by Kate Ryder
She feels so tired, she hasn’t the strength to argue.
‘And I’ll take you to my house in the Hamptons. It’s a beautiful home with a swimming pool and lawns leading down to a private jetty. Your children will love it. They can fish from the jetty or the boat. I want to show you so much.’
Momentarily, Cara’s mind comes into sharp focus. Why is he talking about her children in the States? They’re Cornish! Cornwall is where they belong. She pulls away from him and holds onto the balcony rail to steady herself. The London Eye is lit up against the night sky. Through a drunken blur she remembers her room doesn’t have a balcony. Why is she standing on a balcony? She turns to Greg and sees the look in his eyes promising a different future.
‘Cara, I want to share so much with you. I can give you so much,’ he says.
Despite strong emotions, Greg curbs his feelings. He must not alarm her. The stakes are way too high. Although drunk, Cara looks so beautiful against the London backdrop. All day he has watched her controlling her words and actions, trying to present herself in a way he would approve of. And she pulled it off. He is more than happy with how she came across. As each hour passed he witnessed the emergence of a more sophisticated version of her naturally free-spirited self. A thrill of excitement courses through him as he imagines, in the not too distant future, a Cara he would be very happy to have permanently at his side. Cautiously, Greg hugs her. Meeting little resistance, he dips his head and kisses her lightly on the mouth. He’s always done this with Cara, if he could get away with it. Originally, it was because he wanted her in a way that wasn’t acceptable while Marietta was still alive, and it was the only action he could think of that would satisfy his need for intimacy. But this time it’s no falsely platonic kiss he has in mind. As Greg’s fervour mounts, any thoughts of restraint abandon him.
What is he doing? Through a drunken haze, Cara feels Greg’s desire. She pushes him away and twists to escape his hold. Suddenly feeling extremely hot, despite the cool night air, she breathes rapidly through her nose and tries to stem the rising nausea. As Greg moves towards her again, Cara’s body jerks in a series of spasms. She can’t control it any longer, and her hands fly up to her mouth. Through her fingers, a projectile of vomit arcs through the air in Greg’s direction. If she weren’t feeling so ill, the look of horror on his face would make her laugh.
Taking a rapid step back, Greg raises his arms in an attempt to protect himself, but to no avail. Gingerly holding his lapels with the tips of his fingers, he holds his jacket away from his shirt and watches as her vomit drips onto the balcony floor.
‘Really, Cara, you must learn to hold your drink,’ Greg says, removing his jacket and shaking it over the balcony.
He walks to the bathroom. Angrily pulling a towel from the rail, he dabs at the spots on his trousers. Then he rings Reception and orders Housekeeping to clear up the mess.
‘Are you all right now?’ he asks, peering out onto the balcony.
Bent double, Cara retches again. When will it ever stop? Even morning sickness wasn’t this bad.
Greg stands at the open door, silently watching. ‘Finished now?’
Cara nods, holding her long hair out of her face. ‘I think so.’ Her hands are covered in sick.
Beads of sweat prick her forehead, yet she shivers. Why did she allow him to ply her with so much drink? What must he think of her now?
‘Let’s get you back to your room.’
As Cara staggers towards the opening, Greg stands back. He doesn’t want her inadvertently brushing past him. At arm’s length, he guides her along the corridor.
‘On the balcony,’ Greg says to an approaching Housekeeping boy. ‘It’s a bit of a mess.’
Cara cringes. This is so humiliating!
Carefully extracting the key card from Cara’s pocket, Greg inserts it into the lock and opens the door. He guides her towards the bathroom.
‘I would offer to undress you,’ he says, ‘but you’re covered. I’m sure you would prefer the dignity of sorting yourself out.’
As Greg swims into view, Cara meets cold steel-grey eyes.
‘Thank you, Greg. I’ll do it.’
‘Get some sleep,’ he says dispassionately and turns away.
As the bathroom floor threatens to rush up to meet her, Cara grabs hold of the basin. Taking deep breaths, she closes her eyes. Instantly, she is transported to a windswept Cornish cliff where she gazes out across the Atlantic towards Puerto Rico and wonders what all those people are doing four thousand miles away.
Sixteen
Stepping out of woodland, Oliver jogs onto the main track leading to the public car park and home. He’s almost at the end of a ten-mile circuit of sandy heathland tracks that criss-cross this particular area of the Surrey Hills. Even though it’s two years since Sylvie first discovered his family home and started stalking him, each time he goes for a run he can’t shake off the feeling he’s being watched. It’s silly. He knows she’s dead, but he can’t break the habit. Oliver glances in every direction. There’s not a soul about. Sylvie’s legacy to him is that he will forever look over his shoulder. He peers deeper into the forest bordering both sides of the track. The trees grow tightly packed and daylight barely penetrates the canopy above. An eerie stillness pervades. Oliver rubs the back of his neck, flattening the hairs standing erect. So many hiding places. Not for the first time he believes they all got off lightly. It could have been so much worse…
As the high welded mesh fence comes into view, defining the outermost point of his property, Oliver reduces his pace to a slow jog. He had no option but to go for a run and, typically, he has not spared his body. Despite upping his medication, during the night the ‘grey mist’ descended and he awoke to bleak thoughts of his and Deanna’s future. Apart from meditation, the only natural approach that keeps the depression in check is strenuous exercise. He stopped briefly at the tower to catch his breath but didn’t linger long. There were several visitors to the Georgian folly, built in the style of a gothic tower from the Middle Ages, and a number of people stood on Leith Hill’s treeless summit in the sunshine enjoying the panoramic views. Turning away, Oliver set off down a bridle path leading through a landscape of heather, bracken, bilberry, gorse, pine and birch to the open heath of Duke’s Warren. He passed only one other person on the homeward run, a woman dog walker. She stopped and stared open-mouthed as he jogged past and bid her ‘good day’. Her dog joined him for a few paces and he turned, jogging on the spot, while the woman called it back. He smiled at her, realising it must be quite a shock to see him out of context in these woods. Once she’d called her dog to heel he continued his marathon, aware that she watched him keenly as he disappeared along the track.
Running parallel to the main track and set behind a thin area of woodland, the high welded mesh fence surrounds Hunter’s Moon. Before its installation there used to be a gate leading directly from the garden onto the track, but the security firm advised fewer points of entry to the property. Now there are only two entrances. As Oliver jogs towards the main electric gates he glances at his watch. It’s not yet midday and he decides to finish his morning’s exercise with a swim. Turning in through the stone pillars, Oliver slows to a walk and heads past the house in the direction of the leisure complex.
‘Dad. Are you going for a swim?’
He turns at the sound of his son’s voice. ‘Yes, Jamie. Do you want to join me?’
The boy nods and scampers back inside the house. Oliver climbs the steps to the stone terrace that runs the full length of the house and enters the kitchen. Taking a bottle of water out of the fridge, he pours a glass and gazes out at the lake. At one time, when Sylvie’s antics were at their most dangerous, a security guard and dog patrolled the grounds. Deanna hated it and accused him of imprisoning the family in a gilded cage. She demanded he got rid of them, but he refused. Even to this day she doesn’t know the full extent of Sylvie’s stalking. Was that when their relationship started to unravel? Sadly, Oliver t
hinks it might have been failing soon after Samantha’s arrival. It seems to him that as soon as Deanna gave birth to their first child she set about subtly manipulating their life. Charlie followed fairly swiftly and he thought they were happy with a girl and a boy completing their family, but Deanna had other ideas. Three years after Charlie appeared on the scene, she started dropping large hints about a third child and, before long, there was a fourth. He wouldn’t be without either Sebastian or Jamie, but he told Deanna there were to be no more. Despite the family’s privileged financial position, he believed four children were enough. Is this why his wife is so keen to pursue a career – to fill a void brought on by that decision? Exactly how many children did she want? No, it was right to stop at four. Oliver drinks the water and places the glass in the sink.
‘Ready, Dad,’ Jamie announces from the doorway.
Oliver turns. His son is dressed in swimming trunks with a towel draped around his shoulders. ‘Jamie, it’s not that warm out there!’
‘I’ll run if I get cold.’ Jamie grins at his dad.
OK, after you.’ Oliver holds open the door leading onto the terrace. As they step outside he puts his arm protectively around his young son’s shoulders.
Jamie looks up at his father with innocent eyes. ‘I like doing things with you on our own.’ Oliver glances down at the boy. ‘When Seb’s around he always takes over.’
‘He can be pretty forceful,’ agrees Oliver with a smile. Sebastian takes after Deanna, possessing a confidence and strength of character that belies his years. Jamie, however, is more like him: prone to quiet, introspective moments. ‘Do you see much of your brother at school?’
‘No. He’s got a new friend, Stuart Hedley. His parents live in Dubai and he’s a boarder. He’s always on at Seb to join him and board.’
‘And what does Seb say to that?’ Oliver asks, holding open the door to the leisure complex.
‘He says he’d like it.’ Jamie enters. He glances up at his dad with a sudden worried look. ‘I’d hate it!’
Well, there’s your answer, Deanna. One of your alternative options is off the agenda.
*
Greg swallows a mouthful of Scotch and takes a long look around the business-class cabin. In another seven hours the plane will touch down at JFK airport. The weather is set fair and it promises to be a comfortable flight. Smugly, he congratulates himself on a successful London trip and for having accomplished the first step of his plan. He’s winkled Cara out of her beloved Cornwall! The next step is to get her to board a plane and visit him in the States, and then he will shower her with all she could possibly desire. She has to realise it’s not such a huge leap of faith to live there with him. He will take care of her. He wants to. Before Marietta, he had his pick of women – even during the course of his first marriage – but something about Cara touches a place very few have ever accessed. If he is honest, even Marietta didn’t truly access that special place. Charlotte was the only one… and he owes her everything.
Stretching out his legs, Greg closes his eyes. He was only fourteen when he first met Charlotte. She was a good twelve years older and, to the boy born on the wrong side of the tracks, out of his league. He wasn’t Greg Latimer-Jones then, but plain Gary Jones from a dog-eat-dog neighbourhood with parents on benefits who regularly reminded him he would never amount to anything.
Greg smiles. The boy has come a long way.
There were two things going for him: his quick mind and his looks. He was always an attractive boy and from an early age he noticed how people responded to him. When he first set eyes on Charlotte he was checking out the restaurant and deciding which diner to pickpocket. For a long time he watched from the corner of the sidewalk, mesmerised. She was blonde, glamourous and laughed a lot, and he had never seen anyone so desirable in his short life. He observed her interplay with the man at the table; it was clear they were a couple. The man looked older, and the streetwise boy could tell he was wealthy. Eventually Gary Jones made his move.
She noticed him as soon as he stepped off the sidewalk and her eyes didn’t leave him as he crossed the road. Although distracted, he carried on with his plan. As he lifted her companion’s wallet from the jacket hung over the back of the chair, she observed his every move. Confusingly, she didn’t give him away, but merely raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. He bottled out then. Pretending to pick up the wallet from the floor, he handed it to the man explaining he’d seen it lying at the foot of the chair. All the while Charlotte watched him curiously.
Greg laughs out loud. Opening his eyes, he picks up the glass and knocks back another mouthful of Scotch. What a minx she turned out to be!
The man tried to give him money for his honesty, but he declined. He was just about to leave when Charlotte suggested her companion gave him a business card.
‘You never know, sweetheart, the boy may require financial advice one day,’ she said with a straight face. While her companion opened his wallet, she winked at Gary Jones and his mouth turned dry.
As the man handed over his business card, it didn’t go unnoticed to the streetwise kid that their house was located in the wealthiest neighbourhood in town. Like a moth to the flame, the following day he waited in the shadows and observed the household. Two days later, he watched the man leave the house with a suitcase and climb into a waiting taxi. Charlotte waved him off at the door. As the taxi departed she looked both ways along the street before disappearing inside the house. He waited another five minutes before deciding it was safe to approach. He thought up a story to explain his visit, something to do with financial advice, but when she opened the door she simply smiled and asked why it had taken him so long. For the next two years, Charlotte Manville instructed Gary Jones in the pleasures of the flesh while her husband was away on frequent business trips. She spared no expense on the boy and treated him to all that her wealth could provide. When Gary was sixteen, she announced that she and her husband were relocating to San Francisco and it was time for him to move on. She paid him off handsomely and it was this money that enabled him to go to New York. Having tasted the high life, he knew he could never settle for anything less. He lied about his age, rented an apartment and secured a job with an art dealer, working his way up from the bottom and learning the trade. He also changed his name. Oh, yes, Gary Jones has come a very long way indeed.
Greg drains his glass. Putting his seat back, he closes his eyes again and thinks of Cara. He was so fired up last night; he couldn’t curb his desire any longer. It was a shame his plan was thwarted when she was violently ill. Next time, he won’t ply her with so much booze. Fortunately, Housekeeping whisked away his suit and returned it this morning in pristine condition.
What is it about Cara that makes her so different from the numerous women he’s had since Charlotte? It’s something to do with who he is now. As he painstakingly set about erasing all traces of Gary Jones and perfecting Greg Latimer-Jones, all the women he went with were obvious partners for someone like Greg, but it irritated the hell out of him that it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine them with Gary as well. With Cara, however, Gary Jones would never have had a look-in. That’s what makes her so special. She will be Greg’s secret gift to the boy he once was.
Seventeen
As the train gathers speed and leaves the city behind, tension lifts from Cara’s shoulders. She’s so relieved to be heading west again. She watches as the urban terrain gives way to countryside. For two days she’s moved in unfamiliar circles, alert and on tenterhooks. At last she can relax. Before her trip to London, Greg made it abundantly clear that the Kaplans were undecided about granting her the opening exhibition. In her head she can hear his American accent loud and clear. It’s by no means a done deal, Cara. You will have to work hard to be granted it. And she has worked hard. Thankfully, Elliot and Kat are happy with her.
Cara breathes out slowly, the pent-up stress escaping her body. She glances at her suitcase on the overhead rack containing the outfit Greg has bought for
her opening night. It cost a fortune! She would never dream of spending that much on herself, but he says she is worth it. He tried to buy her a vintage, embroidered, short strappy number with a pair of over-knee kinky black suede boots, but she said it looked like a nighty and didn’t think it had professional appeal. It also didn’t leave much to the imagination, which she suspects is what he liked about it. Although aware of his disapproval, she stood her ground. Eventually he considered her words. However, the outfit he insisted on buying her is a lot sexier than she would normally wear. For a long time she stared at her image in the mirror, not recognising herself, wondering if this was the sophisticated and sexy version he was trying to create. He’d chosen black leather skinny trousers, which accentuated her curves, a pair of long fringed black boots with a trendy, pale grey, blanket cashmere cardigan completing the look. The assistant fussed over accessories and Greg chose chunky black earrings and a matching necklace. He also purchased a pair of large Chanel sunglasses, the price of which made her blush.
And what now with Greg? Cara frowns. Even though she was horribly drunk, she felt the passion in his kiss. She recalls the first time they met at Rick’s Beach Hut. At the time, she was still coming to terms with Christo’s untimely death and she was caught out by Greg’s look that suggested a different time and place. ‘I bet he doesn’t think that now,’ she says quietly to herself, cringing as she recalls vomiting all over him. Would she have slept with him last night, had she been sober? She’s always considered his Richard Gere looks attractive, but she knows things wouldn’t have gone that far, even though it’s been a long time since she’s received a man’s affections. But, briefly, as she stood on the balcony in Greg’s arms, his need for intimacy was almost her undoing.