Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “Are you all right, Andrew?”

  “I’m fine. At least I will be when Jason Laide is behind bars. I’ve found out that he’s involved in drugs, Ella. He’s reportedly under investigation. We can’t afford to deal with him. You must warn Rob Trevor too. When are you going to Manor House?”

  Ella glanced at her watch. It was lunchtime and she was hungry. “I’m just going to get something to eat, then I’ll head out to see Rob. Are you sure about Jason? They’re pretty heavy accusations.”

  “I’m sure. Look, I’ll give Rob a quick call. Just to warn him. Then you can fully explain the Jason situation to him when you get there. ”

  “Sharon Laide has been to visit Oliver too. I was surprised. She left his room just as I came in but she didn’t seem to see me.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Are you still there, Andrew?”

  “Was Sharon talking to Oliver?”

  The question sounded urgent.

  “I don’t know. He was sleeping when I went in. But perhaps he fell asleep while she was there.”

  Ella heard Andrew give a long sigh. She couldn’t decide whether it was a sigh of upset or relief. Maxine was probably with him. Let her decide.

  “Keep in contact,” she said. “I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve spoken to Rob.”

  As Ella switched off her phone she realised she might not love Andrew Ford enough to stay married to him but adjusting to life without him was going to be very difficult.

  Chapter 32

  Sharon tried Jason’s phone for the third time even though she knew by now that he had switched it off. She was beginning to panic. The last thing she needed was for Jason to disappear before she had sorted things with him. Maybe he had found out that the authorities were watching him. Running away wasn’t in his nature but self-preservation was. Shit!

  Everything had been going so smoothly. Ahead of schedule. Oliver Griffin had been the last person she had needed to contact. He had been difficult to track down. She eventually had to ring his wife only to find that Oliver had been hospitalised after an accident. A few tactful questions later she had known where to find Oliver. She had gone to the hospital, given him his IOU’s and sat with him for a while – it was the least she could do. It would all be wasted effort now if she could not find Jason and talk to him face to face. Closure was what she needed and must have.

  She drove back to the depot and asked again if he had called. She got the same answer as she had previously. “He was here early this morning, ma’am. We haven’t seen him since.”

  Sharon sat back into her car and tried to think where he could have gone. He had so many businesses. So many boltholes. If he felt threatened he would hide. No. He wouldn’t. He would fight! Fight for what he thought was his by right and at that minute Sharon knew what he would fight hardest for. Manor House. She turned the car and headed back through the city, out into the suburbs and beyond.

  When she got as far as the narrow road bordered by stone walls, she slowed down. The road was dangerous, windswept and flanked by quickly filling channels in the heavy rain. But more importantly, she was almost there now and certain that she would find Jason. She must decide. Frieda’s words echoed in her head: “He has a right to know.” Sharon thought about Salzburg and about her life there. How precious it was. How she must protect it. Frieda said she must tell the truth. But the knowledge now that he might be a drug-dealer made everything more dangerous. As she turned onto the long avenue leading to Manor House the battle was still raging in her head. It was only when she saw Jason’s car parked on the sweep of driveway which fronted the house that she finally made up her mind.

  As Sharon stood on the steps at the magnificent double doors waiting for an answer to her ring she thought with sadness of Karen Wellsley. They had grown up together, gone to the same school, the same ballet classes and music lessons. That’s where the similarities had ended. Karen had been the quiet one, always on the outside of their group, the girl who rarely smiled and never laughed. The girl who had grown up to become Karen Trevor. The woman who had died so tragically at such an early age.

  Sharon heard footsteps approaching the door from inside and then some fumbling as the big latch was unhooked. The door was opened by a grey-haired, middle-aged woman wearing a navy pleated skirt.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Sharon Laide. I’m here to see my husband if I may.”

  The disparaging glance the woman gave as she held the door open said everything about her opinion of the Laides. She waved the visitor into the hall and then, hands folded neatly in front of her, went to get Jason.

  As Sharon waited in the huge hall she looked around and upwards, admiring the flooring, the staircase, the magnificent vaulted ceiling. She was reminded of the time she had been at Karen Wellsley’s birthday party here. A party everyone had seemed to enjoy except the birthday girl and the grumpy housekeeper. Sharon smiled and nodded her head. Of course! The housekeeper. The same woman who had reluctantly opened the door to her today. Just grumpier and greyer now. No wonder she resented the Laides. This woman had given a lifetime of service to the Wellsleys. A strong gust of wind swirled around the house and whistled as it rushed down some of the many chimneys here. Sharon shivered at the eerie sound. This was why Karen Wellsley had always seemed so solemn and sad. She had been shaped by this house. This mausoleum.

  Sharon was just about to examine the portraits hanging along the stairway when the sound of raised voices drifted over the whistle of the wind and out into the hall. Jason’s voice was loudest and most angry. She walked in the direction the housekeeper had taken and followed the sound until she came to an open door. The grey-haired woman was standing in the doorway, her hands still neatly folded, while inside the room, which was a study, Jason was hovering over Rob Trevor, spitting fury at him.

  “It’s mine, you fucker! I want it now! ”

  “Will you please refrain from using that language in my house? Remember there are ladies present.”

  Jason turned around and glared at the women standing side by side in the doorway. His face, flushed and bloated with temper, twisted into an ugly sneer as he looked them up and down.

  “I don’t know about your housekeeper,” he said “but my wife’s no lady. She’s anyone’s as long as they can afford her.”

  “Mr Laide! Control yourself or leave immediately, please!”

  Rob was standing now, taller than Jason but immeasurably weaker both physically and mentally.

  Jason laughed into his face. “Who’s going to make me? You? Or your stone-faced housekeeper?”

  “Me,” Sharon announced, stepping forward and catching Jason by the arm. The feel of his tensed muscles underneath her fingers frightened her. She must get this maniac out of here before he caused real harm. Leaning close to him she whispered into his ear. “I have something important to tell you, Jason. We need to talk privately.”

  “Let go my arm,” he said roughly, pulling away from her.

  Sharon grabbed him again and this time her hold was firmer. Her temper was beginning to match his in intensity but it was colder. More steely.

  Rob sank back onto his chair, looking pale and very upset. She leaned towards him.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Rob. Would you excuse my husband and me for a moment? We need to talk.”

  Rob seemed relieved that they were going, even for a short time. “Feel free to use the drawing room. Betty will show you the way.”

  Sharon tugged at Jason’s arm and was surprised that this time he offered no resistance. Betty, as the housekeeper was obviously named, straight-backed and still with her hands folded, led them along the corridor towards the hall. Stopping outside a magnificently carved ornate door she opened it and stood aside for the Laides to enter the room. Her disapproval was apparent even in the soft click of the door closing behind them.

  The drawing room was vast and would have been bright if it were not for the thick velour drapes and the greyness of the day outside. The air had the musty tang of
a room seldom used. Sharon glanced around and pursed her lips in a silent whistle as she made a rough estimate of the value of the faded décor. The fireplace was marble, the furniture rosewood, the tapestries Persian, the embossed wallpaper hand-painted silk. Grand relics of a gentler age.

  “Jesus! This is like a museum,” Jason said, hunching up his shoulders and pulling his jacket more tightly around him.

  Sharon did the same. The room was freezing. And eerie. She jumped when the wind blasted down the chimney, bringing with it more cold air and the smell of soot. Walking over to a chaise longue with faded lemon silk upholstery, she sat and indicated to Jason to sit beside her. He remained standing.

  “What in the fuck do you want to talk about? You never did have much time for conversation with me, did you? Why now?”

  Just the opening she needed. Sharon took a deep breath and then jumped at the chance.

  “Very true, Jason. We really have nothing much in common. That’s why I think we should end our marriage. I want a divorce.”

  She had to clasp her bag tightly in her hands to keep them from shaking. Jason seemed to stop breathing. His face went from red to purple as he stood stock still, staring at her with the icy-blue eyes she had once believed so intelligent. Sharon thought he might get a heart attack, a stroke, a brain haemorrhage but she could not move to help him. Eventually Jason took in a huge gulp of air and strode across to stand in front of her. She was eye level with his chest which was heaving now, drawing in oxygen at double rate to compensate for his moment of paralysis.

  “Bitch!” he shouted and his voice echoed around the huge room, joining with another blast of wind which had screeched its way down the chimney. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! You go when I decide. You don’t tell me what to do. Nobody tells Jason Laide how he should live his life. Not you, not fucking Van Aken or that ponce Rob Trevor, or Andrew Ford and his snotty friends! Not even Gussie. Twisted bastard. Judas!”

  “You seem to have made a lot of enemies, Jason.”

  His hand shot out and made sharp contact with her face. Her cheek stung. Tears welled in her eyes but she held them back. There would be time for crying later. Later, when she was in Salzburg, in her home, with the people who loved her and whom she loved deeply in return. Loved enough to down-face this animal now. Raising her hand she soothed the cheek which was already red and swollen with the mark of her husband’s hand.

  “I think you had better sit down, Jason, and listen to me. We can settle this here and now or we can go through the courts. How do you feel about the law poking about in your affairs? Maybe even your Dutch connection. The choice is yours.”

  Jason sat, choosing a seat opposite her. It was a huge green leather armchair stuffed with horsehair. His legs barely touched the floor because the chair was so big and his legs short.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. A gale swept in around their feet as the front door was opened and then quickly closed again. Voices filled the hall – the housekeeper’s low tones and the lighter tones of a younger woman, sounding, Sharon thought, exactly like Ella Ford. They passed by the drawing room door and then their voices faded as they walked along the corridor to where Rob Trevor had his study.

  The room was quiet again except for the sound of the wind and Jason’s laboured breathing. Not the peaceful quiet of Junkergasse. Sharon closed her eyes for a second, drawing on her inner strength. When she opened them again she felt strong enough to face Jason.

  “I knew straight away, even during our honeymoon that I should never have married you.”

  “Then why in the fuck didn’t you leave?”

  “Because I was afraid of what you would do. Just listen, Jason. It’s not easy and I’m not very proud of my part in it so just let me speak while I have the courage. When we came back from honeymoon I planned to leave you. But then things changed.”

  “They certainly fucking did. You went whoring all over the world. At my expense. I was a fool to fall for your talk of open marriage and all that crap.”

  “Yes, you were,” Sharon agreed. “Because none of it was true. I never went on safari or to South America, to San Tropez, or to any of those places where I told you I was partying and having grotty little affairs. All the time I was making a home in Salzburg.”

  Salzburg! Salzburg! A shiver ran down Jason’s spine as he thought of the big, dreary house and the steely gaze of Frau Henner. Sour old bag. He remembered O’Shaughnessy’s photos. He had shoved the envelope into his pocket in Gussie’s office without looking at them. Time to take them out now and see exactly what Sharon was up to in the place she called home. He flicked through them, his face getting redder with each shot he examined.

  “I knew it!” he shouted, jumping out of the big chair and almost toppling as his feet made contact with the floor. “I just knew there was something going on between you and that butch-looking housekeeper in Junkergasse! That Frieda person. You’re a dyke! Christ! My wife is a lesbian! And I have proof! Look! O’Shaughnessy caught the two of ye at it!” He thrust a stubby finger at the top photograph.

  She glanced at it. It was a close-up of Frieda and her. Frieda was hugging her, consoling her after the ordeal she had been through in the hospital. How much worse the ordeal would have seemed had she known one of Jason’s goons was spying on them.

  “You sent someone to spy on me!”

  “Yes, he even followed you to Geneva when you went there to get my papers out.”

  Sharon laughed and the light heady feeling of laughing into Jason’s face gave her more strength. “I went to Geneva to put your papers in, you idiot! They’re in a vault there and, if anything happens to me, my solicitor is under instruction to give them to the police.”

  “That’s what you fucking think! I’ll be over to Salzburg in the morning. I’ll sort that!”

  “Try if you want to but you’ll be arrested the minute you land. There’s a warrant for your arrest in Salzburg. Frieda and I went to the hospital after your last visit to Junkergasse. The staff were horrified by the marks of your fingers around my neck. The doctor was obliged to report it to the police under the Ärztegesetz law relating to domestic violence. I was happy to follow up with my official complaint. You nearly choked me, you animal!”

  In a movement that was surprisingly quick and fluid Jason launched himself at Sharon, dropping O’Shaughnessy’s photographs onto the floor. She jumped to her feet just as he leapt on the chaise, red-faced and panting. She had felt his hands around her throat before and it was never going to happen again.

  “Your bullying tactics won’t help you now,” she said as she faced him. “Your papers and videos weren’t lost in transit. I’ve returned them all to their owners. You can’t torture those people any more.”

  She braced herself for Jason’s reaction. A scream, a roar, maybe a kick. He was silent, staring at the floor. She followed his gaze and her eyes came to rest on O’Shaughnessy’s scattered photos. Her heart almost stopped. One picture, the one mesmerising Jason, lay face up. It had been taken at the airport as she had said goodbye to Frieda and to the most precious person in her life. She was holding him close to her, not wanting to let him go. A fierce protective instinct galvanised her into action now. She swooped down to grab the photo.

  Jason’s foot stamped onto her fingers. She cried out with pain and fear. He lunged down beside her and prised the photograph from under her hand.

  Wind whistled, timbers creaked, time moved on but neither Sharon nor Jason noticed. He stared at the photograph and she stared at him. Gathering up the other photographs, he scrutinised them. He looked up at Sharon and down at the photos again.

  “You whoring bitch!” he breathed. “This is your son!”

  Sharon nodded her head. Just the slightest little dip to acknowledge the little boy who was the centre of her life.

  “Jesus! You lying bitch! You can’t have a son. When were you pregnant? Where did you have the baby?”

  “In Salzburg. I was seldom anywhere else.”

 
; “Who’s the father? Tell me or I’ll kill you now!”

  This was it. The secret Sharon had tried so hard to keep had to be revealed. She could attempt to lie but now that Jason knew of the existence of the child the risk was greater. And yet she couldn’t say the words. Not all of them. Not the full truth.

  “He’s my son and mine alone. Nothing at all to do with you. I don’t want you near him. Don’t ever try to see him or I’ll make sure you end your days in jail.”

  “He’s wearing a hat in all the photos. What colour is his hair?”

  Sharon and the man she had once loved gazed at each other in silence. She shook so much that her teeth chattered but no word passed her lips. Jason seemed to deflate as the meaning of her silence sank in. His purple flush of rage was replaced by a ghastly white pallor. He flopped onto the chaise and leaning forward hung his head. He knew. He did not need to be told that the little boy in the picture had a shock of red hair. Just like his father.

  When he looked up there were tears in his eyes.

  “How old is he?”

  “Almost four,” Sharon said. “He’s a beautiful boy. Very clever. He’s fluent in both German and English.

  “Who’s looking after him now?”

  “Frieda. She has always taken care of him when I’m not there. She’s my son’s nanny not my lover.”

  He dropped his head again. Sharon felt a pang of guilt. She had been very devious. She had plotted and planned for so long. She should have told Jason in the beginning and faced the consequences. Yet she had wanted the best for her child. That’s why she had spent so many years converting Jason’s assets into legitimate investments. Tolerating his brutality in exchange for security for her son. Fifty percent of all Jason owned when she divorced him. That had been before she knew of his involvement in drug-dealing and blackmail. But now she felt guilty by association. Dirty.

  Jason looked up at her again, his eyes still watery.