‘Christine Devine,’ she said with a deferential nod. ‘Call me Chrissy. Pleased to meet you.’
Miles watched his father quickly size up his wife.
‘Judging from the tan,’ said Robert, ‘I’d say you two met abroad.’
‘Thailand,’ replied Chrissy.
‘Wonderful,’ he replied with little enthusiasm. ‘And were you travelling too?’
‘Working.’
‘Really? Whereabouts?’
‘In Phuket. I worked in a hotel.’
Miles smiled inwardly, grateful for the lie.
‘Oh, which one?’ asked Robert. ‘I was in Patong last summer looking at resort sites.’
Chrissy answered without hesitation. ‘The Coral Cay, lovely place ...’
‘Miles! I don’t believe it!’ said an excited voice, breaking the interrogation. It was Connie Ashford, and Miles gratefully embraced his mother. Always a beautiful woman, she looked especially chic in a long midnight-blue silk gown which fell to the floor. Her blond hair was swept off her face in a chignon, her delicate features enhanced by soft sweeps of colour to her cheeks and eyelids. Her extreme beauty often made people think she was haughty, but when she smiled, which was often, her Grace Kelly froideur softened, giving her a warmth that her husband lacked.
‘Happy birthday, Mum,’ said Miles, kissing her cheek.
‘I couldn’t have asked for a better present.’ She smiled.
‘Mum, this is Chrissy,’ he said, quickly manoeuvring her away from his father.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Connie, shaking her hand.
‘Well, I’m glad we have both of you here,’ said Miles quickly; he wanted to get this over with. ‘We have some news.’
‘Tell me you’re staying for New Year?’ said Connie, looking from Miles to Chrissy expectantly.
Miles shook his head.
‘We’re married.’
There was a stunned pause as both parents blinked at him, not quite sure if they had heard him correctly.
‘Married?’ said Connie, nervously tucking a curl of hair behind her ear.‘My word . . . that certainly is news.’ Regaining her characteristic poise, she stepped forward and embraced her son and his new bride. ‘Congratulations to both of you,’ she said, her eyes glazing with tears. ‘I’m bowled over. But it’s wonderful. Isn’t it, Robert?’
‘You never stop surprising us, Miles,’ said Robert, his smile thin and tight. ‘I’ll give you that much.’
‘You know I like to keep things interesting, Dad,’ said Miles. ‘Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would I?’
Connie saw the challenge in Miles’ jutting chin and stepped in between the two men before it could escalate.
‘Well, I think we all need to celebrate, don’t you?’ she said, leading Miles and Chrissy into the crowded hall, chattering to cover the silence. ‘I think Robert is planning to make a little speech later, so we can announce it then.’
‘Tonight is your birthday celebration, Connie,’ said Robert haughtily. ‘I’m not sure we should be muddying the waters.’
‘No, I think Mr Ashford’s right,’ said Chrissy, glancing at Miles and looking very awkward. ‘We don’t want to steal your thunder.’
Connie was just beginning to object when Miles’ father interrupted.
‘Darling, John and Norma Major have just arrived, I think we should say hello. We can all talk about this later.’
Connie nodded, then took her son’s hand. ‘I’ll get Consuela to prepare your room. Tomorrow we can go to Le Manoir for dinner and make plans. Chrissy, we’ll have to do something girlie.’
‘Constance. Please,’ said Robert sharply, beckoning her over.
Miles watched them go, feeling angry but not entirely surprised. He had actually expected more of an explosion from his father, but then he had been caught on the back foot. Miles felt sure Robert would have more to say on this later.
‘They’re not happy, are they?’ said Chrissy, a note of sadness in her voice.
‘Don’t take it personally. They were never going to do cartwheels at the news. Secretly, I think my mother is delighted, although I’m sure she feels a bit cheated. She lives for planning: birthday parties, charity events, company outings; she loves to work out every detail. And considering my sister Grace went off and had a shotgun wedding in the South American sticks, she’s missed out on both of the big ones.’
Chrissy didn’t look convinced. She folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘Your dad hates me.’
‘No he doesn’t. He disapproves of my lifestyle choices. It’s not you, it’s me.’
‘Right then,’ she said, deliberately ignoring him.‘Just because your dad’s a grumpy old bugger, let’s not let it ruin the night. Come on, let’s get pissed and have sex in the hayloft.’
‘We don’t have a hayloft,’ said Miles, slightly affronted. ‘This is a Robert Adam manor house, one of England’s finest, actually, not some farm.’
Chrissy leant in close to Miles and gently bit his ear lobe. ‘Well maybe you’d better show me,’ she laughed in her sexy, smoky way. ‘Architecture turns me on.’
They took two bottles of champagne from the bar and Miles took Chrissy on an impromptu tour of the house: the library stuffed with rare first editions and eighteenth-century tapestries, the big kitchen with the giant bread oven, his old bedroom in the west wing, still decorated with sports cups and Airfix model aeroplanes. Her open amazement at the place charmed him. There was a quiet competitiveness between the rich which meant anyone of their level would not be able to bring themselves to compliment someone else’s house beyond asking who their decorator might be. Only Alex Doyle had been as wide-eyed at the grandeur of the Ashford family home as Chrissy.
‘Miles, this place is like a fairy-tale castle, only more beautiful. Is it as nice outside? Do you have one of those big maze things?’
Her eyes were slightly glassy from the champagne, but she was genuinely excited by Miles’ lifestyle; not in a ‘I’ve just hooked an eligible bachelor’ way; more that she was actually pleased to be here, as if she couldn’t believe her luck.
‘Do you really want to go outside?’ he asked. ‘It’ll be freezing out there.’
She giggled. ‘I’ll warm you up, don’t you worry.’
They returned to Miles’ bedroom, where they had sex and rolled a joint and sat giggling, semi-naked, on his old single bed.
An hour later there was a sharp rap on the door. Robert Ashford entered the room and Miles waved his hand in the air to diffuse the sweet smell of dope.
His dad’s eyes blazed. ‘So here’s where you are. It’s your mother’s birthday and she’s seen you for literally two minutes.’
‘Sorry,’ Miles said smirking.
Robert sniffed the air. ‘Are you high, Miles?’ he demanded, his voice quivering.
‘No,’ he lied. Chrissy giggled.
Robert glared at her. ‘I’d like a moment with my son if you don’t mind.’
She looked at Miles, who nodded.
The two men watched in silence as she put on her dress and carefully closed the door behind her. When she was gone, Robert drew himself up to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back.
‘How many times are we going to be in this situation, Miles?’ he asked.
‘I’m twenty-one, Father,’ he replied defiantly as he pulled on his jeans. ‘I don’t need you telling me how to live my life.’
‘Evidently you do.’
‘Dad, it’s just a joint ...’
‘I mean about you marrying this tart on some beach in Thailand. Did you think for one minute how it would affect the family?’
Miles narrowed his eyes. ‘She is not a tart,’ he hissed. ‘She is my wife!’
Robert chuckled, a cruel smile on his face. ‘I was being polite. Whore might be nearer the mark.’
‘Don’t you dare speak about her like that!’ yelled Miles. ‘You don’t know anything about her.’
‘I know she didn’t work at the Cora
l Cay hotel,’ said Robert in a superior tone. ‘I phoned them an hour ago and they had no record of her. Where did you meet her, Miles? A go-go bar? A sex show?’
Miles could feel every muscle in his body tense, a thudding headache building in his temples. He’d been here before, right on the edge of control, and he knew that if he let himself, he could walk across the room and tear his father apart. Not now, not this way, he said to himself. There were other ways to hurt a man like Robert Ashford, ways which would wound him far deeper than a punch ever could. You’ve just made yourself a dangerous enemy, Father, he thought. He took a long ragged breath, clearing his vision.
‘She was a dancer,’ he said finally.
Robert was looking at him as if he was some unpleasant worm he’d found crawling across his path.
‘Is she pregnant?’ he asked.
‘No,’ sighed Miles, suddenly weary of the whole charade.
‘Was this ceremony legal?’
‘Do you mean were we married by a witch doctor who blew smoke rings into the air when we said “I do”?’
‘Well was it?’
‘Yes, it was legal. We were married in Vegas.’
‘Damn,’ muttered Robert.
Miles barked out a harsh laugh. ‘You are a horrible snob,’ he said, shaking his head.
Robert laughed with an air of self-righteousness. ‘Speaks the boy who walked around Oxford for twelve months in a gown . . .’ He trailed off as Connie Ashford walked into the room.
‘What’s going on?’ she said irritably. ‘I’ve just found poor Chrissy crying on the stairs.’
Robert waved an angry hand through the air. ‘Poor Chrissy?’ he mocked. ‘She’s a gold-digger, an opportunist. She is a destructive influence and Lord knows Miles doesn’t need any help in that department.’
He glanced at his watch, as if this was all taking up too much of his precious time.
‘On Monday morning I am speaking to Peter Murray, family law expert at Farrar’s. Preferably this so-called marriage can be annulled rather than go through divorce proceedings. The last thing I want is to give her any money, but if that’s what it takes for her to clear off, I suppose we can arrange something.’
Miles looked at his father with cold hate. Chrissy made him feel like a man in bed and out of it; there was no way he was giving her up.
‘I am not divorcing Chrissy,’ he said evenly.
‘I’m not asking, Miles.’
‘And I’m not one of your business pawns you can manipulate and bully. I am a man now and you will treat me like one.’
Ignoring him, Robert ploughed on. ‘You bum around the world on hand-outs, then you come crawling back with a hooker for a wife and an STD no doubt.’
‘Robert, please,’ pleaded Connie.
‘Unless you get rid of that girl and sort yourself out, there is no future for you at Ash Corp.,’ said Robert. ‘And there will be no further money from our coffers. I mean it, Miles.’
The two men’s eyes locked.
‘Good,’ said Miles, his voice shaking. ‘I don’t need your pathetic little company.’
‘It’s my pathetic little company that has given you this house, your education—’
‘I don’t want any of it!’ screamed Miles. ‘Don’t you understand that? I don’t want anything you can give me, Father – nothing!’
Robert Ashford was already by the door. ‘You have until New Year to think about it,’ he said, and walked out of the room without turning back.
‘Miles, wait—’
Connie could see that her son was in a rage, out of control. There was no telling what he would do if he caught up with his father, so she stepped out, blocking the door.
‘Mum, don’t,’ Miles growled, his cheeks flushed, but Connie shook her head firmly.
Robert had never understood Miles or the anger, the violence he kept inside him, but Connie had known about it from the moment he was born, when he took one look at the world and let out a terrible scream. Miles had an energy, a dark urge she hadn’t felt with Grace – or anyone else for that matter. He had huge untapped talents, hidden depths that were capable of great things, she was sure of it, but neither of his parents and none of his teachers had been able to do anything about it. Connie realised that a line had been crossed tonight – and she also knew this might be her last chance to reach her son.
‘Miles, sit down,’ she said, closing the door.
‘I’ve got to go to Chrissy,’ insisted Miles.
‘Chrissy is fine, darling.’
‘But you heard what Dad said.’
‘Yes. And I think your father is wrong.’
Although Connie Ashford came from money – considerably more money than her husband if truth be told – she was not a snob. She did not judge Chrissy just because of her accent, the way she looked or how she made a living. She remembered only too well the way her own family had looked down their noses when she had first introduced them to Robert Ashford. Poor Robert had come from nothing and had clawed his way up – but not very far. He was destined for great things, but by then all he had was a five-bedroom guesthouse in Notting Hill and an estuary accent that hinted at his working-class roots. Over the course of their year-long courtship, Connie’s father, Sir Reginald King, had refused to acknowledge Robert, even when he was in the same room.
‘I’ve never told you this, but I had the same thing with my father.’
Miles frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘When I told him we wanted to get married, he threatened to cut me off from my inheritance. He called your father all sorts of names and said he was after my money. Your dad is only doing what he thinks is best. The problem with him is that he’s spent so long trying to be something he never was, he forgets where he came from. He doesn’t mean to do it, but he’s been acting in a role for so long, he doesn’t know how to stop.’
Connie examined her son carefully and wondered what it was about Chrissy that had bewitched him. It was true she wasn’t the sort of woman they had expected him to choose – in fact, they had rather expected that nice girl Sasha to tie him down – but then love wasn’t logical or easy to understand. The heart wants what it wants, that was the phrase, wasn’t it?
‘I do what Dad says now, I’m going to carry on doing what he wants for the rest of my life,’ said Miles more quietly.
Connie looked at him. Her baby was so grown up. It only seemed like two minutes since she was pushing him around Holland Park in his stroller. Her birthday today had only served to remind her how quickly time was passing.
‘Do you love her?’ she asked.
‘Chrissy? She’s my wife.’
‘I know that. I asked if you loved her.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Miles softly. ‘But this isn’t about her, it’s about me. You know that.’
His mother nodded slowly. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘My own thing.’
She smiled. That had always been his way. Miles was her complicated child. Charming, manipulative and in many ways brilliant, he had the raw tools to succeed at whatever he wanted to be. But he could be lazy, expectant, the polar opposite of Grace, who saw her family’s personal wealth as a reason to prove herself, not an excuse for coasting through life. Connie felt a stab of guilt. Had she failed as a mother? Why were they both so distant from her? Physically and emotionally, they had both ended up on the opposite side of the world. Now was the time to narrow the gap. She walked across to Miles and cupped his face.
‘You’re my son, Miles. You’re clever enough to succeed at anything. You can do whatever you want to do in life. But most of all I want you to be happy, so you take your girl and you go off and do whatever it is that makes you feel whole. I’ll always be there for you. No matter what.’
There were tears in Miles’ eyes when he looked up at her.‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said simply. Then he hugged her and stood up. ‘Now I think I’d better go and find Chrissy. We’ve got to look after each other now.’
I ho
pe it works out for you, my darling, Connie thought as she watched him go. It didn’t for me.
26
It was the biggest Christmas tree Grace had ever seen. Standing outside Palumbo Cathedral, the huge bushy ombu tree glistened and glittered in the warm night air, its branches and leaves tied with thousands of silver ribbons and streamers. For Grace, walking towards the cathedral for midnight mass carrying a lit candle, this Parador Christmas scene was strange and familiar at the same time. The small differences she noticed, such as the way people put nativity scenes on their front step, or how all the children wore white to symbolise ‘El Nino Dios’, the Child of God, made Christmas in Parador special, but also served to remind her how far from home she was.
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