by Shel Stone
“I know who she is. She’s in the fashion industry, but I’ve never had anything to do with her.”
“She’s lovely. I met her a few times in London. Quite some time ago. I don’t really know what she’s been up to,” Samara said.
“In that case, you should reach out to her. Then again, she might not hang around now that her father’s passed. I hate hearing of a parent passing,” Viola said with a shudder. “It’s just misery.”
“I doubt she’ll be destroyed by it. From what I understand he wasn’t the softest person you could meet, or be raised by, but saying that, she is lovely. Always a lot of fun. Wicked sense of humour.”
“Her brother is dreamy,” Viola said. “I’ve never met him in person. I believe he lives in Germany. Did you have a chance to meet him?”
“No, I never did.”
“Most likely he’s here too. I suppose it would be a bad time to invite them to dinner. No, of course it would. Stupid to suggest it.”
Tristan Barensteen was a handsome man. A man that Hassan had always respected, and part of the crowd Hassan would never be a part of, the old money crowd. Nothing bothered Hassan more than a barrier he couldn’t raze. And the old money barrier had always stood firm.
Chapter 7
“AT THIS POINT, WE RECOMMEND that you don’t leave Marbella. Ideally the house,” the solicitor said over the phone to Tristan. “Right now, it’s best not to act in any way until we have a strategy in place. It will take a few days.”
Guardedly, Tristan considered the words and their implication. The truth was his solicitors didn’t readily know, partly because the will hadn’t even been read yet, so they were making recommendations based on what they expected would be in there. Father had left some vital clues, and the most important was that this was going to be legal in nature, and most likely having to do with inheritance and property law.
“Alright,” Tristan said after a while. He didn’t like it, but he understood that acting prematurely at this point could hurt his claim in the future, or rather his claim compared to his siblings’.
None of them had ever lived here, which was good, he supposed as it didn’t give either of his sisters an immediate advantage.
The last week had been utterly painful, Tristan acknowledged. Never had he forced himself to simply bare it like he had this week. There was nothing to learn from a week like this, only something that had to be endured.
Ludwina took their father’s death the worst, crying endlessly. Perhaps a coping mechanism on her part, rather than any real fondness for their father. The man had done a good job of slowly and thoroughly relieving them of that burden.
And truthfully, he wanted away from this house. The heavy atmosphere had lifted somewhat, but it was his father’s house, designed to suit him perfectly. Saying that, it was rather impersonal. Their father didn’t have personal effects, he had valuable objects and this house was full of them, but it wasn’t as if he would look at any of them and think of his father. Even his clothes were too new to garner any remembrance. In a way, the man was luxury personified, which made it all very impersonal.
Or maybe their father just lacked any personality other than his nasty bitterness. It was sad on so many levels and he hoped his son didn’t see him that way at the end of his life. Granted, he hadn’t seen the boy for a while, but he should probably call. It was just so difficult to keep track of when to reach him at the boarding school he was at. His mother kept the schedule, and it was more difficult to deal with her than not to. Maybe he should simply ask the school to have his son call him when it was appropriate.
Sun shone into the house, but the air-conditioning kept it cool. Although why his father had bought this house, Tristan had no idea, since the man hated the heat—along with everything else, including his children.
Pulling the heavy glass door open, he let the warm air inside. There was a nice garden, perfectly manicured by a professional.
This wasn’t a town Tristan had spent any time in. It wasn’t a place he’d ever holidayed in. Aruba tended to be where he went if he wanted sun and sand, but this wasn’t really a beach getaway. Marbella was something else. The people who were here tended to live here for part of the year. Obviously not people with things to do.
“There you are,” Persephone said. “How are you?”
“Well,” he replied, then thought about it. “Tired, truthfully.”
“It’s been a draining week. I really hate this house,” she said, looking around the room. The glass was green in colour and blocked out most of the colour from outside, making the outside world look drab and colourless. “When are you leaving?”
Tristan considered the question for a moment, wondering why she wanted to know. The worst was that he was suspicious now. Their father had set them up to be adversaries, and they were. Obviously, he hadn’t been crass enough to go search for this supposed vault with untold riches, and he wondered if Persephone had. Did they even have a keycode for it, or whatever was needed?
“I’m in no hurry to get back as such,” he said, eyeing his sister for motive and thinking. “Are you staying?”
“My solicitor says I should for now. And there is the whole funeral to deal with. Unfortunately we can’t take a boat out and heave him over the side. It’s what he deserves,”
Tristan couldn’t rightly argue with the sentiment. Clearly she’d given the subject some thought, which made him wonder what else she’d wondered about. The will, as she’d spoken to her solicitors already. Maybe she’d even turned her attention to the house and its content—particularly the vault.
It would be in character for their father to leave them without a means to get into the vault too. Being such a stickler for security, it was probably in some way biometrically guarded, which would be problematic as the holder of the biometrics was dead. Maybe they had to be horrific and chop off a finger or retrieve an eyeball to get into the damned thing. Or maybe they would have to get in specialists to break it open.
It could even be empty, but no, their father had too much pride to pull such a trick. The man would never want it to get around that he’d lied about his wealth, or even worse, was accused of not having any. No, if their father had said there was a fortune in the vault, then there most likely was.
And now the game was on for who was going to claim it, which made them all enemies. And truthfully, he was too exhausted to consider what that meant. Unfortunately, his solicitors weren’t experts at Spanish law, so they were scouring the continent for a suitable advisor. Their father had chosen this jurisdiction because he knew it would make it hard for them—as hard as possible.
Chapter 8
THE SHADE WAS NICE at the small garden bar where Ricky was meeting Aggie. The sun had warmed the wood of the table and it burned his skin every time he shifted his arm. Small golden bubbles were rising relentlessly in his glass. Beer was something he drank in moderation. It hadn’t always been that way, but the carbs weren’t in line with his fitness regime.
Around him were a mix of locals and holiday makers. Spend long enough time here and you got an eye for seeing the difference. The same was true in Ibiza, except the holiday makers were a little more extreme in Ibiza.
His attention drew immediately to Aggie as she walked in, wearing a white dress with wholes cut out at her shoulders. She put her sunglasses onto of her head. Something about her always made him pause. She was so different from the girls he’d grown up with. A confidence and assurance about who she was.
“Hi Ricky,” she said and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “How are you?”
“Good,” he said with a smile. “You look gorgeous as always.”
“Thank you,” she said as she sat down. The young waiter came over and she ordered a glass of the house white. “So how long are you back for?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve missed this place, I guess. Or maybe I never really settled in Ibiza.” It was an awesome island, and there was nowhere like it on earth to party. “Part
ying isn’t everything, is it?”
“Never found that girlfriend you were looking for?”
Ricky smiled. “I got involved with a girl for a time, but it didn’t work out.” Largely because she never really settled in Ibiza either and returned to the UK mainly because she hated being that far away from her mum. For him, it hadn’t been the UK that had called, more here. Maybe he feared falling back into his old patterns back in the UK. The guys he’d grown up with were either doing the same thing as they’d always done, or they were deep into their family life and nine to five jobs. That wasn’t really where he wanted to end up either. “I’m still looking, I guess.”
“Can’t say I’ve had much luck either.”
“It’s not easy, but I suppose it’s a big decision. One you’ll give yourself a lot of misery if you screw up.”
“You are wise beyond your years in some regards,” she said with a smile. Wisdom wasn’t an accusation that had bandied around a great deal about him, but the one thing about Aggie was that she saw past the physical, where some girls saw the body and were completely uninterested in the person inside it.
“So what’s been happening here?”
“Not much. Esme had a shit relationship and she’s gone to pieces. It’s over luckily, but he didn’t go easily. Prick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Esme was one of the girls he didn’t know well. Felix’s sister. Felix he knew better, had even had a punch up over Shania. “How’s her brother?”
“He’s still going strong with his girlfriend. Honestly don’t see him around so much, these days. Never thought he’d be the one to settle down, and never thought he’d do it before me, but it just goes to show. They’re just right for each other.”
“I guess you have to hold onto it if you find it. Megan and Jesus seem to be going strong too. We’re the ones left on the shelf.”
“Uh, don’t say that,” Aggie said, rubbing her eyebrow. “Makes me feel old.”
If it wasn’t for the fact that Aggie was so far out of his league, he would absolutely hit on her. She was cool and she wasn’t a complete snob, but she was also a girl who’d grown up in a mansion, and she was never going to live a life he could support.
“And now my cousin’s here, who is Esme’s second least favourite ex.”
“Good time for her just lately, isn’t it?”
“I’m trying to get her out of the house, so I invited her to join us. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” he replied, and he didn’t.
“In fact, you’re not the only one returning. My ex is returning to town as well. Quentin.”
“I heard,” Ricky said, which surprised her.
“How?”
“Trish, that Aussie girl who works between Shine and Virtue. I think she’s best friends with Quentin’s girlfriend. Cory’s girlfriend.”
“Yes, I know who she is,” Aggie said tartly. “Aren’t we just an incestuous lot?”
“I never met either of them, but Trish seems quite excited about it.”
“Oh, there’s Esme,” Aggie said and waved. Ricky turned towards the door to see a much skinnier girl than he remembered. Bad breakup skinny. But there had always seemed to be something quite fragile about Esme, or that was how she’d struck him.
“Hey,” Esme said. “Ricky,” she said as if she was surprised he was there. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Been in Ibiza.”
“Oh, right. How are things?”
“Good. You?”
“I’m alright. Business is good. I have a skincare line.”
“Cool,” Ricky said and felt a little awkward, as if she’d fall apart if he said the wrong thing. “Want a drink?”
Esme blinked as if she was having trouble making up her mind. “I’m driving so...”
“Right. Maybe a juice?” That sounded childish. “Or a green tea?” Girls always liked green tea, for some reason. Antioxidants, or something. It tasted like grass to him.
“I was just telling Ricky about Quentin coming back,” Aggie said.
“I know,” Esme said. “Felix will be pleased. He really fell to pieces for a while after Quentin left.”
Maybe it was a family thing, Ricky wondered. They seemed fragile, the Dunburys. Felix had been a complete mess, never more so when falling in love. Then again, Shania being with him had probably saved his life. For a while, he’d looked about as frail as Esme did, but because he’d been abusing his liver mercilessly.
“So anyway, you have to come to dinner. Mother insists,” Aggie said. “Why don’t you take Ricky with you?”
“Huh?” Esme uttered. Ricky’s thoughts were roughly the same. Aggie wasn’t trying to set him up with Esme, was she? Nothing about them were matched. “No,” Esme finally said.
“Well, you have to bite the bullet sometime.”
What the hell were they talking about? Was he supposed to be the rebound guy? Wasn’t there supposed to be some consultation on things like this?
“My mother will be hurt if you don’t?”
“What does your mother have to do with this?” Ricky asked, significantly confused.
“Dinner. With my parents, and her ex.”
“Oh,” Ricky said, things starting to dawn on him. “Yeah, I’ll be your date if you need one.”
“Really, you couldn’t pick a guy Inns would approve of less,” Aggie pointed out.
“That sounds flattering,” Ricky said as Esme chuckled. At least his unsuitability was making her laugh, which was something, he supposed. “Believe me, parents never want to see their daughters with me.”
“Neither do exes, for that matter,” Aggie said with a wink.
Chapter 9
INNS FELT NO REAL NEED to leave the house. It was strange being back, and it reminded him how unhappy he’d been while he’d lived there—pining for his old life as he had been. As far as he’d known, his entire life and future had been over, but as it turned out, it was just a blip. Everything had righted itself in the end, and perhaps he should have had faith that it would.
So in a sense, he wasn’t as distressed now as he had been—but he still didn’t like it. People here seemed so aimless. They rose, they ate, likely had sex with someone and then did it all again the next day.
“There you are,” his mother said and came over to kiss him on the cheek. It was as far as affection ever went in their house. Not that he wanted more. Perhaps when he’d been younger, he’d craved more attention, but they’d all known those boys in school, the ones who were just too soft. The ones who blubbered to their mothers on the phone whenever the house mother would let them call. His mother probably wouldn’t know what to do if he got emotional. “It’s such a beautiful day.”
“If you say so,” he replied. “If you’re into blinding sunlight and uncomfortable temperatures.”
“Inns, don’t be droll,” she said. “You should try a little gratitude every once in a while. It can do wonders for your life.”
With a smile, he stopped himself from rolling his eyes. His mother had once suggested he start a gratitude journal, and it had made him wonder if she knew him at all. “Yes, I will give it some serious consideration.”
“Now I understand that Dunbury girl is attending tonight. That’s not going to be a problem, is it? You’re not going to do anything that Annabel would be disappointed with?”
“Like what?” Inns asked, not quite understanding where her mind was. Truthfully, he’d preferred it if his parents had never found out about his fling with Esme Dunbury, but they’d been informed. Although he wasn’t entirely sure what his mother expected might happen, or why she would think something would happen at all. Perhaps they thought Esme was some kind of femme fatale.
The truth was that she was an entirely different ilk from Annabel, and Inns hadn’t really thought about her much since he’d left. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t dreamt about her, but he wasn’t admitting that to himself let alone anyone else. Esme had been an uncontrolled entity in his
life. He'd always felt off balance with her. The girl he hadn’t wanted, but always desired. It’d been lust, plain and simple. She’d seduced him and he’d been weak.
Although according to Aggie, the girl had had some problems of late. Something about a controlling boyfriend. Funny how control seemed to crop up around her. Or perhaps she invested in relationships that weren’t going to go anywhere. “I will try to contain myself,” he said tartly.
Truth was that he was a little nervous about seeing her. They hadn’t really ended in a meaningful way—he'd just left. Their time together had run its course and then it’d been over, and that was all there was to it.
Obviously, if she’d had different intentions for the relationship, she’d obviously been disappointed, but then she’d had interests afterwards, which had apparently not worked out well. Hopefully she wouldn’t be here with the intention of rekindling things. That would be disturbingly awkward. Surely she knew he was involved with someone. Aggie couldn’t have invited her around and not informed her of that fact, could she?
It wasn’t really a topic he felt comfortable broaching with Aggie. His cousin had a capacity of bristling with everything he said, and this would probably be another way he’d put a foot wrong. Not that he’d done anything wrong. He’d never made promises or broken pledges. If people made assumptions, that wasn’t his fault.
A long table had been set up outside by the pool. It was nicely dressed, probably done by professionals. That was one of the things he hated about Marbella—people hiring professionals to make something more than they were capable of. What kind of person would hire a professional to dress the table for a party? An entirely unnecessary thing, and frankly, a lie. Where was the charm in that?
Where he was from, you did the best with what you had—you didn’t hire professionals to make up for what you lacked.
“Inns, would you like a drink?” his aunt asked.