“Would you like to share your theory?” Gram asked, sounding like she’d rather not hear it but curiosity was getting the better of her.
For her part, Belle didn’t want to know.
She didn’t want to think of James at all.
Pretty soon, she’d be living in his house and therefore likely having to think about him all the time.
Then she’d have their baby and she’d have to see him far more than she wanted to.
For the rest of her life.
Therefore, she would have preferred a brief respite from James Bennett.
And she always preferred a respite from her mother’s theories.
“I don’t want to share it, not yet. It isn’t fully formed,” Mom said and Belle sighed in relief.
Finally, something went her way.
“I still can’t help but like him,” Mom muttered stubbornly.
Well, not entirely her way.
“Can we stop talking about this?” Belle asked.
“Of course, Bellerina,” Gram stated inflexibly, her meaning clear to everyone in the car most, especially Mom.
Mom drove and they were all silent.
Then Mom’s hand came out and squeezed Belle’s knee.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Bellerina. I feel it in my bones,” she whispered.
Hearing these words from her mother on many occasions in her life, Belle knew that Rachel Abbot felt a lot in her bones. Her bones were very busy sensing intuitive communications other mere mortals could not interpret.
However, unlike much of what Rachel Abbot did and said, when her bones spoke, they were rarely wrong.
Belle didn’t know what to make of that.
But since it was her Mom’s bones speaking, for the first time in a long time, Belle felt a very tiny, nearly imperceptible but still there, smidgeon of hope.
Chapter Seven
Shredded
Olive
Olive Mayfair closed her office door on the private investigator and turned back to her cluttered desk.
It was after eight o’clock in the evening and even though she had two days before the deadline Jack gave her on the Abbot report, she wanted to get it done so she could get what she’d learned out of her mind and move on.
She could, of course, simply give him the files but that wasn’t Olive’s way of doing things.
Jack was a tremendously busy man, indeed, impossibly busy.
Therefore, even though she knew he would read every single page of the investigator’s file after he read Olive’s synopsis of its contents, she was still going to write her summary.
She sat at her desk and stared at the thick file with distaste.
Then she opened it to the first page, a copy of a divorce decree, which she flipped over and saw the first of many medical reports.
Olive turned to her computer and started typing.
Belle Abbot’s divorce from Calvin Cole had been granted under what amounted to irreconcilable differences.
Olive was not surprised Cole had divorced his very clumsy, accident prone wife.
Indeed, according to the reports that Olive carefully studied with growing disgust, Belle “slipped” in her kitchen twice, the bathroom four times, in the garden thankfully only once and she’d fallen down the stairs alarmingly often.
During these “accidents”, she’d suffered cuts, contusions, concussions, a sprained wrist and several broken ribs.
Olive thought, sarcastically, that it was abundantly clear that Belle was a danger to herself and Calvin Cole was well quit of her.
Surprisingly, Olive thought with cynicism, Belle Abbot had not visited a hospital even once before her marriage to Cole. In fact, she’d lived a carefree, accident free, hospital and doctor free, albeit active and far wandering life.
She’d even climbed to Machu Picchu with her mother when she was eighteen without managing, in her extreme clumsiness, to tumble down the narrow, treacherous mountain paths.
At a quarter to ten, Olive closed down her computer and walked the short distance from her office to Jack’s carrying the file with her report in, all of it in a large, sealed envelope marked “Urgent. Private and Confidential.” like it was a piece of putrid rubbish.
She had never met Belle Abbot but Olive liked her all the same. Firstly, she’d selflessly saved the lives of many children and their bus driver. Secondly, she’d not talked to the press about this act of heroism or the recent business with Jack and his brother at all.
Not one word.
Even when she was painted as a somewhat dim bulb manipulated at the hands of Bennett Brothers, she did not speak. Instead, she kept her silence and her considerable (to Olive’s way of thinking) dignity.
Therefore, it rankled even deeper than it would naturally do that Belle Abbot had endured a four year marriage to an abusive husband.
Olive set the report, front and centre, on Jack’s desk. He was spending more than his normal amount of time in Cornwall but Gillie would have the file couriered to him the next day.
Considering its contents, Olive would usually hand deliver it to him even in Cornwall.
However, in an uncustomary display of cowardice, Olive wanted to be nowhere near Jack Bennett when he read that report.
She left the report on his desk and flicked off the light, her mind resolutely moving to the very large glass of wine she would consume before going to bed.
* * * * *
Gillie and Deborah
Gillie Matthews saw the large file marked “Urgent. Private and Confidential.” that Olive put on Jack’s desk sometime in the night.
This was a common occurrence.
It was also common for Olive to put the most important papers front and centre on Jack’s desk, indicating they needed his immediate attention.
Therefore, Gillie, preparing a packet of things to be couriered to Jack at his office at The Point in Cornwall, set the file on the floor so she wouldn’t forget it. She started to rifle through his desk to add other papers that needed his attention but her phone rang.
She ran from the room to get the phone and it was Jack who spent ten minutes giving her a list of directives through which she took careful and copious notes.
While she was doing this, she was meticulously concentrating and thus missed Deborah from the administrative pool who wandered through the outer office and into Jack’s.
It was part of Deborah’s daily tasks to enter Jack’s office and see to any filing and various and sundry other things that were slightly less important than Gillie’s responsibilities.
As Jack always did, anything confidential that needed to be shredded he tossed on the floor by his desk.
Deborah found the file, not unusually stamped “Urgent. Private and Confidential.” She picked it up and took it to the shredder.
Without reading it (something which was not her place in any way, shape or form), she shredded every last document.
In the meantime, Gillie had spent a goodly amount of her morning seeing to the priority tasks Jack had assigned her.
By the time she re-entered his office to ready his packet for the courier, she’d forgotten all about the file she’d left on the floor.
* * * * *
Mickey
Mickey Dempsey watched the man walk out of the hospital with his wife.
She’d slipped and fallen down the stairs.
Mickey knew this because, even though he wasn’t a qualified doctor, he had a lab coat and more than a dozen different badges proclaiming his right to be in more than a dozen different places, including University College Hospital, London.
Therefore he’d snuck in and read her file.
Mickey looked at the woman whose eye was swollen shut and an ugly shade of purply-blue. She also had a cut on her lip. Furthermore, she was holding her body like it was made of glass.
Mickey had never known anyone who fell down the stairs but unless the woman had fallen down the stairs on her face, he could not imagine how she’d acquired those
injuries.
Mickey had known a number of people (including himself, on occasion), who had been in bust-ups at pubs and footie matches. He’d even seen himself in the mirror when a fist had hit his face more than once, looking exactly like the woman who walked out of the hospital.
He’d also seen his own mother looking like her.
Mickey turned his attention to the man with her.
He was lean, tall and handsome, with light brown hair and blue eyes.
His name, Mickey knew, was Calvin Cole.
He was once, Mickey knew, married to Belle Abbot, The Tiny Dynamo.
Mickey, who was a freelance investigative journalist putting together an article for whoever would buy it, knew Cole had abused his first wife rather viciously for four years.
Mickey, whose own mother suffered at the hands of Mickey’s father in much the same way, knew Cole would pay for what he did to the women in his life.
The public would eat him alive at the very thought of his lifting his hand to Belle “The Tiny Dynamo” Abbot.
Much less him doing it repeatedly for four years.
And no woman in her right mind would ever get near him again.
Mickey would make absolutely certain of that.
This thought made Mickey smile to himself as he started his car to follow them.
Chapter Eight
All an Act
Jack
Jack strode swiftly up the path to the stables where Rachel had told him Belle was with her grandmother.
It was fair to say Jack was not very happy.
Indeed, one could even say he was incensed.
Three weeks ago Belle had, as she’d agreed, arranged for Jack to attend an appointment with her at her obstetrician.
This was not what made him angry.
Her obstetrician was quite qualified (Jack had checked) and seemed confident, knowledgeable and self-assured.
She had also told Jack that Belle’s continuing morning sickness, weight loss, pallor and head pain were all quite natural.
Jack didn’t believe her.
Two weeks ago, Belle had travelled all the way up to London with his mother in order that she could accompany him to a second opinion appointment with an eminent obstetrician in Harley Street.
During the second opinion with the eminent Harley Street obstetrician, Jack was told the precise same thing.
Jack didn’t like it but he believed him.
This, as well, was not what made him angry.
One week ago, Belle, her mother and her grandmother had, as promised, moved into his home.
Upon her arrival, he was pleased both to note and be told by Rachel that Belle was feeling much better. The head pain was gone as was the morning sickness.
Jack saw with his own eyes that the colour had come back to her face. She’d even seemed to gain weight and was beginning to form a small baby bump.
However, since she’d moved in, even though she was living under the same roof as him, Jack had barely seen her. Furthermore, the two weeks prior, he’d found it difficult to contact her.
Although he owned and ran two large conglomerates that necessitated him having a personal assistant, a personal secretary and a four-person administrative pool at his command, Belle was busier than he.
If she was not at her shop in St. Ives, she was in the workshop above her shop in St. Ives.
If she was not in her shop or workshop, she was off having coffee or shopping with her mother, grandmother or his mother or a combination of the three or, indeed, the whole lot of them.
If she was not in her shop or workshop or with any of the women, she was out on a walk and over the past week, she took Baron and Gretl.
Belle, Jack noted, walked a good deal.
If she was not in her shop, workshop, with the women or walking with his dogs, he could often see her from countless windows in the house sitting on one of the rocks by the sea surrounding The Point. She did not read. She did not write. She did not sew. She just sat, staring out to sea like not only could it speak to her but it was explaining the meaning of life and she was serenely accepting this knowledge as if it was her due.
If she was not in any of those places, she was asleep.
Belle, Jack noted as well in the last three weeks, slept a good deal.
So much so, yesterday, he’d phoned Dr. Flanagan with no small concern and asked why on earth that was happening.
He was assured this was entirely natural.
Then he’d called the eminent obstetrician in Harley Street who also assured Jack this was entirely natural.
Pregnant women, apparently, slept.
Quite a bit.
Therefore, Jack’s goal of spending time with her while his child was developing in her womb was not coming to fruition.
This made Jack angry.
For he knew, without doubt, regardless of how much pregnant women slept, she was avoiding him on purpose.
That made Jack incensed.
And he would not allow it.
Not for another day.
Therefore, he and his dogs were walking to the stables to confront Belle.
Both of his dogs, incidentally, had defected to Belle without the least indication of the years of loyalty they’d offered Jack.
Jack had even caught Baron being shooed out of Belle’s room last night.
He’d been walking to his own room and seen her door open. She’d actually had to scoot the dog out with her hands on his rump, so resistant was Baron to her efforts to remove him from her room.
Then she’d caught sight of Jack, her cheeks went pink, she’d given him a barely there wave, called goodnight and closed her door before he’d had a chance to open his mouth.
Baron, for his part, had the grace to look ashamed.
If Jack had been in any other mood, he might find this amusing.
In his current mood, he did not.
He opened the door to the stables not caring that Lila was with Belle.
Although Rachel seemed to be friendly and gracious (albeit a bit strange) both to Jack’s mother and to Jack, Lila was not.
Lila obviously liked his Mum.
Lila just as obviously detested Jack.
And she made this abundantly clear any chance she got which, as she was living with him, was rather a lot.
Jack had over one hundred thousand employees and day-to-day (even hour-to-hour), he made decisions for the betterment of the business that angered many of them. Some of them he angered enough that they wrote Jack very scathing letters or sent equally scathing e-mails. Usually this was right before they resigned, if not, it was before they were sacked.
However, he didn’t have to live with any of them.
At that moment, he would happily take on Lila Cavendish. He didn’t care if she was going to be great-grandmother to his child.
He didn’t have to wait for this opportunity, though it would not come to fruition.
As he entered the stables, Lila was climbing down the ladder to the loft wearing jeans and a chambray shirt, both of them old, worn and covered in paint.
A quick glance around showed Belle was nowhere to be found.
“She’s in the loft,” Lila said quietly and Jack’s eyes went to her and then to the seemingly empty loft.
Lila’s announcement that Belle was in the loft surprised him. When he’d taken her up there, she’d acted frightened as a rabbit.
“She’s sleeping,” Lila went on and Jack’s gaze went back to her. “I’m glad you’re here,” she further surprised Jack by announcing. “I have to go to the house to call New York. I didn’t want to leave her up there because when she wakes she’ll go nuts and won’t be able to get down without me with her. It was an actual miracle I got her to go up there in the first place. But I have to make this call. Now, you can hang out and help her down if she wakes before I return.” She gave Jack a look that he couldn’t read and finished, “I’ll probably be a while.”
With that and without another word or inviting J
ack to say one, she walked by Jack and his dogs and left the stables, quietly closing the door behind her.
Jack looked back to the loft.
Then he went to the ladder and climbed up.
Once there he saw Belle was sleeping on her side on a pile of old blankets. She had one hand under her cheek, the other arm curved around her face, palm up and resting by her forehead. Her legs were curled into her stomach and her face was soft in sleep. Some of her hair was spread on the blankets but mostly it was bunched against her neck and falling in her face.
He had, he realised, never seen her sleep.
She looked about twelve years old.
With some ease, he quelled the desire to bend and pull her hair away from her face and neck.
The desire to settle in behind her and draw her sleeping body into his took much more effort to subdue.
Nevertheless, he did it.
To take his mind off Belle, he looked to the sliding doors.
They’d been opened, an easel set in front of them, a large working canvas on the easel, a small wooden table next to it covered in a mess of tubes and brushes.
Lila was painting the view he’d shown Belle.
Likely Belle had shown Lila the view to paint.
This made Jack contradictorily pleased and annoyed.
He decided to go with annoyed.
He walked to the canvas and studied it, unable to suppress his fascination at seeing a Cavendish landscape in its early phases.
Lila had a tremendous following, many museum pieces, her work was coveted by galleries worldwide and she’d been written about in a variety of art books. She’d been deemed a living, contemporary master.
Many would pay for the opportunity he had at that very moment to see her art in process and it was not lost on Jack that this was one of those rare gifts life let fall in your lap.
“James?” He heard Belle’s honeyed, drowsy voice call his name and he had to stifle unwelcome desire at the sound of her drowsy voice just as he clenched his teeth in order not to correct her.
He despised it when she called him James. It was his name and there were people who called him that therefore he knew it was an irrational reaction.
He also could care less.
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