ‘How amazing you are. Everyone at work thinks you’re incredible.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ He grinned. ‘Kit calls you Eliza the Kaiser, but other than that . . . ’

  ‘Bloody cheek!’

  He slung his leather jacket over a chair, chuckling, then hopped up onto a barstool.

  She passed him his beer and came to stand in front of him.

  ‘Here’s to moving on,’ she said, clinking her glass against his. He opened his legs and pulled her between them.

  ‘Rob, how much longer will the divorce take?’

  ‘We’re just hammering out some final stuff. Two months max, I reckon.’

  ‘That’s good news.’

  He twirled a lock of hair around his finger. ‘So, I’ll finally get to see your crazy curls spread across my pillow. Yes?’

  ‘My therapy is almost complete. Whether or not it’s worked remains to be seen.’

  ‘Define “almost”.’

  ‘For the sake of argument, let’s say two months max.’

  ‘But in the meantime . . . ’

  ‘Did I see chocolates?’

  As Eliza walked to work the next morning, she had an everything’s perfect moment. It was a glorious spring day and the Thames was twinkling in the sun, the boats chugging along like cheerful characters in a children’s book.

  Rob’s divorce was on the horizon, and RoseGold was bowling along beautifully. Most Human of Saints was on schedule and on budget. Everyone involved felt it in their bones – this was going to be a classic. BAFTAs would surely follow, and the US distributors were salivating.

  The team had shortlisted a dozen possible future productions, aiming to whittle that down to two. Their brainstorming sessions were the highlight of Eliza’s working week.

  Cecil, now officially ensconced as COO, was a godsend, the steadiest of hands on Rose Corp’s helm. She knew for sure he was Harry’s spy, but in a good way.

  And she was now confident that her therapy would yield a good result. During her last session, Dr Thomson had suggested she tell Harry about her problem. Unbottling her resentment, explaining the part he’d played in creating her mistrust, would apparently be an important step along the road to resolving the issue.

  Eliza had baulked at the suggestion, but Dr T had gently talked her through it, certain that this would help.

  ‘Morning, Pippa!’ she called as she swung past her PA’s desk.

  ‘Hi, Eliza. Um, can I have a word, when you’re ready?’

  ‘Sure, you want to bring us both a coffee?’

  Five minutes later, Pippa sat down opposite Eliza.

  ‘What’s up?’ Eliza gave her a big smile.

  Pippa returned it. ‘All’s going well with Rob, then?’

  ‘How very dare you. But yes. And I know I can rely on your discretion.’

  ‘Of course. Two things that might bring you down, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Really? What things?’

  ‘First up, I’m sorry to say Kit Marley’s in trouble. Got himself into a fight last night in Soho. He spent the night in the cells.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Will rang. He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘OK, I’ll call him. Bloody hell. What’s the other thing?’

  ‘This one’s . . . Eliza, I don’t quite know what to say. I had a call from someone who gave his name as Stu Blunt. He said he was . . . your brother. He sounded Australian. Says he’s in London and wants to meet up.’

  Shit. Shit shit shit.

  ‘Oh. Right. Thank goodness Dad’s home this week. I’ll have to speak to him. Not a word, Pippa.’

  ‘So . . . who is he?’

  ‘My half-brother. The result of one of Dad’s flings. If the press find out, we’ll be in for another media bomb. We so don’t want that.’

  ‘Right. Shall I put him off?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll talk to Dad, find out what to do.’

  ‘OK. And talking of Harry, he asked me to make sure the corporate hospitality marquee was sorted for Wimbledon.’

  ‘Dad and his tennis.’

  ‘I told him it’s all in hand.’

  ‘Excellent. Looking forward to it.’

  When Pippa left, Eliza phoned Will. ‘What the heck, Will? Kit in a brawl?’

  ‘He’s quite the hothead these days, my sweet. Can you come see him?’ Then his voice lost its drama. ‘Actually, Eliza, I’m worried about him. His fuse seems to have shortened.’

  This didn’t make sense. Kit was the most laid-back person she’d ever known.

  ‘I’ll come over tonight.’

  Will let her in. ‘He’s not looking so pretty. The police let him off with a warning. He socked an Independent theatre reviewer and got one back, twice as hard. I’ll go fetch a takeaway, leave you two to talk.’

  Kit was lying on the sofa in the book-lined living room, reading a literary journal. ‘Eliza. What are you doing here?’

  She saw the bruising around his eye, and was more upset than she’d expected. ‘Kit!’ She hurried over and squatted on the floor next to him. ‘What’s this all about?’ She gently touched his face.

  He caught her hand, and didn’t let it go.

  ‘Just a spat. Theatre reviewer didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. Guess I got a bit wound up.’

  ‘Kit, you don’t get wound up. Had you been drinking?’

/>   ‘Nope.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘ . . . Maybe.’

  Eliza’s heart sank. ‘Don’t, Kit.’ She lifted his hand and kissed it.

  ‘Look, I’ve never shared this with anyone, but I promised to help you stay true. Dad had an addiction problem, for years. It nearly sent him over the edge. He kicked it, with Clare’s help. I don’t want anyone I love to go through what he did. Will you stop?’

  He stared up at the ceiling. ‘That which nourishes me destroys me. You can’t imagine what it’s like, here in my mind. I need to leave it, every now and again.’

  Her heart missed a beat.

  ‘Don’t – please? And brawling; that’s not you. You’re gentle.’

  He turned his gaze on her. ‘You and Rob—’

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘No, it’s good. I want you to be happy. Just . . . make the most of this time with him.’

  A shiver ran down her spine. There was something about the way he’d said it.

  What was going on?

  ‘His divorce is nearly done, then we’ll be properly together.’

  ‘Properly. It’s all such a jumble. A muddle. I can’t see it.’

  Eliza breathed a sigh of relief when Will appeared with the food. Kit’s ramblings, on the rare occasions she understood them, were sometimes too disturbing.

  Harry

  The weekend after Harry and Clare’s return, Eliza went to Richmond. She was looking happy in her skin (so pale, in contrast to Harry’s own tan), and he sensed she was now comfortable in her new role. Of course, his eyes at Rose had been keeping him up to speed with developments. Everything he was hearing was good – better than good – and Cecil was quietly nudging things back on track on the rare occasions when her inexperience led to mistakes.

  ‘Three things, Dad,’ she said, as they walked through Richmond Park.

  ‘Good things or bad things? Secrets, one assumes, seeing as you plotted to get me by myself again.’

  ‘One good, one possibly unwelcome. The third . . . ’ She swallowed. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about. It’s hard for me, but I need to do it.’

  Was this something to do with Ana? What had Eliza learned? He’d rather hoped the barrage of questions about her mother had ceased.

  ‘Right you are,’ he said. ‘Where shall we start? With the unwelcome one?’

  ‘OK. Stu’s in London. He’s been trying to see me. I’ve put him off so far.’

  This didn’t come as a surprise. Number One Son was proving tenacious in his attempts to connect with his English ‘rellies’.

  ‘Ah. He’s been in touch with me too. I said we’d catch up when I was home.’

  ‘Dad, what do we do when the press find out?’

  ‘I’ll have something ready. Happy to welcome long-lost son into the bosom of the family, etc. I’ll just have to make sure he’s on the same page. We don’t want him selling his story.’

  ‘Right. So are you going to meet up with him? What if he wants a job?’

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t. I was thinking of organising a family gathering – a birthday do, maybe. My fifty-eighth, ye gods. Close friends and family, like we did for Clare’s. What do you think?’

  ‘That would work. Keep it in the family. Have you told Eddie?’

  ‘On the to-do list.’

  ‘Don’t put it off, Dad.’

  ‘And the good news?’

  She smiled, and did a little skip. ‘Rob’s divorce is imminent – just a couple more months, probably.’

  This also wasn’t a surprise. Harry’s spies were thorough.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘the end is finally nigh.’

  ‘And the difficult thing?’

  A cloud crossed her face. She kept her gaze ahead, not meeting his eye. Harry had a horrible feeling his Russian nemesis was about to barge his way back into his conscience.

  ‘I’ve been having therapy.’

  This was a surprise. Lizzie was surely the most resilient of Roses. A hardy perennial. Was this something to do with her childhood?

  His old companion, guilt, joined Andre in the wings.

  ‘Therapy?’

  She stopped and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She was biting her lip.

  He went to touch her arm, but she took a step back.

  ‘Eliza?’

  He saw her swallow.

  ‘It’s . . . I . . . oh god. Right. Dad, I won’t look at you while I say this, because it’s hard.’

  He frowned.

  ‘That family joke,’ she said, gazing across the park. ‘About me being a virgin. Well . . . I still am.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that, Lizzie,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I’m sure you have your reasons.’

  ‘I do. But it’s not a choice, Dad. It’s a problem. A psychological one. Hence the therapy.’

  Harry didn’t respond, sensing her difficulty.

  ‘In a way I’m like you,’ she said. ‘I love the opposite sex. And I like kissing and . . . so on with Rob. And I almost had a thing with Kit, at uni. Remember when I called him Mr Wrong? That showed me I wasn’t . . . frigid. But I had a panic attack when he tried to take things further. That put the brakes on our relationship, which was probably just as well, because I believe in fidelity and he doesn’t. Which kind of brings me to you, Dad.’

  ‘I have a feeling you’re going to tell me my terrible example has put you off . . . things.’

  She gave a small laugh, but didn’t smile.

  ‘Sorry, Lizzie. I can’t believe I’m being so prudish. Me of all people.’

  She looked at him briefly, then turned away again. ‘No, it’s hard to talk about with you, obviously. But I’ve been discussing you with my therapist, Dr Thomson. Clare found her for me – she’s brilliant.’

  ‘Clare knows about your problem?’

  ‘I swore her to secrecy. And it seems my problem – why I can’t . . . ’

  ‘Give up your virginity?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a trust thing. To do with how you behaved towards women. And someone else’s behaviour too, but mainly you.’

  She was quiet. ‘OK, I’d like to look at you now.’ Her voice was unsteady.

  She met his eye, and suddenly there were tears and her face twisted with emotion.

  ‘You cheated on your wives, Dad. On Mum. You let her down; you turned your back on her. She died because of you. You drove Caitlyn to suicide.’

  Her voice rose, and the tears spilled over. ‘You had a secret love child who’s probably a messed-up alcoholic. You sent Aunt Merry mad – she tried to kill you.’ She swiped at her cheeks. ‘Do you have any idea what all that has done to me? I can’t have sex! I have panic attacks when men try to love me. I can’t give myself to the man I love!’

  Harry’s beloved daughter was falling apart in front of his eyes. A fierce wave of guilt and anguish hit as images from his past crowded in: Ana, blaming him for the death of their unborn child, telling him to stay away from Andre; Katie, asking him to help her through her depression, begging him not to leave; Caitlyn, pleading with him to forgive her. He’d failed them. Every word Eliza said was true.

  She’d always been the steady child. Unlike Maria, the dramas of her childhood had seemed to wash right over her, that sunny personality shining on through his marriage breakup, through Ana’s death, Janette’s death, Caitlyn’s death. He thought she’d sailed through it all unscarred, and had always marvelled at that.

  How wrong he’d been. Beneath all that confidence, that strength, was a damaged girl.

  Same as you.

  Unbidden, the memory of his own teenage years rushed in. Losing his brother, his mother and father. A teenage orphan. He’d been lost – until he’d met Katie. And look what he’d done to her.

  It was all Harry could do not to cry himself.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he finally managed. ‘Eliza, I’m truly sorry . . . ’

  She sniffed, then too
k a breath, making an effort to compose herself.

  He held out his arms and, as her eyes met his, he knew she understood.

  They held each other tight.

  It was some time before either of them spoke again. Eliza’s voice was calmer. ‘Dr Thomson says if I can let go of the blame, understand you, forgive you, then my subconscious mistrust of men will start to ease. I do understand you a lot more now. When I was little, I thought you were perfect. I thought you knew everything, never did anything wrong. Accepting that you weren’t that person, that you were flawed . . . ’

  ‘Deeply.’

  ‘Well, yes. Accepting that, it’s my first big step. And . . . ’ She pulled back a little and looked at him. ‘It wasn’t just your behaviour, Dad. You’re not completely to blame.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She took another breath. ‘Do you remember when Eddie and I went to stay with Uncle Seymour and his wife?’

  ‘After Caitlyn died?’

  ‘A few times before, too. Seymour, he . . . ’ She swallowed.

  Suddenly Harry understood, and his blood ran cold. ‘My god.’

  ‘No, Dad, it wasn’t full-on abuse. But he touched me, all the time, when he thought no one was looking. Patted my bottom, squeezed my knee; he was always staring at my chest, coming into my bedroom. That last time we visited, I was so worried I threw up at the thought of going, but I didn’t tell you because Caitlyn had just died. Dr Thomson says his behaviour will have contributed to my . . . issue.’

  Harry’s emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. Fury. Hatred. The need to kill. And guilt, for not protecting her. But, most of all, anguish, for everything Eliza had been through.

  ‘I’m working through it all,’ she said. ‘The therapy’s been great.’ He saw her resolve. ‘I want Seymour out of Rose. And I want him to pay.’

  ‘I’ll sort it. I’ll have him removed from the board.’

  ‘No. I want to do it. He needs to know it comes from me. I might even do a Twitter thread. Or I’ll get Terri to interview me for The Rack – it could be part of an update on the #MeToo movement, maybe. What it’s achieved, how attitudes have changed. I need to think about it some more.’