Savage

by Michelle St. James

  But then he opened the door, disappeared inside the house.

  In the absence of his presence her head slowly cleared. She took a couple deep breaths, rubbed her arms against the chill in the air. It had gotten dark. She needed to pick up Lily. The reminder hit her full force, and she held a hand against her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to tear loose from her throat.

  Lily.

  Farrell’s daughter.

  They’d made something beautiful and perfect. And he could never, ever know.

  8

  Farrell pressed down on the accelerator of the black Lotus and navigated the car through the countryside. He didn’t usually mind the drive to Huntington Hills. It got him out of the city, allowed him to see something other than the streets of London, the endless traffic and concrete.

  But today it gave him too much time to think. At first he tried to occupy his mind with the high-performance sports car, shifting smoothly around the twists and turns in the road, listening to the purr of the engine, adjusting his speed when necessary to work as one with the vehicle. The car was like a living thing, a wild animal that challenged him to tame it.

  It didn’t work, and eventually he gave in and let his thoughts wander to the inevitable.

  Jenna.

  He’d known she’d be at the funeral, but he’d convinced himself he was over her. That seeing her would be like seeing any other woman from his past. Brief, unimportant.

  Of course, it had been a lie.

  But he’d realized that too late, after he’d already stepped onto the patio. She was as lovely as ever, her dark hair pulled into a loose knot at the back of her head, the black dress she wore revealing nothing but the elegant collarbone he’d once liked to lick on his way to her perfect breasts. For a split second, he’d wanted nothing more than to pull the pins out of her hair, slip the dress down her shapely shoulders, take one delicate pink nipple in his mouth while he fingered the other one to a stiff peak.

  Then he remembered what she did to him and his lust for her was almost overtaken by his rage.

  Almost.

  Her excuse for leaving — that they wanted different things, that she would be safer without him — hit him where it hurt. Even now, anyone who wanted to harm Jenna would have to come through him.

  And coming through him was no easy task.

  He’d known she didn’t like his business, but he never dreamed it would drive her from him — from his bed and his life — so quickly and so completely.

  He hit the steering wheel violently with his fist, then cursed under his breath. He was a masochist. He shouldn’t have gone to the funeral. He’d done this to himself. Now she was back in his blood, back in his thoughts and his dreams.

  Fuck.

  The first sign for Huntington Hills sat discreetly on the grass of a small turnoff. He made the turn and continued up a long, winding drive, then crested a small hill. The renovated manor house that came into view was large and imposing, with a stone facade that had been in place since the early 1700s and enough upgrades to make it as comfortable as any luxury home.

  He should know. He’d paid for a lot of them.

  The windows were big and wide, many of them running all the way to the interior’s high ceilings, almost all of them offering expansive views of the lush green lawn that surrounded the house, the old trees that stood guard around the perimeter. He took it all in dispassionately as he continued to the gravel car park at the front of the building.

  Huntington Hills was the best. That was all that mattered.

  He parked the car and grabbed the tin can from the passenger seat. Then he made his way up to the carved wooden doors and stepped inside.

  The entry was spacious and filled with light. His shoes clicked on the pristine marble floor as he walked toward an antique desk and the nurse sitting behind it. The woman glanced at him, then jumped to her feet.

  “Mr. Black. Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” he said without stopping. “I’ll see myself in.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He passed the desk and continued to a set of stairs on the left. He shouldn’t have been annoyed by her solicitousness. He’d paid a lot of money — donated a lot of money — to insure that the name Black meant the best kind of treatment. Here and everywhere.

  But especially here.

  He knew how the world worked. It was nice to believe that everyone was good. That people did the right thing simply because it was right. That everyone was treated equitably. But it was a lie, and Farrell intended to see that the people closest to him had the best of everything.

  He stepped onto the second floor landing and turned left, continuing down another long hall, past a couple offices and a small dining room. A small, smartly dressed woman came around the corner and smiled when she saw him.

  “He’s in the piano room.”

  “Thank you,” Farrell said. “How is he today?”

  “Better. He’ll be happy to see you.”

  Farrell didn't know if it was true, but it didn’t matter. His brother needed him, and as long as that was true, Farrell would be here.

  He heard the music well before he reached the room. Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto rolled through the corridors, the ponderous, melancholy chords echoing across the floors and off the walls. Farrell reached the music room and stopped in the doorway, watching his brother’s face as he played.

  Evan was three years younger than Farrell, and so autistic it had been impossible for his parents to keep him at home, though god knows they tried. He was a musical savant, could play twelve instruments by ear, although he’d never had lessons. But he hardly ever spoke. He didn’t like the color blue — would kick and scream and pull at his own hair if he saw it — and he only ate white food. He didn’t like noise unless it was music, didn’t make eye contact, not even when Farrell had told him about the death of their father. He wore only one kind of shirt, could sense the slightest difference in fabric or cut even if it was outwardly the same as the other ones in his closet. They were only some of the things that had to be kept in check to maintain Evan’s sense of calm. Farrell had been in second grade the day they moved him to his first home, a clean but purely mediocre facility. He’d visited whenever his parents would allow it, slowly learning about his little brother.

  As soon as he had enough money, he moved Evan to Huntington Hills. It was the best in the country, although Farrell knew better than to expect any kind of improvement in his brother’s behavior. It wasn’t about that. It was about Evan’s comfort. About the piano room with the big windows and the soft southern light, the bedroom that was more like a suite in an exclusive hotel, the staff who ensured Evan was made comfortable, his agitation kept to a minimum. Farrell had bequeathed over five million dollars to the hospital over the last eight years for various improvements. He knew every member of the medical staff on a first name basis and could recite Evan’s daily schedule by memory.

  He didn’t feel burdened by the responsibility. His parents were gone. Evan was his brother. His blood. He would do anything to protect him. To see that he had the best of everything. His business made that possible, and he’d set aside a significant sum in Evan’s name to be used for his care should anything happen to Farrell. He didn’t know if Evan would notice if he stopped coming one day, but he would notice if his routine was disrupted, and Farrell had insured that he would live in comfort the rest of his life.

  He listened to the increasingly magnanimous sounds of the concerto as it wound toward its end, then waited for the notes to finish echoing through the room to step inside. He moved slowly, not wanting to startle his brother.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said.

  Evan looked past him without a word, but Farrell knew Evan was registering his presence. He could feel it in the subtle shift in Evan’s energy, the stiff set of his shoulders, so different from when he played music, the only time he seemed completely at ease.

  “I hear you had a rough time of it yest
erday,” he said, moving slowly toward the piano. “I brought you these.”

  He set the tin can on the top of the piano. Evan wouldn’t look at its contents now. He would wait for Farrell to leave. But Farrell knew that he would remove the coins one by one, arranging them into piles that only he seemed to understand. Farrell had been collecting them for Evan since they were kids. It was second nature to pick them up off the ground, to feel a thrill of victory when he came across something unusual even though he had no idea if Evan recognized such details.

  He sat on the bench next to his brother and touched his back gently. Evan flinched, but Farrell didn’t take it personally.

  “How have you been?” he asked, leaning down to look in his brother’s eyes, blue like their mother’s. He wasn’t surprised when Evan didn’t answer. He rarely did. “I thought we could play some music. Is that okay?”

  When Evan didn’t protest, Farrell lifted his hands to the keys, waited another second, then slowly began playing the melody of Debussy’s Petite Suite. Thirty seconds in Evan joined him on the left, contributing the chords and rhythm that gave shape to the music.

  Farrell closed his eyes while they played.

  9

  “Are you sure we should be doing this now?” Kate asked from behind a pile of their father’s clothes.

  They’d spent the day after the funeral in a kind of fugue state, shuffling around the house, eating leftovers from the wake, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lily had been cranky and whiney, and Jenna had vowed to get moving the following day.

  She’d woken early, made breakfast, got her mother off to work, taken Lily to the little park where she’d played as a child. Then she’d rallied Kate, insisting that they go through their father’s things so their mother wouldn’t have to do it.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, so if you want my help, we should do it now. Besides,” Jenna said, carefully setting aside one of her dad’s sweaters to take home to New York, “it will be easier for Mum this way. We’ll keep out anything personal, but the rest will have to be cleaned out eventually anyway.”

  Kate sighed, running her hands along the sweater, a thick ivory cable knit he’d been wearing in a photo taken the day Jenna had been born. “You’re probably right.”

  “It will get easier,” Jenna said, although she didn’t really know if it was true. Some things never seemed to get easier. “One day at a time.”

  Kate lifted another pile of clothes into the box they had been filling since Lily went down for her nap. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Will Mum be okay?” Jenna asked.

  Kate shrugged. “How should I know?”

  Jenna stuffed down a surge of annoyance. Why couldn’t Kate try to be helpful? “You know her better than I do at this point.”

  Kate met Jenna’s eyes. “Like I said, I try not to worry too much about Mum. I’ll look in on her when I can, but she’s an adult. We spent our whole childhood babysitting her. I’m not doing it anymore. She’s going to have to figure it out.”

  “What if she can’t do it without Dad?” Jenna asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kate said. “But that’s not really my problem anymore. And it’s not yours either.”

  Jenna wasn’t so sure. Shouldn’t they do more to make sure their mother wasn’t drinking? To get her to an AA meeting? To make sure she was taking care of herself now that their dad was gone?

  “What about the house?” Jenna asked.

  “What about it?” Kate continued folding a pair of trousers.

  “Can Mum afford to stay here?”

  Kate looked up. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Dad paid off the house two years ago,” Kate said.

  Jenna couldn't hide her surprise. “How did he manage it?”

  “Took the savings and paid it off last year,” Kate said.

  “He had savings?”

  Kate sighed. “Yes, he had savings. Not a lot. But enough to pay off the house.”

  Jenna’s thoughts turned to the key card and passport her father had been carrying when he’d been killed. Had he been planning to leave their mother? Is that why he’d paid off the house?

  “You don’t think that’s strange?” Jenna asked.

  “Why would it be strange?” Kate sounded exasperated, the way she always did when Jenna was being too practical. Too tiresome.

  “I don’t know… I just know Dad didn’t have a lot of extra money.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kate said, meeting her eyes. “At some point you’re going to have to stop trying to take care of everyone, Jen. Dad paid off the house. Mum will be fine. Isn’t that all that matters? He’s dead.”

  Tears stung Jenna’s eyes. Kate had always been too blunt, her edges so hard Jenna sometimes felt bruised from rubbing up against them too closely. She admired the quality in her sister at the same time she loathed it. How wonderful to say whatever was on your mind. To think only about yourself without a bit of guilt.

  But worrying about everyone and everything was in Jenna’s nature. She didn’t know if she was capable of thinking only of herself, and she was more than a little afraid of what would happen if she did. Worrying about everyone else kept her too busy to worry about herself. Allowed her to avoid getting her own act together, figuring out a way to have a life that was more than just her and Lily. Hold out for a better job, maybe a man who could love them both.

  An involuntary shudder ran through her, as if her whole body was rebelling against the idea. Farrell was too close after their conversation at the funeral. She could still smell him, still feel him. Her whole psyche was in revolt at the thought of anyone touching her but him, and yet nothing had changed. She would have to find a way to move on, really move on, eventually.

  “What will you do when you go back to New York?” Kate said, changing the subject.

  “Find another job,” Jenna said. “Get back to my life.”

  “And is there a lot of excitement in your life?” Kate asked.

  Jenna expected Kate to be smiling when she met her eyes, but her expression was entirely serious. “What are you implying exactly?”

  “I saw Farrell at the funeral,” she said. “I assume you saw him, too.”

  “What of it?” Jenna asked, folding the top over the box, avoiding Kate’s eyes.

  “If you’re not going to tell him about Lily, don’t you think it’s at least time to move on?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Jenna said, “I have moved on. I live an ocean away. Until two days ago, I hadn’t talked to him in five years.”

  “Really, Jen?”

  Kate’s tone forced Jenna to meet her eyes. “What?”

  “You work and you take care of Lily. Don’t you want something more? How long has it been since you’ve had a good shag?”

  She said it with such an utterly serious face that Jenna burst out laughing. Leave it to Kate to distill everything to a quick shag, as if that would solve all Jenna’s problems. As if having sex with someone other than Farrell would banish him from her heart and soul.

  As if it were that easy.

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Jenna said, taping the box. “But if you must know, I haven’t slept with anyone since I had Lily.” She hated how prim she sounded.

  Kate burst into laughter. Jenna looked at her sharply, watching as she fell back on the floor, holding her stomach the way she had when they were kids and Jenna tickled her mercilessly. Jenna leaned back on her elbows, waiting for Kate’s hysteria to subside.

  “I’m happy I can still amuse you, Kate,” she finally said.

  “I’m sorry,” Kate said, still catching her breath. “It’s just that you’re the only person I know who would leave a man, then hold a torch for him for five bloody years. And you’re definitely the only person I know who can go five years without a shag.”

  Jenna’s face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s been a choice. I wanted to focus on Lily. On making a
good life for her.”

  Liar, a voice whispered in her head. You didn’t want anyone else to touch you. As if that would somehow make him farther away. As if it would make your separation more permanent.

  More real.

  “That’s all well and good, Jenna, but your fanny is going to grow over if you don’t get a pecker in there soon.”

  “Kate!” Jenna admonished. “Must you be so crass?”

  She regretted the question as soon as she asked it. How was it that Kate could still make her feel like the boring, uptight older sister?

  “The truth isn’t crass,” Kate said, standing and brushing the dust off her bum. “It’s simply the truth.”

  “Well, I don’t need commentary on my love life,” Jenna said. “Live your life and let me live mine.”

  Kate bent to pick up the box. “Whatever you say. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  So do I, Jenna thought as Kate left the room. So do I.

  10

  “Mummy, what’s wrong with Gran?”

  Jenna knocked on Mrs. Hodges' door, then looked down at her daughter. “She’s eaten something bad, something that made her sick.”

  Jenna hated herself for lying, but she hated her mother more for making her feel like she had no choice.

  They’d had a good day. She’d taken Lily to the movies, wanting to escape the house and the memories, and most of all, the thoughts that ran in circles between Farrell Black and the strangeness of the passport and key card that had been sewn into her father’s jacket. After the movie, Jenna had taken Lily on the Eye, then to the Stamford Larder for cupcakes and hot cocoa. Lily had been tired and happy on the tube home, leaning on Jenna’s shoulder, her hands still a little sticky and smelling of sugar.

  But Jenna had known things were about to go off the rails as soon as they stepped into the house. Her mother was sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle of gin on the table next to her. Their entry into the house had jolted her out of her stupor, and she stood quickly, trying to maintain a look of control before she dashed for the bathroom. Jenna knew from the sound of things that she hadn’t quite made the toilet. She’d turned around right then and come to Mrs. Hodges' flat.