The Midnight Rose

by Lucinda Riley

  Rebecca didn’t move. She stared coldly at his bloodshot eyes and greasy, unkempt hair. He had obviously been out on another bender with James. ‘Good night last night?’

  ‘Yeah, it was fun.’

  ‘I’m happy for you.’

  Jack looked at her uncertainly, trying to work out what she meant. Eventually, realising she was being ironic, he went on the attack. ‘Stop treating me like a child, Becks! That’s half the problem with you,’ he said, wagging his finger in her direction. ‘Miss Squeaky Clean and Perfect who doesn’t drink, never smokes, never does anything fun. Who thinks she’s so above us mere mortals who do.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Jack,’ she answered wearily. ‘Listen. We really need to talk.’

  ‘Oh Christ, here we go again – another lecture because I’ve been a bad boy. Well, get on with it then, Mommy, and smack me on my butt,’ he said nastily.

  ‘You’ve got a problem and you need to deal with it, Jack,’ said Rebecca quietly. ‘I’m only saying this because I care for you and I’m scared that if you don’t stop it’ll simply get worse.’

  ‘And which problem would this be?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, Jack. We both know you’ve been drinking too much, more or less since I met you, and you’re doing coke all the time. You’re an addict, Jack. And until you do something about it –’ Rebecca steeled herself to say the words – ‘I can’t continue having a relationship with you.’

  Jack threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, Becks, you crack me up! Ever since you left to come to England, I’ve known that something was wrong. That maybe you’d fallen out of love with me, or perhaps there was someone else. And now, you sit here and pull the oldest trick in the book: you blame me and a problem that doesn’t even exist as an excuse to break up with me. Oh yeah –’ Jack nodded in mock wisdom – ‘I can see it all.’

  ‘Jack, I swear, the only problems I have with you are your drinking and drug habit. When you’re sober and not on stuff, you’re just the greatest and I love you. But when you’re not, which is becoming more and more frequent, I simply can’t deal with you. So, what I propose is that you go back to LA and do something about it. If you do, I’ll be there every step of the way. But if you don’t . . .’ Rebecca let the words hang in the air.

  ‘So this is an ultimatum?’ Jack stood up in front of her, arms folded. ‘Either I sort out a problem I don’t have, or we’re through. Is that it?’

  ‘No, that’s not it and you know it. Who else is going to tell you the truth?’ she entreated him. ‘Don’t you understand that this is as difficult for me as it is for you? I don’t want us to split up, Jack. I loved you from the first moment I met you. The only reason I haven’t said yes to marrying you so far is because I can’t cope with your problem.’

  ‘So –’ Jack started pacing round the room – ‘you’re asking me to go into rehab just to prove that I love you?’

  ‘Oh, Jack, whichever way you want to phrase it, I can’t go on like this any longer. I’m sick, I have a film to shoot and whatever happens in the future, I want you to get help. Maybe, when I’m back home, we can talk then and see where you are.’

  ‘Jesus, Becks! Will you stop patronising me?’ Jack sat down again heavily. ‘As a matter of fact, there’s a good chance I’ll be shooting a film with that guy I met the other day. And my manager has called to tell me he’s just received a couple of great scripts. So, even to please you, I may not be able to fit rehab into my schedule.’

  ‘I’m happy some opportunities have come up for you, Jack,’ she replied, exhausted now.

  ‘Yeah, seems your guy isn’t as washed up as you’d have him believe. And if I have been going a bit heavy on the booze, it’s been out of boredom, nothing else. So –’ Jack stared at her – ‘you’re serious? You want to call it quits?’

  ‘No, I don’t, but I feel like I haven’t got a choice.’

  ‘Okay!’ Jack slapped his thighs and stood up. ‘I’m not going to stand here and defend myself any longer. If that’s what you want, that’s what you can have.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jack, I really am.’ Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Sure you are,’ he sneered. ‘But I think you should maybe ask yourself just why you’re giving me such a hard time for doing nothing except enjoying a party. I’m not your piss-ass drunk mommy, Becks, and I don’t deserve to be treated like her either. And if you think this will break me, then you just watch this space. Perhaps you’d be better with a preacher than you would with a red-blooded male. But hey, that’s not my problem any more. So, I guess I’ll say goodbye now.’

  Rebecca felt as if she’d been slapped in the face by his dreadful words. She sat silently, unable to reply.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Jack added, ‘as I’ve been dumped and sent back home for being a bad boy, it’s only fair to leave it to me to break the news to the media. I’ll ask my manager to put out a short statement. Okay?’

  ‘Yes, say whatever you want.’

  ‘I will. And I hope you don’t regret what you’ve done today. So long, Becks.’

  Rebecca watched as the door slammed shut behind him. She shut her eyes and laid her head on the cool, silken fabric of the chair, reeling from Jack’s cruel reference to her mother. And yes, she acknowledged, he was almost certainly right. What she’d been through as a child had sensitised her to any form of substance abuse.

  However, that didn’t make Jack’s behaviour acceptable.

  Tears pricked her eyes again as she realised the ramifications of what she’d just done and knew there would be no way back from here. Jack was used to women falling over themselves just to be close to him. She doubted he’d ever been dumped and would waste no time replacing her. When she saw future photographic evidence of it in the media, it would hurt like hell. But she had to accept that the Jack she’d once loved had disappeared.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’

  Rebecca looked up and saw Mrs Trevathan standing by the door and she shrugged silently.

  ‘It’s none of my business, but I think you’ve done the right thing,’ Mrs Trevathan said gently. ‘As my mother always says, there are plenty more fish in the sea, especially for someone as lovely as you.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that,’ Rebecca whispered hoarsely. ‘Could you possibly let me know when he’s gone?’

  ‘Of course I can, my love.’ She smiled sympathetically at Rebecca and left the room.

  Half an hour later, Mrs Trevathan arrived with tea and toast and told her that Jack had left the house.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Shaky, I guess. I just hope I’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I was once married to a man like Jack. We lasted a year before I had to leave him. I’m not saying your Jack was the violent type like mine, but when they’re looking down the neck of a bottle day after day, there’s no telling what they might do.’

  ‘No. Did you love your husband?’

  ‘Of course I did.’ She sighed sadly. ‘At the beginning, anyway. But by the end, I couldn’t stand the sight of him. Trust me, Rebecca, it might hurt now, but it’s for the best, it really is.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Trevathan,’ Rebecca said gratefully.

  ‘Well now, there’re a number of people who’d like to come up and see you, but I’ve told them you’re resting at the moment. Is that right, my love?’

  ‘Yes, maybe I can see them later.’

  ‘How’s the headache?’

  ‘Better today, thanks.’

  ‘Well, you’re still pale, although one way and another, I’m hardly surprised,’ she clucked. ‘I’ll come back later and you can tell me whether you’re up to seeing a few visitors.’

  Exhausted, Rebecca slept for several hours and woke feeling a little better. She washed and dressed, then, feeling guilty that she’d kept everyone at bay, she asked Mrs Trevathan to send up Steve, who had understandably been asking to see her.

  ‘Sorry to distur
b you, sweetheart, I just wanted to see how you’re feeling,’ he said, as he walked into the sitting room.

  ‘The headache is easing, so I’m sure I’ll be okay to film tomorrow,’ she assured him.

  ‘That’s good news, Rebecca. And I’m sure the stress of the past few days hasn’t exactly helped you recover, either.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rebecca feigned innocence.

  ‘Darling, this is a film set. None of us were blind to Jack’s little problem. He asked me if I had any stuff the first time I met him.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Steve.’

  ‘Don’t be, it’s hardly your fault. I saw him a few hours ago when he asked me to get a driver for him to take him to London. I’m not going to ask the state of play, but I gathered from the look on his face that all is not well on Planet Jack and Rebecca.’

  ‘No,’ Rebecca agreed, deciding the best thing was to come clean immediately. ‘I told him it was curtains for us if he didn’t stop using. But I’d prefer not to make it common knowledge.’

  ‘Sadly, they’ve already guessed,’ said Steve. ‘You know how fast news travels on set. Anyway, Rebecca, the most important thing is you and your health. Hopefully, now Jack’s gone, you can focus on getting better.’

  ‘Yes, and I promise I’ll be fine for tomorrow’s shoot.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. We’ve only scheduled in one scene for you late tomorrow afternoon. Keep your chin up, sweetheart,’ he called as he left the room.

  Half an hour later, there was another knock on the sitting-room door and Anthony came in. He stared at her for a moment, gave a sudden sigh of exasperation, then forced a smile.

  ‘Just checking in,’ he said gruffly. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better, I think,’ Rebecca said. ‘Thank you so much for letting me use this beautiful suite.’

  ‘Well, I can think of no one more fitting to occupy it,’ he said stiffly. ‘I hear your young man has left?’

  ‘Yes, and he won’t be back.’

  ‘I see.’ He stood staring at her. ‘I’m having dinner again tonight with our young Indian friend,’ he commented eventually.

  ‘Oh?’ Rebecca replied, at a loss.

  ‘Well, I hope you feel more chipper tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope I will too. Thanks for checking on me.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Anthony said, then turned and left the room.

  When Anthony had gone, Rebecca luxuriated in the big bathtub. Having slept so late she now felt wide awake. When Mrs Trevathan appeared with tea and scones, she ate them hungrily.

  ‘I really think I’m improving,’ she told her.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear, dear.’

  ‘Is Mr Malik around?’ she asked.

  ‘He went out earlier, but I believe he’s somewhere about, yes. He’s having dinner with His Lordship later.’

  ‘If you see him, do you think you could ask him if he’d mind coming up to see me?’

  ‘When I see him, I’ll let him know,’ Mrs Trevathan said as she left.

  Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Rebecca called.

  ‘Hello, Rebecca, you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes, Ari, come in. How did you get on at the local church?’ she asked him.

  ‘Well, I walked around the graveyard, but I couldn’t find any sign of a headstone naming him Moh. Then I drove to Exeter to look him up on the main Births and Deaths Register, but again, nothing. So, I’m afraid, it’s another dead end.’

  ‘Isn’t that odd?’ Rebecca queried. ‘Any death certificate that was issued would surely be on record?’

  ‘I would have thought so, yes.’

  ‘Ari, I found something yesterday in this suite and it’s absolute proof that Anahita was here at Astbury.’

  ‘Really? What is it?’

  ‘Donald Astbury’s diary. You probably already know quite a lot of what’s in it, but it confirms that he loved your great-grandmother and that they did have a child together.’

  ‘Rebecca, that’s incredible! I’d love to read it,’ Ari said eagerly.

  ‘I think you might be shocked when you see the diary itself. I’ll go and get it.’ Rebecca went through to Donald’s dressing room and took it from the bookshelf. ‘There,’ she said, handing it to him.

  Ari studied the name on the spine and the insignia on the front. He opened it, saw the inscription and then the poem. ‘Oh, my God,’ he breathed, ‘it’s the poem I told you about only a couple of days ago.’

  ‘I know, that’s the reason I took it down from the shelf in the first place. It’s like something was leading us to it.’

  ‘Yes. You know, Rebecca, I’ve never given credence to my great-grandmother’s hocus-pocus as I once called it, but now –’ he studied the volume in his hands – ‘one way or another, I’m beginning to change my mind. Do you think Anthony’s read this?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so,’ said Rebecca. ‘It’s been masquerading as just another book on the shelf for all these years.’

  ‘Can I borrow it tonight?’

  ‘Well, it’s not mine to say whether you can, is it?’

  ‘No, but I don’t think I’ll run the risk of asking Anthony first.’ Ari raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you, Rebecca.’

  ‘And I need a favour in return, Ari.’

  ‘Of course, what is it?’

  ‘Well, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I’m really beginning to feel that there is some kind of link between me and Violet. It’s messing with my head a bit.’

  ‘I can certainly understand that,’ Ari sympathised.

  ‘So . . . I want to know how Violet died.’

  ‘I see. Well –’ Ari looked at his watch – ‘I’m meant to be down at dinner with Anthony in twenty minutes. The best thing for me to do is to give you Anahita’s story. She explains it all far better than I can.’

  ‘Then would you go and get it now?’ Rebecca asked him. ‘I can make a start immediately.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ari stood up and left the room, the diary tucked under his arm. He was back a few minutes later holding the plastic file.

  ‘I’m warning you, Rebecca, it doesn’t make pretty reading, but I think you’re right. You should know what happened to Violet.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rebecca agreed.

  Once Ari had left, Rebecca curled up on the sofa, removed the pile of papers from the wallet and sifted through them to find where she had left off before . . .

  Anahita 1920

  36

  When Donald told me where he intended us to live, I was shocked and disconcerted. The first question I asked him was what his mother would have to say about it.

  ‘She’ll have absolutely nothing to say, Anni,’ Donald said firmly. ‘She’s created this situation through her own selfish actions. If it wasn’t for her, you and I would now be married and raising our child together, and Astbury would have been sold.’

  Although Donald tried to comfort me, a distinct feeling of unease remained. Maud Astbury had always disliked me, and I instinctively felt it was borne of more than racial prejudice. She knew I saw through her outer shell to the core of her selfish soul.

  ‘But what if the servants talk?’ I asked Donald. ‘After all, they know who I am.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ Donald had answered, ‘but I’ve thought of that. We simply say that you were married whilst you were away in India, but sadly, your husband died and that you are now a widow. Perhaps it might be sensible to invent a new surname for the two of you?’ He put his hand on mine. ‘Will you come with me to Astbury, Anni? I wish you and our child to be near me. It may not be perfect, but it’s the best I can do.’

  I asked him if he would give me some time to think about his suggestion. There was much about it I didn’t like. Living close to Donald and having to watch him with his new wife was not in any sense palatable to me.

  Looking back now, I know I was extremely vulnerable. Yes, I’d survived, but only just. Back in Keighley, I’d simply sough
t to keep myself and you, dearest Moh, alive, having given up any thoughts for the future. I’d used all of the money from the rubies to pay my hospital bills, and to pay rent and buy food for us. Even though I wanted very much to reject Donald’s support, the very moment he found me, I was facing destitution. I could no longer afford to refuse help.

  I may have been happy to go to an early grave rather than betray my precious pride, but I could not cast you to that fate too. Providence had decreed that Donald had found us just in time, and despite the bile that rose to my throat every time I thought of us being hidden away by him, I knew that I simply had no choice but to accept Donald’s solution, whatever it might be.

  In the past week, as I’d sat in the pretty bedroom Selina had so generously provided for me, I could feel my strength returning. Good food and rest were beginning to restore me and my mind was clearing. At the very least, if I found the situation intolerable, I could see Donald’s offer as providing a breathing space. And perhaps, once I was stronger, I’d be able to resume my nursing and gain our independence through that.

  But could I bear the thought of Donald returning to his wife after he’d been with us? It was on this I pondered most of all. Our love had always been so complete; I struggled to imagine how it could survive with a third party in it.

  Then, through Selina, who’d told her friend Minty I’d been found, I received a letter from Indira, telling me that she was pregnant. She complained in her usual vociferous way about the morning sickness, and also about the unfriendliness of Varun’s first wife, who held superiority over her in the palace, if not in her husband’s heart.

  That letter made me think about my own situation and wonder whether it was any different from Indira’s. Both of the men we loved had wives who took technical precedence over us, even if, as Indira said, we had their hearts. If I’d married a prince of India, I would have had to share him with at least one wife. And although there was no ring on my finger from Donald, we were truly wedded in all the ways that mattered.

  Once I began to look at it this way, I struggled with it less. The fact that Donald had married Violet because she was deemed socially suitable and brought a dowry that had secured the Astbury Estate was an arrangement identical to that of the marriage of any royal prince in my home country. If I thought of myself as Donald’s second wife, rather than his mistress, the situation felt far more acceptable to me.