by Karen Swan
Harry began to pace. ‘You’re just bluffing, clutching at straws. You expect me to believe you’ve had access to my medical records? That’s another sackable offence, White.’
‘No. I’ve never had access to your records. But I did have lunch at the club with George, just before he died. He gave me an old manuscript he’d been holding on to for fifteen years.’
Harry shrugged, incredulous. ‘And? So what? What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘He told me everything. How you stole Brendan Hillier from him. Even though you’d been there when he came out of the study with the manuscript. Even though you went down to the cellar yourself to get the Château Lafite for him, knowing full well he had vowed never to open it until he had just cause to celebrate. You lived with us long enough, Hunter – it was no secret how badly he was affected by Lloyds. He lost everything. And Scion was going to restore it all again.
‘And why shouldn’t it have? It was his right to prosper from it. He’d discovered Canterman, Faulkner. He was the best there was. Of course Hillier would have gone straight to him.
‘But you? A cocky little upstart with a chip on your shoulder about your free passage through school? You thought you’d take him on yourself. Why not? It couldn’t be that hard surely. If George Colesbrook thought he was a sure thing . . .’
Harry shook his head, tutting.
‘Your story’s flawed, White. Tu casa, mi casa. Why would I bite the hand that fed me?’
James stared straight at him, seeming to grow four inches taller.
‘Because Anna chose me. And you couldn’t bear it.’ He laughed humourlessly, his hands on his hips. He looked at Kate. ‘Can you believe it? That was what it all came down to.’ He looked back at Harry. ‘The dreadful – cataclysmic – event that compelled you to turn on the family that had treated you as one of their own. You took Lily to the tree-house that night – the night of my first date with Anna – because you couldn’t stand that she had chosen me over you.’
He looked at his feet. ‘You grabbed her childhood and crushed it, and then you terrorized her – threatening to hurt her if she told anyone.’ James’s voice broke, and when he looked up, Tor could see that the rims of his eyes were red and shining. ‘What kind of animal are you?’ he asked disgustedly.
Kate felt a wave of nausea rise up and clamped a hand to her mouth, scanning around for a bin. She couldn’t believe she’d got so close to this man, actually loved him. How could she have got it so wrong?
She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Tor, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Are you OK?’ she whispered.
Kate nodded, ashamed.
‘I’m sorry, Kate,’ James said, looking at her. ‘I realize this must be hard for you to hear.’
Kate shook her head. ‘I want to hear it. Every last bit of it. Because then I will do whatever I can to make sure he pays for it.’
James said nothing but looked back at Harry, one eyebrow cocked.
‘It took my parents all night to get her to tell them who had done this to her. It didn’t cross their minds that it could have been you. She was traumatized, wouldn’t let them call the police. She threatened to run away if they involved them.’
He took a deep breath, as if trying to draw on some inner strength, inner control. He looked back at Kate.
‘Anyway, the next morning, Harry rolled back in, thinking she’d kept his secret. He actually pretended to be falling back in from a night on the tiles. Can you imagine? He raped my sister and then came back for breakfast? George confronted him and told him to leave. But Harry guessed Lily’s fear and called his bluff, threatening to tell everyone they’d been carrying on unless George let him represent Hillier himself. George just let him – he’d have done anything to be rid of him.’
‘All this is an interesting idea for a novel,’ Harry said carelessly. ‘But it actually doesn’t go any way into explaining your supposed access to my medical records.’
James stared at him for a moment, contempt written all over his face.
‘Lily was covered in bruises when she came home. She’d clearly fought you tooth and nail. So George went to the hospital that night. He knew from the severity of Lily’s injuries that you must have been hurt to some degree, and he wanted to see if anything was incriminating. He was still hoping he could persuade Lily to report you to the police. You were sleeping when the nurses brought him to you, so you never knew.’
‘Now I know you’re lying,’ Harry sneered. ‘They would never have given him access like that. He wasn’t my next of kin, there’s no way they . . .’
The look on James’s face stopped him.
‘Did you never stop to wonder why you came to stay with us so regularly, Harry? You didn’t find my family’s kindness and generosity towards you – undeserved?’
Harry visibly paled as he slowly absorbed the insinuation.
‘That’s right,’ James said slowly. ‘Freud would have had a field day with you.’
He watched a muscle in Harry’s face twitch.
‘I can see this is all news to you. That’s interesting. We sometimes wondered whether you had guessed – you attached yourself to us so readily, like a limpet.’
‘We – we’re not brothers, White.’ But Harry was pale and waxy.
‘Only through marriage. But trust me, the idea’s more diabolical from where I’m standing,’ James sneered. ‘Your mother, Vivian, was George’s first wife. She had multiple sclerosis, which worsened dramatically following your birth. She and George were unable to cope so they gave you up to the Hunters, old friends of theirs who were unable to have children.’
Harry started pacing the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists.
‘Vivian died when you were three, but George stayed in regular contact with the Hunters, keeping up with what you were up to. When Janet Hunter died in that car accident when you were – what? fourteen? – it was agreed that you would stay with us during the holidays and start to be brought into the fold. They thought it would soften the blow if you had already made emotional attachments with us. George had planned to tell you that summer . . .’
There was a long silence as Harry grappled with the enormity of James’s words.
His hands flew up to his temples, grabbing his hair, disappearing in the curls.
‘No!’ he suddenly burst out angrily, slamming a fist against the wall. ‘I don’t believe any of this. You’re fucking with the truth because I got it on with Lily.’
‘I know why you raped Lily; I know why you stole from your father; and I know – why – you’re – sterile,’ James said contemptuously, letting the insult to his virility hang between them.
James shook his head.
‘I’ll hand it to you, though. You made the last five minutes of fertility count. It was another five months before we realized Lily was pregnant.’
‘Bullshit!’ Harry exploded, rushing forward and grabbing James by the collar, but James, quicker than him – stronger, angrier – threw him up against the wall, knocking him off his feet with a solid punch to the nose.
‘Jesus!’ Harry cried, unsteady on his feet, as blood poured down his nose and on to his shirt. ‘You’ve broken my nose!’
James stared down at him, his face flushed, his eyes wild. Finally, after all the years of containment, he’d struck back.
His voice was flinty when he finally spoke.
‘Would you like to know your son’s name, Harry?’
Kate gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
‘Billy,’ she whispered.
James pulled his eyes away from Harry and faced Kate. She deserved a fuller explanation after all the damage this had done to her. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Kate, that you and Monty have been caught in the crossfire of all this. Monty and Lily did have a brief relationship immediately afterwards, but Lily was – well, they would diagnose it as post-traumatic stress disorder nowadays. Poor Monty didn’t know what had hit him. Lily was on a mission to cover Hunter’s tr
acks and she saw Monty as her decoy.
‘Please understand, when she asked the family to name Monty as the father, we couldn’t refuse her. She was trying to overwrite the pregnancy with a better reality. She’s never really recovered from what happened. She was convinced she’d brought it upon herself, and nothing we ever said could convince her otherwise.’
‘Poor, poor Lily,’ Kate whispered, her eyes bright with tears. No wonder she wouldn’t see Monty or discuss it rationally with him.
‘There’s something I don’t get, though,’ Cress said, rousing herself from her uncharacteristic silence. ‘If Hunter took the book from George saying he was going to represent him himself, why has the book been published in Harry’s name and not Hillier’s?’
James’s eyes narrowed as he watched Harry.
‘I can only guess at that. George died a couple of weeks after telling me all this and Scion was published a few months later. When I saw Hunter’s name on the cover, I looked into tracking down Hillier myself. It turned out he’d died the same week you went to sign him, Hunter . . .’
‘What? You’re accusing me of having a hand in his death now? Rape and theft’s not enough? You want to add murder to the list? My lawyers are going to have a field day with you . . .’
‘You don’t have any, remember?’ Kate muttered.
Harry shot her a dark look, but carried on. ‘Is there anything you won’t accuse me of?’
‘Is there anything you won’t do?’ James shot back.
He had no answer to that.
‘Whatever the circumstances of Hillier’s death, I can only assume Harry saw an opportunity to take all the glory and not just a fifteen per cent cut.’
He looked back at Harry.
‘My guess is you became a teacher simply as a cover for passing the time while you waited for George – your witness – to die, knowing you’d shoot to fame and fortune the second he was gone. When the book did indeed come out – under your name – I wrote a letter to Hillier’s solicitors, asking them to forward it to Hillier’s heir. It detailed everything you’d done, Hunter. Stealing from George. Stealing from Hillier himself.’
‘So what happened?’ Cress asked.
James shrugged.
‘I didn’t hear anything. I found out later the family were living abroad. So I decided to send George’s copy of the manuscript to you. I thought you’d do the right thing.’
Cress hung her head in abject sorrow.
‘I am so, so, so, so sorry James. I – I don’t know what to say. If I’d had any idea . . .’
James looked at her.
‘If I’d had any idea your morality needed conditions attached, I wouldn’t have bothered,’ James said, tersely.
Cress looked back down. She deserved that. She deserved everything that was coming to her.
There was another knock at the door. This time, a whole team of officials moved into the room.
‘We really need you in your seat now, Mr Hunter. The awards have recommenced.’ In the background, they could hear the orchestra in full flow. ‘And if your wife’s not having the baby after all, we need this room back, sir.’
Harry saw his chance. He had to get the hell out of there.
‘Well, I need a new fucking shirt!’ he hollered at a pretty clipboarder and marched towards the door, before spinning around and pointing a finger at James. ‘I’m not through with you, White,’ he threatened. ‘You’d better come up with some evidence to prove any of that bullshit, because after this, being struck off will be the last of your worries. Do you hear me?’
And he whirled out of the room, buttons popping as he ripped off his bloodied shirt, like Rambo in black tie.
There was a stunned silence at his enduring arrogance and audacity. How could he still shout them down in the face of his own appalling ruthlessness?
Only one person could find their voice.
‘So what now?’ Tor asked.
‘What do you mean?’ James turned to look at her. He was shattered, physically drained by the showdown, sixteen years of seething contempt expelled in a tacky backroom in Los Angeles.
‘What are you going to do with the Scion manuscript, now that you’ve got it back? Are you going to implicate Cress too?’
James frowned.
‘I don’t have the manuscript back.’
‘But – Cress’s room. It was trashed.’
There was a pause. James stiffened. ‘And you think I did that?’
‘Well . . . yes. Of course.’
‘Why of course?’
‘Because everything points to it.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes – the hideous painting from the auction . . .’
‘You loved that painting!’ he cut in, hurt written all over his face.
‘No, not that one,’ she said quickly. ‘The Orion picture, you know, with the threat attached – “Freedom is but the distance between . . . the . . . hunter . . . and the hunted”,’ she said, faltering, her voice tailing off.
‘The threat?’ James said quietly, his eyes dark and intent. ‘I see.’
Tor swallowed hard beneath his scrutiny. ‘Are you saying . . . ?’
‘That it’s nothing to do with me? Yes. I am,’ he said. His voice was cold and hard now. ‘Much to your bitter disappointment, I’m sure. I’m sorry not to live down to your low expectations of me.’
‘That’s not true,’ Tor protested, taken aback by his sarcasm.
‘Admit it, Tor! You’re always so ready to cast me as the villain, as some evil bastard who’s out to destroy your life and your friends. You’re on the constant lookout for ammunition to hate me further. The simple truth is you don’t want to think well of me because you’re never going to forgive me for what I did that night. For the one time in my life, I went with my instinct. I wanted you and no! I didn’t care if it meant I came between you and your husband. And as a direct result, he’s dead. And I have to live with that.’
He sighed. ‘But you’re not interested that I’m as devastated as you about the role I’ve played. I have tried to make it up to you. I’ve wanted to look after you, start a new life with you. But how can I when you can’t bear the sight of me?’
And without another word, he strode out of the room, sending the minions out on the hallway scattering like skittles in his wake.
Chapter Fifty-six
Tor stood in his backdraught, shaking like a leaf. Furious and wretched all at once.
‘Did you hear that?’ she cried, half-laughing, as hysteria began to take a hold. ‘He wanted to start a new life with me. He’s responsible for destroying my old life and he’s standing there talking about setting up home with me. Oh my God!’ she cackled, the laughs turning into sobs as Kate and Cress ran over to her and put their arms around her.
‘He’s gone, he’s really gone,’ she sobbed.
A rush of static interrupted them as the posse of officials collected themselves off the floor and gathered at the doorway.
‘We need to clear this room now, ladies.’
‘Of course,’ Cress stammered, shepherding Tor and Kate – who was still clutching her belly – out of the room.
They were just at the stairs when one of the officials called them back.
‘Uh, ladies, you forgot your bags.’ He was holding up Tor’s clutch, and James’s gladstone.
‘Oh, thanks,’ Cress said, running back down the hall to get them, her fingers fumbling as he handed them over. The two bags dropped to the floor. Tor’s was clasped shut but James’s stethoscope, sphygmomanometer and medical notes went everywhere.
‘Shit! Shit! My fault,’ Cress said, stooping down to pick everything up. She grabbed the notes into a rough pile and slid them back in, her eyes falling on a stray envelope that had wafted down the corridor.
‘Tor, can you just grab that,’ she called, while grappling with the stethoscope like an unlucky snake charmer.
Tor walked along the corridor, sniffing and hiccupping, and picked it up.
‘Thanks,’ Cress said, going to put it in the bag.
She stopped.
‘Uh . . . Tor?’
‘Mmmmm?’ Tor hiccupped.
‘Have a look at this.’ Cress turned the envelope over and handed it back to Tor. Tor stared at the company logo printed on the front.
‘Can you think of any reason at all why James White should be receiving letters from Planed Spaces?’
The ceremony was in full swing again and Chris Rock was back on stage, introducing Clint Eastwood to present the Best Director award.
‘I’m afraid there’s no admittance when we’re taping, ladies. You’ll have to wait for the next break,’ said the official at the door.
Cress rolled her eyes. ‘God, Mark’ll be going spare. I told him I was only popping to the loo. He’s got Scarlett Johansson on his other side. I swear he kept forgetting how to breathe.’
‘It’s OK. He knows you’ll be back in the next break,’ Kate said easily. She dropped her voice a bit. ‘Why don’t you go and get Tor a drink? She needs one.’
‘I’d have thought you would too, Kate,’ Cress countered. She was taking the break-up remarkably well.
Kate smiled, rather surprised herself. ‘Actually, I’ve never felt better. And I will have one. I’ll join you in a minute. I’ve just got to make a phone call.’
Cress nodded knowingly and moved Tor towards the bar. Kate walked over towards the main doors. She pulled her mobile out of her bag and dialled.
She waited and redialled but there was still no reply. Bugger.
She went back and joined the girls. They’d ordered champagne spritzers and were watching the event relayed on huge plasmas.
‘Quite odd, really,’ Kate mused, picking up her glass. ‘To be at the Oscars, but still watching them on telly.’
‘Don’t let the folks back home know. We’ll never hear the end of it,’ Cress muttered distractedly. She was biting her nails, agitated that Harry was in there and she was out here.
After the revelations upstairs she was still no nearer to knowing who’d stolen back the Scion manuscript. If not Harry himself, and not James – despite having sent it to her in the first place – then who? And why had they stolen it now? Why had she been made to bring it out here? She bit her cheek anxiously. It had to be something to do with tonight. The timing couldn’t be coincidence. The eyes of the world were on them. Harry was going to be exposed, here, at the Oscars. And quite probably Cress along with him.
