by Sara Forbes
“Your new friend Mr. Beeson would offer you a job on the spot if you were asking. I could hear it in his voice,” Mike grumbled after I finished with the call—of which he’d listened to every word. “He was practically salivating over you.”
I laugh, pleased. “No, he wasn’t.” Then my face drops at the gloomy expression on my boss’s craggy face. “Mike, I’m never going to leave you.”
Not while you’re alive, anyway. It’s a morbid thought, but sometimes Mike looks as if he could literally drop in front of me. Other days, he’s got a lot more energy and looks set to last until his self-imposed retirement in two years’ time. He stubbornly refuses to leave before this deadline because that’s the way Mike is.
His eyes scan the damp, peeling plaster of our office ceiling. “Sure you want to stay in this shithole forever?”
“What the hell is wrong with you today, Mike?”
“What’s wrong with me?” He stirs his coffee petulantly. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m doing what I always do. Have I turned in one single change order late? No, I have not, and I’ve done thirty on that warehouse. That hasn’t changed with my classes starting this month either. So, don’t give me this crap.”
Mike sighs heavily. “I don’t mean that. You’ve been out there. You’ve seen things. I may have wonky vision, but I’m not totally blind.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“You found something over there that you don’t have here. Seems to me you just want to keep on denying it.”
I’m itching to protest, but I stop myself. What’s the point in repeating that I want to stay here, to inherit the office and work my way up in the industry? We both know there are too many architects in this country, and we’re forced to cut other’s throats in order to just survive. He’s heard my spiel often enough.
“Yeah,” Mike continues, taking my silence as agreement. “And, with that in mind, it makes me feel I should do you a favor and go ahead and die real quick so you can get back to your real life over there. ”
“Mike, you’re just talking out your ass now.” I swing back to my screen and pretend to be engrossed, but his words bother me. Mike knows me better than I’d care to admit.
“All I’m asking is you don’t use me as an excuse, that’s all,” comes his reply.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” Mike’s smile is superior, knowing.
I give him my sneeriest sneer.
◊◊◊
Mike’s words still echo in my head when I look at the calendar two weeks later. As if life wasn’t bad enough, not having heard from Seb in all this time, it’s our Thanksgiving family meet-up, which this year is two weeks before the actual holiday because my parents will be away on a cruise. Even though they live a mere five miles away from my apartment, I only visit when strictly necessary—Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. I’ve had a purposely quiet morning, no work, no calls. I need to get my head into the right space for this; need to be strong, even if I feel like a broken bird.
I park my little Subaru next to the unfamiliar car in the drive—a new Chrysler. My older brother Ryan must be here already. He’s something big in reinsurance in New York. I know as much about him as he does about me—nothing we couldn’t find out on LinkedIn, basically. Our parents pitted us against each other from an early age. He, three years my senior, was the blond angel, and I was the red-haired devil. Sometimes the other way around, depending on what suited the occasion.
“There she is,” my dad says as I enter.
“Oh, darling.” My mom rushes over and kisses me. My bother nods at me from across the table.
We settle down for dinner. The conversation revolves around Ryan’s new car for a solid twenty minutes, so I get to relax.
But that’s soon over.
“Mara, you’re very quiet there,” my mom chirps.
“She’s too good for us now,” my father says.
I cringe.
“Tell us about the wedding. I was expecting to read all about it in the papers—we ordered the British Times, didn’t we, Jason darling?” My mother’s controlled voice has a slight breathiness to it, belying how important this is to her. My dad is interested only inasmuch as whatever it is will keep Mom happy. My brother’s tuned out already, and there’s a telltale pink glow lighting his face from his phone. It’s clearly my duty to keep them entertained for the next while.
“It was beautiful, Mom. Hayley’s so happy with Alex. They went to South America for their honeymoon.”
“I’m sure you mentioned that Jason is a Fellow of the Historical Society that Prince Charles visited in 2011?” Mom passes Dad an indulgent look.
“That didn’t really come up in the conversation, Mom.”
“It didn’t? So, what was the prince like in person?”
“There weren’t any royalty in attendance.”
“Oh dear,” my mother continues. “But he’s a duke, I thought? I read that royalty always attended dukes’ events—unless, of course, they’re in disgrace or something.”
“Well, I guess there wasn’t a whole lot of time.”
“She must be pregnant.” Mom winks confidently at Dad.
I just can’t let that one pass. “She’s not.”
She laughs. “You think she’d admit it, do you? Did Dave bring a shotgun with him?”
“Not in his hand luggage, anyway,” I say. “I was standing right behind him in Portland International, and believe me, the security’s not lax there. He’s feeling a lot better now, by the way.”
“Yes, he picked up pneumonia, I did hear that. Well, not surprising, living in that old shack of his. Which reminds me, Mara, do you really need to go down there so often, now that Hayley’s all set up in England? People do talk, you know.”
My facepalm goes unseen. Mom’s already onto a new topic. “Now, that bridesmaid’s dress of yours—tell us, was it okay? It was a bit tight, wasn’t it?”
I had made the mistake of having the dress delivered to their address, where someone would be sure to be home all the time, with the result that my mother opened it “by mistake,” then gave me her critical assessment after forcing me to try it on. It was a perfect fit because I’d sent Letty my meticulously-taken measurements.
“Turned out okay, Mum. Nobody complained.” I redden as I think of someone who definitely didn’t complain about the dress.
“So, can we retire now, knowing that our daughter has secured herself a wealthy earl?”
My blood runs cold when I think of how near—and yet how far—this skirts the truth. Anger fills me with warmth, and strength—the strength of knowing that someone was out there for me. Really there. Someone who wanted to know me—not the trappings, not the defenses, not how I reflect themselves back on themselves; no, someone who wanted to truly understand me, even if I pushed him away.
“Look at her,” my mom says. “She’s hiding something.”
“I’ve nothing to hide, Mom,” I say, heatedly. “I did meet someone, actually, but he’s not a wealthy earl. He’s the illegitimate son, who doesn’t inherit everything. That all goes to Hayley and Alex.”
Her stunned silence is my victory.
“Well, that’s not much use to you, is it?” she says finally.
“No.” I imitate her concerned frown. “But I find he does have other very useful features.”
Ryan snorts from across the table. I catch his eye, and the look of sheer enjoyment that passes between us unlocks a little piece of my heart. We’re a long way from becoming best friends like some siblings are, but maybe this is the small first step?
◊◊◊
“So, who’s your useful features guy?” my brother asks, as we’re getting our coats in the hallway. Mom and Dad haven’t come out yet. Ryan has to head to the airport already, for a flight which I happen to know isn’t leaving for another five hours. He knows all the best tricks, my brother.
“Sebastian. He’s… nice. Was nice.” This has to be the laziest use of the word “nice” in the long history of the word, but it gives me massive pleasure to say it all the same.
Ryan shrugs. “Was?”
“It’s over.”
“Because of the distance?”
“Yeah.” I wrinkle my nose. “What can you do?”
“Get your butt over there? Or his over here?”
“Ye-ah. Not that simple.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “If it’s worth it, it is. Just sayin’.”
25
SEB
I'M IN THE MIDDLE of my meeting with Suffolk County council, discussing the problem of the lack of immigrant workers for next season, when my phone buzzes. I frown at the number. Unknown. London.
“Excuse me.” I get up and leave the room. Who would call my private phone, other than people I know?
“Seb? Oh, thank God.” The Australian accent and voice are unmistakable. It’s Rachel.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s Orla; she’s had these cramps. What we didn’t tell you is, it’s going to be twins. And they often do come early, so we can’t take chances. We didn’t want you worried—”
“Is she okay?” I snap.
“She’s in the ward. I’m just outside. They’re looking after her. But I don’t know…”
“Just tell me where you are.” I’m shrugging on my coat.
“University College London Hospital, Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Wing.”
“All right, just hold on. I’ll get here. Give me three hours.” There had better not be any traffic on the M25.
Adrenaline fuels me as I race back to the conference room and tell them we need a break. I don’t even bother to offer a false excuse. My partners nod wisely and let me get on with it.
Racing through the office like a madman, I grab Alex’s arm. “Take over for me in there, would you?”
“Why, where are you going?”
“London.”
26
MARA
IT'S MY TRADITIONAL THURSDAY night Skype with Hayley.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush. Seb disappeared yesterday afternoon,” she says.
My stomach lurches. “How do you mean?”
“Gone.” She shakes her head. “So, not there with you?”
I laugh wryly. “No.”
“There’s something else, Mara.”
“What?
“Well, Ken and Liv have split up. Apparently. I didn’t know about it. I was asking him today about it and he said he hasn’t seen Liv in three weeks, and it’s definitely over.”
“Well, that’s sad.” I think of the happy two blond heads at the races and how they seemed effortlessly destined for each other.
“That’s not the problem.” Hayley draws a pained breath. “Seb went over there last week. Over to see Earl Strathcairn.”
Irrational jealously rages through me.
“Letty seems to think all these things add up,” Hayley continues. “Seb was seen over there, talking to Liv’s parents. Their staff told our staff. I’m telling you, it’s positively Downton Abbey around here.”
“Oh God. That doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean elopement. It can’t mean elopement. Who the hell elopes in this day and age?” I say angrily. “He’s never showed any real interest in Liv.” Then I remember he doesn’t have to. Not in the aristocratic game of marrying for fortune.
“Nobody foresaw it, Mara.” Hayley wrings her hands guiltily. “I’d have warned you if I’d had half an inkling, but we’re all completely gobsmacked over here, same as you.”
I swallow bitterly. “Where’s Liv then?”
“Nobody knows.” Hayley’s voice is almost a whisper.
“This is bullshit. That’s it. I am going over there.”
◊◊◊
“And what am I supposed to do?” Mike grumbles when I tell him I’m going to be gone for a week. “Last time you said you’d be gone for a long weekend and you stayed more than a week. By my calculations, you’ll be gone a month this time!”
“No. This is different. This won’t take long at all,” I say grimly. “It’s midterm break. It’s now or never. I’m not even presenting it as a choice. It’s this or I quit.”
Mike gives up the fight when he realizes I’m deadly serious.
As I hastily book a flight, maxing out my credit card on the last seat available, I keep telling myself it’s the right thing to do—because there’s certainly no one else telling me so. But it’s something I have to do, and thinking about will only prolong the agony.
When I meet Seb it will be a simple matter of yes or no. Does he want me or not? Does he choose me or not? Because he had chosen me. But I was just too damn wrapped up in my own insecurities to see it. Yes, I’m prepared to lay it all on the line, to show him my vulnerability—because that’s exactly what he was doing for me, but I hid away behind my anger at the house design.
Let’s be honest—I’d have used any excuse.
But if he wants me, I’ll make it work this time. Distance is nothing if I really, really want it. The only distance that matters is the one between my heart and his.
Hayley and Alex come pick me up at Heathrow after my sleepless fourteen-hour flight.
I sink back into the luxury leather seats of Alex’s Aston Martin. I’m in such a daze, I can barely speak as we zip along the county roads. The happy couple leave me to my thoughts in peace. I fall asleep at some point, out of sheer fatigue, and only wake when we’re on the bumpy roads around Fernborough.
We pass the Millhouse building site in the dark. Through the black trees, I can’t see much. There’s no moonlight, so it’s even darker and spookier than the first time I passed this way. Our headlights glint off some ugly machinery parked in the field opposite.
I guess I don’t want to know how he’s massacred the Millhouse and its surroundings. I need to put my sense of professional outrage behind me. I have to, if this has any chance of working.
It’s just past ten when we arrive inside the castle. The hall is dark. Lady Belgrave has retired to bed. Ken and Letty join us in the kitchen, where Mrs. B is preparing pastry for tomorrow. The old-fashioned sweet smell of rising dough fills my nose and I feel strangely at home.
Nobody in the household can guess where Seb is. Alex and Ken seem more concerned about the work they’ll have to cover in his absence. Letty’s worried that he’s run away like he did a year ago.
“And that was for a whole two months,” Alex grumbles. “That’s the planting season and a good chunk of the planning for next year’s harvest. We can’t do this without him.”
While Alex looks disgruntled, Ken looks furious, about everything. He turns to me suddenly, his green eyes fierce, and says, “I’m glad you’re here, Mara. If anyone can sort out Seb, you can.”
I nod, unable to confirm or deny this.
Upstairs in the bedroom they’ve prepared for me—an unfamiliar one on the third floor—I ask Hayley for Seb’s biological mother’s number. It’s a last resort, but maybe Rachel has some clue where he might be hiding. After all, she should be arriving sometime from Australia right about now, or is possibly already here.
“I don’t have Rachel’s number,” Hayley says. “I doubt anyone does, apart from Seb.”
“Not at all?” I ask with surprise. Even though Seb told me about Rachel and Orla in strictest confidence, I had kind of expected them to be the talk of the town by now—or at least the talk of the family. The Belgrave habit of automatically dismissing Seb’s birth mother seems to have rubbed off even on Hayley.
I burn with sympathy for him. Seb must feel so isolated, and possibly even guilty for having a second family. I understand that a certain level of sensitivity is required because of Lady Belgrave’s wounded feelings from the past, but why does the family have to shame him about something he has zero control over? Still, instinct tells me not to push the matter, not even with my best friend.
Next mor
ning, as soon as I wake, I make my way over to the tower, the infamous round building where the Belgrave offices are housed—the hub of their organic farming business. Mrs. B told me they were working this morning even though it’s Saturday.
It’s a misty morning as I walk outside and make my way across the courtyard to the tower. I think it’s a brilliant use for the round structure but they could have improved the insulation—it’s damp and cold now, in November. Come to think of it, there are lot of structural things I’d like to improve around Belgrave Castle.
Ken greets me in the reception area, which is just a desk by a fireplace with two arm chairs. The ambience is more that of a guesthouse lobby than the office of a farming conglomerate.
Ken looks calmer than yesterday, at least, but there’s a tension around his eyes that I’ve never seen before.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Thanks.” I take the steaming coffee gratefully. “Does Seb have a list of contacts, anything like that? Is there a phone I can check the calls of? I’m trying to locate his biological mother, Rachel.”
Ken frowns. “Only his private mobile phone, and he has that with him.” He pauses, as if suddenly remembering something. “I did overhead him the other day talking about doctors with Will.”
“William, yes. I have his number,” I say, rooting in my purse for my cellphone. I remember his friendly professional manner as he tended to Dave and I’m happy to chase this lead knowing that at least there’ll be a familiar, friendly voice at the end of the line.
To my relief and surprise, William is full of information. “He’s at University College London Hospital, Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Wing. Orla’s just gone into labor. The OB-GYN is Dr. Jamison. She’s very competent.”
“In labor? But she’s not due for another two months.”
