Sky Garden

by Jenny Schwartz

  Two very different women, and yet, both of them had raised him.

  Both had loved his father.

  Both had died.

  Richard was alone.

  Nick opened his eyes and stared out at the clouds. The plane would descend soon, land at Heathrow, and Lanie would be there, waiting for him. “Thank God.”

  Lanie caught the Tube to Heathrow. She arrived early, so scared of being late. She needed to be there for Nick. He was self-contained, almost unbearably so, but he’d called her with the news of Chloe’s death and his voice…he needed her.

  And she needed him. She needed to know that he was okay and that he wouldn’t pull away from her. She was in deep with him, deeper than she’d have believed possible.

  She sat in a chair at the edge of a row and pretended calm. Airports were emotional whirlpools at the best of times. Farewells and safe arrivals. Tears and laughter. Anticipation and dread.

  His flight was announced. She gripped the edge of the chair, so that she didn’t rise and pace. He still had to clear Customs. Oh hell. She stood and paced, finally standing near where he’d enter. A crowd gathered around her.

  Nick was one of the first through the gate. He carried an overnight bag and strode along, his stride bringing him to her fast. He gathered her up and hugged her tight, while people eddied around them.

  “I need to hire a car,” he said hoarsely, drawing back. “Did you bring your bag?”

  She’d dropped her over-sized handbag, filled with a change of clothes, at their feet. She picked it up. Whatever else she needed, she’d buy in Hampshire. Between them, Rupa and Velma had promised to look after the museum.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Anything you need,” she said steadily.

  He put an arm around her waist and ducked his head to touch hers. “Just you.” Then he straightened and became all business, looking at signs.

  She knew what he was searching for, and had done her own reconnaissance. “The hire cars are this way.” As they walked, her concern found expression in one of the few ways open to her in the busy airport. “Did you eat on the plane?”

  “No.” Dismissive.

  She waited till he approached the hire car counter, then broke away. She picked up sandwiches and hot coffees. “Cheese or ham. With salad.” He looked at her so solemnly that she wondered if something was wrong. “Don’t they have any cars left?”

  He dangled the car key in answer. “Thanks for the sandwiches.”

  They ate outside, sitting on the bonnet of the car he’d hired and listening to the roar of planes landing and taking off. The summer evening still held some warmth. Then Nick carried their rubbish to a bin, disposed of it and returned.

  Without a word, Lanie slipped into the passenger’s seat. Even tired, she knew he’d want the distraction of driving.

  The worst of the traffic had cleared and they made it out of London in less time than she’d feared, and with less traffic snarls. As Nick drove down the country roads to Waterhill, she recalled their last visit. The fete had changed their relationship.

  Today, changed it, again.

  Barely perceptibly, the car hesitated at the entrance to Waterhill. Lamps glowed a subdued orange at the gate, serving to intensify the darkness of shrubbery and shadowed stone. Ahead of them, the car’s headlights lit up the avenue of trees lining the driveway.

  Lanie had respected Nick’s silence during the drive. She respected it still, but she put a hand on his knee.

  He glanced at her, then covered her hand with his. He accelerated.

  Waterhill came into view around the curve. Windows on the ground floor were lit, but above was darkness. The front entrance was bright, almost white, with stark security lighting. Instead of going around to the garage to park, Nick stopped at the front.

  They both saw the shadow of a man stand and move in the library window.

  Richard waited for them.

  Nick inhaled sharply. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out.

  Lanie followed, consciously slower, giving time for Nick to greet Richard who’d gotten the front door open and stood, mercilessly lit by the security light, holding the door.

  Father and son nodded at one another.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  It wasn’t enough. But this was what Chloe had worried over: that the two men in her life would have no way of finding one another when they’d need to.

  Lanie put a hand briefly on Nick’s back, slipped past him and hugged Richard.

  The older man stood a moment, frozen, still holding the door. Then he returned her hug.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Chloe was a special person.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “She was…very dear, very loved.” He looked at Nick.

  Lanie turned her head, too. She extended her hand, stepping back as Nick moved forward to finally take her place in his dad’s embrace.

  It was a brief, masculine hug, but Richard swallowed visibly. “Come in. Kate has prepared your room, a meal.”

  Mrs. Webster had done more than that. She waited, hovering just out of sight, but coming forward as they entered the hall. She offered sympathy, and more practically, had a trolley with food ready.

  Nick thanked her and pushed the trolley into the dining room. Its brass wheels clattered.

  They ate a light soup and more sandwiches, and discussed the chaos that was Heathrow, the drive down, how well the grass was recovering after the traffic of the fete. Anything but the real issue. At least Richard ate.

  Then they retired to the library.

  The vast room was nothing like the library at the Horry Museum. That was a playroom, a pretense of gentlemanly luxury. This room was cluttered and organized, showing the signs of use from generations of Tawes men retreating to it, but not for idle occupation. The shelves of leather-bound books, wide tables that encouraged detailed perusal of those volumes, and the sleek modern computing on a Regency desk were signs of engagement with the world. The men of Waterhill might retreat to the library to shed their tears in private, but then they emerged to do their duty.

  Lanie would give them their privacy. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit tired and…”

  “Chloe liked you,” Richard interrupted. “Please, if you’re being polite, stay.”

  She stayed, sitting with Nick on a chesterfield, while Richard crossed the room to a cabinet.

  There were no paintings on these walls. Instead, framed maps hung, protected by glass, but evoking lost worlds and ways of seeing long gone.

  “Whiskey?” Richard offered. It was a room to drink whiskey in. He brought over a bottle and three glasses, and they all stood for the toast. “Chloe.”

  “Chloe.”

  The whiskey was smooth and smoky. They sat and sipped it till Richard broke the silence. “She said she was tired and took an early afternoon nap. She never woke. I would have liked to say good-bye, but for her sake, it was the kindest passing.” He swallowed the last of his whiskey. “She’s in heaven, now. Dancing.”

  Lanie sobbed. “Sorry.”

  “Never apologize for tears,” Richard said. “We should cry for those we love, those who struggle so bravely and gallantly with life.”

  “That was Chloe.” Nick hugged Lanie to him, passing her a box of tissues. “She was the bravest, kindest person I ever met.”

  “You were the son she never had. I thought I had to hide you from her, but I underestimated her strength. She loved you as my son and for yourself. She forgave and understood and—” He set his empty whiskey glass down jarringly. “We’ll talk in the morning. There are details to settle, but tonight…excuse me.” He walked out.

  Lanie studied Nick’s profile as he watched his dad. Quietly, she put her own whiskey glass aside.

  “Not a whiskey drinker?” Nick asked, glancing at the glass.

  “Not tonight.”

  “No.” He stretched back against the sofa. “I’m wiped. It can’t be jetlag.”

  “Emotional exhausti
on.” And at his skeptical, resistant expression. “Tomorrow is going to be a bad day. Unless I’m wrong, everyone will be phoning or dropping in to express their sympathy.”

  “Hell.”

  She hadn’t thought she was wrong. “Richard’s going to need you to take some of that burden.”

  Nick nodded.

  For herself, she’d have to walk the tightrope. A new girlfriend had few rights, but the two men needed her. Not just to cope with visitors. They’d manage that. But to maintain communication between themselves.

  Nick hauled himself up. “I’ll get our bags from the car. I need to shower and, you’re right, to try to sleep.”

  She walked with him up to his room, their room, and waited there, sitting on a window seat as the shower ran. There were other bathrooms and she could have used one, or could have gone first as he’d offered, but there was no need to hurry. With the window open, the scents and sounds of the night came in. An owl hooted and in the distance a plane flew, its lights blinking a path across the sky.

  Nick emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and using another towel to dry his hair. She’d left the lights off in the bedroom, and the light from the bathroom silhouetted him. He looked big and solid, powerful—but not invincible.

  “The bathroom’s yours.”

  She uncurled from the window seat and paused to touch his bare chest, to feel the dampness of his shower and the warm body heat, before passing on. She closed the door and bathed swiftly, wrapping herself in a robe that lay folded on a hamper; one of two robes. She noted the quiet acceptance and welcome of her presence at Waterhill, and was reassured.

  The big bathroom was cool, or maybe that was her.

  She switched off the bathroom light and walked to the huge bed. Tonight there were no games or fantasies to be enacted on the ancient bed. She crawled across it, into Nick’s arms, and felt him sigh as he gathered her close. They made love quietly, yet with such passion, that the strength of her orgasm shocked her. They were affirming life.

  In the morning, the stream of sympathetic visitors was only exceeded by the exhaustive parade of floral offerings. Tight-lipped, Mrs. Webster—Kate—dealt with the flowers and delivery people. Richard and Nick were trapped in the drawing room talking with visitors.

  Various family friends and relations were introduced to Lanie, and she grew accustomed to her introduction as “Nick’s girlfriend” being met with critical assessment. A number of women made it clear that she and her uncrushable navy dress and sandals didn’t measure up. On the whole, the visitors were distinguished by the wealth they wore.

  “The villagers won’t intrude before the funeral.” Kate’s tone dismissed the influential callers as impertinent and rude.

  A number of them were. They overstayed politeness, chatting among themselves and staring, even roaming, around Waterhill.

  Nick scowled at them. “Dad seldom entertains here. Chloe prefers, preferred, to live in the bungalow in Cornwall. She liked the air and the freedom of a house designed to be wheelchair accessible. She had greater independence there. Most of these people only saw Dad and Chloe at events in London. They’re taking their chance to look around.”

  Richard’s scowl as he glanced away from his conversation with two men his own age, men who exhibited a familiarity that probably came from knowing each other since schooldays, suggested that he, too, resented the sightseers. He glared at a trio of women who were openly huddled together, critiquing the drawing room.

  Richard’s two friends looked around and added their own frowns of disapproval. The taller and skinnier of them, whom Lanie tentatively identified as a celebrity polar scientist, did more than frown. Perhaps he was slightly deaf? “Damn gate crashers. No class,” he said loudly. “And less manners.”

  Chloe would have handled the crashing silence with grace.

  Lanie decided to merely take advantage of it. She raised her own voice. “Richard, you’re wanted in the library.” She hooked her arm through Nick’s as Richard approached them. Then she whisked both men into the library and closed the door.

  “No one’s here,” Richard said, glancing around, bewildered.

  “Exactly,” Lanie said with satisfaction.

  It surprised a bark of laughter from Richard and a smile from Nick. Richard dropped down into his favorite armchair by the window. Nick sprawled on the chesterfield.

  Kate entered by a second, smaller door, distant from the drawing room. She pushed the same trolley as last night.

  Both men straightened.

  “Kate, you have second sight,” Richard said. “Thank you.”

  The trolley contained small pies and other savory pastries as well as a pot of tea and slices of fruit cake.

  “Lanie promised she’d get you out of the drawing room and eating,” Kate responded with an approving look at her.

  “I hope you’ll put your feet up, too,” Nick said. “Eat with us.”

  Richard rose and pushed forward a chair.

  Kate joined them. She mourned Chloe, too. They all did.

  Waterhill felt empty despite its many visitors.

  Chapter 16

  Chloe’s funeral service was held in the cathedral, and every pew was filled. Outside, media lurked and there was a strong, if understated, police presence. Belatedly, Lanie grasped just how powerful Richard was. Heads of State were at the service along with heads of multinational corporations. It was a collection of people whom the public seldom recognized, but who ran the world.

  She had a feeling that Richard cared for none of it.

  In the cool of the magnificent old building, he sat silent and strong. His voice never wavered when he read the eulogy. Nor did Nick’s. Lanie sat between them and said her own prayers for Chloe and for the men Chloe had loved and worried over.

  Preparations for the service had been schizophrenic. On the one hand, Richard mourned Chloe deeply and privately. But he’d been lost in a blizzard of decisions as his executive assistant and various other business types descended on Waterhill and required his attention. Nick had stood by him, looking grimmer and grimmer as the demands piled up unendingly. Private mourning had to be set aside for public spectacle.

  Lanie had been appalled.

  She’d intended to either pop into town or return to London briefly for her clothes, but neither had happened. Instead, someone had organized for a boutique owner to bring an entire collection out to Waterhill for Lanie to choose from. Price hadn’t been discussed, but the quality of the clothing told its own story. She’d tried to protest, but Nick had silenced her.

  “Dad’s relying on you more than you know. On both of us. You need clothes, and this is one problem solved. I’ve just been measured for a wretched suit since I don’t have anything decent with me.”

  “Nick, I could buy a car, maybe even the deposit on a house, for what these clothes cost.”

  His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “It shocked me, too, when I first came to Waterhill. Money is different here, Lanie. There’s so much of it, that it loses meaning. It seems a huge amount to you, but Dad will never notice it. What he does notice, and appreciate, is that you’re here. And the truth is, that like my wretched suit, you need the sort of clothes that will signal to everyone that you belong and that you have authority.”

  They were standing in an alcove in the drawing room.

  Nick’s own authority as Richard’s son had come increasingly to the fore. He was included in discussions, and Lanie had frequently seen the scrutiny by executive visitors as they assessed the next heir to the Tawes fortune.

  But she didn’t have any authority, did she?

  She stared at Nick, shocked.

  There was a vacant role, but it wasn’t hers.

  He rubbed her shoulders. “Dad doesn’t have any sisters. I know we never asked. We’ve taken you for granted.”

  She was filling Chloe’s shoes. Someone had to be the lady of the house, the hostess. “Kate, Mrs. Webster would know everyone?” Hope made it a question.r />
  Nick shook his head. “Do you mind?”

  She took a deep breath. Hers would be a very public role. Her fear of attracting the attention of the serial killer’s voyeur floated through her mind. She dismissed it. Now, was not the time to surrender to that old fear, or to burden Nick with it. She leaned into him, offering the comfort of her body. “I said I’d do anything to help. I meant it.”

  “And you keep your promises. You care about people.” He kissed her. “Kate can run the catering side of things for after the funeral, and for those staying over. But she’ll want to consult with someone.”

  “I can do that.” She would do it.

  “As for the public side of things…we’ll all just do the best we can. Dad hates publicity, so it’ll be over soon.”

  Which brought them to the cathedral and the public service. Finally, it was over. Cameras flashed as they walked down the steps and into the waiting car. Lanie flinched, but hired security guards kept the media at bay. Tinted windows gave some degree of privacy, and then, they were away.

  Richard wiped a hand over his face.

  Lanie took off her hat so that she could lean back against the car seat. The ordeal of the funeral service was behind them. But the burial might be worse. “Is there any whiskey in here? Does anyone want some?”

  Richard shook his head and looked out the window.

  Nick caught her hand and pulled her against him. “We’re fine.”

  They weren’t, but they were coping. She rested against him, aware that the muscles of her back ached with tension and tiredness. Acting as mistress of Waterhill exacted a toll.

  Richard mightn’t have sisters or brothers, but he had aged relatives and cousins who expected to be housed for the nights before and after the funeral, as well as long-standing friends and Chloe’s family. Waterhill was filled with people, and Kate had hired extra staff. In addition, there was the wake to cater for.

  Lanie had found herself busier than she’d ever been. Strangely, it was her theatre experience that helped her to cope, and knowing that her mum was only ever a phone call away. Her mum might look ethereal, but she had a sane sense of practicalities.