by Sasha Morgan
Tobias was in his drawing room with Zac at his feet. The dog’s ears pricked up when he heard Megan enter the room. ‘Ah, there you are.’ She was wearing dungarees and carrying a paint brush, which made Tobias smile, reminding him of his pot-bellied workmen. Megan caught his expression and laughed. ‘I know I don’t look very glamorous, but they’re so comfy.’
Getting up from the sofa, he went and put his arms round her. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, smiling, ‘but I’m not sure you ought to be painting in your condition,’ he gently warned.
‘Don’t fuss. I’m fine. Come and see what I’ve been doing.’ Megan led him into the future nursery and Tobias stood back and admired his wife’s handiwork. She had painted a mural on the far wall containing every children’s character imaginable. There was a forest with Hansel and Gretel’s gingerbread house, together with Red Riding Hood walking through the trees, followed by a wolf, the Pied Piper played his flute with children dancing around him, Jack and Jill were tumbling down a hill in the distance, whilst Humpty Dumpty sat on a stone wall. Rapunzel’s plait dangled from a tower, whilst a frog floating on a water lily waited patiently to be kissed into a charming prince. It was enchanting and Tobias was bowled over by Megan’s talent.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘Megan, it’s absolutely fantastic.’ His eyes took in all the detail. He shook his head in amazement. ‘How do you do it?’ he asked in awe.
‘I just let my imagination run riot,’ she laughed.
‘Come here, you.’ He hugged her warmly. Nothing and nobody would ruin this precious time in their lives, he’d make damn sure of it.
38
Well, this wasn’t one for the claustrophobic, mused Sebastian, as his body, laid flat on a trolley and head strapped into a moulded hard pillow, was slowly manoeuvred into the narrow tunnel of the MRI machine. Trying to relax and, most importantly, keep still, Sebastian projected his mind to happier times – standing ovations, thundering applauses, after show celebrations – then his mind moved warmly to Jamie’s face, full of compassion and care. Those smoky-grey eyes had willed him to disclose all and to totally offload the mountainous worries that had gradually built up over time. He had sat and listened, never interrupted, but instead let him finish. After Sebastian had completely shared just about everything that was on his mind, Jamie finally spoke.
‘If you need any form of support, I’d be happy to help. Let me drive you to the hospital. Don’t be on your own.’ Sebastian was touched and the relief Jamie’s kind words gave was huge.
‘Thank you, Jamie,’ he had replied, and truly meant it.
Now, here he was, getting his brain scanned, while Jamie was sitting patiently in the waiting room. It was to be a full day at the hospital, making Sebastian even more grateful for Jamie’s company. After the brain scan in the morning, a lumbar puncture was to be performed late in the afternoon. This was the more daunting for Sebastian, especially after having read all the leaflets about the procedure. Willing himself to have courage, he had signed all the necessary paperwork first thing on arrival, before giving himself any chance to change his mind. It was for his own good, he kept telling himself, blocking out the side effects and possible consequences, which the doctors had had to explain. It threatened to be a frightening experience, and one that he had dreaded facing alone. Thankfully he didn’t have to any more.
Sebastian closed his eyes and tried to ignore the noise and vibrations of the machinery as it clicked and scanned inside his skull. What would it find? He gulped away the fear and concentrated once more on positive thoughts.
Outside, in the waiting room, Jamie flicked through the Filmmaker magazine. One day his wishes would be fulfilled and he’d be as successful as Marcus Devlin. Jamie was tenacious, he had drive, and was resolute in his ambition to climb up the career ladder to reach the same dizzying heights of those he had admired: Sebastian, for one. Who would have thought that just a few, short months ago, whilst he had so eagerly admired his performance at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, he’d be here, giving him moral support in a hospital? For all Sebastian’s fame, confidence and joviality, he was, deep down, the same as him: somebody who needed somebody. Jamie appreciated Sebastian’s honesty, and the way he had trusted him with very private matters. It was a privilege to listen to his innermost fears and be there for him. Sebastian would have his absolute discretion, something he didn’t think Sebastian had enjoyed with other friends or lovers. Right now, all Jamie wanted to do was comfort Sebastian, to take away all his troubles and anxieties, if he’d let him.
After what seemed an age, the noise stopped. Sebastian was able to speak to the nurses standing behind a glass screen. ‘Is that it?’
‘Almost, Sebastian. We’re just going to move you further inside to scan your neck now. You’re doing really well,’ they encouraged.
Moments later Sebastian felt another vibration and his body edged further down the tunnel. Then the noise started again.
At last it was over. He had a few hours’ reprieve before the lumbar puncture. Sebastian walked back into the waiting area to see Jamie there, face etched with concern.
‘How did it go?’ he asked as Sebastian took a seat next to him.
‘Fine, all I had to do was keep still. It’s this afternoon I’m worried about.’
‘You’ll be OK, I promise.’ Jamie laid his hand over Sebastian’s.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Jamie.’ Sebastian looked into his eyes. ‘I don’t think I could do this alone.’
‘Well, you’re not alone,’ replied Jamie firmly.
*
‘Sebastian, we need you to lie on the bed and curl up your legs to your chin as high as possible. This will spread open your spine, making it easier to insert the needle between the discs.’
As the doctor had explained, she was to give him two injections in his back. The first to numb the surface area, then a second to allow a deeper anaesthetic, enabling the long, thin needle to pass right into his spine and extract brain fluid.
This time Jamie was allowed to sit next to the bed. He held Sebastian’s hand, as the first injection entered his back. After a few minutes the second anaesthetic was inserted. Sebastian flinched slightly and gripped Jamie’s hand tightly. ‘Now, Sebastian, I’m going to gently place the lumbar puncture needle into your spine. The fluid may flow out, or it could come drip by drip, so bear with us.’ Luckily the fluid was collected into test tubes pretty quickly. All the time Jamie’s hand clasped Sebastian’s. Within twenty minutes it was all over.
‘Do you want to look?’ asked the doctor.
‘Yes.’ Sebastian turned his head to see two test tubes of what looked like water.
‘It’s nice and clear, not cloudy, which is a good sign,’ remarked the doctor.
‘Thanks,’ replied Sebastian rather lamely. It had been a long day and he wanted to go home.
Knowing the results would be imminent, Sebastian wanted to take time out and reflect before facing the onslaught of what his life had in store for him. As Jamie drove them back to Treweham, he suddenly didn’t want to just say goodbye to him at The Templar.
‘Jamie, let’s go for something to eat, somewhere quiet, just the two of us.’
Jamie turned and smiled. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ He patted Sebastian’s knee and once more Sebastian was filled with an unfamiliar warm reassurance.
39
Phoenix took off at pace over the fence and landed perfectly with ease and balance. Flora patted his neck. ‘Good boy,’ she gushed, swallowing the cold, frosty air. Her gut feeling had been proved well and truly right. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind: Phoenix was a jump racehorse, not a flat racer, as he’d been previously trained. After he’d seen how the horse could hurdle the fences Flora had set up in the paddock, there was no hesitation in Dylan’s mind either. In fact, all the yard staff couldn’t help but be impressed by Phoenix and how naturally he had adapted to flying through the air with effortless strength and poise. They were all t
hrilled with him, and Flora was ecstatic.
Dylan, however, was dreading the impending visit from the horse’s owner, Graham Roper. The fact that Flora had been so right about Phoenix had left him with a terrible dilemma. Phoenix had real talent, but not the kind Roper was after. As far as Roper was concerned, his horse couldn’t win a flat race to save itself. However, if he discovered Phoenix’s enormous potential as a jump racer, would he decide to take him elsewhere? And how would Flora cope without Phoenix? Christ, he couldn’t bear the thought of Flora’s reaction. He’d never seen her connect so well with a horse; the two worked together flawlessly. The problem was really playing on his mind. What he really needed was time – time to put Roper off and give himself a chance to think of a solution – but Dylan didn’t have that luxury. As he saw Roper’s car in the distance through his office window, driving down the track, he quickly ran to the paddock and warned Flora to put Phoenix in his stable, well out of the way.
Slamming his car door shut, Graham Roper marched towards the office. Dylan caught up with him, after returning from the paddock.
‘Hello, Graham.’
Roper turned abruptly, ‘Well, any news?’
Once again Dylan resisted the urge to punch the arrogant swine’s bloated face. ‘This way.’ He guided him into his office. Dylan certainly didn’t want any of the staff to overhear this conversation. Dylan took a deep breath as Roper stared into him, obviously expecting results. ‘It’s not good news, Graham. Phoenix is never going to win a flat race,’ he told him directly.
‘What?’ Roper spat. ‘You mean I’ve wasted a shed-load of money on that fucking animal for nothing?’
Dylan winced; the compulsion to hit this bastard suddenly increased. ‘He’s not going to perform the way you want.’
‘Well, I’ve gathered that!’ Roper’s face was flushed in anger. He sat down on the chair next to Dylan’s desk and stared into space. Dylan moved to sit opposite him. He opened the desk drawer to get the necessary paperwork. Then hesitated. He looked at Roper who was sitting still, speechless.
‘I suppose…’
Roper’s face shot up sharply, ‘What?’
‘If you don’t want to spend any more money on the horse—’
‘Too fucking right,’ he snorted, then searched Dylan’s face for an answer to his mounting problem.
‘Well,’ sighed Dylan, desperate to sound convincing, ‘I could try and find a buyer, someone to take him off your hands.’
Roper gave a harsh laugh. ‘Like who? Who in their right mind would want that?’
Dylan paused, then shrugged for effect. ‘I’ll put the feelers out, see if there’s any interest.’
Roper looked beaten. His tone suddenly lacked anger, or any emotion at all. He shook his head in defeat. ‘You do that, Dylan.’ He got up from the chair and looked out of the office window. ‘Which stable is he in?’
Dylan had to think on his feet. The last thing he needed right now was for Roper to see what good shape his horse was in. ‘Er… Flora’s just taken him out for some exercise. She’ll be a while yet.’ Then he quickly added, ‘You can leave him here until I find a buyer.’ Roper turned and looked quizzically at him. ‘It’ll save time if someone’s interested in him, to come straight here,’ Dylan added.
‘Whatever,’ Roper replied, totally lacking any interest by this point. ‘Just get rid of it quick, Delany,’ he threw over his shoulder, as a parting shot before slamming the door behind him.
Dylan watched him rev up his car and speed off, churning up a trail of dirt behind him. Dylan sat back in his chair and expelled a sigh of relief. With his hands behind his dark curls, he narrowed his eyes and thought long and hard. To be fair, he hadn’t actually lied to Roper, had he? He’d just been economical with the truth. He’d told him that Phoenix would never win a flat race, and he wouldn’t. The fact that he could jump like a dream and was more suited to soft ground he had kept to himself – and with good reason. Roper was no horse lover. He merely saw them as a means to make money. His whole attitude repulsed Dylan. He had no guilty conscience whatsoever, knowing he had acted in Phoenix’s best interest, not to mention Flora’s, whom he would protect at all costs.
His feelings for her grew stronger by the day and he simply couldn’t imagine life without her. This was alien to Dylan, who had, up until now, woven his way in and out of relationships, refusing any form of commitment. Now the tables had turned. He did want Flora, more than anything, but was she ready to commit? After all, she was only twenty. Her twenty-first birthday was in two weeks’ time, just before Christmas. He so wanted to make it special for her, especially as her parents were still away on their travels round Europe in a campervan, and her brother had decided to stay with his friends over the holidays. A party, that’s what he’d do, throw a fabulous twenty-first birthday party for her. She deserved to be made a fuss of, after all she’d done. Flora had single-handedly kept the show on the road when he’d been recovering from his fall. His idea gathered momentum. He pictured a marquee dressed with a winter wonderland theme, guests laughing over mulled wine, glowing candles, tables decorated with holly and ivy, a small band playing festive music, maybe a hog roast… His thought were interrupted by the phone. ‘Delany’s Racing Yard.’
‘It’s me. Is the coast clear?’ hissed Flora, making Dylan smile to himself.
‘Yes. He’s gone.’
‘Good.’ There was a pause. Knowing her stomach would be in knots, Dylan spoke.
‘Phoenix is staying, for the moment.’
‘Oh, thank God for that!’ His heart melted. Now all he needed to do was stump up the money and try to buy a top-class horse from under the owner’s nose.
40
Tobias was getting tetchy. It was always the same in early December. Treweham Hall was thrown into total chaos, as his mother insisted on the traditional festive decoration of the Hall. This was no mean feat, and resembled a military operation, rather than a family preparing for Christmas. A fir tree of gigantic proportions was always ordered and delivered from Norway. Getting the huge tree securely in place in the hallway was a mammoth task, as was climbing the ladder and balancing from the staircase and landing to decorate it. Megan was strictly forbidden to go anywhere near it, not even to lift a bauble. Poor Henry had been given the onerous task of placing the angel right at the top and, given his lack of head for heights, he was hardly the ideal candidate. Aunt Celia had landed on them again, much to Sebastian’s despair. Beatrice was on full alert, ordering the whole household about.
In the end, Tobias had quietly slipped away and headed for The Templar. He had unfinished business with a certain person to be found there. The television crew only had a few more days in Treweham, according to Megan. Finula had told her that Marcus and his team would be leaving shortly, after filming the village’s yuletide preparations, and after that, they’d be gone. Tobias strode into the village with purpose, the report he’d got from David Lombard tucked neatly inside his woollen coat. On entering The Templar he was greeted by Dermot.
‘Hello there, Tobias, what can I get you?’
‘Just an orange juice, please, Dermot.’ He waited for Dermot to pass him his drink before taking a sip, then asked, ‘Where can I find Viola Kemp?’
Dermot looked a little surprised. ‘I’ve not long served her lunch. She’ll be at the far end of the dining room.’
‘Thanks.’ Tobias nodded and went in search of her.
What did he want with Viola? Wondered Dermot.
Viola had just finished her meal and was sipping a tonic water whilst going through her notes. The interviews she had conducted were labelled and in chronological order. All her research was neatly stored and easily accessible. The contact details of every person contributing to the documentary had been stored, in case they needed to be approached again. She was just finishing when a shadow fell across her laptop. Looking up, she saw Tobias glaring down at her. Well, well, well, what could he want? Second thoughts, perhaps? Hardly surprising, judging by
the size of his wife. He must be gagging for it by now. Viola sensed triumph, and a warm glow rose through her.
‘I’d like a word, in private.’ Tobias sounded firm and in control. But then, he would, wouldn’t he? Somebody like Tobias wasn’t likely to come contrite, full of regret and remorse. That would be so unlike the aristocratic playboy he was at heart. Viola smiled smugly: how the mighty crumble.
‘So where would you like to go, in private?’ She arched an eyebrow.
‘Your room.’ That way no one would overhear him.
Hell, he really was desperate for her. Basking in her victory, Viola shut her laptop. ‘This way,’ she said, the conceited laughter in her voice evident.
Tobias was thankful that nobody saw them as he followed her up the stairs. She had composure, he’d give her that, with her straight back and shoulders, head held high. It would be interesting to see if she still had the same composure once he’d finished what he had to say.
Closing the door behind him, he reached for the envelope inside his coat.
Frowning, Viola asked, ‘What’s that?’
‘I decided to do a little research myself,’ he replied, staring her in the face. Did he detect a slight flicker of apprehension? ‘And it uncovered some things that were most interesting.’
She stood and watched in silence. This wasn’t going at all to plan.
‘It appears you’ve led quite an… eventful life, haven’t you, Viola? Or should I say, Vera?’
She gulped, her eyes growing wide like saucers.
Tobias continued, ‘That’s quite a list you’ve racked up: drink driving, shoplifting, stalking. I take it your employers are unaware of your past? But how would it look if it was all resurrected, just like you threatened to resurrect my past?’ Viola’s eyes darted to the brown envelope in Tobias’ hand and she swallowed again. ‘Especially with a suspended sentence hanging over you,’ he finished with force.