by Jill Mansell
“OK.” Seth exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded and gave Dawn a little wave of acknowledgment before turning and heading back up the beach in the direction of Menhenick House.
It had so nearly happened. Nearly, but not quite. Oh well, maybe tomorrow…
Chapter 33
On Tuesday morning, leaving the car in the hotel parking lot until he was able to drive again, Wyatt and Penny caught the train that would get him back to London. Penny gave him a huge hug before getting off at Bristol. “Good luck. Let me know how it goes.”
His parents, Betsy and Charles, had moved over from New York five years ago in order for his father to overhaul the London branch of the family investment bank. Now that Charles had finally taken retirement at his wife’s insistence, they split their time between Holland Park and the dazzling twelfth-floor duplex apartment overlooking Central Park. Every time Wyatt arrived at either building, he found that Betsy, whose passion was interior design, had meticulously planned and overseen the redecoration of yet another room.
By the time he reached the house, the butterflies were really beginning to kick in. But there couldn’t be any backing out; it had to be done—face-to-face and before they had a chance to hear the news by any other means.
He hauled himself awkwardly out of the taxi and made his way up the white stone steps to the glossy black front door.
“Oh, honey, whatever’s happened to you? What have you done this time?”
More than you think, thought Wyatt as he kissed his mother on the cheek. “It’s nothing, just a little break, same part of the ankle as before. I slipped on a path leading down to the beach.” As he said it, he remembered being helped up by Kit, to whom he owed so much. It was thanks to Kit that he’d said those all-important words for the first time, and now all he had to do was keep on saying them until everyone knew.
In the vast ivory-and-silver kitchen with its marble central island as large as a billiards table, his father was filling in the Telegraph crossword while watching rolling CNN news on one iPad and an international golf tournament on another. “Does this mean you’re off work for a bit?” He raised an eyebrow at the surgical boot.
“It’s fine, Dad. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.”
His mother poured him a coffee. “So how was the wedding? And how did you and Penny get on?”
“The wedding was great. We had the best time.”
“That sounds promising! Do you think there’s a chance of you getting back together?”
He saw the hope in her eyes. “There’s no chance of that, none at all. We’re—”
“Oh, but, honey, you don’t know that for sure! Give her a bit more time and she might change her mind.”
“She isn’t going to. And neither am I.” Here we go. “Mom, Dad, the reason I’ve come to see you today is because there’s something I need to tell you.”
His mother laughed. “Oh, how funny. That’s what Charlene’s son Ricky said when he came home from Bali and told her he was gay!”
Wyatt’s father muted CNN. For a couple of seconds, absolute silence reigned in the kitchen, until the British commentator on the second iPad exclaimed, “Oh, I say, whoops-a-daisy, straight into the bunker on the seventeenth hole! That’s not ideal, is it?”
Wyatt took a breath. “Well, there’s a coincidence…”
“Yes, but Ricky said it because he was gay.” Baffled, his mother shook her head. “You aren’t gay!”
“Actually—”
“You asked Penny to marry you. It’s not your fault she said no.”
“Mom, the thing is—”
“It’s such a shame. That beautiful chateau would have been the perfect setting for the wedding…” Her voice trailed away and she gazed at him, searching his face for clues, just as she always had when he’d gotten his exam results from school. In a quieter voice, she said hesitantly, “Are you gay? Is that what you’re here to tell us?” Another thought belatedly struck her. “Or are you ill?”
Wyatt said, “Which would you prefer?”
His mother closed her eyes, then opened them again. “I’d rather you were gay.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” He managed a half smile. “Your wish has been granted.”
A stunned silence was eventually broken by Betsy’s strangled sob, a sound that wrenched at Wyatt’s heart. Her face was pale, the flats of her hands pressed to her sternum. “I’m sorry, just give me a minute…” she said jerkily before turning and exiting the kitchen in a rush.
They heard her feet hurrying up the stairs, and Wyatt felt sick. After a couple more seconds, his father murmured, “I’d better go and check on her,” and disappeared too.
“Oh dear,” chuckled the golf commentator, “and now he’s landed in the water. That didn’t go according to plan!”
* * *
They were gone for ten minutes, and it felt more like ten hours. Wyatt already knew from scouring the internet that you could never predict how parents would react to the news. He had to be prepared for them to cast him out of their lives, to refuse to see or speak to him again. Anxiety was rising up inside him. He’d never had a panic attack, but this could be the beginning of one. He filled a glass with ice water from the fridge, then nearly dropped it on the marble-tiled floor as the kitchen door opened once more.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” his mother blurted out, her eyes red-rimmed and her arms outstretched. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I just knew I was going to cry and didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. You’re my baby boy and I love you so much… We both do, don’t we, Charles? So long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” She was hugging him now, fiercely. “I’m worried that life isn’t always going to be easy for you. But we can deal with that, one day at a time.”
There were more tears after that, on both sides, an outpouring of confusion and acceptance, and love and relief. Even Wyatt’s father, who categorically wasn’t the crying kind, wiped his eyes at one point and embraced his son and tried to pretend he wasn’t still half listening to the progress of the golf tournament.
“It wasn’t a shock, honey,” his mother said for the sixth time. “It was just a surprise, that’s all.”
“Mom, it’s OK,” he reassured her yet again. “You’re allowed to be surprised. It’s a pretty big thing to get used to.”
“All we want is for you to be happy. Don’t we, Charles?”
His father nodded and said gruffly, “Of course we do. The boy knows that.”
As he was leaving, Wyatt’s mother stroked his face. “Take care now, baby. We love you so much. Are you going to be all right?”
Who knew what the future held? But wasn’t that the case for everyone, regardless of whether they were gay, straight, or anything else at all? Wyatt felt as if his heart might burst with love for his parents, who only wanted the best for him.
“Yes, Mom. You don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine.”
Chapter 34
Majella had left work early on Tuesday afternoon to get her hair done, which meant Seth was alone in the office on the top floor of Menhenick House when the landline began to ring. As he reached along the desk to answer it, he glanced out of the window at Lainey, down in the garden, chasing after Ernie with a hose. Which meant Ernie had been rolling in fox poo again but was also thoroughly enjoying this game of making it as difficult as possible for Lainey to wash it off.
“Hello, Faulkner Travel.”
“Seth? Is that you?”
“It is.” He didn’t immediately recognize the voice.
“Hi, darling, it’s Shelley, your mum’s friend. How are you, all good? Now listen, what’s Christina done with her phone? I’ve been calling her all morning, but I can’t get through.”
“Who knows?” said Seth. “It’s either run out of battery, or she forgot she w
as holding it when she jumped into a swimming pool.” His mother treated phones like disposable razors and went through them at a rate of knots. “Probably easier to send her a text or an email.”
“Oh, darling, my new nails are too long. I can’t be bothered with all that malarkey. Anyway, I’m having my neck done this afternoon—I just wanted to update Christina with a bit of news before I forget. Could you be an angel and pass on the message?”
Wrinkle-free necks, nails too long to text…what a life some people led. Outside the window, Lainey let out a shriek of laughter as Ernie doubled back and cannoned into her legs, resulting in her losing her grip on the hose and showering herself with cold water. Seth picked up a pen. “Of course. Fire away.”
“OK, well, it’s about Matteo. He’s someone we knew years ago. I already told Christina he was pretty ill…”
Matteo. The pen remained in midair above the notepad. “She mentioned him to me.”
“That’s it, Matteo with the hair, went around dressed like a rock star. Anyway, I spoke to his sister this morning and she told me why he’d become so reclusive. Poor thing, it’s so sad. I’d assumed he was dying of a brain tumor or some such, but it’s actually a dreadful disease, one of those ones that destroys your brain, slowly eats it away… Digestive? No, that’s not the word… Oh, what is it?”
“Degenerative,” said Seth.
“That’s the one! And he’s been in a terrible state for years, getting worse and worse, which is why he never married or had children, because it’s one of those diseases that can be hereditary and his father died of the same thing. Isn’t that just awful? Horrendous! And now he’s so ill he’s looked after by a team of nurses and can’t do anything for himself, not even say his own name, so do warn Christina not to try to call him for a catch-up. God, though, isn’t it just tragic? All these years he’s been disintegrating and we never knew… Ooh, they’re telling me the anesthetist’s on his way. Let’s hope he’s got loads of lovely drugs to give me. Gotta love a sedative! Now, tell Christina that she won’t be able to call me for the next ten days, because I’m going to be recuperating on Jerry’s yacht and he’s refusing to let me take my phone because apparently I spend all my time on it, like I’m an addict or something!”
“OK,” said Seth when she stopped prattling on.
“Oh bugger, and now one of my extensions has just fallen out. How bloody infuriating. I only had them redone last night!”
“Did his sister mention the name of the disease Matteo has?” Seth didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know before Shelley hung up.
“She did,” said Shelley. “Oh, hello, Doctor. Could you be an angel and pick that extension up for me? No, not the extension plug. That strip of hair on the floor…”
* * *
The call had ended several minutes ago, but Seth still hadn’t moved. Shelley had told him the name of the disease, and in that split second, the world had tilted on its axis. It felt as if the sun had gone in, except it hadn’t. Down in the garden, both dogs were now darting back and forth, gleefully running rings around Lainey.
He exhaled, mouth dry. Lainey, the girl who’d inveigled her way into his heart, who he’d finally decided was the one for him, the girl he’d realized last night he could no longer resist.
And now this had happened, something potentially so life-altering that his brain was still struggling to take it in. Of course, Shelley had no idea of the significance of what she’d told him; to her, it was irrelevant, no more than a mildly interesting snippet of information about someone she’d known for a short period of time over three decades ago.
Seth turned away from the window, aware of the growing sense of fear in his chest. It was all very well having zero interest in ever meeting the man who could be his biological father, but this was an altogether different situation. He might share this man’s—this stranger’s—genetic mutation. This was the kind of dilemma no one wanted to find themselves in. He wished he didn’t know, but it was too late. And there was no way of unknowing.
Right now, he was aware of being in a state of shock. He also felt as if he was never going to be able to think about anything else again. He felt sick. He felt numb and cold and alone. Above all, he wished he didn’t know, in agonizing detail, just what this illness did to those in its grasp.
But he did, because he’d seen it for himself, growing up in Chelsea. He and Christina had lived at 32 Billingham Road, and next door to them at number 34 had been Mr. Kay and his wife. Mrs. Kay had asked Seth to call them Auntie Helen and Uncle Rob, though it had always been an effort to do so. She was thin and sad and anxious, understandably so, and her husband was a wheelchair-bound shell of a man in the final stages of a neurodegenerative disease, frail and unpredictable.
A nurse lived with them, helping to take care of Mr. Kay, and Mrs. Kay was always inviting the neighbors over for tea. When this happened, Christina invariably said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can’t make it, but Seth would love to come over!” And then, when he did, poor Mrs. Kay—Auntie Helen—would get out the photo albums and show him endless photos of Uncle Rob before the illness had taken its toll…surfing in Portugal, climbing in the Alps, playing tennis and visibly enjoying every moment of his life. Unlike the current Uncle Rob, whose speech was unintelligible and who no longer appeared to recognize his own wife.
“I can’t go over there,” Christina had explained to Seth. “It’s just too awful. That poor woman, I don’t know how she can bear it.”
Then Uncle Rob had died and his mother had said, “I’m amazed Helen’s so upset. You’d think she’d be relieved it was all over.”
In many ways, Seth had always been aware that his mother’s thoughts and actions were self-serving and questionable. But the fact remained that he was her son and she loved him, and the news that he could be at risk of ending up like Uncle Rob would be devastating for her to hear. Being able to confide in her wouldn’t be a comfort; it would just make an unbearable situation worse.
Gathering himself, he picked up his phone and called Shelley back, briefly explaining the Uncle Rob situation and concluding, “You know what Mum’s like; it would really upset her to hear that Matteo has the same illness our neighbor had. So it’d be kinder not to mention it, is that OK? There’s no reason for her to know.”
“Of course, darling. Yes, you’re quite right. I love Christina to bits but she’s definitely a drama queen, isn’t she? Let’s not upset her. I won’t breathe a word.”
“Thanks.”
“Ooh, the porter’s just arrived to take me down to the operating room! Hello, you’re a handsome lad, aren’t you? Seth, you should see him. He looks like a young George Clooney!”
“Off you go,” said Seth.
“Time to go and get myself a new neck! Bye, darling,” Shelley trilled. “Wish me luck!”
Chapter 35
The day had finally arrived. It was Thursday lunchtime and Richard had been counting down the hours. He’d offered to meet Nerys off the train, but she’d turned him down flat.
“Oh, no, not in public.” The idea was clearly horrifying. “People might see us.”
As if the prospect of being spotted in his company was too embarrassing for words.
So instead he’d suggested the back room of the least popular café on the outskirts of St. Carys, because on a sunny summer’s day, it would definitely be empty, on account of its grumpy owner, stale cakes, and lurid wallpaper covered in giant purple poppies.
“You don’t know for sure it’ll be empty.” Nerys was clearly still concerned.
“Bring a notebook and pen,” Richard told her. “You can pretend to be a journalist interviewing me.”
He’d been half joking, but Nerys had exclaimed with relief, “Good plan.”
And now here she was, coming through the café to meet him for the first time, checking the back room from the doorway before allowing a shy smile to l
ight up her face as she moved toward him. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, and she was indeed carrying a notebook in one hand and a black Sharpie in the other. She was wearing a pale-gray cardigan over a gray-and-cream polka-dot cotton dress.
“Oh, I can’t believe this is happening,” she said in her soft Welsh accent. She hesitated a few feet away. “I don’t quite know what to do… It’s a bit strange, what with you being so famous. Shall we shake hands?” She was already transferring the Sharpie from her right hand to her left.
“No.” Richard shook his head and held out his arms. “No we will not. Come here.”
The hug lasted a long time, and it was just as well the back room of the café was otherwise empty.
Finally, he let her go. “That perfume you’re wearing.” It had knocked him sideways.
“Shalimar.”
“That’s it, by Guerlain. I bought it for Sandy…she used to wear it all the time.”
Nerys’s smile widened. “She did? I didn’t know that. She bought me a bottle for my twenty-first birthday and I fell in love with it. I’ve worn it ever since. Well, not every day, obviously.” Because perfume was expensive. “But, you know, on special occasions.”
Richard gazed down at his daughter, who so strongly resembled Sandy. “Does that mean this is a special occasion?”
“I think it probably counts as one.” Nerys hastily wiped her eyes and shook her head apologetically. “I still can’t believe it. If only Mum could have been here to see this.”
* * *
Two hours later, there were three plates of curling sandwiches and six untouched cups of tea in front of them, and the owner of the least popular café in St. Carys was waiting to close up.
“You haven’t eaten a thing.” She glowered at them.
“Sorry, I was busy interviewing Sir Richard,” said Nerys.
“Hmph. Well, you don’t seem to have written much down.”
Nerys tapped her temple. “Don’t worry. It’s all up here in my head.”
