by Margaret Way
“Playing the wag, are you?” the taxi driver, a jovial man, asked when they were under way.
“No, no! I need to get to the hotel. Please hurry.”
“Better to keep to the speed limit,” his driver chortled. The boy looked like an angel. Clearly he was not.
* * *
Safely inside the hotel, Jules marched straight up to Reception. For a minute or two the smart young woman behind the reception desk ignored him. “What are you doing here, little boy? Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I’m here to see Lord Wyndham,” Jules answered, slightly intimidated despite himself.
The receptionist actually laughed. “Are you just! And who shall I say is calling?”
“Please tell him it’s Jules,” he said, squaring his shoulders. She needed to take him seriously.
“Jules who?” The receptionist placed the boy’s age at around seven. He was a very handsome boy with thick blond hair and beautiful sapphire-blue eyes. His accent sounded English to her ears. He seemed excessively precocious for a kid his age. He really needed a set-down.
“Lord Wyndham knows me,” Jules said without a blink. “I’m a relative of his.” He formulated the words clearly.
“Of course you are!” the receptionist cried with splendid disbelief. Here was a kid of seven, going on seventy.
“May I speak to the manager?” Jules was eager to confront his father. He remembered his mother had asked to speak to the manager once when they were in Hong Kong. “If you could find him for me?” he suggested politely. “Or you could ring Lord Wyndham and check with him.”
The receptionist’s indignation became evident. She was seriously taken aback. Who did this kid think he was? “A great favourite of his, are you?”
“I did say I’m a relative,” Jules reminded her.
The receptionist physically jerked back. “One minute,” she said crisply. “You’ll be in big trouble, sonny, if you’re playing some sort of game. Sit down over there in the lobby.” She pointed an officious hand.
“Thank you so much,” said Jules, ever polite.
The receptionist’s smile had a vague air of malevolence.
What a kid! Anyone would think he was royalty! The receptionist, huffing to herself, put through the call to Lord Wyndham’s suite. There was probably one chance in a million the drop-dead gorgeous Wyndham knew the boy. The kid was most likely up to some prank. But she had to hand it to him. He had style.
To her astonishment, when she told Lord Wyndham a boy called Jules was waiting for him in the lobby he told her he would be right down.
How about that? She could have short-circuited her career in hotel management. Come to think of it the boy had Lord Wyndham’s amazingly blue eyes and thick black lashes. He could very well be a relative.
She waited until Lord Wyndham walked into the lobby. She saw the tall, handsome British lord put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, probably asking him what he was there for. The boy’s face was upturned to him. He was speaking earnestly, with the look of someone who had a perfect right to be there. The next thing the two of them walked off towards the bank of lifts.
I ask you! Quite obviously the boy wasn’t just any kid. He had identified himself as “Jules”. Lord Wyndham had booked in as Julian Carlisle. She mulled over that nugget of information, wondering if it would be useful.
* * *
Cate was at her desk, when Stella rang. “What is it, Stella?” she asked, still not over her terrible upset at her aunt’s behaviour. “I’m busy at the moment.”
Stella lost no time relaying the news the school had rung. Jules had not turned up. He wasn’t in class. An older boy Daniel Morris had spoken to him before school. Jules claimed he had to go into the city for a dentist appointment his mother had forgotten. He was to meet his grandmother. Jules got into the same cab the older boy had taken to school and told the cab driver he was meeting his grandmother at the Four Seasons Hotel.
The Four Seasons Hotel? Jules had gone to where Ashe was staying.
She was about to hang up on Stella, telling her she would handle it, only Stella chipped in, “He’s gone to his father,” she said. “His father, over you. Over me. He won’t want us now.”
Realisation dawned on Cate. Stella felt threatened, whereas she didn’t feel threatened at all. She had come to see she had been given a chance in a million. The chance to put things right. Fate had brought her and Ashe together again despite the forces that had been at work against them. They would now have to work out the future. Right now, she had to ring the school, and then get herself to the Four Seasons Hotel. At that moment her job meant little to her. She had worked so hard, worked endless hours, all night sometimes. What did it add up to? She had known for years she was missing out on real life. She could no longer deny Ashe had a right to be part of his son’s life. There were hard decisions to be made.
* * *
By the time Ashe made his phone call to Catrina—he had listened in silence to his son’s impassioned stream of questions, before answering them as quietly and seriously as he knew how—he was told she had left work citing a family emergency. He swiftly put two and two together. She was coming to the hotel. Jules had told him all about the taxi ride into town. He walked away from the child into the other room to ring Stella. Jules had told him as well about “the fight” and the revelations that had emerged. For some reason Ashe realised he had queered his pitch with Stella, his kinswoman. This was instantly confirmed from the coldness of Stella’s voice. Nevertheless he went on to assure her Jules was safe with him.
“Think you can show up when you like!” Her voice was startlingly loud in his ear.
“When and where I like, Stella,” he said, dismayed by her reaction. “I’m paying you the courtesy of telling you my son and your great-nephew is safe.”
“You want to know a secret?” Stella’s icy voice came back at him in retaliation. “She’s Rafe Stewart’s daughter.”
“Just as I thought.” Ashe’s reply was remarkably calm. “Does that set your conscience free, Stella? I should have recognised that wonderful colouring, the gold and the green. But you knew all along, didn’t you? To think how you’ve deceived your own niece!”
“How could I not?” the gentle, unflappable Stella returned vehemently.
“That’s not love,” Ashe lamented. “You were driven by some form of hate.”
“She was born looking so like him.” Stella sounded as though she was talking more to herself than to him.
“The young man who was madly in love with Annabel, not you,” Ashe said quietly. “I don’t like to dwell on how you went about damaging Annabel’s reputation. You were very cunning. You had to diminish her in people’s eyes. Sadly you were often believed. Even I heard the stories of wicked little Annabel Radclyffe. Poor misjudged Annabel, I’d now say. Goodbye, Stella. I believe Catrina is on her way here. Her father, Rafe Stewart, will be thrilled out of his mind to finally meet her.”
“Don’t count on it!” Stella made a harsh grunting noise.
“I am counting on it. Rafe will know who she is before ever a word is spoken. You force-fed Catrina a pack of lies.” His tone told her plainly she had acted very badly.
“I have a special gift for them,” Stella retorted, unfazed. Then, to his dismay, laughed. “We got on well without you. And Rafe,” she said. “Now you’ve got the lot!”
“What goes around, comes around, Stella,” was his reply.
* * *
When a knock came, Jules rushed to the door. “That will be Mummy,” he cried excitedly.
“Well, let her in, Julian,” Ashe advised calmly. He was still recovering from being taken to task with a vengeance by a small boy who just happened to be his son. He couldn’t think of a single soul who had confronted him thus unless it was Jules’ mother. It was made very clear to him protecting his mother was central to Jules’ existence. He, the father, was perceived as the man who had disavowed them. That was his son’s world as it was and as he saw
it. He had used all his powers of persuasion to get the boy to sit down so they could talk it out, even to the extent of getting into human relationships and moral issues. He had pointed out Jules would find as an adult there were always harsh realities in life to confront. He had set out his case. He had left it to Jules to determine the outcome. It was tremendously important for his son to understand the circumstances that had driven him and Catrina apart. He thought he might have been pushing a seven-year-old boy to his extreme limits but his son’s high intelligence was well on display. Catrina had reared their son well. She had given him a childhood of stability and love. Jules was a confident child. For one so young he had achieved an impressive state of equilibrium. The silent rages that he had quite naturally harboured against his missing father had been at long last addressed. Hopefully the scars would fade.
His son’s question gave him the answer. “Is everything going to be all right?” It was clear he had become an authority figure.
“Of course it is, Julian. Open the door,” Ashe bid him calmly.
Mother and son fell into one another’s arms. “Don’t you ever do that again!” Cate cried, bending over her precious child. “Not ever!” she repeated fiercely, her eyes moving over Jules’ blond head to find Ashe. Ashe nodded to her, knowing she was reading his mind. Their son’s issues had been addressed. “Why didn’t you speak to me, Jules?” Cate turned back to her son. “You should have spoken to me.”
He had already been told that by his father. Still, he spoke his mind. “I had to handle this myself.” His blue eyes were very bright. “But I’m very sorry, Mum, if you were worried.”
“Worried!” Cate echoed, casting her eyes up to heaven.
“All’s well that ends well.” Ashe spoke gently from behind them. “Come in, Catrina. Shut the door. You’ve rung the school?”
“Of course.” She looked into his face, all her old love for him surging back. One could live a lifetime and still not know the evils that existed inside other people’s souls. Jealousy was a deadly sin. The people that were closest to them—for Ashe, his mother; for her, her aunt Stella—had caused so much damage it was a miracle they had finally won through. It was their job now to refocus on the future and what was best for their son. Ashe wanted him. He wanted her. Past history would not be allowed to tarnish the future.
“You’ll be in a spot of bother at school, Julian,” Ashe was telling his son.
“What can they do to me?” Jules kept his arm around his mother, feeling a great upsurge of happiness, of family. “They wouldn’t expel me, would they?”
“No, but you won’t get off scot-free.” Ashe made it perfectly clear. “You may have thought you were doing the right thing, but you weren’t. There was your mother to be considered, and others. The school has a duty of care. It’s a very serious matter when a child takes it into their head to go AWOL.”
“I know what that means,” said Jules. “Away without leave?”
“It does.” Ashe nodded. His son had confided he liked to think of himself as a soldier. No bad thing at all.
“It was a blessing Daniel told your teacher.” Cate sighed in relief.
Jules pulled a wry face. “I knew he would. He suspected I wasn’t telling the truth, anyway.”
“Your taxi driver has a problem.” Cate was reminded. “He shouldn’t have taken you on as a passenger.”
“I think he thought it was a joke.” Jules tried to get the jovial taxi driver off the hook. “So did the receptionist downstairs. She thought I was having her on.”
“Regardless, there are rules to be obeyed, Julian,” Ashe said firmly. “Rules of good behaviour have to pertain.”
“Yes, sir.” Jules dipped his head respectfully. “Do I have to go back to school today?” he asked, looking from one to the other, hoping they would say no.
“Yes, you do,” Ashe said, putting an end to his son’s speculation. “We’ll go with you. But you have to make your own apologies. No excuses.”
“I can do that,” Jules said, cheering up enormously. They were going together. He, his mother and now his father! It was wonderful, wonderful, knowing his father wanted him. His father had confided the whole story to him, man to man. His father had told him his mother, Catrina, was the great love of his life.
That made two of them.
He watched while his mother walked into his father’s outstretched arms. He watched his father bend his dark head to kiss her, a really super-duper kiss, just like the movies. He didn’t mind in the least. Mothers and fathers were supposed to kiss one another.
“I expect I’ll enjoy Christmas in England,” he suddenly announced to his startled parents. “I know so many carols. And there could be snow! Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Mum?”
His mother’s beautiful smile quivered. “Wonderful, Jules!” she seconded.
“Right!” His father stretched out an imperious hand. “Time to go back to school, Julian, and face the music.”
“Okay. I know I’ve done wrong.” Jules held out both his hands. “Can I tell the kids my dad has come for me? Can I?”
“I don’t see why not,” Cate said, lacing her fingers through his, while his father took his other hand.
“I know ‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht’ in German,” Jules told his father proudly. “I really would love to be able to speak several languages. You told me my grandfather, my real grandfather, could.”
“Then you’ve got a head start,” said Lord Julian Wyndham. “I can help you. I speak a couple myself.”
“Maybe we can take Nan too,” Jules said. “Back to England, I mean, for the trip. I’m sure she’ll apologise for getting so angry. I expect she was worried.”
It was obvious to them both Jules was waiting for their answer.
“We’ll see,” said his mother. “Now, best get going.”
“Face the music,” said Jules, a bounce in his step. He had fantasised about having a great dad. A great dad would have made his world complete.
Now he had one.
CHAPTER TEN
Christmas.
Radclyffe Hall.
England.
JULES CROSSED THE great hall of this wonderful old house where Nan had been born. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Adults seemed to keep so much to themselves. He didn’t know why and he wouldn’t know for a long time. But when he’d first caught sight of the beautiful old manor house set high on the hill he had burst out, “Things like this only happen in fairy tales, don’t they, Mum?” The sight had enchanted him.
She had ruffled his hair and given him the loveliest smile. “Actually they happen more often than we think, my darling.” He had never seen his mother look more beautiful or more happy. She even called him Julian now and then and he pretended not to notice. Anyway, he didn’t mind. Julian seemed to suit him better here in England.
He loved England. He thought London was a splendid city with so many monuments and so much history. He had stood in awe outside Buckingham Palace where the Queen lived. The Queen was still Queen of Australia. He was loving everything, but he missed home and he missed his friends, particularly Noah. Radclyffe Hall and the beautiful countryside were special but it did rain a lot and it was very cold. He had never been so cold in his life, even with lots of warm clothes on, a beanie pulled down over his forehead and over his ears. Woollen mittens. Now that wasn’t cool. The cold wrapped around him but he was starting to get a bit used to it. Acclimatisation they called it. He didn’t know if it would ever happen though. He loved the sun.
He missed Nan too, but she had decided to stay at home. Before they’d left she had told his mother she was giving a good deal of thought to marrying their family solicitor, Gerald Enright. He didn’t have a clue why she would want to marry Mr Enright—he was a nice man but quite old—but his mother said they would suit very well.
He pushed open the heavy door of what his father called the Yellow Drawing Room, with a feeling of glorious anticipation, shutting it quietly behind him. It was early morning
. No one had spotted him as he had come down the stairs, though he had heard brisk footsteps from somewhere at the rear of the grand house. A row of luxury cars stood at the front of the house in the huge circular drive with all the pudding-shaped bushes his father told him were yews. He had studied with interest the Bentleys, the Rolls and two Mercedes. It was cold enough for snow to fall, he thought, but the longed-for snow hadn’t fallen as yet. He knew it would. He was so looking forward to it.
Passing under the great chandeliers, Jules crossed the beautiful, big room to where the great Christmas tree glittered and shone. His mother and his aunt Olivia had decorated it with a delirium of fantastically beautiful and plentiful baubles—gorgeous jewelled butterflies Aunty Olivia had taken out of storage for this year’s festivities. Many of the ornaments were very old, handed down through the generations. So the tree looked absolutely splendid, even more so at night when all the dazzling fairy lights were turned on. His mother and Aunt Olivia had had to stand on ladders to decorate the higher branches.
Around the base of the tree were swags and swags of presents wrapped up in sumptuous papers and embellished with ribbons. Silver-sprayed bare branches in tall blue and white Chinese pots stood over at the long windows. Bronze deers had been placed beside them. Garlands of silver and scarlet flowers, with lots of greenery in between and lovely little ornaments that included white doves, were strung along the chimney piece of the white marble fireplace. They had all worked hard to make it happen. Even the banisters of the great staircase had been decorated with hanging bunches of green foliage and big red baubles tied with silver, gold and scarlet ribbon. He thought he would carry a vivid memory of that Christmas tree, the first he would see at Radclyffe Hall, for the rest of his life.
Aunt Olivia had a son, Peter, a bit younger than he. They were cousins. Fancy that! Already they got on well. In fact, they had accepted one another right off. He and Peter had been allowed to help. Afterwards, his father had taken him upon his shoulders to place the Christmas angel at the top of the tree. Everyone had clapped, making his heart swell with happiness. He started to think of all the generations of his family, the Radclyffes, who had looked on the Christmas tree with awe. Years after he would be told the whole story. But this was now.