by Sara Forbes
“She didn't sell anything?” I ask, my voice croaking.
“No, she took it all down in a bundle to the back of the garden and made a bonfire out of it. The canvases, the drawing pads, the wooden sculptures, all of it. There was nothing left. Just charcoal. She was devastated afterward. So was I. So, I worked twice as hard to get a promotion with the fish factory.”
“Which you hated,” I say in wonder.
Dad's eyes soften. “Oh, I was in love, so that didn't matter. And then of course, you were on the way. You saved her.”
I shake my head, not wanting to be lured by this surprising twist. “So, she was always dependent on you?”
“In many ways, but I on her, too. Hayley, and that's normal when it comes to the ones we love.” Dad smiles wistfully. “It's not such a bad thing, is it?”
I massage the side of my head. “I don't know.”
“I've kept the peace over the years by staying quiet—too quiet. I shouldn't have, Hayley. It's nothing but a disservice to you, but your uncle Stig, he's always been so attentive to you and he's the nearest relative to your mother that you've got, so I let him feed you his sanitized view of his family. He insisted you needed a strong female role model.”
“I thought you'd stolen away her dreams … but you actually gave her the freedom she needed, and she blew it?”
Dad grins ruefully. “I don't see it that way at all. I just wish the fishing business had been more profitable and I could offer you better financial support, Hayley, that's the biggest regret of my life. But there's one thing I will offer you, and that's the blessing to follow your heart wherever it may take you.”
“Oh, Dad.” I sink into him and he wraps his sinewy arms around me. I can't believe I've underestimated him so terribly.
He draws back. “What do you want to do?”
I straighten my legs in front of me, hesitant to share, but then I give in. “I've come to a realization over the summer. Maybe it's from studying too much art, from being surrounded by the true artists' work every day from dusk till dawn. Maybe it's from having to articulate it to Alex what made these paintings special and finding myself tongue–tied at times. The thing is, I'm not good enough to go it alone as an artist. I just don't have that … that depth.”
“Hayley—”
My palm flies up. “No, it's okay, Dad, just listen. This may sound crazy, but I think I've inherited your business sense more than you think. I know I can make this work. Maybe not with Belgrave Castle, but with other private collections. This is what excites me, helping people discover the value of their collections. The logistics of setting up the show. And showing those collections to people who've never studied art. Networking. It's not such a dirty word.”
His brows furrow and unfurrow and furrow again, like a stage curtain to his soul. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I'm going to start small, on the side, while I finish my studies. I'll start by offering consultancy services to collectors and owners.”
What I don't mention is that my assets are just about large enough to buy a bag of horse fodder for Frodo the pony in the Belgrave stables. It's pathetic. It's one thing to want it, and say it, it's another thing to figure out the how and by that, I mean the financials. For starters, I need a web designer, a personal assistant, gas money. “It might take a while to get up and running.” I say, not wanting to spell out the cash flow complications.
“What about this duke? Didn't he offer you that exact job?”
I let out a hollow laugh. “That bridge is well burned.”
“Pity.”
“I know,” I groan. “But Dad, I can't go back. Alex's isn't even the boss anymore. It's Seb, his brother. Alex let his power go just as quickly as he let me go. He's on to the next shiny thing by now, I expect.”
Dad pauses to examine my face. “Did you talk to the new guy?”
“Seb? No. I should have fought for it, but Alex told me not to.” I sigh. “I blew it, so let's not talk about it again.”
33
ALEX
THE LAST GUESTS DEPART from the castle. Mother heaves a sigh of relief as she locks the main door. “That's it for another fortnight.”
Seb removes the rope barricade from the doorway of the dining room. “Just a week, Mother. I'm opening the doors next Saturday again.”
She gives a precise, little shudder that seems designed to elevate our blood pressures.
I step forward. “We can postpone for a month. Two even. If we just open the gallery.”
"Alex, no,” Seb mutters. “It's been a long day. Mother's tired.”
"Let me sell the Lillienthal collection then. Just that. Collectors are interested. Hayley was right.”
“I really don't think—”
“Look, Seb. I love that you're back, I really do, but here's the thing, we made some changes around here while you were gone. Good ones. Yes, it was chaotic, and yes, we all sacrificed our free time and our hobbies to do it. But we managed it, and we learned a lot. And Hayley—she figured out what's worth selling and what's worth keeping from Father's mess. We need extra cash fast, so why not at least give my idea a chance?”
“Heaven's above,” Mother whimpers. “Are you talking about selling again?”
Seb goes over to comfort her, draping his arm around her shoulder. I glare at them both. She responds with her tragic look. Seb looks like he's been carved from stone except for his eyes darting between Mother and me. This is the point at which I'd normally cave in.
“What do you really care? You haven't even set foot in there in a decade, have you?” I demand. “Either of you.” My angry voice echoes off the polished surfaces of the hall. Mother shrinks further into Seb.
He shakes his head. “And I don't intend to.”
“Well, that's a pity. Did you know there's an early Zeta–Clarke there and a Rory Hamilton sketch? One of his sold for half a million last year. Not even the Tate can compete with our collection of sketches by Grainger. We could host tours on seven separate themes—yes, seven. We could earn more money from one wall in seconds than with an entire season of open days.”
I'm amazed at how Hayley-like I sound now.
Seb flashes a condescending smile. “It's not the money—”
“I beg to differ, Seb,” I interrupt before he can continue with some crap about preserving Father's things and that selling off assets is not a noble way to make money. “My proposal is we reduce the number of public days to zero, and make up the rest with the gallery and with my helicopter rides. Take it or leave it.”
“Helicopter rides?” Mother clutches her stomach as if in pain.
“For people who value privacy and class. I have the experience, the connections, and the cash to make it work.”
I turn to my brother. “Seb, which is more important? That we preserve our ancestral home, this beautiful estate and its heritage buildings that have been in our family for hundreds of years? Or that we hang on to a bunch of paintings we've owned for less than a generation? I know it's been your dream to renovate the cottages at the village end of the estate, but you've never had time. Well, let me do this and you'll have the time to follow your dream. Don't even bother trying to deny it.”
He flinches and breaks eye contact. I have him. If he's stupid enough to argue, I'll tell him I've seen his printouts of the ground plan shoved under purchase orders in his in tray. Hell, I'll run and fetch them as evidence.
“But you know nothing about art,” he says.
“I know a bit. And I can get help.”
He plants his hands on his hips. “And if I say no?”
I step toward him. “Then I will use my power as duke to overrule you. If that means taking you to court and calling in security, then by God, I will!”
“Alex!” Mother's hand flies to her mouth.
Seb pales. “What's gotten into you? I–I don't know you.”
“Are you in or not?” I demand.
“In? In what?” Seb says with cold fury. “What about that bullsh
it you fed me? You wanted your life back. Well, I gave it to you.”
“And are you happy?” I ask.
Scorn is written all over his face. “All I know is I'll be the one picking up the pieces when your next woman comes along.”
“Wrong answer, Seb. So, let me reiterate. Are you happy?”
He releases Mother and steps closer. “If you wanted the dukedom, then why didn't you say so? I'd have gone on a different path.”
“I felt I owed it to you.”
He scoffs. “Pity, huh?” He rocks his weight from foot to foot as if he's deciding which angle to lunge at me from. “God, Alex.”
“More like guilt,” I mutter, just loud enough for him, but not Mother, to hear.
“I can't believe I'm hearing this. You know what? Do what you like.” He jabs his finger at my chest. “You're the duke. Not me. You.”
He turns and stomps down the east wing, Mother scuttling after him. I'm stunned. Seb's never given in before, and it sure doesn't feel like victory. But underneath my amazement and anxiety over what he's going to do next, another feeling struggles for attention, one so alien to me I hardly recognize it at first: relief.
I'm done with the pretense, the veneer of the cocky duke, the playboy duke. I can't change the laws of primogeniture. I can't undo the cruel way Seb was disillusioned by our parents. But I can face up to the consequences of their actions. I'm ready to be duke and to protect the endangered species I belong to. I have everything I need to achieve this.
Well, almost everything. The key ingredient is missing.
34
HAYLEY
I FINISH SHARPENING MY 6B pencil and blow away the wood shavings. The nude model wriggling on the stage is new. His eyes dart around our semicircle in embarrassment, telling me the poor dude has never done this before.
I drop my gaze to my sheet of paper to make it easier for him until he gets into it. It usually takes five minutes for the nervousness of the novice models to relax into boredom. I couldn't strip naked in front of twenty–four students, but he must have decided the money was worth it.
It's then I become aware of the whir–whir of chopper blades very near, nearer than I've ever heard them in school.
All eyes gravitate to the window, where an airbus helicopter is hovering a hundred yards away. A military drill? Or is there a dignitary at the school today? I heard nothing about it. And it's not like Canterbury College is even Oregon's finest school, or even in the top ten.
“They've landed on the basketball court,” Cary Smith says in wonder as the noise dies down.
“That's unorthodox,” Professor Moines, our teacher, says. “But students, poor Mr. Sanchez is only here for another ten minutes. Let's make the most of it.”
I look back to our slightly shivering model. I'm sure the professor didn't mean to say “poor” but yeah, poor Mr. Sanchez still looks as uncomfortable as ever, scratching his arm even though he's not supposed to be moving. I guess he has something interesting to watch out the window now.
I'm half–heartedly shading in the shadows under the pathetic muscles where his six pack should be when there's a rap on the classroom door.
As the door opens, my head springs up and it's the person I least expect to see.
Alex.
My pencil drops from my fingers and clatters to the floor.
He strolls right in, easy as you please, and yet there's that ineffable air of superiority and authority about him, like a rooster among chickens. He gives Mr. Sanchez an ironic wave.
I'm stunned and can only look on like a zombie as he stands there. My fellow students, mostly female, sit up straighter and fingers reach up to preen faces and hair. All eyes have moved from the nude model to Alex. I remove my hand from where I've clasped it over my mouth and attempt a smile, but I can't be sure if it's working or not.
“Excuse me.” Professor Moines gives him a steely look over her glasses. “But who are you?”
“Begging your pardon. I'm Alex. I've just come to get Hayley.” His voice is smooth, unwavering, and totally out of place here in this classroom.
All heads turn to me at warp speed. I can only absorb their curiosity in stricken silence, unable to move or think. All I seem able to do is breathe rapidly and stare at him, my beautiful duke.
“Is that your helicopter?” Professor Moines demands.
“That's correct.”
“Do you have permission to land there?”
“Madam, I assure you, it's fine.” Alex approaches me slowly, now with a razor–sharp focus on my face.
I'm a complete mess. I almost wish he'd go away, that this strange thing is not happening. Because I can't deal with it.
“Come with me?” he asks, reaching out his hand. His gaze is unblinking, his cheeks glowing.
My hands stay clasped together on my drawing pad. “You could have just called.” I hate that it comes out as a breathy squeal, several tones higher than usual.
“Yeah, I don't trust you with phones.”
There's a curve to his lip, a so–familiar gesture that seems etched in my heart. It jolts me awake enough to take his warm hand in mine. Oh, it feels like heaven. Memories flood back when our fingers entwine.
There's a collective sigh from my fellow students as I follow Alex out the classroom door, like in a fairy tale, I suppose.
But as we get out to the corridor alone, my wits return to their full capacity. I make a sign that we should go into the next empty classroom, 10–D. I am so going to give this cocky duke a piece of my mind.
I follow him into the classroom and watch as he takes up a spot in front of the whiteboard, like a teacher. Who does he think he is? He must sense I'm going to explode because he holds up his palms like a man before a firing squad. I perch on the edge of the front desk, arms folded protectively. This is just too sudden, too unreal, too unexplained.
“I didn't fight for you to stay,” he says.
Too damn right you didn't.
“I should have,” he adds when I don't reply. “It was what I wanted.”
Did he come all this way to torture me with a reminder of his second thoughts? “It was my decision, Alex, and I'm glad you didn't make it harder for me.” My voice, though wavering, has at least returned to its normal pitch.
He groans. “But it was the wrong decision, Hayley. Based on the wrong information. You only saw a snapshot of my life, and it was all a pretense. Until it started to become real, that is, and then of course when Seb returned, I wasn't thinking straight. I let guilt take over."
I grimace. “No, Alex, I was the one not thinking straight. I let my plans for the gallery take over everything, including ... us. It was a huge mistake.” As I'm saying it, I'm admitting it, to myself, surprising myself.
He comes closer. “You showed me what hard work and taking responsibility can achieve. When you were there, when we were working together, I believed in myself for the first time. I suddenly wanted it all—the stability, the responsibility, a strong, beautiful woman by my side. Hayley, I want a second chance.”
His words thaw the ice around my heart. I study the pattern on the parquet floor until I grasp the right words. “And all the time, I was afraid of being controlled. I guess I dumped you in the same category as my uncle and my dad. I couldn't see the real you struggling underneath the pomp, the money, the power." I meet his gaze. "You put Seb on a pedestal and chastised yourself for not being the same as him. You were going through some serious shit. I realize that now.”
“And in my hour of weakness, I let you go rather than include you in what was really going on. I had persuaded myself you didn't want me if I didn't have power. But now I realize … it was the dumbest excuse of my life for not stepping up. Because Hayley—”
He walks around the desks and stands chest to chest with me. “I love you. I have since the first day. I should never have let you run away.”
My stomach flips at his words.
“I love you too.” I run my lips over the stubble of his cheek
. He's got a sexy five–o'clock shadow thing going that I never saw in the castle and I think I'm going to ask him to keep it. He shivers as my hands slide under his T–shirt and smooth down his six–pack, edging downward. I want to torture him a little. No, a lot.
“But call off your MI6 thugs,” I say when I've made his eyes close in pleasure.
“I'll do better than that: I'll introduce you guys,” he groans, grasping my hips and pulling me hard against him so his erection grinds into my belly. “Because Hayley, I can't live another day without you. I don't know how, but we have to be together. I can't give up my dukedom and run away, but I offer you everything in it. Tell me you want it, too.”
His expression beseeches me, but the answer comes from my own convictions. “I want it too. Especially this part. And I've got some plans of my own—plans that would involve moving to England—that I think will fit nicely into what you have in mind.”
His wolf eyes are ablaze. “All I have in mind right now”—his big hands cradle my chin, his thumbs tracing the outline of my jaw and pressing into the flesh of my cheeks— “is to make love to you in a helicopter.”
“What? Have you never fucked in a helicopter?” I tease.
“No. But we can do that too.”
His lips crash down on mine, and this time, I know life is going to be great with my cocky duke.
EPILOGUE
(TEN MONTHS LATER)
HAYLEY
HEY, WHY AREN'T YOU getting dressed?” I ask, stalking into our bedroom. It's ten to six, and I'm horribly late for getting ready for dinner, but I'm flush with excitement over selling off the last two Lillienthal portraits for double the sum I was expecting. I can't wait to see their faces when I tell them at dinner. But first of all, I want to make the announcement to my beloved Alex who's helped me all the way, despite his workload in the family business and in his side–business too.
