by Lulu Taylor
‘Sure.’ She got off the desk, straightened her miniscule Gucci skirt and sashayed out, saying, ‘See you around, Octavia!’
‘What’s that all about?’ she asked sharply as soon as Shagi had gone.
‘It’s nothing,’ Ethan said, getting up and coming round to kiss her. ‘You’re my girl. How are you, lovebug? I haven’t seen you for ages.’
He wrapped her in his muscular arms and his scent enveloped her: it was rich and musky, a dark, slightly dangerous smell. She suddenly recalled how Max smelt: light and citrusy, fresh as sunlight. Stop it, she told herself. That’s a stupid way to think. But she’d been thinking of the other man more and more often. She’d downloaded ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ and listened to it constantly, wondering why it made her feel simultaneously happy and oddly depressed. She thought frequently about those piercing blue eyes and the strong features of his face, and jealously of the beautiful blonde in Colette’s he’d seemed so friendly with, and then told herself to stop it.
‘I’ve got a lot going on,’ she began, as though excusing her absence, and then stopped talking suddenly. She looked up at Ethan, at his enquiring blue eyes with their speckles of hazel and frame of dark lashes, his clean-shaven, handsome young face. He looked masculine and strong in his well-cut Prada suit, and successful with his huge Patek Philippe watch and polished Church’s brogues. Everything about him breathed money. But, Octavia realised, she wasn’t convinced there was anything below the surface. All that stuff was there for its own sake, and everything Ethan did was about acquiring it – the stuff he felt he deserved. All he could think about was his birthday party and the things he still craved to lay his hands on.
As she looked up at her attractive, high-powered, sexy boyfriend, one momentous thought floated into Octavia’s mind.
I just don’t love you any more. But how the hell am I going to get out of this one?
77
Flora never knew how Otto got hold of her new mobile number but she knew it was him almost before he spoke. Her skin crawled as the sound of his breathing came down the line and she turned icy cold.
‘Have you had a chance to look at our little photo album?’ he said, his voice giving away his evident enjoyment of the moment. He loved having her back in his power, that was obvious.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘How c-c-could you?’
‘Oh, I very well c-c-could,’ he mimicked. ‘And I will. I’m capable of a great deal more too. I want twenty-five million transferred to my account by the end of a fortnight, do you understand? You’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I’m not prepared to play games any longer. Though I’m very happy to play other sorts of games … if you’re ever in the mood again.’
Flora felt her stomach turn, and twisted her head away from the phone in revulsion.
‘I understand,’ she said.
‘And an assurance that the fifty million I already have is irrevocably mine. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and ended the call. Her head buzzed, the sound in her ears growing louder and louder, she felt faint. She swayed but clung on to consciousness. Then she pulled herself together and dialled Nick’s number.
He came at once. As soon as the doorbell sounded, she rushed to let him in, feeling a heady mixture of relief and excitement as she saw him.
Nick looked anxious as she opened the door to him, and the concern in his eyes made it seem perfectly natural to fling herself into his arms. He wrapped her in his embrace, holding her tightly. It felt amazing. Flora pressed her head against his chest, soaking in his strength. He put his cheek on top of her head, resting it against her hair.
Then he pulled away. ‘I guess we ought to go inside,’ he said, a little awkwardly, as though it had just dawned on him that their hug had gone beyond a social embrace.
‘Yes, yes …’ She led him in, already feeling stronger now that he was here.
‘So Otto called you? Tell me everything the slime-ball said,’ Nick urged, as they sat down together on the sofa. Flora told him the contents of the short conversation, longing all the while for those arms around her again. They had felt like the safest place in the world.
Nick’s dark eyes flashed as she finished. ‘A fortnight, huh? That’s because he knows the longer this goes on, the worse it will be for him. He wants it all tidied away before you get yourself better.’
‘I don’t want to be exposed!’ Flora said, panicked. ‘I couldn’t bear that.’
‘No one’s going to make you go through that,’ Nick said, reassuringly. He smiled at her and she felt herself melt inside. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll work out a way to pay him and make this watertight, so that you won’t be at risk.’
‘I can’t bear to talk to him,’ she whispered. ‘It makes me sick. Literally sick.’
Nick put his hand on hers, closing his fingers around it. They were warm and smooth and she felt his strength passing to her, holding her up. She wanted to drop her head and put her lips to them. Where his skin touched hers, she burned pleasurably.
‘You won’t have to,’ he reassured her. There was something in his eyes – a look that seemed to say he sensed the same power in their touch as she did.
‘We can contact him direct now we know what his terms are. I’ll handle all of that for you, along with Sirjiwan. Okay?’
Flora nodded. Then she said slowly, ‘Nick … can I ask you something?’
‘Sure, honey, anything.’ He looked into her eyes, his expression honest and open.
‘Did you … did you ever find out about my mother?’
He hesitated, obviously struggling with himself. He opened his mouth and closed it again, then looked away and muttered, ‘Goddang it!’
‘You did,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I knew you had, even though there aren’t any messages from you in my email account. Deleted, I suppose. What did you find out?’
He frowned. ‘Flora, I’m in a really difficult position here. Your sister has asked me to terminate the search and expunge my records. She says you’re too delicate to face your mother right now.’
Flora stared down at Nick’s hand on hers, noticing the dark hairs on his wrist. ‘Maybe she’s right,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe this isn’t the right time. If Octavia doesn’t want to know our mother … well, I can’t go against her wishes. She’s so adamant that she wants nothing to do with her. There’s no way I can ever look for Diane Beaufort if Octavia forbids it.’
‘But you want to, huh?’
Flora looked away, then shrugged. ‘I feel like I’ll never be able to be whole again without knowing, that’s all. I just want to know.’
There was a pause and then Nick said, ‘Have you thought about getting away for a while? Maybe you should go on holiday somewhere, you know, just until these next weeks are over and you can forget Otto for ever.’
‘I don’t know,’ Flora said uncertainly. ‘I like being at home. I don’t want to go anywhere strange.’ I don’t want to go away from you, she thought, staring at him.
He held her gaze and then his dark eyes softened. They were still holding hands, she realised, and the air between them suddenly crackled with suggestion. She felt him move almost imperceptibly towards her and found herself looking at his mouth, willing it to touch hers.
For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her then he seemed to remember himself. He pulled back, looking self-conscious, and took his hand away. ‘Ah … ah …’ he said, flushing slightly. ‘I … er …’
She wished she had the courage to lean over, take his face in her hands and turn it to hers so she could kiss him. But she didn’t.
‘I don’t want you to worry,’ he said firmly, regaining control of himself. ‘I’m gonna sort this out for you, once and for all.’
Outside in the hall, Vicky, who had been listening silently at the door, turned and padded away.
‘This is a crazy idea!’ Ethan said, his eyes blazing. ‘No. I won’t let you do it!’
‘What do you mean,
you won’t let me do it? How can you stop me?’ Octavia demanded, one hand resting on her hip. ‘I can do precisely what I want. I’m your boss, remember?’
He stared at her and growled with frustration, obviously biting back some kind of retort.
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ Octavia said obstinately. ‘It’s exactly what I need to do. You must be able to see that.’
‘It’s degrading,’ spat Ethan. He went back to his desk and sat down in his hugely expensive designer leather chair. ‘You’re humiliating yourself.’
‘I don’t see how.’ Octavia frowned at him. ‘What’s humiliating about it, anyway?’
‘If you can’t see it, I’m not going to tell you,’ Ethan retorted.
Just like a little boy in the playground! she thought.
Then he made a face. ‘Do it if you want,’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t care. Just don’t blame me when you’re a laughing stock, that’s all.’
‘I don’t intend to be a laughing stock,’ said Octavia coolly. She stared at him as he played with his computer mouse, his eyes flicking to the screen. He’s a child. An immature little boy. She knew that Max would approve of her idea. It would be exactly the kind of thing he would applaud.
Ethan made a sulky face. ‘I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s my birthday tomorrow.’
Just then her phone went. Octavia dug into her bag and pulled it out. The number was unfamiliar. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, is that Octavia Beaufort?’ It was a woman with a well-spoken voice who enquired.
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Elaine Rivers-Manners. I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you.’
78
Octavia didn’t know what else to do, so she went to Mabbes. Steve drove her there, his foot hard on the accelerator nearly all the way while Octavia sat in the back of the car, alternating between staring out of the window, frozen in shock, and sobbing into her handkerchief.
Iseult, Iseult, Iseult … why did you do it?
But she knew very well why. In fact, as the reality of it sank in, she realised that on some level she’d been expecting it. Iseult had been preparing her for it, she could see that now. She’d told her quite clearly that it was too difficult to go on, that she was readying herself. Octavia had thought she was girding her loins to face life, but now she understood that Iseult had been preparing herself for death.
Elaine, her younger sister, also staying at Mabbes, had found her in the newly repaired drawing room. The chandelier had been removed for cleaning, leaving its strong brass hook extending like a small claw from the ceiling rose. It was there Iseult had hung her noose. First she had dressed herself in a wonderful sparkling vintage thirties dress, wrapped her face in a creamy bridal veil embroidered with tiny glittering crystals, put on the pair of shoes designed by Roddy that she had loved so much, and then hanged herself with a length of golden twisted rope taken from the pair of curtains at the great bay window.
‘The strangest thing was what a pretty picture she made,’ Elaine said to Octavia, taking her into the room where she had discovered her sister. ‘She looked like an exotic chandelier herself, hanging from the fitting by her golden cord, sparkling as she swung there. And her face – well, it was covered so you couldn’t see what had been done to it. Her poor face. As if it hadn’t been through enough …’
Octavia felt tears drop from her eyes. She wept hard, mourning her friend. Iseult. We went through so much together. Couldn’t you have told me? Couldn’t I have stopped you?
‘She would have done it one day, you know,’ Elaine said. ‘Oh, we’re sad, of course … devastated. We loved her. But it was always on the cards for her, an end like this. We knew it and she knew it. That’s why she lived so flamboyantly, I think. She was flying as high as she could, making her mark in the short time she had.’ Elaine came over to Octavia and hugged her. ‘You’re so young,’ she said, looking at her through eyes the same yellowish-green as Iseult’s. Her voice was similar too – a beautiful, low, upper-class sing-song sound. For a moment, Octavia felt as though Iseult herself was speaking to her. ‘You think death is so tragic, the worst thing in the world. Believe me, it isn’t always. Sometimes it’s a relief, a blessing. Don’t be sad for Iseult. She wouldn’t want that.’
‘But … why?’ begged Octavia helplessly.
‘Should she have lived to make you happy?’ Elaine smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s too much to ask of anyone, isn’t it? Least of all someone like Iseult. She knew what she wanted to do. We are the ones who will suffer without her. I’m sure she’s happier without us. Did I show you her note?’
Octavia shook her head, still sniffing and trying to stem the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing.
Elaine handed it to her. It was a piece of thick cream paper engraved with Iseult’s monogram. In her flowing black handwriting, it read: ‘I cannot go on being a daughter of Anguish any longer.’
Octavia stared at it for a moment. ‘What does she mean?’ she whispered.
‘In Arthurian legend, Iseult was an Irish princess, the daughter of King Anguish. That always tickled her. She thought it was apt.’ Elaine squeezed her hand. ‘You see? She’d reached the end, that’s all. By the way, she left something for you. Come with me, I’ll give it to you.’
Elaine led her into the kitchen. On the scrubbed pine table was a brown calfskin folder with an envelope on the front addressed to Octavia. Next to it was another envelope, this one marked Roddy.
Elaine handed the folder to her. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘Would you like to stay? You can if you want to, you know. Roddy is coming any moment.’
Octavia stared at the folder in her hands. What had Iseult left her? ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I think I would like to stay. I feel close to her here.’
‘Oh, yes, she’ll always be here at Mabbes,’ Elaine said. ‘We won’t be able to escape her. I’m sure she’s going to haunt us all and enjoy it hugely too.’ She smiled at Octavia. ‘You’re very welcome. Stay as long as you want.’
Octavia took the folder outside. It was a brisk late-autumn day. Winter would soon be upon them. Leaves whirled in the air and the trees were already bare and spiky against the grey sky. She went through the gardens to the orchard, and sat down on a wooden bench under one of the trees. The soft brown remains of rotting apples were everywhere.
She picked up the envelope and looked at it. Then slowly she tore it open and took out the letter inside.
Darling O,
You’re so beautiful and special, I don’t believe I ever told you enough how much. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me, better than anyone else in the end. You were always there for me and I love you for it. I’m sorry that our time together has turned out to be so short. I wanted to stay and help you with our grand project but, my darling, I just couldn’t. I have to go, you see. I need to be somewhere that doesn’t hurt me as much as this place. You’re different from me: you’re blessed, I can feel it. You’re going to have an amazing life and know love, real love (maybe not with Ethan, my sweet, though I suspect you know that).
So here is my gift for you: the plans that I won’t be here to see through. It’s my legacy, the only sort of child I can leave. I hope you’ll like them.
Goodbye! Don’t be sad! Do you promise, you silly thing?
All my love
Iseult xxx
Octavia laughed, then she felt her face tremble and distort and she sobbed again. It was a long time before she was able to open the folder and look inside.
When Roddy arrived, having flown into Bristol airport and come to the house by taxi, he was red-eyed and in a bad state. As he came stumbling through the front door, he fell weeping into Octavia’s arms and she stroked his stubbly head as he howled. He was quite drunk, she realised. She felt calmer now, having come through her own initial storm of grief, and was able to soothe and comfort him as he cried.
When he was quiet, Elaine made cups of tea in the kitchen and then produced a supper of fish
pie and peas.
‘Where is she now?’ Roddy asked. He ate hungrily, obviously needing food after drinking so much.
‘She’s at the undertaker’s,’ Elaine said. ‘They took her there after all the various official things were done. I imagine we’ll have a quiet funeral soon. But I’m counting on you two to help me with a memorial service for her. She’d have wanted something wonderful, don’t you think?’
Roddy and Octavia sat up together late into the night, drinking bottle after bottle of red wine while Roddy stared at the envelope in his hands, his name on it in Iseult’s flowing writing, turning it over and over.
He looked up at Octavia. ‘I don’t want to know what she’s going to say,’ he said bleakly. ‘Because I know what she should say.’
‘What should she say?’ Octavia asked, her voice quiet. She gazed at him earnestly.
‘That I let her down. I didn’t do right by her. I didn’t repay her for everything she did for me. When she really needed me, I wasn’t there for her.’
‘But you were,’ Octavia said. ‘After the attack, you were there for her.’
Roddy looked away. ‘Not as much as I should have been. But that was after. I’d already let her down. You know it, don’t you? You know it and I know it. We can’t pretend.’
As he got drunker, he grew more and more maudlin, berating himself for not being grateful enough to Iseult, for every time he was short or snappy or bad company. He told Octavia the story of their love affair, opening his heart and spilling out what was inside. ‘I did love her, you see,’ he said, tears running down his face again. ‘I was so mad about her at first that I could actually make love to her – I mean, me! But it couldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to be. I broke her fuckin’ heart, I know that …’
Octavia tried to comfort him but it was useless. He berated himself into the early hours, weeping and ranting. He needs to do this, she thought. He has to let it all out.
Eventually, they fell asleep, Roddy slumped in his chair and Octavia curled up on the sofa with an old, moth-eaten rug over her for warmth.
