A Country Rivalry

by Sasha Morgan

  ‘You argued over Tobias?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. He used me,’ she answered indignantly.

  ‘Finula, Tobias is a grown man. He wouldn’t have done anything he didn’t want to. Presumably he was paid for the interview?’

  ‘Well… yes…’

  ‘And I take it Marcus has got back safely to Shropshire? Seeing as how you sent him home well over the limit,’ he asked in a steely voice.

  Finula’s head shot up. ‘Oh God, I… I don’t know.’ Her bottom lip quivered.

  Dermot shook his head in exasperation. ‘Unbelievable,’ he muttered, and walked away.

  Finula was on the verge of yet another breakdown, when her mobile interrupted her. It was Megan.

  ‘Hi, Finula, had a good Christmas?’

  ‘No,’ came the dull reply.

  There was a pause. ‘Need to talk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘No. I’ll come to you.’ She needed to get away from The Templar and the judgemental looks her dad kept throwing at her.

  It didn’t take long for Finula to hotfoot it to Treweham Hall. She was glad of the change of scenery. Not for the first time, she was seriously considering a life away from The Templar.

  Megan was sitting alone by the open fire in the drawing room when Henry showed Finula in.

  ‘Finula, whatever’s the matter?’ Megan’s eyes shone with concern. Finula sat next to her on the settee.

  ‘Megan, it’s all gone badly wrong.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  Finula filled Megan in, not sparing any detail, even though it involved Marcus’ dislike of Tobias. Megan sat and listened.

  ‘Why do you think he’s so secretive about his upbringing?’ Megan asked, narrowing her eyes. ‘And why has he taken a dislike to Tobias?’

  Finula shrugged. The two sat still, contemplating. Then Megan faced Finula. ‘Do you think there’s a link between the two?’

  Finula frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I once commented to Tobias that he reminded me of Marcus.’ She paused, remembering the look of contempt on her husband’s face. Finula’s mind started to tick into overdrive. The green eyes, speckled with amber… she too remembered pointing out the likeness of Tobias to Marcus in the portrait. He didn’t like it, refusing to see the resemblance, though it was so clearly there.

  ‘I once asked Marcus about his dad and he clammed up, saying he was dead and he had never met him.’ The two stared at each other. Then something else crept into Finula’s head, from the day they had filmed inside Treweham Hall. She vividly remembered Marcus standing outside Richard Cavendish-Blake’s study when she’d met him at the top of the stairs. Had he really just taken pictures of the chapel? She voiced her thoughts to Megan.

  ‘Follow me,’ Megan answered, getting up from the sofa.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To Richard’s study,’ she said over her shoulder.

  Finula’s heart began to pound. Had they stumbled across something?

  Entering the room, packed to the ceiling with ledgers, they both scanned the many shelves. One of the spines stood out slightly.

  ‘Look, there!’ Megan pointed to the book edging out of line from the others.

  Finula quickly reached up and took it from the shelf, her heart now racing in anticipation. She squinted at the side of it: there was a slight gap in the pages, indicating where it had last been opened. Carefully, she reopened it to the same page. Both Megan and Finula’s heads eagerly bent over it. Finula ran her finger down the list of names on the left-hand side, then stopped.

  ‘Anne Devlin,’ she whispered. ‘That must be Marcus’ mum.’

  ‘Marcus’ mum worked here, at Treweham Hall?’ Megan asked in astonishment.

  ‘Yes, look, in the kitchen.’ Finula followed her finger across the page. They looked at each other in amazement. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Finula.

  Megan slowly nodded. ‘I think so.’ Then she looked towards the glass cabinets she knew contained her late father-in-law’s diaries. Finula followed her gaze. ‘They’re Richard’s diaries, locked away. Tobias will have the key,’ Megan told her.

  ‘We need get to them and read them, don’t you think?’ Finula urged.

  Megan nodded. ‘I’ll speak to him.’

  53

  Tobias threw his head back and laughed. ‘Really? You expect me to believe that Marcus Devlin could be my half-brother?’ Megan and Finula looked deadpan into his mocking face. He stopped laughing and took in their serious expressions. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  A short silence followed. The atmosphere could have been cut with a knife.

  ‘We need to look at your father’s diaries, Tobias,’ Megan said quietly.

  ‘They’re personal and private, Megan.’

  ‘Please, Tobias, don’t you see how important this could be?’ pleaded Finula.

  ‘They could be holding crucial information,’ Megan added gently.

  Tobias eyed his wife. She really did believe that he and Marcus shared the same father. It was impossible, of course, but to appease her he nodded.

  ‘OK, but let me read them first.’ He opened his desk drawer and took out a small box. Inside was the key to the glass cabinets containing the diaries. ‘Leave this with me for now.’

  Megan and Finula sighed with relief. At least Tobias was prepared to look.

  Despite his refusal to acknowledge what was being suggested, Tobias’ mind couldn’t help but play tricks on him. His thoughts were cast back to certain occasions, such as when he caught Marcus staring at his father’s portrait that time in his study. He always seemed to stare at him, too; was he looking for any likenesses? Any family resemblance? Tobias cursed himself for being so foolish and made his way to his father’s study.

  Once inside, he closed the door firmly. He didn’t want any interruptions. He carefully opened the glass cabinets and scanned along the shelves. The most sensible place to start would be the year before Marcus had been born. On looking Marcus up on the internet, he soon discovered his date of birth. He was two years older than himself, so he started his search in the mid-eighties. Tobias painstakingly ploughed his way through the pages and then the name flashed before him like a thunderbolt. Anne Devlin. She was mentioned in a casual way to start with. Then, as the days, weeks and months went by, her name appeared more and more frequently, and more intimately. It was obvious to any reader that they were in a relationship. A physical, loving relationship. Tobias’ eyes widened in disbelief at the commotion this had clearly caused. His grandparents had blatantly disapproved, to the point of forbidding their son to carry on with a member of staff. A part of Tobias felt sympathy for his father, especially when reading how heartbroken he was at Anne’s sudden disappearance.

  Anne’s gone, without any word or trace. Why could she not be strong, like me? My parents are to blame, I’m sure, but I will find her, if it kills me, I’ll find her.

  Bloody hell… Tobias’ jaw dropped. Had Anne Devlin been pregnant when she’d fled Treweham Hall? The dates certainly stacked up. Nine months after the date in his father’s diary entry, would be the approximate time of Marcus’ birthday. A film of sweat covered Tobias’ body, telling him he had uncovered something sinister. Judging by what his father had written, Tobias doubted his knowledge of Anne’s pregnancy. Had she panicked and run, knowing what the repercussions would be? And why only now had Marcus decided to show his face?

  There were so many unanswered questions, but only Marcus himself could answer them. Obviously, Anne Devlin had sought refuge in Ireland, while Richard Cavendish-Blake had gone on to meet and marry Beatrice. The whole sorry tale left Tobias in a state of shock.

  Then the pragmatic, logical side of his brain kicked in. All this was just speculation. If Marcus Devlin had any intention of announcing his parentage, then he’d need evidence. The necessary tests would have to be carried out. Tobias couldn’t deny him that. After all, he grimly
conceded, Marcus may actually be his brother, and not just that, even though illegitimate, he would be the firstborn. That in itself could potentially invite repercussions. My God, what can of worms had he just opened?

  54

  Having thrown himself into his work from dusk till dawn, Marcus was exhausted. He preferred to feel numb with exhaustion rather than feel the pain of heartbreak. Being completely drained meant that when eventually his head did hit the pillow, he was out like a light. He was also drinking heavily, having finished the bottle of Irish whiskey Finula had bought him for Christmas. Each time he’d poured its amber fluid into a glass he was reminded of Christmas morning and how special it had been. He ached for Finula, but equally resented her casting him away as she had. He’d picked his phone up on countless occasions, intending to ring her, but had bottled it each time. Instead he had occupied himself doing what he did best: working flat out.

  He spent hours viewing all the scenes, placing them in order and checking for continuity. This process allowed for revisions and new ideas to be tried and tested, which he wanted to run past Libby. When he did sleep, his dreams were filled with Finula, always ending with the wounded look in her eyes; it devastated him.

  Deciding enough was enough and it was time to get some fresh air, Marcus wrapped up and set off to walk into the market town. It was New Year’s Eve that night and Deacon’s Castle was busy preparing for the evening’s celebrations. New Year always depressed Marcus and this year wasn’t going to be any different. His first stop was the bookshop café he had taken Finula to, where he was greeted by a cheery Margo.

  ‘Hello, Marcus, all on your own?’ she smiled.

  ‘Apparently,’ answered Marcus flatly.

  ‘Where’s that pretty redhead?’ she chuckled.

  ‘At home in Treweham.’

  Margo didn’t push him. She’d soon learnt when to talk to him and when not to. Today was obviously not a chatty day. Marcus stared gloomily out of the window, watching all the excitement build. Shops, bars and restaurants were brightly decorated, ready to host and bring in the New Year. Marcus wanted to hide away. After half an hour, he paid for his coffee and left. He didn’t have the energy or the inclination to go elsewhere, so he slowly made his way home.

  As he closed the door and took his coat off, he heard the phone ringing. He stopped still for a second, then bolted into the lounge to pick it up. When he recognised The Templar’s phone number on caller display his heart leapt.

  ‘Finula?’

  ‘It’s Dermot.’ There was a short pause. ‘Listen, Marcus, I know this is none of my business, but I’m worried about Finula.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ The alarm in Marcus’ voice was evident.

  ‘You bloody leaving, that’s what’s happened,’ Dermot replied in exasperation.

  ‘I was asked to leave, Dermot,’ replied Marcus dully.

  Dermot sighed down the phone. ‘I know, and to say she’s been miserable since is an understatement.’

  Marcus took some comfort in this. At least he wasn’t the only one suffering.

  ‘If you’d only see the state of her, Jeysus – and I’ll wager you’re not much better, eh?’

  This he couldn’t argue with. ‘No.’

  ‘Look, Marcus, I’m asking you to come back and at least talk to each other.’

  ‘Does she know you’ve rung me?’

  ‘Hell, no. She’d kill me for interfering.’

  Marcus couldn’t help but smile, imagining his feisty Finula giving her dad a good ticking-off. ‘OK, I’m on my way, but say nothing, Dermot.’

  ‘Absolutely, Mum’s the word.’

  Marcus swallowed hard. Mam. He looked towards her photograph on the windowsill. Blinking back the tears, he made his way upstairs to pack his case and return to Treweham.

  55

  Megan sat on the settee, with her legs resting on the footstool. She closed her eyes, then quickly opened them again. She felt a huge kick and then her baby moving inside her. Lifting up her top, she revealed her swollen stomach. She watched in wonder as a small lump poked up from the bare skin.

  Tobias walked into the room. ‘Look,’ she whispered to him. Tobias rushed forward and knelt down to see. His eyes homed in on their baby’s movements.

  ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ He stroked his hand over her belly. This was his, all he could think about; how important family really was. Since reading his father’s diaries he could think of nothing else. The more he considered what he had uncovered, the more sense it made. With reluctance, he had to admit, at least to himself, the similarity between himself and Marcus. It all seemed so obvious in hindsight, but then wasn’t it always easy to be wise after the event? Even so, Marcus’ intentions – if indeed he had any kind of plan – would determine what happened next. It was all so unsettling, and yet the underlying issue remained steadfast: blood was thicker than water, and if they truly were brothers, it must be acknowledged.

  He’d had to tell Megan and Finula of his findings, but not Sebastian just yet. The one person he’d have loved to be able to talk to was his father. Tobias was resolute that he had not known about Anne Devlin’s pregnancy. His father had been many things – frivolous, with no business sense, maybe – but he had a kind, generous heart and loved his family unconditionally. Tobias refused to believe he would knowingly have let Anne bring his firstborn child into the world without ever recognising him. It was important to Tobias to defend his father as he wasn’t here to do it in person. His mind spun with all the implications.

  ‘You OK?’ Megan touched the side of his face. It troubled her to see him so tense, obviously contemplating the recent revelation.

  Whilst Finula had assured them of her discretion, Megan couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for it all to come tumbling out into the open. Would there be yet more press intrusion? Tobias had been plagued by the media all his life. For the first time, she felt a sense of foreboding for her unborn child, the future heir.

  56

  Marcus had driven with a steely nerve. Whilst he was desperate to see Finula, he also had to get matters straight in his own mind. He found it hard to accept how easily she’d told him to leave, and how she hadn’t made contact since. Dermot’s words gave him some consolation, but deep down he wished the call had come from Finula, not her father. Then a voice whispered inside his head: you hadn’t made contact either.

  His journey hadn’t taken too long, there being hardly any traffic. Entering the village, he drove past Treweham Hall. There it stood, strong and resilient, while he felt anything but. He pulled into The Templar car park and made his way to the front entrance. Dermot must have been watching out for him, as he pulled open the door and ushered him in. It was late afternoon and they weren’t opening until early evening.

  ‘Will you just look at yourself,’ uttered Dermot, bolting the door. He nodded towards the bar. ‘And she’s no better, pasty-faced, maudlin thing.’ He pushed Marcus gently through. ‘I’ll see you’re not disturbed,’ and with that he left him alone.

  Finula was behind the bar wiping glasses. She really didn’t have the energy to work that evening and was dreading seeing in the New Year. Suddenly she looked up and saw him standing there.

  ‘Marcus… you’ve come back.’ Her voice cracked.

  Marcus slowly walked to the bar. ‘Yes, Finula, I’ve come back. But if you tell me to leave once more, you’ll never see my face again.’ It killed him to see the look of pain shoot across her face, but he had to see this through. He gritted his jaw, then leant across the bar. ‘So, you need to tell me exactly what it is you want.’ His tone was quiet and determined.

  ‘I want you,’ she faintly replied. Her chin started to quiver and tears swelled in her eyes. Still he carried on.

  ‘Well, I don’t come cheap, Finula. It’s all or nothing.’ He stared into her face.

  ‘I… I want all of you,’ she choked, the tears spilling down her pale cheeks.

  This was enough, Marcus lifted up the bar
hatch and she raced to him. He held her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her.

  ‘Marcus,’ she whispered hoarsely, ‘I know.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘So do I, we’re meant to be together.’

  Finula pulled away to face him. She looked searchingly at him, ‘I mean… I know who your father was.’

  Marcus froze. He stared at her, speechless.

  An age seemed to pass as they stood opposite each other. Finula broke the silence first.

  ‘Sit down, I need to talk to you.’ She led him to the settle by the fireplace and explained everything: from how she and Megan had gradually pieced together their suspicions, to finding the ledger containing his mother’s name, to Tobias clarifying the relationship with his father through his diaries.

  Marcus sat dumbfounded. How had they guessed who his father was? Had he been so transparent?

  After digesting all the revelations, Marcus asked, ‘Finula, how did you suspect Richard Cavendish-Blake was my father?’

  ‘Firstly, your resemblance to Tobias. You have exactly the same eyes. Then the way you were so cagey about your childhood and only spoke about you mum. You told me your dad was dead and you’d never met him. That tied in. But most of all your dislike of Tobias. You resent him for having what you should have had.’

  Marcus frowned. ‘I don’t want a title. The last thing I’d want to be is an aristocrat.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I meant you wanted a dad. You begrudge Tobias having both his parents and never having to worry about money.’

  How perceptive she was. He wondered if she’d worked out his intentions to discredit Tobias, too.

  ‘What must you think of me, Finula?’ He looked carefully for any signs of disapproval.

  Instead Finula took his hand and spoke softly. ‘I think you’re a man grieving. Not only have you lost the most important person in your life, but you have had no one to comfort you.’ She put her arm round his shoulders. ‘Marcus, you need to speak to Tobias and Sebastian. They’re your brothers.’