Chapter 7
A knock sounded at the front door at eleven in the morning, sharp. Keira opened it and smiled warmly. “Richard! What a nice surprise. How are you? Didn’t my mother say that your nephew—Michael, isn’t it—would fetch me?”
“Good morning Miss Keira, top of the morning to ye!” he greeted her with a cheery Irish brogue. “Och, Miss Keira, that laddie still has a lot to learn—a lot to learn. Been teaching him the ins and outs of it, been trying to get it done before I retire. But I cunna pass up the chance to come and collect my favourite lass.” He winked at Keira.
“Ain’t this pretty Sunday just the best for a family ‘do’?” the old man rambled on as they left the building and he led Keira to the black Bentley waiting at the curb.
They were soon heading north-east on the A12 towards her family’s estate near Colchester, as Richard filled Keira in on the Wilde Family news. She laughed at his comic description of her mother’s hysterics over the trampling of her croquet lawn by the party planners and smiled with affection when she heard that her father had locked himself in his study to get away from the chaos.
Richard and his wife, Mary, lived in a cottage on the estate and had been working for the Wilde Family since Keira was a young girl. Keira used to spend many hours in Mary’s warm kitchen with their fat ginger cat on her lap, listening to Mary telling stories of Ireland while the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked bread and rich stews filled the room. Richard and Mary didn’t have children, and Keira never asked why. It was a natural progression that their cottage became her second home.
Keira’s mother believed that little girls should play inside, with dolls and doll houses and tiny little tea sets, not outside in germs and mud where wild animals lurked. And Mary had always been a willing accomplice in hiding her from the unending stream of nannies who were appointed to raise her into a lady.
It was Mary who taught her the old names for the woods folk, never dreaming that Keira would go out and call the foxes, squirrels, and deer to her and greet them by their proper names. And it was Richard who dried her tears when he delivered her back at St. Catherine’s after a school holiday, encouraging her to ‘keep yer chin up, that’s a good lass!’
Richard’s cheerful chatter didn’t fool Keira one bit as she caught his concerned looks in the rear-view mirror. She gave him her best reassuring smile.
*****
Keira took a deep, steadying breath as they drew up to the tall, black wrought-iron gates that marked the entrance to her parents’ estate.
Get a grip, she thought. You’re not a stuttering little girl anymore.
She massaged her temples with her fingertips. “Are you all right, lass?” Richard asked and looked back at her.
“Yes, thanks. Just a bit of a headache.”
“Och, too many late nights, then?” he winked at her.
“Something like that,” Keira smiled.
Richard punched a code onto the number pad of a small security box. They waited for the gates to slowly swing open and then the Bentley was crunching its way up the long gravel drive. They drove underneath age old beech trees and past wooden rail-fences which enclosed acres of verdant green pasture. In the distance, the pasture gave way to meadows filled with purple lavender and, even further, the woods beckoned.
Those woods, with their cool glades, were a refuge to Keira as a child. She remembered the many blissful hours she spent there, roaming as free as the wind, her constant companion.
It was there, in those secret, shadowy hideaways, that Keira had so many adventures; where she learned the whispered language of the trees and the soft bubbling laughter of the stream. Where she first spoke to Nagwa, who taught her so much and made her feel less alone.
Her parents had dismissed her childish babbles to the birds and pets around the house as ‘baby talk’ so it was only after Keira had started at boarding school at the age of six, that she realised how different from the other little girls she truly was.
She remembered coming home for Easter Holiday, after that disastrous term at boarding school. She had run to the woods as soon as she could escape from the house, frantic to find Nagwa. She hadn’t seen him since she had sent him home from school, begging him to go away so that he would be safe.
She had sobbed with relief when she found him waiting and spent hours reassuring herself that he was all right. That event had taught her that people always judge what they cannot explain, and that it was safer to be silent about what she could do.
“Here we are lass!” Richard said, bringing her back to the present as he stopped the car next to the ornamental white-marble fountain in front of the house.
“Thank you, Richard. Please tell Mary I’ll come and say hallo as soon as I can get away.”
“Not to worry, not to worry,” Richard smiled. “She’ll be busy in the kitchen the whole day, running around and making sure everything’s perfect. You take care of family business first, then come over for a cuppa when things have calmed down.”
“I will. See you later!” she stepped out onto the gravel and waved as Richard pulled away to park the car in the converted mews, out of sight behind a green hedgerow.
She took a moment to take in the sight of her familial home and breathe in the fresh country air. Keira’s father was a third-generation Wilde who lived in the imposing, double-storey manse. Weathered red bricks and tall chimney stacks rising from the steep, clay-tiled roof, gave the building an air of understated elegance. Tall bay windows overlooked the gardens and glittered in the morning sun.
Keira walked slowly up the wide flagstone steps to the front door. She had last seen her parents a couple of weeks ago at St. Catherine’s Graduation Day. Her mother wasn’t impressed with the fact that she didn’t immediately come home and would no doubt bring this fact up several times during the hours ahead, along with all of Keira’s other characteristics she felt didn’t measure up to the family name. Included on that list of shortcomings was the fact that she had refused to have a debutante’s ball. It was not going to be fun.
As desperately as Keira wanted to miss the whole day, she couldn’t. Not only was it her parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary, it was also her mother’s sixtieth birthday.
The door opened before she could knock and an unfamiliar maid stepped out to welcome Keira.
Mother probably fired the last one again, she thought, moving into the cool, white hall.
Huge flower arrangements flaunted their beauty and scent everywhere. The chandelier sparkled and the curving oak Tudor staircase gleamed in the light that poured through the windows. The house held few happy memories for Keira, but she could still appreciate its elegance. Her mother’s impeccable taste was evident from the interior décor, being stylish without being pretentious.
An arched doorway to her right led to the formal sitting room, channelling the sound of people talking and her mother’s high girlish laugh towards Keira.
“Okay, here we go.” She squared her shoulders and walked into the sitting room.
“Keira! Darling!” Cylvia Wilde gushed. She held her arms open as she walked to Keira. Her white silk blouse and classic charcoal trousers provided the perfect look for her slender figure. A double row of Tahitian black pearls glowed lustrously at her neck. Mother and daughter shared the same fine bone structure, but where Keira was a natural brunette, Cylvia was all high-lighted blonde.
Keira hugged her mother and was careful, as always, not to disturb her coiffed hair or smudge her makeup. Cylvia looked Keira up and down with an eagle’s eye and nodded with approval.
“Turquoise suits you, Keira. Is that a new dress?”
“Thanks, Mother. My friend, Sammy, made it for me.”
“Really—” Cylvia raised an eyebrow and Keira hastily continued before her mother could say anything. “Happy birthday, and happy anniversary.” Cylvia took the carefully wrapped gift from Keira and put it on a nearby table without a glance at it.
There goes a day of needless shopping, Keira thou
ght.
“Thank you, darling. But tell me, how are you? I have just told your father, it takes a momentous occasion to get you to come and visit us. Doesn’t it?” Cylvia said as she turned around and addressed the question to her husband.
Steven ambled closer and smiled at his daughter. He hooked his forefinger into the collar of his buttoned-up, bow-tied shirt and tried to pull it looser around his Adam’s apple.
“Hallo, Princess,” he rumbled.
Keira tried not to cringe at his endearment and gave him a quick hug. She could smell the familiar Old Spice aftershave he still used. She was surprised that her mother had wangled her father into a suit; even to the office he would only wear his soft, tweed coats. She sometimes thought he looked more like a college professor than one of London’s top architects.
“Never mind, Cylvia. Our girl deserves some time off after twelve years of school,” he rumbled.
“Hmm,” Cylvia said with arched eyebrows. “As long as that time off is spent productively.”
Keira’s father drew her further into the room with his arm hooked through hers. “Come say hallo to Victoria. She’s made it very clear she hasn’t seen you in months.”
“Now Steven, don’t monopolise her. We still have to discuss college!” Cylvia called after her husband’s retreating back.
“Yes, dear,” he winked at Keira. “Don’t worry about that now, Princess. Today is for family. We’ll talk about it later.”
Smiling together like two conspirators, they walked to the other side of the room and joined a circle standing by the marble fireplace. On the chaise lounge, more regal than any queen in Europe, sat Aunt Victoria. Keira couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her beloved aunt. She was holding court, as usual, and directed the minions around her to fetch and carry champagne and canapés. She sat with a ramrod straight back, her silver-grey hair immaculately done in a chignon, her face expertly made up, and wearing a classic, powder-blue Chanel suit.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter returned to the fold,” Aunt Victoria said sternly, her twinkling eyes belying the tone of her voice. Keira bent down and gave her a hug. “Come, sit,” Victoria demanded and patted the seat next to her.
The older woman dismissed her admirers with a regal wave. When they were alone, she took Keira’s hand in her own. “So, what is this I hear about college?”
Keira cleared her throat. She didn’t know what Aunt Victoria would think of her desire to travel the world, and she didn’t want to get into a long discussion about it right now.
“Well?” Victoria asked.
“I don’t want to go,” Keira blurted out, then held her breath, waiting for the fall-out to come. Her aunt sat patiently, waiting for her to continue.
“I mean, it’s not as if I’m never gonna go, it’s just not the right time. I want to travel—see the world. Maybe take some photos and write some articles along the way.”
Victoria gave a small smile. “You have some adventurer’s blood in you, my dear.”
“Yeah, well—a big, fat lot of good that’s doing me right now. Being an adventurer is not exactly encouraged in this family. It’s all about going to college, getting that job—”
Victoria patted Keira’s knee. “Let’s talk about this a bit later, my dear. You might be surprised at the opportunities available to you and the things which are expected of young people in this family.”
Ignoring Keira’s questioning look, Victoria changed the subject. “No young man on the horizon, then? You know, when I was your age,” and she rattled on into the long speech that Keira knew so well.
Aunt Vic (as only a few favourite family members were allowed to call her) inherited a sizeable fortune from her first husband when he died tragically young. She never remarried, invested shrewdly, and today she was fabulously wealthy and didn’t let anyone forget it. Which was, no doubt, why so many of the younger cousins grouped around her, taking her orders with patient smiles, hoping to inherit from the old lady who never had children of her own. They might have a long wait; she looked more energetic than all of them put together.
While listening with one ear, Keira took the opportunity to look around the room. She noticed relatives she hadn’t seen in years and there were many new faces, probably the partners of cousins who had gotten married. But she couldn’t be sure. She had missed so many family weddings and christenings while she was away at boarding school, she had no idea who belonged with whom. A few small children played tag among the grown-ups’ legs and more people arrived all the time.
Outside, a magnificent white marquee waited in the back garden and soft music drifted from it, in through the open windows.
“Ah, here you are. What kept you?” Aunt Vic’s sharp question focused Keira’s distracted thoughts. Her breath disappeared as she looked up into the same blue eyes she’d seen yesterday in the street in front of Harrods.
“My apologies, matters needed my attention,” Marco smiled and bent over Victoria’s hand to kiss it.
“Well then, Keira, let me introduce you to Marco Santana. He is visiting from Argentina. We have certain business interests in common.”
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Marco said as he next bent over Keira’s hand, brushing his lips over her skin.
“How—what are you doing here?” she asked, shocked at the unexpectedness of seeing him again. It took a few moments for her to realise that he was still holding on to her hand and she pulled it away with an embarrassed frown.
“Victoria invited me,” he said.
“You know that is not what I mean! Yesterday—”
“I was shopping for a present for your mother, bumped into you, and now here I am,” he answered patiently. “How is your knee?”
“Your knee? What about your knee?” Victoria interrupted.
“It is fine, just a scrape,” Keira tried to reassure her Aunt.
“Hmph,” the old lady muttered and gave Marco a sharp glance. “Didn’t bother to dress for the occasion, I see,” she said. His white, buttoned shirt and blue jeans stood in stark contrast to the sea of suits and ties surrounding them.
He merely laughed and pulled Keira up by the hand he had recaptured. He offered his other arm to Victoria and replied, “I hear the orchestra has started. May I escort you to your table?”
Keira had no choice but to walk with her aunt and the man who seemed so annoyingly sure of himself. With a determined smile, she tried to ignore the warmth of his arm under her hand, as well as the insistent little voice whispering in the back of her mind that this was too much of a coincidence.
Under the marquee, round tables were laid out with crystal and silver. White porcelain plates gleamed on cream lace table cloths and white flowers flowed from glass vases. Fairy lights hung from the roof and covered the scene in a warm glow. In a far corner, a small orchestra sat on a dais, softly playing classical music.
Marco pulled a chair out for Victoria, then for Keira, and took his place between the two women. Soon, all the guests were seated and the speeches started. Keira listened absent-mindedly, smiled at all the right places, raised her glass in a toast, and clapped with the others when she had to.
The headache that had been threatening since early that morning, finally announced its presence with savage pleasure. All the clamour of people laughing and clinking champagne glasses merged into a loud, unidentifiable buzz which throbbed through Keira’s head.
As soon as she could politely excuse herself, she got up from the table and walked quickly back to the house. She ran up the wide staircase to the second floor, stumbled into her mother’s room and rummaged through the dresser’s drawers, looking for aspirin or anything that would help dull the headache. She found a couple of pills and swallowed them dry.
Keira closed her eyes and held her hand over her forehead. She stood like that for a few moments, waiting for the pain to fade away.
“Are you okay?” The voice behind her made Keira jump. She twisted around, stumbled and fell into Mar
co’s arms for the second time in twenty-four hours. He grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her against his body to steady her.
“What are you doing here!” She had to tilt her head back to look up at him.
“You seemed ill when you left the table; I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said. His eyes caressed her face in a way that belied his clipped tone, making Keira’s cheeks burn. She freed herself from his touch and stepped back.
“I’m fine. You can go back to the party.”
“Really?” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. Here was a man not used to being dismissed. He took a step closer to her.
“Keira, darling, are you in here?” Cylvia called from the staircase, interrupting whatever he was going to say.
“Oh damn, my mother!” Keira whispered, desperately looking around for a place to hide.
“In here, quick!” He took her arm and pulled her towards a walk-in closet. He pushed her inside and shut the door behind them. The narrow room overflowed with Cylvia’s designer outfits. Ball gowns, fur coats, and suits were crammed into every space.
On the other side of the door, Cylvia was talking to herself. “I was sure I heard voices up here,” she murmured. “Hmm, where did I put that face powder.”
Keira stood frozen, listening to her mother rummaging through drawers. She stood with her back against a rail full of dresses; Marco still had his hand on her arm.
She wanted to hiss at him to move away, but didn’t dare make a sound with her mother standing outside the door. She had to be satisfied with crossing her arms and scowling silently.
He slowly bent forward and whispered in her ear, “Am I annoying you?”
His warm breath caused delicious tingles to run up and down her spine. She bit on her lip and tried very hard to blank him out.
Guardians of the Akasha Page 4
