by Sasha Morgan
Tobias lay in bed gazing at his wife deep in slumber. He wanted her to have as much sleep as possible, knowing the full day ahead they faced. He deliberately postponed the Christmas morning Mass celebrated in the Hall’s chapel, allowing Megan a long lie-in. The service was an intimate affair for family and any members of staff from the Hall and estate who were able to join them. He lay back and enjoyed the peace and quiet. The Hall was still silently waiting to spring into life once its occupants rose.
*
At The Templar, however, Christmas was already under way, raring to go. Marcus had quietly snuck into Finula’s bedroom early in the morning to wish her a merry Christmas. He had woken her with a kiss and, bleary eyed, she smiled lazily.
‘Merry Christmas, Finula,’ he whispered, holding out his present to her.
‘Oh, thanks, Marcus.’ She sat up in bed and hastily unwrapped the square-shaped parcel. It was a drawing, capturing a charming, quaint village, surrounded by emerald-green hills.
‘It’s Kilsalla, the village in Roscommon where I was born. My mother drew it.’ He pointed to the right-hand corner.
‘Oh, yes, “A. Devlin”.’ Finula squinted to read the signature. ‘Marcus, it’s lovely…’ She didn’t know what else to say, feeling quite overwhelmed. The picture obviously meant a lot to him.
‘It’s a part of me and now I’d like you to have it.’ He looked deeply into her eyes, making her gulp with emotion.
‘Thank you, Marcus.’ Then, she reached under the bed to get her present for him. ‘Hope you like it,’ she grinned. He smiled as he instantly guessed what was inside the gold wrapping.
‘Can’t go wrong with a bottle of Jameson’s whiskey,’ he chuckled.
Then she reached down again and gave him another present. She looked carefully at his face as he tore off the gold paper. It was a silver-framed photograph of them sitting together laughing and clinking wine glasses, taken by Dermot in The Templar. It captured the moment perfectly, each looking with adoration at each other. This wasn’t lost on Marcus.
‘Finula…’ He could feel a lump form in his throat. ‘Thank you.’ He bent his head and kissed her.
‘Come inside,’ she coaxed, lifting back the duvet cover, ‘and I’ll show you what else you’ve got for Christmas.’ Her eyes danced with devilment.
‘Hmm, sounds good,’ he replied, slipping off his clothes. Finula ran her hands hungrily over his toned body, losing all her inhibitions. In turn Marcus covered her cream breasts with his mouth, licking the pert, pink nipples. His hand travelled up her silky thigh and rested on the soft triangle of hair. Slowly he stroked, gently gliding against her warm, moist opening, making Finula arch herself into him. He kissed her long and deeply, then ran his lips down her body until reaching the same sensitive area. Finula gasped as his tongue slid into her, firmly and with rhythm.
‘Marcus,’ she whimpered. Marcus continued with pace, sending her into ecstasy. Then, just when she thought she’d burst, his mouth travelled back up her body and he slipped his hard erection into her with a guttural groan. Finula clutched his buttocks, wanting more of him. Marcus was moving slowly, relishing her impatience for his body. Then, overcome with lust, he pushed firmer and faster. Finula dug into him harder. They were greedy for each other’s bodies, desperately needing a release. When it came they both exploded together. Panting heavily, Marcus pulled Finula onto his broad, dark chest.
‘Have I told you how amazing you are, Finula?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘Yes, but tell me again,’ she giggled, kissing his cheek.
‘You. Are. Amazing.’
*
Dinner at the Hall was a busy affair, but enjoyed by all. Megan was pleased to see her family and, together with Jamie, everyone blended well together. Sebastian, as usual, supplied the entertainment, making even Aunt Celia chuckle into her sherry glass. She had received a rather tasteful Christmas card from a gentleman friend of hers called Wilfred, whom she’d met on a cruise a few months ago. The kind words inscribed in the thick, cream card had made her glow. Perhaps there was life in the old girl yet.
Jamie was still in awe of the place and its surroundings. Mostly he was more and more in awe of Sebastian, and still couldn’t quite believe he was there as his guest.
Finally, when all the splendid food had been eaten, all the wine drunk, all the gifts exchanged and all the parlour games played, the day drew to a close and the guests bade their farewells.
*
Back at The Templar, Marcus and Finula sat huddled on the sofa, enjoying an Irish whiskey. It was late now and Dermot had gone to bed, leaving the two of them alone after they had all enjoyed a lovely day together.
‘Where were you last Christmas?’ asked Finula.
Marcus tensed. Although he knew the question was asked innocently, the memory still cut deep. He gulped down his whiskey before answering.
‘In Ireland, looking after my mam.’
‘Oh, sorry Marcus, I didn’t realise—’
‘I know,’ he cut in.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she tentatively asked, but the closed look on his face said it all. She was hitting yet another brick wall. A flash of impatience shot through her. When would he open up? ‘It might help,’ she persisted.
Marcus closed his eyes. Could she not take a hint? He’d given her everything – well, as much as he could – far more than anyone else had had.
‘What do you want from me, Finula?’ he asked wearily. He’d had a lot to drink throughout the day and it had started to creep up on him.
‘Transparency,’ she replied with force.
He looked at her with narrow eyes, ‘Well, that’s a very dangerous commodity, Finula.’ His voice had an edge to it that sparked Finula even more.
‘That depends on what you’re hiding.’ She stared him in the face.
‘What exactly do you want to know?’
‘More about you,’ she urged, ‘your childhood, parents—’
‘Drop it, Finula,’ he warned.
A few moments passed, then she changed tack.
‘And why don’t you like Tobias?’ He looked surprised at her question, clearly not expecting it. ‘It’s blatantly obvious you can’t stand him, why?’ This was a question he most definitely had no problem answering.
‘Because the man’s a complete arse. A pampered, arrogant, aristocratic arse.’
Finula’s eyes widened in shock. ‘What? That’s my friend you’re talking about.’ Then the penny seemed to drop. ‘I get it now. You used me.’
Marcus’ head turned sharply. ‘Finula—’
‘You bastard, you used me to get inside Treweham Hall and interview Tobias, didn’t you? None of this is real. You just needed me to do your dirty work. You’d never have got near the place without me asking him.’
This was true, and they both knew it. They stared at each other in silence. Finula waited for him to say something, anything, and while Marcus hated seeing the look of hurt in her eyes, he couldn’t speak. He had no defence.
Finula stood up. Fighting back the tears she made for the door. Finally, she turned to look at him. ‘I think it’s time you left, don’t you?’
49
Sebastian tapped quietly on the bedroom door next to his. There was a moment’s pause, before Jamie answered it. Sebastian suppressed a giggle at the stripy pastel pyjamas Jamie was wearing, as they reminded him of something similar he had worn as a child.
‘Thought you might like a nightcap?’ He held out a bottle of rum and Jamie’s face lit up.
‘Absolutely, come in.’ He held the door wide open. It was past midnight and everyone was fast asleep. Loud snores could be heard thundering down the corridor.
‘Aunt Celia,’ whispered Sebastian with a titter, ‘snores and rattles like an old boiler.’
Jamie started to snigger and suddenly found he couldn’t stop. With hushed laughter he quickly shut the door.
Sebastian poured them each a generous slug of rum in the glasses on the bedsid
e table. He held his out. ‘To you, Jamie. Thanks for everything.’
Jamie averted his gaze, feeling self-conscious. Extravagant displays of affection like this made him uneasy, yet incredibly happy at the same time. Sebastian was so public and open with his gestures, it often made Jamie wonder if he was in fact still acting.
Sebastian moved closer, sensing his embarrassment. He tipped his chin up to look at him. ‘Seriously, Jamie, thanks for all your support.’ He spoke quietly, his expression serious, and Jamie knew he was being sincere.
‘You’re welcome.’ Then he paused before saying, ‘Sebastian, don’t you think you ought to tell your family?’
‘About my MS?’
‘Yes.’
Sebastian sighed and nodded. ‘Yes, in time. My time, when I’m ready.’
‘I understand.’ Which he did. Having such a life-changing diagnosis must take a lot of adjusting to. Sebastian obviously needed to get his own head round it before sharing the news. In a way, Jamie felt privileged at being the only person to know. ‘And thank you for the invite. It’s been a great day,’ he smiled, taking a sip of rum.
Sebastian gave a wry smile, ‘My family not scared you off, then?’
Jamie looked directly at him. With Dutch courage he asked, ‘Scared me off what?’
‘A relationship with me.’ Sebastian stared back, without flinching.
‘No. If anything, it would be your superstardom that would scare me off,’ he playfully answered.
‘It’s all bollocks. And anyway, what part could I play now with this limp? Fucking Richard III for ever?’ He laughed, despite his predicament.
Jamie smiled at him with real affection. ‘It’s not that bad, and you know it.’
‘I know,’ conceded Sebastian. ‘Just playing the sympathy card,’ he added with a sly grin.
‘You’ll get none from me. I don’t do pity,’ Jamie said with humour, still revelling in what Sebastian had said about a relationship.
‘Do you do hugs? Because right now I could do with one.’
‘Yes, I do hugs.’ Jamie put down his glass and moved towards him. The two embraced. Breathing in the scent of his long, lean body, Jamie thought his Christmases had truly all come at once.
50
Finula woke with a thumping headache and a heavy, sickening sensation in her stomach. Gradually fitting back the pieces of last night, she shut her eyes tight again, as if trying to block out the memory. Her mouth was dry, her skull throbbed and she badly needed to vomit. Only just making it to the bathroom, she emptied the entire contents of her stomach down the toilet. Panting, she sat on the side of the bath.
Marcus. She had to speak to Marcus. But once washed, dressed and having knocked on his bedroom door, she found he wasn’t there. His room was completely empty, without any trace of him ever having been there. Finula started to tremble. He’d gone. Marcus had left. Well, she’d told him to, hadn’t she? Tears stung her pale cheeks. Would he ever come back?
*
Marcus had driven non-stop to get home to Shropshire. Despite having had a few hours’ sleep and copious cups of coffee, he knew he must still be well over the limit. Frustration and anger burned through him, but most of all his heart broke picturing the hurt in Finula’s eyes. If only he could just come clean and tell her everything. Like why he was so clandestine about his childhood and parents. This time last year even he didn’t know fully about them. It was all so cruelly unfair.
He banged his fist against the steering wheel when he recalled Finula’s words, saying how he’d used her. He had, but only to a degree. She had actually offered to ask Tobias about the interview and access to Treweham Hall. Tobias could still have refused. It was the fee that had swung it, purely the money. Tobias had even said as much in the interview. As soon as Marcus got back he was going to start editing it. With grim determination, he urged his car on to eat up the miles and finally he made it home. Marcus took out all his equipment, leaving his suitcase. He would unpack later; for now he just needed the laptops.
Within the hour he was sitting at his desk, searching through the rushes. The interviews were all labelled, as promised. He tutted with impatience at not seeing Tobias Cavendish-Blake’s name. Where was it? Looking more closely and, forcing himself to slow down, he searched again. It wasn’t here. Grabbing his phone, he rang Libby.
‘Libby, it’s Marcus. I thought you said you’d sent me all the footage of the interviews?’
‘I have,’ replied a somewhat disgruntled Libby. It was Boxing Day, for goodness’ sake. Didn’t the man ever take a break?
‘Well, Tobias Cavendish-Blake’s isn’t here,’ he stated flatly.
‘It should be. I definitely sent it.’
‘Then send it again, please, Libby,’ he finished, and put the phone down with force.
Fifteen minutes later his phone rang. It was Libby.
‘Marcus, I don’t have it.’ The urgency in her voice was evident.
‘What?’
‘It’s not here. It’s gone.’
‘It’s gone?’
‘It was there and now… it’s gone,’ Libby replied faintly.
‘Right, I’m ringing Len, see if he’s still got it.’
But half an hour later, it was the same scenario. The interview had vanished from Len’s camera, too.
Marcus sat motionless, staring out of his lounge window. Slowly anger started to rise in him. He clenched his fists. Where was that fecking interview? What had happened? How had the interview vanished? Who would have deliberately erased it? None of his team, he was sure. Libby and Len were professionals, and why would they want to? Same for Viola: she more than anyone saw that interview as a pivotal stepping-stone in her career. Jamie? Doubtful, and again, what would be his motive? None of it made any sense. He was utterly perplexed.
His eyes turned to his mam’s photograph on the windowsill. Then his pounding heart gradually began to slow down. His rage was replaced with a sense of calm. His breathing became deeper, steadying him further. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Then another thought suddenly occurred to him. Could this be some kind of divine intervention? His eyes remained on the photograph of his mother. If there was no interview to discredit Tobias… he wouldn’t lose Finula. Granted, he wouldn’t have his revenge, but suddenly that wasn’t a priority any more – Finula was. Putting things in perspective gave him time to take stock and re-evaluate. It was all so clear when looking at it objectively, without being caught up in the maelstrom of emotion. That clairvoyant had been right. Revenge was not sweet. It could have cost him dearly. Had it already? Did Finula no longer want him?
51
‘So, Gary, meet Phoenix.’ Dylan opened the stable door and showed Gary in.
‘Hell, he’s a beauty, isn’t he?’ Gary stared in awe at the mahogany-brown-coated horse, quite overcome at the size of the animal. It was the first time he’d been up so close to one.
‘He is now, thanks to Flora’s loving care.’ Dylan grimaced at the memory of Phoenix’s whip wounds and rolling, anxious eyes.
Gary patted the side of him. ‘Hello, mate.’ Phoenix nudged his face into Gary’s shoulder, making him laugh.
‘He likes you,’ smiled Dylan. ‘He wouldn’t do that to me.’
‘Why?’ Gary asked surprised, given how good he knew Dylan was with horses.
‘Jealousy. He thinks Flora’s all his,’ laughed Dylan. ‘Hardly surprising, judging by the amount of time she spends on him.’
Gary chuckled. He did feel some affinity towards the horse and understood how attached people must become.
‘So, what’s the plan? When do we start racing him?’ Gary rubbed his hands, keen to see Phoenix compete. He rather fancied himself in the winner’s enclosure, soaking up the limelight.
‘Not for a while yet, Gary.’ Dylan looked serious; this was business, after all. ‘We need to spend more time training him.’ Then he added by way of explanation, ‘Phoenix has had quite a rough time of it. We don’t want
to push him too hard too soon.’
‘Oh, right. Yes, of course.’ Gary patted him again. ‘In your own time, mate,’ he murmured.
Flora was in the office with Tracy. The two of them had become close recently and Tracy, for once, had started to feel that she had made a real friend since moving from Lancashire.
‘So, what did you do for Christmas?’ asked Flora, blowing on her coffee, having handed Tracy a cup.
‘We went back home to Preston, stayed at my mum and dad’s.’
‘Do you still think of Preston as your home?’
‘Sometimes. It takes some getting used to, moving completely away from your home town.’
Flora considered it. ‘Yes, I suppose it must. But you do like it here, don’t you?’
Tracy laughed. ‘Yes, how could you not like it here?’ There was a moment’s pause and she looked down.
Flora observed her. Something was amiss. ‘Home is where the heart is,’ she said gently.
Tracy looked up and smiled. ‘I know, it’s just taking a lot of adjusting. Our lives were so different twelve months ago.’
‘Would you ever go back up North?’
Tracy shook her head. ‘No.’ She didn’t elaborate on why: it was too upsetting. It still saddened Tracy how their friends had treated them, but she sincerely hoped they could make new ones.
As if reading her thoughts, Flora put an arm round her shoulders.
‘Come round here, anytime. Well, you’ve a vested interest now, haven’t you?’ she joked.
Tracy smiled. ‘Me, owner of a racehorse. Who would have thought it?’
52
Dermot looked sideways at his daughter and sighed. She looked a complete state, with her tired, white complexion and dark bags under her bloodshot eyes. It had been five days since Marcus had left and Finula had grown progressively more and more miserable as each one passed. Obviously the two had not been in touch. He didn’t want to pry, but he was starting to feel genuinely concerned about his daughter’s health. She was losing weight, having hardly touched food. When he’d found Finula sobbing uncontrollably on Boxing Day, she’d briefly told him what had happened and Dermot had stared at her incredulously.