by Rose Amberly
George refused to believe it.
There had to be an explanation.
He was a lawyer; he relied on proper evidence.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and the pictures and sounds opened up in his head like pop-up ads on a website.
Millie insisting they walk home separately.
Millie breaking their kiss, looking behind her nervously in case someone saw her with him. I couldn’t bear it for your father to find out…
And in his father’s study the morning after their night at Blue Sage Bay, Millie sitting next to his father, holding hands. Less than twelve hours after their night in the cottage. And his father warning him. Stay away from her.
Millie laughing when he offered to stay if she asked him. Don’t risk your career for me.
She’d asked how long he was going away for, about his plans, and he’d given her no commitment. Had she decided there and then to drop him for his father?
Another memory. Millie not meeting his eyes at the ferry as she pulled away and didn’t let him hug her. Promise me you’ll reconcile with your father, for me. He’s not a bad man.
Did she mean to prepare him for this?
George opened his eyes.
He didn’t believe it.
Millie wasn’t like that.
Then one last recollection hit him between the eyes. Beatrice. The woman he’d been sure wasn’t like that. Easy-going, relaxed Beatrice, who’d been hiding her true self all that time. I’ll take you back. She’d been playing the long game, hoping to catch him eventually.
He’d been a fool. He didn’t have a clue about women.
Unlike his father, who could get every woman he wanted. Don’t challenge me, boy. I can defeat you.
The papers stared up at him. Blue Sage Bay and all structures therein.
He put the papers back on the table. And then he saw it a few inches away on the table. The slim, long velvet box he had taken out of his pocket was still where he had put it. Unable to stop himself, he pressed the catch, and the lid sprang open.
Millie’s birthday present.
The specialist diamond cutter in Antwerp had created a thing of wonder. An Art Deco pendant. The marquise-cut blue-white three-carat diamond winked and sparkled, beautiful like liquid fire.
It was the first in a set of three diamond gifts. Earrings would follow on Christmas day and, if all went well by Valentines, a ring. He’d already picked the stone.
He was going to throw up.
All structures in Blue Sage Bay were his mother’s cottage, left to her by her father, that she might escape from Richard Du Montfort. The selfish man who took whatever he wanted.
The front door burst open as Mrs B and the rest of the staff walked in. Millie pushing his father in the wheelchair, followed.
Everyone grinned like it was the best party of the universe. Nurse Ann and Joanie carried in the empty Champagne bottle and glasses.
Millie, in her white dress, still looked like a bride. She saw him and stopped. Pleasure on her face gave way to surprise, then to worry. Guilt?
* * *
One hour earlier.
“Choose something extra special to wear.” Joanie insisted on getting dressed up.
“Why?” Millie asked for the fifth time.
“Why not?” Joanie shrugged in that infuriating French way of hers.
“Joanie?” Millie tried to put a stern warning in her voice.
“Boeph. You ask too many questions.” She selected one of Millie’s new purchases. “Yes, this one.”
It was a very pretty white dress with lavender flowers embroidered into the hem. Millie had bought it with George in mind. “I was saving it for a special occasion.” Millie argued.
“This is a special occasion; I’m resigning. I want you to come with me when I tell the old man.”
“Okay, but we don’t really need a nice dress.”
“Yes, we do. If you look nice, he won’t shout. He likes you.”
Millie put the dress on and followed Joanie out of the house. As they rounded the corner, she saw Du Montfort in his wheelchair by the water-lily pool. Liam was standing next to him. Mrs B, Ann, and the rest of the staff came over from the other side.
“Joanie? What’s going on?” Millie asked as they reached the lily pool.
Liam, looking excited, offered his hand, but Du Montfort ignored it. Instead he grasped the arm of his chair and levered himself up into a standing position. Millie gasped, and she wasn’t the only one.
The old man looked proud and emotional. He waved away Liam’s arm for support. “Millie, lend me your shoulder.”
He held up his weaker left arm, and Millie stood in position as he placed his arm heavily over her shoulders.
He stood tall and looked down on her like a dignified uncle. Then he cleared his throat and everyone fell silent. “We have some announcements.” He looked around, commanding attention.
“Our chef, Joanie, has taken a new job in Jersey at the Adelphi Hotel. She leaves us in two weeks, and we should all wish her the very best of luck.”
Everyone cheered, and Joanie promised to send them special discounts for a stay at the posh hotel.
Mrs B uncorked the Champagne and poured glasses for everyone, but Du Montfort held up his hand to stop them drinking.
“But this isn’t the only staff change.” He paused for effect, and Millie’s heart fell. No, please don’t let anyone else leave. Then he’ll hate me if I join the exodus.
“Our lovely Millie.” He beamed down at her. “Will no longer be my assistant.”
Millie’s mouth fell open.
“She’s been with us for five months. That’s plenty.” He leaned towards her, and she moved her head closer as he spoke into her ear. “Because you can’t be my PA and my daughter-in-law at the same time.”
Millie’s heart hammered in her chest, and blood rushed into her face.
“I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve tamed that son of mine.”
She looked at him, trying to understand.
He winked. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” he leaned closer, so only she could hear. “You think me blind? Or stupid?”
“No, it’s just—”
“Just nothing. My son’s been trying to recruit a new assistant for me. I found out from his office he’s been to Antwerp,” Du Montfort said. “There’s only one reason to go the diamond capital of the world.” He beamed at her, his eyes shining. “I’m sorry to spoil his surprise, but I’m thrilled. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.” He kissed her cheek.
Millie wanted to giggle.
“I’ve another gift for you. It’s inside.”
Her heart was overflowing. “Thank you, there’s no need.”
“There is every need. I’m a selfish old man. I want you to stay here and to persuade my son to stay here, too. So I’m giving you something to keep you here.”
Straightening up, he raised his voice for everyone else to hear. “In her time here, she has become a beloved member of this household, and she will always be beloved, even if she no longer opens my post and puts up with my moods.”
Everyone cheered.
Du Montfort held up his glass with a flourish. “Everyone, let us drink to a new beginning.”
“I don’t know what to say, I… I…” Millie looked around. No one looked surprised. And Joanie’s eyes were full of mischief. So Joanie was in cahoots with the old man!
“Go on. You’re fired!” he said, and everyone laughed.
“This is such a surprise.” Millie felt tears in her eyes as everyone raised their glasses and drank.
As they walked back into the house, Millie was having a debilitating case of butterflies, then she saw George, and her heart exploded with joy. So this was the surprise?
He was sitting on th
e stairs. Millie pushed Du Montfort’s wheelchair in. Joanie winked as she and the rest of the staff went to the kitchen.
George stood, but something wasn’t right. He looked sick; he looked like the world had ended.
The laughter died on her lips.
He walked towards her slowly. His face was white as a sheet, but his eyes were dark like thunder.
George saw her the look on her face, that same pretty face, slightly puzzled, slightly innocent, slightly trusting. That same smile that had fooled him. Lucky she wasn’t a man, or he’d have punched that smile right off her face. Forever. He’d always prided himself on treating women with respect, on being a great judge of character, on, on, on—He’d prided himself on a lot of things. But his pride had curdled and congealed into something rotten and foul that was making his stomach heave. His father had won. Again. And she had helped, the woman for whom he’d abandoned his rules and lowered his defences.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, the words thick and ugly. He concentrated on not throwing up.
“Oh, um…” Millie smiled uncertainly. She looked towards his father, but George didn’t follow her gaze. He didn’t know what he might do if he looked at his father’s smug face.
“So, you have succeeded where others failed. Marrying a Du Montfort. Quite a leap from your rusty little Nissan Micra, isn’t it?”
Millie paled. She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. She had talked so much, so well; her words had spun a web around him. Why was she silent now?
“You thought you had me wrapped around your little finger, pulled the wool over my eyes while you plotted and schemed.”
He wanted her to explain herself, to give him something.
She looked at his father, once more, and George’s control snapped right down the middle.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he roared. His own voice sounded alien in his own ears.
People were coming out of the kitchen. Voices trying to talk to him. But he wasn’t listening. He only wanted answers from one person.
Millie turned and walked towards the stairs.
“Oh no, you don’t.” He glared at her retreating back. “I haven’t finished with you yet. You lying, cheating, manipulative—”
She ran up the stairs, and he moved to follow. Someone was holding his arm; he turned and saw Nurse Ann. He snatched his arms away, and the nurse fell backwards. He took the stairs three at a time. Millie was ahead of him. She ran into her room and slammed the door shut and locked it.
George hammered on the door. “Open the door.”
Nothing. She was ignoring him.
“Open, or I’ll break the door down. Open it.”
Millie had locked her door without even thinking about it, then walked through her bedroom into her private sitting room and through the connecting door to one of the guest rooms. She took the side corridor that went all the way to the end of the west wing.
Dimly she heard George shouting and banging somewhere far behind.
Once before, she had stood in shock and let a man she trusted and loved shout hurtful words at her. Once before she’d taken the accusation and tried to defend herself.
Once before she’d waited and tried to understand why
The ‘why’ didn’t matter right now.
Something inside her, some protective instinct, had kicked in.
Because when Henry had come here and berated her, she’d discovered it was possible to walk away from abuse. She didn’t need to stand and take it.
But this time there was no one to come to her defence, to speak French and make her laugh.
Millie reached the stairs at the end of the west wing and went up and up and up until there were no more stairs.
She stumbled through the heavy iron door onto the roof and stood there for a minute, catching her breath.
Then the trembling got too much; her teeth started chattering.
It’s just shock. Like that time on the street in London. She was very cold, but there was no stranger to place a warm coat over her and hold her.
Her legs wouldn’t work anymore, and she fell to her knees, her arms folded over her stomach.
She kept her mind on little things, counting the stone tiles on the floor of the roof. One, two, three, four, five, six…
Why? Why? Why?
Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two.
Was he coming after her?
Fifty-five. Fifty-six.
Did that really happen?
Did she imagine it?
One hundred and forty-nine. There were no more stones. Her eyes reached the edge, and she looked through the stone balustrade to the green lawns far below. George was walking across the grass, away from the house. Evans had the cart on the gravel drive; George jumped on and the cart made a wide circle and headed out of the gardens. The afternoon sun glinted on his hair. They followed the winding paths between the fields, getting farther and farther; George getting smaller and smaller.
Millie watched until he disappeared from view.
Then she let herself cry. Tears dripped from her face and soaked into the stones on the roof.
A part of her brain heard voices in the gardens, and farther afield, calling her name. It all felt so far away, another universe.
It was nearly dark when Ann finally found her and helped her walk downstairs.
Autumn
NINETEEN
Two weeks later. London
It still did not make sense. It just didn’t compute, and whichever way George looked at it, he couldn’t understand it.
He should stop thinking. After all, it was his best thinking that had got him into this mess.
“There’s another call,” his senior PA told him as soon as he entered the large outer office. His morning meeting with the Scottish minister had gone on too long, but George welcomed the distraction. It was when he had nothing to do that ugly thoughts crowded into his head. Vicky wasn’t helping.
“It’s from Rob Matthews.”
Which part of “no personal calls” don’t you understand?
Her finger on the hold button, she asked, “What do you want me to tell him?”
To go to hell. “I’ll email him in a minute.”
Vicky passed the message and put down the phone. George walked past her towards his own office.
“Um.” She cleared her throat and peeled several yellow Post-it notes from her desk diary. “There were five more calls from Lord Du Montfort, he said it was urgent—”
“Vicky?” George waited for her to meet his eyes. “This is your third verbal warning. You are very close to losing your job.” He stared at her until she scrunched up the yellow notes and dropped them into the waste bin. Then he went on to his office and closed the glass door behind him. He knew he’d frightened her, and he’d have to apologise later, but for now, it took every shred of self-control not to put his fist through one of the glass walls.
He sat behind his large desk and switched on his computer. In that thirty seconds of emptiness, the unstoppable thought pushed in: if only and what if.
If only he’d called and spoken to her. If only he’d given her a number to reach him, he’d have known what she was thinking.
What if he’d not left her wondering where things stood between them, not left her unsure when she might see him again, not left her vulnerable to his father’s advances?
But he’d needed distance and time to examine his own feelings, to think. And to make sure he was thinking with his brain instead of another part of his body. He couldn’t see straight when she was near him. And hearing her voice on the phone, her honey-sweet laugh, did things to him.
He wasn’t good with uncalculated risks. And things with Millie had snowballed out of control. He’d needed time to get his hands back on the tiller. To take charge of
his life—and hers, if she was going to be with him. So he had avoided the phone. Had restricted himself to two text messages a week and had made sure to send them through his iCloud account so she couldn’t text back.
He’d needed time.
Three weeks wasn’t long, surely. Not nearly long enough for a woman to change her mind.
It didn’t make sense. Not unless—not unless she’d been lying from the start. Even that night when she’d taken his hand and placed it on her face—
George kicked the floor, sending his chair rolling back till it hit the wall.
Don’t think about that night.
Don’t think.
If only people didn’t keep trying to reach him. George pulled his keyboard closer and typed an email.
Rob,
You and my father between you have all the authority to handle all island matters. Do not contact me. I am making this absolutely categorical. I do not want to receive any letters, emails, phone calls or contact by any other medium.
The only time you may reach me, and I mean the only, is in the event of my father’s death.
* * *
Ten days later. La Canette.
“Over my dead body,” Du Montfort snapped with his infamous granite stubbornness.
“I must.” Millie tried to hold her voice steady.
For nearly a month, everyone had been very gentle with her. Ann in particular had turned into her personal guardian angel and went out on long walks with her every day.
Millie recognized that she was still in shock. Denial. She went through the motions, dressed, ate, said good morning and good night to people, and did her work. But she felt nothing; it was all on the outside. Every day, Ann took her walking through the fields, their feet crunching on dry yellow and brown leaves. Ann spoke only about the farms, the approaching autumn and the need to buy a good pair of Wellington boots if Millie wanted to keep walking when the weather turned. Millie let the words fade into the background.
She wasn’t going to be here when the weather turned. It was time to move on.