by Sasha Morgan
‘But do they believe that? All we have is hearsay at the moment.’
‘Do you believe you’re their brother?’
He sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, I believe every word my mam said.’
57
Marcus and Finula walked hand in hand up the gravel driveway to Treweham Hall. Dermot had insisted they take time out to be together and had laid on extra bar staff to cover the New Year’s Eve shift. Once Finula had rung Megan to update her on Marcus’ arrival, she had invited them to spend the evening at the Hall.
Marcus hadn’t backed off, as he too recognised the importance of their meeting. It was an unfamiliar feeling, walking towards the Hall, not being an outsider, not invading the Cavendish-Blakes’ privacy any longer, but visiting potentially as a family member. He was glad of Finula’s warm hand to hold. Looking sideways at her composed profile, he mentally thanked Dermot for his phone call. Where would he be without her?
Megan and Tobias opened the door, so determined were they that Marcus wasn’t shown to their rooms by Henry.
‘Come in. It’s so good to see you.’ Megan kissed Marcus on the cheek and hugged Finula.
‘Welcome, Marcus.’ Tobias held out his hand. The two men exchanged firm handshakes. Marcus was a little taken aback, and a lump started to form in his throat. Coughing slightly, he allowed his eyes to sweep round the great hallway as they had just the previous week at the Christmas Eve drinks party, only this time its opulence didn’t turn his stomach. The anger had vanished, to be replaced with calmness. They all seemed to be looking at him, waiting for some kind of response. He didn’t know what to say. What was appropriate in such circumstances? Instead he said nothing. It was all too much.
‘Let’s have a drink… this way,’ chirped Megan, anxious to fill the awkward moment.
They made their way to the south wing. Megan had arranged for a simple supper in their dining room, just a quiet, intimate meal between the four of them, much to Marcus’ relief. As Megan showed Finula the finished decorated nursery, Tobias turned to Marcus.
‘Marcus, follow me. Let me show you something.’ He led him to his father’s study. Marcus noticed the glass cabinets were open.
‘These are my father’s diaries,’ Tobias walked towards them, ‘which I’ve read now, at some length.’ Marcus swallowed. ‘Your mother appears in them, Marcus, and I’ve no doubt they were in a relationship. But for what it’s worth, I truly do not believe my father knew anything about your mother’s pregnancy, or you.’ He stared into Marcus’ eyes.
There was a slight pause before Marcus replied. ‘You mean she left without telling him?’ The tone of surprise was evident.
‘That’s exactly what I think happened. Marcus, I knew my father. He wouldn’t have let you grow up without ever acknowledging you. I’m positive he wouldn’t.’
Marcus took a sharp intake of breath. He was stunned. This was not something he’d contemplated. Always, he’d assumed his mam had been banished in disgrace, not bolted. The new version of events took some adjusting to. It shed a completely different light on the whole affair.
Tobias continued, ‘I want you to read for yourself.’ He beckoned towards the cabinets. ‘Come here whenever you want and help yourself. Get to know him.’
Those last words broke Marcus finally. He yearned to learn more about his dad. To his shame, a tear ran down his face and he instantly wiped it away.
Tobias spoke calmly: ‘If you want to make this official, we’ll do the necessary DNA test, make it public—’
‘I’m not ready for that,’ Marcus interrupted. ‘The test, yes – we all need to be certain – but the rest…’
‘Would you take on the family name?’
‘No. I’m a Devlin,’ Marcus answered firmly.
‘I understand.’ Any doubts or reservations Tobias may have had disappeared. Marcus wasn’t a threat, he just wanted to know who his father was. If anything, Tobias felt humbled. ‘I’ll arrange for a swab test. I also need to tell Sebastian.’
Marcus looked up. ‘He doesn’t know yet?’
‘No, and I’ll need to speak to my mother.’
‘Yes… of course.’ Marcus was eager to get inside those diaries but knew now was not the time. The grandfather clock chimed in the corridor. It was eight o’clock. In four hours it would be midnight, the start of a new year. A new beginning.
58
‘Are you ready yet, Tracy?’ Gary was getting impatient waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Just a minute!’ his wife called back.
He looked in the hall mirror at his reflection. Not too shabby, he thought. Gary had let his hair grow, wearing it slightly longer than his usual crew-cut style and it suited him well. He’d also taken heed of Dylan’s comments about losing weight. Although he knew Dylan had only meant it light-heartedly, to be taken in jest, it had made Gary think. Perhaps he was getting just a bit too used to living the good life. His thoughts rewound to his former days, when he actually worked hard for a living. Stacking freezers in Iceland, albeit monotonous, was in fact strenuous, physical labour, and had kept him in good shape. Nowadays, the only thing working him into a sweat was the long walks when he was out shooting. That alone obviously wasn’t enough and the pounds had started to pile on. Tracy had often teased him about his chubby tummy, but hearing it from Dylan had hit home. As a result, Gary had installed a few pieces of gym equipment: a rowing machine, treadmill and some weights. The results were beginning to show, even if Tracy had giggled hysterically at him in his Lycra bodice. He gave a smirk in the mirror; she soon stopped laughing when he revealed his toned body in the bedroom.
Tracy scurried down the stairs. ‘Right, let’s go.’
They were off to The Templar to celebrate the New Year. When Flora had invited them to join her and Dylan, Tracy had been pleasantly surprised, secretly dreading the New Year. She couldn’t help but compare it to last year, when she and Gary had had a blast of an evening in the club. She pictured them joining hands with their mates, belting out ‘Auld Lang Syne’. What would it have been like if they’d stayed in Lancashire? She suspected Gary was right: it would have been a nightmare, with more threatening letters and abuse. Common sense told her it would never have stopped, and succumbing to their demands would only have encouraged more. Another voice told her that real friends wouldn’t have acted that way. So, all in all, it had been the right decision to move away. Tracy kept telling herself this as she slipped into her sparkly new dress. She felt more confident than she had in a long time and her confidence rose at Gary’s wolf whistle.
‘Very nice, Mrs Belcher.’ He plonked a kiss on her lips, then ushered her out of the front door, eager to get to the pub.
Inside The Templar it was heaving. Dermot was rushed off his feet and was so glad of the extra bar staff willing to work New Year. Despite it being one of the busiest nights of the year, he didn’t begrudge Finula the time off. She deserved some quality time with Marcus.
He began to consider what quality time he ever had for himself, which was hardly any. For the first time, Dermot was beginning to wonder if his days at The Templar were numbered. Was it time to pack up and say goodbye? He was in his mid-sixties, after all, perhaps getting a little too old for this game? He longed to put his feet up and watch television of an evening, instead of working behind the bar, wearing his most welcoming smile for the public. What he most yearned for was peace and quiet. He’d grown tired of listening to people’s requests, complaints and opinions. He’d grown tired of rising early, lugging crates, barrels and serving pints. He’d grown tired of having to feign an interest in customers’ stories, being cheery and accommodating, when really he just wanted to soak in the bath and sink into bed. Basically, he’d had enough and tonight’s constant, hectic stream of customers shouting orders at him reiterated this.
He suspected Finula, too, had had reservations about her future in The Templar. Maybe she spent too much time here, he reflected somewhat guiltily…
> His thoughts were interrupted by another customer hurling demands at him. With an inward sigh and a fixed smile he set about his duties.
*
Jamie and Sebastian were tucked away in an alcove watching the pandemonium.
‘Is it always this busy at New Year?’ asked Jamie, steadying the table as it was jostled by the crowds.
‘Yes, do you want to go?’ Sebastian was starting to regret his suggestion of coming to The Templar. He picked up his pint glass before someone knocked it over.
‘Where to?’ asked Jamie.
Sebastian suddenly had an idea. With a slow smile he answered, ‘Follow me.’
The two pushed their way through the crowd and out of the pub. Despite it being winter, the air was still and not too cold. A full moon shone down and blanketed them with its beam.
‘This way.’ Sebastian walked Jamie down the dimly lit track leading back to Treweham Hall. But instead of walking up to the entrance, he veered to the left of the Hall into the woods, using his mobile’s torchlight and the moonlight.
‘Where are we going?’ hissed Jamie, feeling like a naughty schoolboy, trespassing on private property.
Sebastian laughed. ‘To my secret hideaway.’ He used his evil Richard III voice for effect, making Jamie giggle. There was something deliciously clandestine about creeping through the undergrowth in the dark. Then they came to a stop. ‘Here it is, the Folly.’ He shone his light on the tall, stone building with small slits of windows and a castellated top.
‘You’d never know it was here, hidden deep in the woods,’ Jamie marvelled.
‘Exactly. That’s why it’s the perfect hideaway,’ replied Sebastian. ‘Come inside.’
He forced open the heavy, wooden door. Inside it smelt damp. Moonlight shone through the leaded glass of a large, arched mullion window at the back. Jamie made out two dark green velvet armchairs, a wood burner, several picture of hunting scenes hanging from the walls and a jute rug covering the floor. Sebastian was crouching over a log basket and began filling the wood burner. He reached for a lighter on top of a cabinet in the corner. Once lit, the burner provided light and warmth. As the Folly warmed up, the smell of damp began to evaporate.
‘Come and sit down.’ Sebastian pointed to one of the armchairs. ‘I’ll pour us a drink.’ He opened the cabinet to reveal a fully stocked mini bar.
Jamie chuckled. No wonder this was Sebastian’s hideaway.
Sebastian handed him a whisky. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Fancy a cigar?’ Sebastian went back to the cabinet and took out an expensive box of cigars. He lit one with the lighter and took a few puffs. Jamie watched his silhouette; smooth, graceful and staged, a true thespian.
‘I won’t, thanks,’ he answered. He took a sip of whisky and enjoyed the sharp heat hitting his throat. He was beginning to feel relaxed now, away from the hustle and bustle of The Templar, in the tranquil peace of the secret folly. Sebastian sat opposite him by the wood burner.
‘This was my father’s bolt hole. He used it to escape all of life’s pressures.’
‘There is a sense of good karma about it,’ agreed Jamie.
‘I’ve started to use it for the same purpose.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Please don’t think you’re alone, Sebastian.’
Sebastian looked up. ‘Thank you, Jamie.’
‘I mean it.’
There was another pause.
‘When do you start work again?’ Sebastian knew Jamie was to go to London, working on a set there filming a period drama.
‘Mid-January.’
Sebastian nodded.
‘What do you plan on doing next?’ Jamie asked.
‘Hmm, I’m reluctant to commit to anything just yet.’
‘I see.’
‘Not because of my diagnosis,’ Sebastian was quick to explain. ‘I just don’t feel ready to throw myself into another role yet. It can take it out of you.’
‘I bet it does. Anyway, there’s no rush, you’ve made a name for yourself now.’ Then he added, ‘You could work for yourself, like before.’
‘You mean the travelling theatre?’
‘Well, a theatre, yes, but why travel? You could hold productions here, in the Treweham Hall grounds.’
Sebastian sucked in on his cigar and contemplated the suggestion. Why hadn’t he thought of that? His ancestral home provided the ideal venue for open-air plays. He imagined captivated audiences lying on the lawns with picnic hampers, or cuddled up with blankets and lanterns in the dusk. The more thought he gave it, the more his imagination ran with the notion. He pictured other events: drama workshops, acting retreats, maybe even speciality dinners with a few of his well-known actor friends giving talks.
‘Do you know, Jamie, you could just have stumbled upon a completely brilliant idea.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ Jamie smiled, saluting with his glass.
Sebastian leant forward and clinked it with his.
‘Here’s to a new year. May it be filled with peace, love and laughter.’
‘It will be, I’ll make sure of that,’ assured Jamie.
59
After celebrating the New Year at The Templar, Dylan and Flora enjoyed a few quiet days to recuperate. Whilst still seeing to the horses and attending the all-weather meetings, they finished strictly on time every afternoon whenever possible and let the staff cover the evening stables. The yard was almost running at full capacity now and Dylan had decided to extend his team and employ more stable staff, to the delight of Flora. This also meant she would be able to spend more time with Phoenix, but she had the foresight not to voice this to Dylan.
Whilst Dylan was busy with paperwork at home one late afternoon, the phone rang.
‘Hello, Dylan. It’s Jade Fisher here.’ Dylan frowned for a moment before realising who it was. Ah, yes, the journalist from Hi-Ya magazine who had contacted him a few months ago.
‘Hello, Jade.’
‘Dylan, you promised me an interview.’
Dylan gave a soft laugh. ‘No, Jade, as I recall, I said I’d think about it.’
‘And have you? We’re willing to pay a very generous fee,’ she coaxed.
Why not? Thought Dylan. The money would come in handy, and Flora had looked favourably upon the proposal of an interview, believing it would be good for business. He also remembered his reply: that it would have to involve her.
‘Yes, I’ll do it, on the condition that you include my partner, Flora.’
‘Business partner or girlfriend?’
‘Both.’
Jade’s ears pricked up. This was a first. Dylan Delany, the playboy former Champion Jockey, settling down? He’d been pictured with various glamorous beauties on his arm, but that’s where it ended. Never had there been any hint of him in a serious relationship. To want this Flora appearing next to him in the interview was a scoop.
‘Certainly, it would be a pleasure, Dylan,’ Jade smoothed, practically rubbing her hands together. This was going better than planned.
‘And be kind, no tricky questions,’ he warned.
Jade gave a light chuckle. ‘As if. You have my word,’ she assured him.
Dylan gave an unconvinced, ‘Hmm,’ having experienced the gutter press before.
‘I’ll have the details sent to you. We’d like you to feature in next month’s issue, so I’d like to interview you as soon as possible.’
‘OK.’
‘Could we say next week? Monday?’
‘That should be all right.’ Then an idea came to him. ‘You can interview us at the stable yard.’ He was keen to promote the business and maximise coverage.
‘Yes, good idea. We’ll get some fantastic shots,’ gushed Jade, her enthusiasm evident.
‘Good. I’ll await the details.’
‘Yes, I’ll get them over to you today.’
‘And I want the fee, too. Today,’ he replied firmly. He wasn’t standing on ceremony; he’d learnt h
ow to deal with these slippery journalists.
‘Of course.’ Jade smiled to herself. The fee was a drop in the ocean compared to the sales he’d bring in.
*
Flora was initially edgy about being interviewed, despite having agreed to it before. ‘But why do I have to be involved?’
They were in the kitchen washing up after dinner. Flora was standing at the sink, gazing thoughtfully out of the window, and Dylan was behind her. He wrapped his arms round her body and ran kisses up her neck.
‘Because we’re a partnership and I want you to be there beside me,’ he answered in her ear, before turning her to face him.
‘But…’
‘No buts, Flora.’ His lips covered hers. Flora could feel herself beginning to melt. Yes, she would be interviewed – why not let the world know they were a couple?
*
Monday saw the early arrival of Jade Fisher, accompanied by a photographer. All the stable yard staff had been prepared and the grooms were rather excited by the visit, especially the young women, who had taken extra care of their appearances.
‘I hardly recognise them,’ muttered Dylan to Flora as he took in their coiffures, painted faces and perfect manicures. Hardly the image he wanted to create, preferring his staff to look like hardworking, practical grooms, not something from a catwalk.
‘Oh, leave them alone,’ laughed Flora, who also had been at pains to look her best. Whilst not going to quite the same lengths, she had freshly washed and blow-dried her hair and carefully applied a little make-up. Dylan didn’t need to try. His natural dark, gypsy looks and twinkling blue eyes always made him picture perfect.
‘Right, Dylan, if we can just take a few shots of you tending to a horse, that would be great,’ enthused Jade.
Dylan did as he was told. Flora had made sure Phoenix was at hand as a star attraction. Phoenix, however, had other ideas and didn’t quite like the way he was being handled by Dylan and not Flora. The horse head-butted Dylan out of the way when he tried to take his reins. Dylan smiled wryly to himself; the old tinker was playing silly buggers.