It was hard to doubt the housekeeper’s perception of the brothers, as it completely mirrored her own. Sebastian’s ability for convincing others that black was white was a phrase she had herself used to describe him. Twisting the facts to put a different slant on any subject was, she knew from experience, something he was a past master at.
Was her husband, as Mrs. Erskine had hinted, a liar, a cheat, and a bully, who would stop at nothing to destroy his own brother? And if it was true that Sebastian held a grudge against Alex, did that mean he was a bad person overall?
Emilie thought back to the mobile-phone disaster, when Sebastian had convinced her that she was being ridiculous for becoming upset when he hadn’t contacted her. And although he’d assured her that he’d mentioned going to the château to make a start on the library, she knew he hadn’t.
And why didn’t he want her to accompany him to London or on his travels, but left her—his new wife of only a few weeks—alone here in Yorkshire?
No! She had to stop this, her imagination was running riot now. It was what her father had always called “small houritis”—when the human body was at its lowest ebb and the mind lost all logic and ran away with itself.
Upstairs, Emilie rooted in her toilet kit for one of the sleeping tablets the doctor had prescribed for her after her mother’s death and swallowed it down. She needed to sleep more than anything. And, tomorrow, she would take further steps to find out the truth.
• • •
Emilie tapped on Alex’s door at six the following evening. She had spent all day trying to process the facts into some kind of logical order. Armed with a bottle of red wine, she heard his voice welcoming her into the apartment.
“I’m at my computer,” he called. “Some of my children have suffered considerable losses today, due to the disastrous sugar crop in Fiji. Come through.”
“Hello, Alex.” Emilie stood in the doorway of his study, fascinated by the screens that blinked red and green and moved constantly in front of him.
“Hello,” he replied, his attention still on the screens. “Long time, no see.”
“I brought this.” Emilie proffered the bottle. Alex turned his head toward her, saw the bottle, and looked suitably surprised.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, this is a pleasant treat.” He wheeled himself backward and turned toward her. “You, I mean, not the wine.” He smiled at her.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in to see you before.”
“That’s all right, I’m used to being a pariah. But still, I’m very happy to see you, Em. Shall I get the glasses or will you?”
“I will.”
“Thanks.”
Finding a corkscrew and two glasses in a kitchen cupboard, Emilie followed Alex into the sitting room and watched as he leaned forward to stoke the fire. She uncorked the bottle, poured the wine into the glasses, and handed him one. She watched his intelligent eyes appraising her with interest.
“Santé,” said Emilie, then taking a sip.
“So”—Alex was still staring at her—“spit it out, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have something to say to me, or possibly ask me. I’m all ears.”
“Yes.” Emilie set her wineglass down on the table and sat on one of the fireside chairs close to him. “Alex, are you a liar?”
“What?!” He chuckled. “Well, of course I’m going to say no. To be fair, I probably was when I was on the hard stuff during my addict years, but then that’s normal.”
“Sorry, but it felt like the right thing to say, given that I must ask you, indeed beg you, to tell me the truth.”
“Yes, Your Honor, the whole truth and nothing but. Em, what’s going on?”
“I went to see Norma Erskine yesterday.”
“Oh, I see.” Alex sighed, then took a sip of his wine. “And what did she have to say for herself?”
“She told me only because I asked,” Emilie added quickly, “about your childhood here.”
“Right. And?” Alex said guardedly.
“She was very diplomatic, but I have some questions I want to ask you because of our conversation, to help me make sense of the confusion I feel.”
“Okay … I think I can see where we’re headed. And it’s toward a conversation I’ve purposely steered clear of,” Alex said somberly. “Are you sure you wish to continue? I’ll only be able to tell you the truth. But, like all of us, the truth will be from my perspective, which may well be warped. And biased.”
“Then I think it would be simpler if I asked you short questions first. I believe they have a yes or no answer.”
“Emilie, have you ever thought of a career as a lawyer? I think you’d be remarkably successful.” He smiled, trying to break the tension.
“Alex, this is serious.”
“Well, Your Honor, nothing in life is that serious, as long as you’re alive and kicking.”
“Please, Alex.”
“Sorry. I will answer yes or no and not elucidate unless you ask me to. Fire away.”
Emilie looked down at her list. “The first question: When you were a child, were you bullied by your brother? And did he constantly lie about who caused an argument or a fight to get you into trouble?”
“Yes.”
“When you won your scholarship and went to the same school as your brother, did he again try to make it look as if you were to blame for bad things that happened there? For example, did he start the fire that got you expelled from the school?”
There was a slight hesitation from Alex. Eventually, he said, “I have to believe so, yes. It certainly wasn’t me, although four boys and a master swore they saw someone who was me making a hasty exit from the gym once I’d started the fire. And, from a distance, Seb and I could definitely be physically confused.”
“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
“I thought you wanted yes or no answers?” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was hardly going to point the finger at my brother, was I? Besides, no one would have believed me. Seb had somehow managed to garner a reputation for being whiter than white. He’s always been like Macavity from the poems of T. S. Eliot. When there was trouble, he simply wasn’t there. But there’s no proof it was him, so the jury is out on that question.”
“I understand. Okay, next question: Did you drink alcohol the night the two of you went out in your car together when you were eighteen, and you ended up being charged with dangerous driving?”
“Not that I knew of, no. I asked for orange juice at the pub, as I always did.”
“Do you believe that your brother spiked your drink?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation on this one.
“Did you ever confront him?”
“No. How could it be proved?”
“Do you think he did this to stop you going to Cambridge?”
“Yes.”
“Did you leave Yorkshire and go abroad to escape from a brother who you realized was so consumed with jealousy, he’d stop at nothing to sabotage anything you achieved?”
“Yes.”
“When you went out on the night of your accident, you and Sebastian had already had a dreadful argument. Was it because he wanted to sell Blackmoor Hall and you did not?”
“Yes.”
“Do you blame Sebastian for the accident?”
“No,” Alex said firmly. “The accident was an accident and nothing to do with him.”
“Are you sure?”
Alex paused, then sighed heavily. “Well, put it this way. I was furious with him and we continued to argue because he wouldn’t get out of my car. I’d parked up on a grass verge along a country road and was about to turn the car round to head home when a maniac came round the corner and smashed straight into us. So”—Alex shrugged—“you could look at it either way; normally I wouldn’t have been sitting on a grass verge if I hadn’t been having a rabid argument with my brother. But then one can say that about anyth
ing. The upshot is, it was simply bad luck, and I can’t lay the blame at your husband’s door. Pray continue.”
“In your opinion, since the accident, has your brother gone out of his way to make life as difficult as possible for you? For example, employing carers whom he knows you don’t even need any longer and you’ll dislike. And getting rid of the ones you did like?”
“Yes.”
“Is he doing this, in your opinion, simply because he can, or because there’s another reason? Does he wish to make life as difficult as possible for you here so you’ll agree to sell this house?”
Another pause. Alex took a sip of his wine and looked at her thoughtfully. “Probably. The house is in our joint names and he has to have my agreement to sell. For all sorts of reasons, I don’t want to. Is that everything?”
Emilie glanced down at the list in front of her. She had written out another section—a brutal list that related very personally to her relationship with Sebastian. She was too disturbed by what she’d heard to even begin to tackle those questions. She nodded. “It is.”
“You do realize, don’t you, that if you were to put the same questions to my brother, you would get the polar-opposite answers?”
“Yes. But please remember, Alex, I have eyes and ears … and a brain too.”
“Poor Em,” Alex said suddenly, “dragged into a game of cat and mouse, not knowing who or what to believe.”
“Please don’t patronize me, Alex,” Emilie said irritably. “I’m simply trying to work out the facts. I already know that neither of you are quite what you seem.”
“That’s certainly the truth. I apologize if I sounded patronizing. I actually feel genuinely sorry for you. More wine?”
Emilie let him fill her glass and sat watching him silently. Eventually she said, “Why do you stay here? You tell me you have money. Surely it would be healthier and safer for the both of you if you agreed to sell the house and go your separate ways?”
“Yes, that’s the sensible answer, but it’s also leaving out emotion. My grandmother’s dearest wish was for us brothers to mend the rift between us. She thought—misguidedly—that bequeathing Blackmoor Hall to us jointly might do that. I’ve tried, really I have, but it’s impossible. And, to be honest, I’m slowly running out of steam. Sebastian will win eventually. I accept that.”
“Why does my husband want to sell it so badly? He tells me he loves this house and wants to earn the money to restore it.”
“Em, I can only go so far. And I really think that’s a question you’ll have to ask him. But, yes, I wanted to give my best shot at reconciliation because it was what my grandmother wanted. I let her down so terribly in my earlier life.” He sighed. “I adored Constance and I caused her so much worry and pain when I ran away and went down the slippery slope to oblivion.”
“She must have known why you left?”
“Possibly, but to be fair, Emilie, despite the fact that I have a brother who managed to sabotage me during my formative years, I can’t blame him for my subsequent decline into drugs. It was my choice completely. I wanted to blank out the pain of losing what could have been. I’d reached the point where I felt that nothing in my life would ever turn out right. That no matter what I achieved, however hard I worked, somehow it would all come to nothing and go wrong. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.” Emilie nodded.
“But through that process, I hurt my beloved grandmother, and I can never forgive myself for that. Staying here and reconciling with Seb made me feel I was at least doing something to make amends.”
“I understand.”
“Listen, Em,” said Alex after a pause, “I’m worried about you now. You must remember that just because my brother has a problem with me, it doesn’t mean that he can’t go on to forge successful relationships with other people. I’d hate to think that what has happened between us brothers in the past will prejudice your view of him. I’d like to think of Seb and you being happy together.”
“But how can you still care for him after all he’s done to you?”
“I’ve learned that growing up as second best, whether real or imagined, is a tough one. I understand now that’s how Seb felt. And maybe still feels. You, of all people, should understand that emotion.” He stared at her and she blushed.
“Yes, we all carry secrets and we all have flaws.”
“And strengths. Seb may not have my academic mind, but he’s amazingly streetwise. He’s lived on his wits for most of his life. Please, give him a chance, Em. Don’t give up just yet,” Alex begged.
“I won’t,” she promised.
“Now, how about some supper? I had a delivery from the farm shop earlier today. And perhaps you could also tell me what you learned about my grandmother’s past while you were in France?”
Over supper, Emilie related what she’d discovered from Jacques as accurately as she could.
“None of it surprises me,” Alex said when she’d finished. “Constance was such a wonderful woman, Em. I wish you could have met her.”
Emilie saw the love in his eyes. “There’s little I can say, except I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” Alex gave her a weak smile. “It’ll never stop hurting, but maybe that’s the way it should be. The shock of losing her certainly brought me up short. It’s made me a better person.”
Emilie saw it was after midnight. “I must go, Alex. I’m off to France tomorrow to hear the rest of the story, but I’ll see you when I get back. And thank you so much for being so honest and fair about Sebastian. Good night.” Bending down, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Night, Em.”
Alex watched her leave with a sigh. He felt he should tell her so much more, but he understood his hands were tied. It would be down to her to discover the truth of the man she had married. He could do no more.
• • •
Next door, Emilie climbed into bed feeling unsettled but relieved she knew the truth of the relationship between the brothers. Armed with the facts, she at least felt more capable of dealing with the situation. Her husband wasn’t a madman, merely an insecure little boy who had always harbored a deep jealousy of the younger brother who had bested him at everything.
Did this make him a bad person?
No, no …
Now she understood Sebastian, surely it was possible to help him get over his problems? He needed to feel loved, valued, and secure.
Unlike Frederik and Falk, surely one character did not have to be pure evil and the other good? Neither life nor people were usually so black-and-white.
Or—Emilie sighed as she switched off the light to prepare for sleep—was she making excuses for her husband’s behavior simply because she couldn’t bear the truth?
Which was that she had made a dreadful mistake … ?
• • •
When Emilie arrived at the château the following afternoon, the sight of its windows and doors boarded up and covered in scaffolding was almost too painful to bear. She spent two hours with the architect going through what they had achieved so far, then drove down to the cottage, where Jean sat as usual at his desk in the cave, completing paperwork.
“Emilie, it’s good to see you again.” He smiled as he stood up and kissed her.
“How’s your father?”
“He’s coming back to life as the spring begins to arrive. He’s resting at the moment, ready to continue his story tonight. He’s told me he wishes for you to know”—Jean sighed—“that it’s not a happy ending.”
After the past week of mental and emotional confusion, contrasted with the current joy of being back in the light and balmy air of the Provençal spring, Emilie was ready to deal with it. “Jean, this is my past, not my present or my future. I promise I can cope.”
He looked at her intently, pausing before he spoke. “My Emilie, you’re different somehow. I feel you’ve grown up. Forgive me for saying so.”
“No, Jean, I think you’re right.”
“People say that t
he death of the older generation means you truly become an adult. Maybe that’s the prize from the sadness of losing them.”
“Maybe.”
“And now, while my father rests, can we talk about the vineyard, Emilie? I want to explain my plan for expansion.”
Emilie did her best to concentrate on the facts and figures Jean put in front of her, but she didn’t feel qualified to have an input. She knew nothing about the wine business, and her inadequacy made her feel embarrassed that Jean had to come to her to ask for permission to expand it when she was not sure how to advise or help him.
“I trust you, Jean, I know you’ll do everything you can to make the cave more financially successful,” she said as he tidied his papers away.
“Thank you, Emilie, but of course I must talk through my ideas with you. You own the land and the business.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t.” The idea sprang out of nowhere. “Perhaps you should own it yourself.”
Jean looked at her in surprise. “Listen, shall we go and take a glass of rosé and talk further?”
They sat out on the terrace at the back of the cottage and discussed how Emilie’s idea could be made possible.
“Perhaps I could buy the business, but continue to rent the actual land, which would mean that anyone who came after me to the cave would never be able to separate it from the château,” suggested Jean. “I can’t offer much, because I’ll borrow from the bank and it will take some time to pay back the interest. But, in return, I could offer a percentage of any profit I make to you.”
“I think that in principle it all sounds sensible. I would have to ask Gerard what he thinks of the idea and also to check if there were any covenants put in place by past generations to prohibit it. But I’m sure that, even if there were, I could remove them, as I’m suddenly all-powerful.” She smiled.
“And it suits you,” said Jean, laughing.
“Maybe it does.” Emilie sipped her wine thoughtfully. “You know, when my mother first died, I was terrified of handling the estate and its complexities. My initial instinct was to sell. I’ve learned so much in the past year. Perhaps I’m more capable than I believed.” She checked herself. “Forgive me, I don’t want to sound arrogant.”
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