For His Eyes Only

by Liz Fielding

  She wanted to tell him he was wrong. She just tightened her hold around his waist and for a moment he buried his face in her hair. After a while, he said, ‘My grandmother came to my first exhibition. She was dying by then, but she defied him that once. I went to her funeral but when my grandfather saw me he thought I was my father and began ranting at me…’

  ‘Did Ramsey discover any more about what happened to your parents?’ she said, desperate to distract him from the horror of that image.

  ‘Only rumours. That the family had been caught trying to leave the country and they were all either rotting in jail or dead. That my father had made the whole story up just to get his hands on the money and he and Soraya were living somewhere in the sun. That my father was the victim of a honeypot trap and once he’d handed over the money he was disposed of. Take your pick.’

  ‘No. Not the last one.’

  And for the first time the smallest hint of a smile softened his face. ‘You know that for a fact, do you?’

  ‘One hundred per cent,’ she said. ‘Maybe, for a passion so intense that nothing else mattered they might have surrendered their son. Considered it their penance. But if it had been a con, Soraya would have got rid of you the second she realised she was pregnant.’

  Totally focused on him, on his pain, she saw the gone-in-amoment swirl of emotion deep in his eyes; scudding clouds of joy, sorrow, dark and light, every shade of grey.

  ‘You didn’t know any of this? Growing up?’ He shook his head. ‘Gary. Gary told you.’ Who else? ‘Was it one too many beers on one of your owl-or badger-watching adventures?’

  ‘It wasn’t beer that loosened his tongue. It was a motorbike. He had an old bike that he’d rebuilt from scrap and he taught me to ride when I was barely tall enough to reach the pedals. When I got a brand-new bike for my seventeenth birthday he was the first person I wanted to share it with.’

  ‘Oh…’ She could see what was coming.

  ‘Young, brash, spoilt, it never occurred to me how he would feel. Obviously, I’d always had more than him, but this was grown-up stuff, stuff he wanted and could never afford on the pittance my grandfather paid him. Stuff I didn’t have to work for, but would come to me just because my name was Hadley. It was like a chasm had opened up between us and he lashed out with the only weapon he had to put himself back on top. It just came out. How my father had sold me so that he could be with his whore.’

  ‘Chinese whispers,’ she said, perfectly able to imagine how gossip whispered in the village had been distorted, twisted with every retelling. Garbled, warped…

  ‘He was already back-pedalling, trying to take it back before I’d fired up the bike to go and confront my grandfather, but nothing could unsay those words. I demanded to know the truth and the old man didn’t spare me. He said I was old enough to know the truth and he laid it out in black and white. My father had betrayed his wife, abandoned his unborn child for a—’

  ‘Darius…’

  She’d cut in, not wanting him to repeat the word, but he raised his hand to touch her cheek, looked down at her. ‘Let me finish. Get it out in the light.’ He made a gesture that took in the sagging boathouse, the house out of sight behind the trees. ‘This is all he really cared about. Preserving the house, preserving the name. Nothing that was real.’ He took his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, handed her a photograph. ‘This is what my father cared about.’

  ‘She’s beautiful, Darius.’ The snapshot was of a young woman laughing at something the photographer had said, her eyes filled with so much love that it took her breath away. To be looked at like that… ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘It arrived in an envelope after my grandmother came to the exhibition. No note.’

  ‘A smile like that against four hundred years of history. No contest.’ She looked up at Darius, at the same dark eyes… ‘She would have come for you. Crawled over broken glass. No piece of paper would have stopped her.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve always known, deep down, that they’re dead but I hoped…’

  ‘Where did you go? How did you live?’ she asked. ‘When you left?’

  ‘Not in a cardboard box under Waterloo Bridge,’ he said, apparently reading her mind. ‘I went to Bristol, sold the bike, rented a room, signed on at a sixth form college and got a job stacking supermarket shelves.’

  ‘The bike?’ she said. ‘You told me you walked out!’

  ‘Metaphorically,’ he said, but the darkness had been replaced with the beginnings of a smile. ‘I wanted…I needed you to walk with me.’

  ‘All you had to do was ask.’ For a moment they just looked at one another until it was too intense, too full of the unspoken words in her head and she scrambled for another thought. ‘What happened to Gary?’ she asked, her voice catching in her throat.

  ‘You always go straight to the heart of what’s important, Natasha. I’m banging on about ancient history and you bring me crashing back to earth with what’s real. The human element.’

  ‘I wasn’t dismissing what happened to you. But you said it, Darius. You had everything going for you while he had nothing and I can’t imagine your grandfather was a man to overlook such an indiscretion.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. I didn’t betray Gary but it couldn’t have been anyone else. Mary told me that my grandfather gave him a choice—he left the estate and never returned, or his father and grandmother would lose their jobs and the cottages that went with them.’

  ‘Hurting, angry, lashing out… He made them all pay.’

  ‘If I’d stayed I could have stopped that.’

  ‘How? By bargaining with him? What would you have surrendered to save him?’ He had no answer to that. ‘He would have had you at his mercy, Darius. You were both better off away from here.’

  ‘Right again. My mistake was not stopping to pick up Gary on the way out. I’ll always regret that.’

  ‘I don’t imagine you were thinking very clearly,’ she said, untangling herself from his arms. ‘Come on,’ she said, standing up, picking up her shoes. ‘There’s grass to cut, doors to be washed…’

  Darius caught her hand. ‘Thank you.’

  There was nothing she could think of to say, so she stood on her toes and kissed him. It was supposed to be brief, sweet, over in a moment, but neither of them wanted it to stop. Even when the kiss was over they didn’t want to let go.

  ‘If we don’t go back soon, they’ll wonder where we are.’

  ‘You wanted to take a good look at the boathouse, check if it will have to be pulled down or whether it can be restored,’ he offered.

  ‘Right,’ she said, leaning her forehead against his chest before forcing herself to step away, get back to washing down paintwork. When she turned around her brother James was leaning on the wall of the boathouse, arms folded over the fishing rod he was holding. He’d clearly been there for some time.

  ELEVEN

  Darius was the first to recover. ‘Did you manage to catch supper?’ he asked.

  ‘With half a dozen children screaming and splashing about? They’ve scared away every fish within five miles so we thought we’d leave the women to sort out lunch while we walk down to the village and test the local ale. It’s a Sunday holiday tradition. There’ll be a pint waiting when you’ve finished checking out the structural integrity of the boathouse.’

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘Did that sound like a friendly invitation,’ Darius asked, ‘or am I going to be pinned to the dartboard?’

  ‘The pre-Sunday lunch trip to the pub is a mysterious male tradition,’ she replied, ‘from which mothers, wives and sisters are excluded. All I can tell you with any certainty is that you’re the first man I’ve kissed who’s ever been invited by my brothers to join them.’

  ‘So that’s good?’

  ‘Probably, but if they do pin you to the dartboard by your ears I’ll give them all particularly noxious jobs tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll want pictures,’ he said.r />
  ‘I’ll post them on Facebook,’ she promised. ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘After lunch. I’ve got to do what I should have done on Friday before the foundry starts up on Monday morning. I can’t promise to be here on Saturday. Once we start, we don’t stop until it’s done.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to come this weekend. It’s been…’

  ‘Fun, Natasha. It’s been fun.’

  ‘Even getting beaten by my mother at Scrabble?’ He said nothing. ‘You let her win? Go!’ she said, laughing, pushing him away. ‘Before your beer gets warm.’

  Before she dragged him under the nearest bush.

  *

  Darius, pausing for a break, checked his phone. There was a text from Natasha.

  Needs full structural survey. Xxx

  She’d attached a photograph of the boathouse.

  Grinning, he took a selfie and sent it back with a text.

  Needs total scrub down. Xxx

  Natasha had kept in touch, sending pictures of the house emerging from its cocoon, but it was her suggestive little texts that made him smile. He’d replied with pictures of bones emerging from moulds. No comment needed.

  *

  Tash sighed with pleasure. Hadley Chase was gleaming, as perfect as she could have hoped, brought back to life, not just by sunlight and polish, but the laughter of children, the smell of baking, the armfuls of flowers from the long neglected cutting garden supplemented by cow parsley, willow herb gathered by her sisters-in-law to create huge free-form flower arrangements.

  Tables had been laid in the conservatory for tea, the hired water boiler and teapots lined up and ready, the doors thrown open to the lawn, where the children were playing croquet with a set Harry had found in one of the outbuildings as the first cars began to arrive.

  ‘It looks magical, Tash. If Darius were here he wouldn’t be able to let this go,’ Patsy said.

  ‘Maybe that’s why he’s staying away.’

  ‘Or not. Isn’t that his Land Rover?’ Patsy had offered to drive her home so that he could take the Land Rover back to London. ‘Go and say hello,’ she said as he drove straight round to the back of the house.

  ‘Too late,’ she said as the editor of the Country Chronicle advanced towards her, hand outstretched.

  ‘Tash! I’m so glad to see you looking so well.’

  ‘As you can see, Kevin, rumours of my breakdown were not just exaggerated but completely untrue.’ She took his hand. ‘Thank you for coming today. It means a great deal to me.’

  ‘You have Peter Black to thank for that. He is so angry with you that he threatened to withdraw all Morgan and Black advertising if I covered the Hadley Chase open day.’

  ‘A bit of a hollow threat, I’d have thought. There is nowhere else for this kind of property.’

  ‘Hollow or not, I can’t allow advertisers to dictate what we print.’ He looked around. ‘I have to congratulate you, my dear; your campaign has caused quite a stir. The children are a nice touch, by the way. Can we photograph them with the house in the background for our feature?’

  ‘Feature?’

  He smiled. ‘Two pages? Maybe more if Darius Hadley will talk to me. I don’t like being threatened.’

  *

  Darius stood back, watching Natasha greet visitors, delegate various members of her family to show them around the house, confident, professional, totally focused on the task she’d set herself. She’d told him she was the best and she was right. For a while she’d been entirely his but after this her world would reclaim her.

  It was what he’d wanted, he reminded himself. It was the way he always wanted things. A hot flirtation and then move on. No emotional engagement.

  Too late. It had been too late the moment he’d set eyes on her, too late the minute he’d allowed her to stay. Kissed her. He’d let down his guard, done what he’d sworn he’d never do. He’d fallen hopelessly, ridiculously in love and where once he would have thought that made him a fool, he now knew that it made him a better man.

  The thought made him smile and he was just going to her, to tell her that, when Morgan appeared on the doorstep. He instinctively took a step forward to protect her, but she had it covered, her voice clear, calm, composed.

  ‘Miles? This is unexpected.’

  ‘I’m here to apologise, Tash. I’ve been made a fool of.’

  ‘Really?’ She didn’t step back to let him inside.

  ‘That idiot Toby has gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ That rattled the cool.

  ‘He’s signed a contract to play professional rugby in Italy. It seems that’s where he was last month. Not on a tour, but having trials, medicals, negotiating a deal. When his parents found out they were furious so they cooked up this scheme to cause a crisis, get rid of you and force him to forget the sports nonsense and put the company, his family first. He arrived at the reception not knowing what the hell was going on, but his mother cried and he was cornered.’

  ‘Why on earth couldn’t they just let him be happy?’

  ‘Families, inheritance…’ He shrugged. ‘You know how it is.’

  ‘Yes…’ she said. ‘Yes, I know.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Was Janine involved?’

  ‘She and Peter were always…close. Let’s just say that she’s currently seeking alternative career opportunities.’

  ‘And what about Morgan and Black?’ she asked.

  ‘There is no Black. That is the second reason I’m here. I’m looking for a new partner, Tash. I would like it to be you.’

  Darius didn’t wait for her answer. He’d just heard the sound of hell freezing over and he’d felt the chill to his bones.

  He hoped to escape unnoticed but Laura was in the kitchen, loading up a trolley with sandwiches, cakes, scones.

  *

  ‘Darius! How lovely to see you. Does Tash know you’re here?’

  He shook his head. ‘She’s busy.’

  ‘Is it going well out there?’

  ‘There seem to be a lot of people. Can I give you a hand?’

  ‘I’ve got it covered. Why don’t you take a last look around while the house is looking at its best? The way it must have been when you lived here.’

  ‘It might have looked like this, Laura. Polished within an inch of its life, flowers everywhere, but it never felt like this. It had no heart. You and Derrick, your family, Natasha…’

  He stuck his hands in his pockets, stared up at the ceiling, struggling to find words that would convey how they’d transformed this place. Made it somewhere he wanted to come, could walk in and not feel that he was somehow wanting. A want he’d understood when he’d learned the truth. He was a second-best replacement for the boy who’d died in the womb.

  There was only one word… ‘Love… Love has done this. Your family came together to do this for Natasha because you love her. That’s the difference.’

  Laura put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

  ‘You’re tired, Darius. Working all hours at the foundry and selling a house is as stressful as death or divorce, even when you’ve only lived there a few years. Four hundred years…’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling.’

  ‘No…’

  He’d had a window, a few hours, and he’d grabbed it, wanting to be here, to stand by Natasha, but she didn’t need him. This was what she’d been working for. The prize. She had everything she wanted.

  ‘Sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea and something to eat. Something to keep up your blood sugar levels. There are cucumber sandwiches, scones, or I’ve made some Bakewell tarts?’

  ‘Try spiced ginger.’

  Natasha was standing in the doorway, flushed, laughing, and his heart leapt as it always did when he saw her. And each time it was different. That first time it had been purely physical, like a rocket going off. The rocket was still there, but now there was so much more. She was so much more. But her laughter, her joy was for something else.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you could
do with a break, too,’ her mother said, ‘so why don’t you get it for him while I take the trolley through to the conservatory?’

  Natasha walked across the kitchen, sat on his lap, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘How are your blood sugar levels now?’ she asked, her eyes sparkling, the pulse in her throat thrumming with excitement.

  ‘Up. Definitely up…’ he said. ‘In fact, this might be a very good time to check out the structural integrity of the boathouse.’

  ‘Tash…’ She slid off his lap, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and was four feet away by the time her father appeared in the doorway. ‘There’s a Mr Darwish asking for you. I’ve put him in the library.’

  ‘Yikes! Major property buyer.’ She stopped at the door, leaned back. ‘By the way, we’re getting a double page spread in the Country Chronicle. Kevin Rose, the editor, knows you are the Darius Hadley. I’m afraid you’re busted.’

  ‘It was only a matter of time before someone made the connection,’ he said. ‘Will it help if I talk to him?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t heard their conversation.

  ‘Darling, if you talk to him we’ll be on the front cover.’

  ‘Great,’ he said as she flew out of the door. ‘I’ll do that, then.’

  They both watched the space where she’d been for a moment. ‘Her career is her world, Darius. She had a bad start in life and maybe we overprotected her.’

  ‘She told me. All of it.’

  ‘She threw up a job that had been her dream to get away. Be independent. Prove something to us.’

  ‘To herself, I think.’ That she wasn’t that kid lying in a cancer ward, or a basket-case teenager. And she’d done it, becoming the top-selling agent for her company with a bright red BMW sports coupé to prove it. And when she’d been knocked back she’d proved it all over again. ‘You knew she turned down the National Trust job?’

  He smiled. ‘She told you about that too.’ He crossed to the fridge. ‘I play golf with the man she would have worked for. He asked me why she’d turned the job down—a first, apparently. I never told her mother. Beer?’

  ‘No… Once I’ve talked to Kevin Rose, I have to get back to London.’ She’d given him so much; the least he could do for her was deliver the front page of the Country Chronicle. With that very public demonstration of her ability to turn disaster into triumph, she would be able to name her price when she was negotiating terms with Miles Morgan. ‘This was just a flying visit. I’m installing a sculpture in Lambourn in a week or two and I had to come down to look at the site.’ It was a pathetic excuse by any standards, but Derrick accepted it at face value. ‘If I don’t manage to catch Natasha before I go, tell her…’ What? What could he say? ‘Tell her she’s better than the best.’