The plan had many, many merits.
With one last look and a quiet sigh, Violet slipped out from between the sheets, slowly enough not to wake him. She needed to think, and that was practically impossible while in bed with Tom. The man was just too distracting—even asleep.
Grabbing a pair of leggings and a long T-shirt from a drawer, and, giving silent thanks that they’d made it back to her room, not Tom’s, the night before, Violet dressed silently, then crept out of the room. She’d use the bathroom down the hall to freshen up, rather than her own en suite bathroom, then grab some coffee and head to Rose’s study. No one was likely to interrupt her there, at least not for a while. After the late night at the wedding, everyone was likely to sleep in, and Tom...well, he was probably a little worn out too.
She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as she thought about it. One thing she had no doubt about—last night had definitely been a good idea.
Now she just had to figure out what happened next.
The study was blissfully cool, quiet and private. Resting her cup of coffee on the corner of the desk, Violet curled up in her desk chair and stared out of the window. There was probably work for the Benefit that she should be doing, but she knew she’d be good for nothing if she didn’t sort out last night in her head first.
He’d talked about his mother, and about the dark side of reporting—as if she didn’t know it well enough already. But he’d got out, and the guilt he carried from his mother not knowing that before she’d died...Violet knew that was strong enough to keep him honest for ever. Tom would never be the sort of reporter Nick was. He’d told her the truth about everything.
This could have been history repeating itself all over again—but it wasn’t. Because Tom wasn’t Nick. And, for the first time in a long time, she honestly found herself hopeful and trusting in her future.
The phone on her desk rang, and Violet frowned at it. Who on earth would be calling so early on a Sunday?
‘Violet Huntingdon-Cross,’ she said, answering it.
‘Miss Cross. It’s Jake Collins here.’ Ah, of course. Only the most offensive manager on her list of acts—who else? Probably looking for a way to get back at her for the rider thing. ‘We’re in Dublin airport right now, about to fly back across to your own fair green isle for the Benefit Concert.’
Well, that explained the early morning wake-up call. But not why he was actually calling. And wasn’t Ireland the fair green isle, anyway? At least he was sounding civil. Almost friendly, in fact. It was enough to make her suspicious.
‘Mr Collins,’ she said as brightly as she could, ‘how can I help you today?’
‘It’s rather more a case of how we can help you, I think. I appreciate that the news isn’t official just yet, but you know how the industry is. There were enough people at that party last night that it really wasn’t a surprise.’
What party? The Littlewood wedding? But the only thing that had happened there... Violet bit back a groan. She’d place money on some camera somewhere catching a shot of her and Tom in the garden. But did anyone really care about that? And what on earth did it have to do with Jake Collins, anyway?
‘I’m sorry... I don’t understand.’ And she wasn’t sure she wanted him to explain it, either.
‘Of course, of course. I totally get that you need to await the official announcement. And, of course, there will need to be the appropriate period of mourning, especially for your family. But no one would want to see the Benefit Concert cancelled, I’m sure. So all I wanted to say was...if your father feels it inappropriate for the Lemons to perform, Olivia would, of course, be more than happy to help out by taking over the headline slot.’
Mourning? Why would they...and what would make them think of cancelling the concert?
‘Mr Collins, really—’
‘Oh, I know, too soon. Too soon. But it’s out there now. I’ll call again at a better time and we can talk. So sorry for your loss. Please, pass my condolences on to your parents.’
The line went dead, and Violet stared at it in her hand for a long moment before a truly dreadful thought hit.
Rose and Will.
Violet’s heart beat treble time in her chest. She had no idea where they were, what the time was there and she didn’t care. Grabbing her mobile with shaking hands, she pressed the speed dial and prayed for Rose to pick up.
‘Vi?’ Rose’s sleepy voice came over the line and Violet’s breath burst out of her in relief.
‘Oh, thank God. I just had the strangest phone call and I thought...never mind. You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.’
‘’Kay. Call you later.’
Violet hung up. Whatever Jake Collins’s deal was, he was obviously mistaken. Everything was fine. Violet’s heart rate started to return to normal and she reached for her coffee cup.
She only managed one sip before the police banged on the door.
* * *
‘What’s going on?’ Tom asked as he stumbled into the kitchen, wishing he’d taken the time to go back to his own room and find something other than yesterday’s suit to wear. But when he’d woken alone in Violet’s bed, heard voices downstairs then spotted the police cars on the driveway...he hadn’t really been thinking about his own sartorial elegance.
Violet looked across from the coffee maker, her expression tense. There were lines around her eyes he didn’t remember from the night before and they looked puffy and red, as if she was trying really hard not to cry.
Sherry wasn’t even trying. How she managed to still look beautiful with tears streaming down her face, Tom had no idea. Rick had one arm around her, his other hand covering his face. Seb held Daisy in the corner, her face hidden against his chest.
And next to the kitchen table stood two police officers and a man in a suit—utterly incongruous in the Huntingdon-Cross kitchen.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the suit said, not sounding at all apologetic. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Trivet. And you are?’
‘Tom Buckley. I’m here interviewing the family.’ Except he’d never felt more like an outsider than at this moment.
‘You’re press.’ The detective’s mouth hardened. ‘I’m sorry, but the family has requested no reporters be allowed in at this time.’
Tom’s heart sank, a dead weight in his chest. Of course not. Whatever was happening, this was for family only. ‘Right. I’ll just—’
‘No!’ Violet said, too loud in the subdued kitchen. ‘Tom’s a...family friend. Right, Dad?’
Rick looked up just long enough to nod. His craggy face looked ten years older, Tom realised.
‘In that case, I’ll tell you just what I’ve told the others,’ Trivet said. ‘I’m afraid that in the early hours of this morning one of Mr Cross’s cars was discovered along the riverbank, halfway between here and London. The man behind the wheel was Jez Whittle.’
The Screaming Lemons’ lead guitarist. But, more importantly this morning, Rick’s best friend.
‘Is he...?’ Tom hardly dared ask. The answer was already written on the face of everyone else in the room.
‘It appears that he died in the early hours of this morning.’
‘From the car crash?’ Tom asked, but Violet shook her head.
‘Mr Whittle died from a fatal overdose of heroin.’ Trivet’s expression was solemn as he spoke. ‘People at the party he’d attended in London confirmed that he had seemed unstable before he left and had talked about needing “something more” to take the edge off.’
‘He’d been clean for years!’ Rick’s head shot up, his distress clear on his face. ‘I mean, twenty years. You don’t just fall off the wagon after two decades. Not without talking to someone first. Without talking to me.’
Oh, God, he shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t meant for Tom to witness. He shouldn’t be watching Violet go to her parents and wrap her arms around them both, tears on her cheeks. Because if he was here...he had to write about this moment. Had to tell this story.
And how could he, now?
‘What happens next?’ Seb asked, his voice low and even. He was family now, even if he’d only married in. He could take charge and ask questions and take care of people. While Tom had to just fade into the background and pretend he wasn’t intruding on this incredibly private grief.
Except he wanted to. He wanted to take Violet in his arms the way Seb had held Daisy, wanted to make this easier for her, any way he could.
‘There’ll be an official inquest, of course,’ the detective said. ‘And we’ll need to ask Mr Cross a few questions about the car and such. But mostly, I imagine, you can expect an influx of paparazzi, and soon. I can leave a couple of uniforms here to watch the door, if you want. Might dissuade most of them from trying anything extreme.’
Like climbing in through windows, harassing the family every time they even looked outside. Oh, God, this was going to be hell for Violet.
Seb nodded. ‘Thank you. And if that’s all...’ The Earl had the aristocracy’s way with dismissal hints, Tom realised, and almost smiled.
‘For now.’ Detective Inspector Trivet motioned towards the door with his head and the policemen all filed out, leaving the family alone. With Tom.
‘I should...’ Leave, he wanted to say. But how could he when Violet’s head jerked up, her blue eyes huge and wide in her pale face and her gaze pleading. ‘Make more coffee,’ he finished. ‘Or food. If anyone wants something to... Or something else. Anything you need.’
‘Thank you,’ Violet whispered. But no one else was listening.
‘I don’t understand it.’ Rick crashed his fist down onto the table, rattling the coffee cups. ‘Why didn’t he talk to me? Of all the people...he knew! He knew I could help.’
‘I set up a drug rehab and addiction counselling centre years ago.’ Rick’s words from one of many interviews floated through Tom’s mind. ‘I always felt it was important to pay back, for all the narrow escapes friends have had. I wanted to help.’
And was this why? Had Rick been thinking about Jez when he’d started that project? That it would have made his friend’s life easier—or even that it would be there, ready for him, if he ever needed it again?
Stories of Jez’s addictions had appeared in the papers regularly, back in the day. But the band had always closed ranks around him, Tom remembered from his research. And in those days they hadn’t had the internet or camera phones to contend with. By the time they’d been invented, Jez had sobered up and flown right.
Until last night.
‘He was probably on his way here, Rick.’ Sherry sounded exhausted, even though they’d all only been up for an hour or so, Tom guessed. ‘He always, always came here when he was in trouble, you know that. He came to us and we fixed it.’
‘Except this time he left it too late.’ Rick’s melancholy tone tore another sob from Daisy, and Violet looked paler than ever. Her hands were shaking, Tom realised. He wanted to go to her. Wanted to know what to say, how to help.
But then the phone rang and Tom realised there was, at least, one thing he could do.
‘That’ll be the papers,’ Sherry said softly.
‘Vultures.’ Rick glanced up. ‘No offence, Tom.’
‘None taken,’ Tom assured him.
‘Do we answer it?’ Daisy asked. ‘Or just leave it.’
‘They won’t stop calling,’ Seb said.
Tom took a breath. It wasn’t his place. He wasn’t part of the family.
But he would do this for Violet.
‘I’ll deal with them,’ he said. ‘All of them. You just...look after each other, and don’t worry about the press, or the photographers, any of it. I’ll take care of it all.’
He wasn’t quite sure if Violet’s expression was grateful or concerned, but it didn’t matter. If she didn’t trust him completely after this, she never would.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NOTHING WAS EVER going to be the same again.
It wasn’t the first time Violet had experienced that sort of revelation in her life, but this time it felt impossible to see how her family would ever find their way back to being whole again. The grief they were all experiencing permeated the house, a silence that crept through the hallways and clung to the curtains.
That silence had sent her running for Rose’s study, the place she’d spent the most time over the last few weeks. The place she’d hoped would help her take control of her life again, to grow up and start living instead of just hiding.
But hiding was all she wanted to do now.
Uncle Jez. She’d known him since before she was born, had grown up with him always there for birthdays and parties and jam sessions and just when he was craving ice cream. He had free run of the house—especially the kitchen if he felt like making pancakes. He’d treated Dad’s collection of cars as his own, had famously said he could never marry because Rick had stolen the only woman worth settling down for, then gone on and married—and divorced—four times. He was wild and free and enormous fun and she would miss him, always, in a corner of her heart that would never heal.
But most of her grief was for her parents. For their loss. And for the horrible, unexpected proof that everything they’d told her, her whole life, was wrong.
Everything wouldn’t be okay if they just stuck together. As long as they had each other, terrible things could still happen. There were some things in this world that family just couldn’t fix.
And the worst thing was that she’d known that, really, of course she had. But she’d never actually believed it until this morning.
‘Hey.’ Tom stuck his head around the door at the same time as he rapped his knuckles lightly across the wood. ‘Do you need anything?’
He hadn’t asked if she was okay, which she appreciated. In fact, he’d been great at avoiding the stupid, unnecessary comments and questions and just getting on with what needed to be done. He’d gone out and faced the pack of press hyenas outside the house and asked that they respect the family’s privacy and grief at this terrible time—not that any of them imagined that they would. Still, it had made it clear that no one intended to make a fool of themselves in front of them, or give them a new sound bite or photo to focus on.
Violet had watched him on the telly, too scared to even risk appearing at a window hiding behind a curtain to see it live. He’d looked in control, but also as if he cared.
As if he was part of the family.
Violet took a breath. ‘To be honest, I could do with a hug.’
‘That, I can do.’ Tom smiled and shut the door behind him. Stepping forward, he opened up his arms and she practically jumped into them. How had it only been a matter of hours since she’d been curled up naked in his arms? And how could so much have changed since then?
‘Rose is on her way back,’ she murmured after a long moment of just being held. ‘At least she hopes so. She and Will were heading to the airport to see if they could get an earlier flight home when I spoke to them last. Although, since I still have no idea where they are, God only knows how long it will take them. I said I’d go pick them up if they let me know when their flight gets in.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Tom said. ‘Just let me know when.’
‘I’d like that.’ Violet wondered if he could sense the relief in her voice. She could have sent a car, but it was important to her that Rose saw family when she arrived. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t appreciate some backup when the inevitable comments and photos and looks started at the airport.
Strange to think that this time they’d be because of Uncle Jez rather than her own mistakes.
‘How’s your dad doing?’ Tom asked and Violet pulled back from his arms with a sigh. Back to the real world.
‘He’s...devastated, basically. Mum’s with him, though, so that will help. Daisy and Seb are going to stay on for the next week, too. Seb’s popped home to get their stuff, and Daisy has gone for a lie down.’
‘And you? How are you doing?’ That question at la
st. She supposed even Tom couldn’t hold off asking it for ever.
‘I’m...angry. At Uncle Jez, at those vultures outside our door—no offence—at the world.’ But Violet had learned that just being angry didn’t get you anywhere. You had to do something with it or it was just wasted.
She’d spent the last eight years being pointlessly angry, and look where it had got her.
‘I realised I’m angry because it’s so meaningless,’ she said, looking straight into Tom’s eyes. ‘So I decided to make it mean something.’
Tom blinked. ‘Mean something. How, exactly?’
Taking a deep breath, Violet held up the new poster mock-up she’d spent the morning working on. ‘I know the concert’s only five days away, and I know this would mean a ridiculous amount of work to pull it off—especially since we don’t even know if Dad and the rest of the boys will even want to get on stage. But what do you think? Will you help me?’ Violet glanced down at her newly appropriated poster, now proclaiming the Benefit Concert to be wholly in support of addiction support centres across the country. It would be a lot to do. But it would definitely mean something. It would be worth it.
A smile spread across Tom’s face, and she knew she had him.
‘Just tell me what you need me to do,’ he said.
* * *
Violet had spent two days working like a woman possessed. Tom watched her in awe, taking every task she gave him and completing it as efficiently as possible, mostly because he wanted to get back to watching her work. If he’d ever thought of her as a spoilt celebrity kid who only wanted the spotlight without having to do anything beyond getting naked to earn it—and, okay, he had—she was proving him wrong by the second.
She amazed him. All day long she made the calls he knew would have terrified her a few weeks ago, speaking to not just people in the business but the media too. She fended off questions about her family and her dad’s reaction to Jez’s death like a pro, as though they didn’t touch her at all. Tom knew they did—knew that when she clung to him in their bed at night she was thinking of all those people out there, desperate to know every detail of her life and use it against her.
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