Warmth filled her, from the heart outwards. ‘I know. And I’m so lucky to have you all. But it felt like...they made me someone I wasn’t. So they took away who I really am.’
‘But they can’t.’ Rick tapped her on the forehead with one finger. ‘She’s still in there. And it looked to me like Tom was helping you remember who she is.’
‘I thought so too.’ Until she’d found out the truth.
There was a pause, and when Violet looked up she saw her dad had on his thoughtful face. The one that always made her mother nervous.
‘How did you find out about it? The story he wrote, I mean?’
Violet grimaced. ‘Nick called. Told me I should look into his earlier stories.’
‘Nick?’ Rick’s eyebrows launched upwards. ‘The Nick? And you listened to him?’
‘I hung up on him,’ Violet said. ‘But...I was curious.’
‘As ever.’ Rick sighed. ‘Did you talk to Tom about it before you threw him out?’
‘A bit. I think he wanted to say more,’ she admitted.
‘Maybe you should listen.’ Rick threw up his hands in pre-emptive defence. ‘I’m not standing up for the guy—you get to make your own choices about him, and if you tell me he’s not someone we should trust then I’ll can the whole book idea altogether. He can publish what he has in interviews, but there’s not even enough for a novella there. But Vi, if he matters to you—and I think he does—then you have to hear him out. Don’t let someone else’s version of who he is make your mind up for you.’
Violet nodded, and Rick bent over to kiss her on the top of the head before moving towards the door. ‘Listen to your old dad, yeah? He’s been around awhile and sometimes, just sometimes, he knows what he’s talking about.’
‘I will,’ Violet promised. But she couldn’t help but be afraid this might not be one of those times.
* * *
‘Hey, did you see this?’
Violet looked up from the file in front of her to see Rose in the doorway to the study, holding up a newspaper.
‘It’s less than twenty-four hours until the Benefit, Rose,’ Violet said. ‘I don’t have time to read the paper.’
‘You need to read this one.’ Rose slipped into the room, revealing Daisy behind her. Daisy took the visitor’s chair, rubbing her baby bump, while Rose perched on the edge of the desk, holding out the paper.
Violet sighed. Apparently she wasn’t getting out of this without reading something. ‘What is it?’ she asked, reluctantly reaching out for the paper.
‘Tom’s first article from his interviews with Dad,’ Daisy said, and Violet froze, her fingers brushing the edge of the newsprint.
‘You really do need to read it,’ Rose added.
God, but she didn’t want to. One way or another, this would settle it. If he’d written the sort of story she expected him to, then there’d be no point listening to his side of the story about anything. It really would be over.
And if he hadn’t...if by any chance he’d written the sort of story she’d want to read...what would she do then? Risk giving him a second chance?
She wasn’t sure she could.
Swallowing, Violet took the newspaper from her sister’s hand and skimmed over the section she’d folded it over to. Then, letting out a breath, she read it over again, slower this time.
‘It’s good, isn’t it,’ Daisy said after a moment. ‘I mean, the guy can really write.’
‘Sensitive, too,’ Rose added. ‘He really got Dad. I’ve never read an interview with him that made me feel like I was actually there talking with him before.’
‘Vi, are you sure...?’ Daisy trailed off as Violet shot a glare at her.
She really didn’t want to talk about this. On the one hand, she should have known better than to get involved with a reporter in the first place. And if he really, truly did turn out to be a different breed, the lesser spotted good guy journalist...what did it matter now anyway? He was gone. She’d sent him away, and for good reason.
‘Did you hear who he got to stand in for Uncle Jez tonight, by the way?’ Rose asked. ‘God only knows how. I tried to get the band to play second billing to the Lemons when we first put together the programme, but their schedule was crammed. Tom must have really pulled some strings.’
‘I’m organising the concert, Rose. Of course I heard,’ Violet snapped, then sighed. ‘Sorry. I know. He’s been great. Right from the start.’
‘And yet...’ Daisy prompted.
Violet dropped the paper to the desk. If there was anyone she could talk to, anyone who could tell her what she should do next, surely it would be her sisters. Especially since they at least seemed to have love all sussed out.
‘Have Will or Seb ever done anything, like, in their past? Something you’re not sure you could ever understand? Or forgive?’
Rose laughed. ‘Vi, honey, Will left four women at the altar, remember? You’re his best friend; you know he’s not perfect. And was I damn afraid he might do the same thing to me? Of course I was.’
‘But you married him anyway,’ Violet said.
Rose shrugged. ‘It’s like Mum and Dad always say. When you know, you know. Will is the one for me. Once I accepted that...everything got a hell of a lot easier.’
Violet turned to Daisy. ‘What about you?’
‘I thought my marriage could only ever be a show, a business deal,’ Daisy reminded her. ‘But Rose is right—when you know, you know. So, the question is—do you know?’
Did she? Violet wasn’t even sure. ‘All I know is that it hurts, not having him here,’ she admitted.
Rose and Daisy exchanged a look. Violet wasn’t used to being on the outside of those looks. She didn’t like it.
‘Hurts like a dull ache, like something’s missing but you can still feel it?’ Rose asked. ‘Like a phantom limb?’
‘Or hurts like a sharp, blinding pain. The sort that consumes you until you can’t think about anything else?’ Daisy added.
‘Both,’ Violet admitted. ‘And all the time.’
Rose and Daisy grinned across at each other.
‘Honey, you totally know,’ Rose said as she hopped off the desk.
‘Where are you going?’ Violet asked, standing when Daisy stood to follow.
Daisy flashed a smile back over her shoulder. ‘To look at maternity bridesmaid dresses, of course. In lavender.’
Violet sank back down into her chair. She wished she could be so confident. Maybe she would have been, before Nick and everything that followed.
She took a deep breath. Maybe she would just have to be again; maybe she could find that lost confidence—if it meant winning Tom back.
* * *
He shouldn’t be here. Tom was almost one hundred per cent certain he shouldn’t be here. But Rick had called and said he was playing after all, and did Tom have any suggestions for a one-off stand-in guitarist for the night...and Tom couldn’t not help. Not when he knew what a difference it could make to the night he and Violet had worked so hard to put together.
Even if she didn’t want him there.
‘Thanks again for doing this,’ he said to Owain as a wide-eyed volunteer let them through the artists’ gate.
‘Are you kidding? Playing with the Lemons? It’s an honour, man.’ Owain’s smile was wide, genuine—and world-famous. Tom had met the guitarist when his band was just starting out, and he’d rapidly become one of those friends he could call on for a night out whenever they were in the same city. These days, Owain’s band played sold-out arena tours and, while the frontman might be the most famous member, any true music lover knew it was Owain’s guitar playing that made their songs so memorable.
It didn’t hurt that he had legions of female fans either, Tom thought. That had to be a bonus for tonight.
‘I guess this is where I leave you,’ he said as Owain headed through to the bands area. Normally, Tom would have been in there too, mingling, chatting, lining up interviews and soaking in the atmosphere. Tonight
, he couldn’t take the chance of bumping into Violet.
She had to be around here somewhere, he thought, as he waved goodbye to Owain. Probably racing around, double-checking everything, keeping everything under control in a way he couldn’t have imagined her doing when they’d first met.
Strange to remember how he’d thought she was a spoilt rich kid, incapable of doing anything except trade on her parents’ names and her own notoriety. He was happy to admit he’d been totally wrong about her.
He just wished she’d believe she was wrong about him, too.
‘Tom! You made it.’ Rick Cross clapped a hand on his shoulder and Tom tried not to jump.
‘Hey. Things going well?’ Tom asked, since he couldn’t exactly ask, How’s Violet? Where is she? Will she ever forgive me?
‘Best Benefit Concert ever,’ Rick announced, then lowered his voice. ‘Don’t tell Rose I said that, though, yeah?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Speaking of my girls, have you seen any of them yet?’ Rick asked, his tone far too nonchalant. ‘Say, Violet, for instance?’
‘Ah, no. I thought it was probably best if I stayed out of the way a bit tonight,’ Tom said. ‘I really just came to bring Owain as a favour to a mate.’
‘I see.’ Rick subjected him to a long assessing look. ‘And here I was thinking that you were here to set things right between the two of you. Never figured you for someone who’d quit at the first hurdle.’
‘I’m not...I never said I’d quit.’ Tom wasn’t a quitter. But he also knew when he wasn’t wanted. ‘Maybe I’m just giving Violet a little space before I make my move.’
‘Or maybe you’re too scared she’ll never trust you.’
How did the old man do that? See right to the heart of his every worry? Tom could understand it working with his daughters, but he’d only known the man a month.
Rick flashed him a quick grin and gripped his shoulder again. ‘Don’t worry, son. I’m not a mind-reader. But I’ve been where you are. Sherry and I always say “when you know, you know” and it’s true. But we got married in a hurry, and knowing it’s the real thing doesn’t always make it any easier when times are hard. It just means you know it’s worth fighting through.’
‘And fighting for,’ Tom murmured, almost to himself.
‘Always that,’ Rick agreed. ‘Go on. Go find her. I think she’s backstage.’
He shouldn’t. This was her big night. She’d worked damn hard for it, and he didn’t want to get in her way now. But on the other hand...how could he let this awful feeling in his chest that had started the moment he’d left Huntingdon Hall grow any bigger?
‘Backstage, you say.’ Tom squared his shoulders, wishing this didn’t feel so much like heading into battle. ‘Then I guess that’s where I’m going.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE ATMOSPHERE BACKSTAGE was incredible. How had she never experienced this before? Normally at the Benefit it would be Rose rushing about behind the scenes, while Violet, Daisy and their mum would watch from a carefully sectioned off area of the crowd.
But now Violet knew—backstage was the place to be.
The act on stage finished their last song with a resounding chord that echoed off the trees surrounding the concert area, and the audience exploded into wild applause. Violet grinned and clapped along as the band traipsed off, high-fiving each other as they came.
‘Great job, guys,’ she told them, and got wide smiles in return. This was what all the work had been for. To put together a spectacular night that would help raise money and awareness for a cause that really counted.
It almost didn’t matter that the person she wanted to share it with wasn’t there.
Almost.
‘Violet?’
Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of Tom’s voice behind her. Of course he was here. How could a music journo miss a night like tonight?
She turned slowly, barely registering the next act as they took to the stage, even as the singer, Sammy, called back to her, something about a shout-out. There was cheering and music and noise all around her, and all she could see or hear was Tom, standing there, solemn-faced, watching her, waiting for her to speak.
And suddenly she had to figure out what she wanted to say.
She’d thought she would have more time. That she could tackle this at her own leisurely pace. But, instead, here he was and she needed to fix things. Somehow.
This could be her last chance.
‘Tom.’ His name was a start, right? A very small one, but still.
He stepped closer, just one pace. ‘Things seem to be going great tonight.’
‘They really are.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come.’
‘Neither was I. But Owain asked me to come with him.’
‘That’s the only reason?’ She almost didn’t want to ask. Just in case.
‘No.’ How could one word send such a flood of relief through her system?
‘I’m glad you came,’ Violet admitted. ‘I wanted to...I never gave you a chance to explain, last time. And I think...I’ll listen now. If you still want to talk.’
‘I do,’ Tom said, but the hesitation in his voice made Violet nervous.
‘But?’
Tom shook his head. ‘You have a lot going on here today. It can wait.’
‘I’m not sure it can.’ Violet frowned. There was something more here. Something she wasn’t getting. ‘What is it?’
Tom leant back against the side of the stage with a sigh, and Violet had to step closer to even hear him over the noise of the band starting up. ‘I can explain everything, and I think I can probably do it well enough to make you forgive me. This time.’
‘Well, good?’
‘But the thing is, Violet, that’s only good for this time. What happens the next time I do something you don’t agree with, or the next time something reminds you that I’m a hated journalist. You kick me out without listening again?’
‘So...you’re saying it’s not worth trying?’ Her stomach dropped lower and lower as every second passed without Tom’s answer.
‘I’m saying it’s something I want you to think about. I want to know that you can trust me because I’m me. Not because I can tell you that my editor got a tip from an anonymous source and those photos in a brown envelope, and gave me the story to write as a test. To prove I could. To earn my stripes. And I thought it was just a practice run, that it wouldn’t go to print. I don’t want you to trust me just because I swear to you I asked him not to print it, and he laughed at me and I realised Mom was right all along.’ He sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘I can explain as much as you want, Vi, and I will, probably often if we decide to make a go of things. But I need to know you trust me enough to not need the explanation to keep loving me. Does that make sense?’
It did. It was just an awfully big ask.
She opened her mouth to respond, to promise him whatever he wanted if he’d just stay long enough for them to sort things out. But then she heard her name blaring out of the speakers on stage, via Sammy, the lead singer’s, microphone.
‘And a huge shout-out to Violet Huntingdon Cross for putting together such an epic party! Come on out here, Violet!’
‘You should go,’ Tom said, stepping back from her. ‘I don’t think she’s used to being kept waiting.’
‘But we need to—’
‘I’ll find you later,’ Tom said. ‘We’ll talk then.’
But later would be too late; Violet knew it in her bones. Which meant it would have to be this way, instead. ‘Go find Mum and Daisy and Rose. They’re out front.’
Tom nodded, and was gone before Violet even stepped out onto the stage.
The lights flashed and burned her eyes and the cheers made her head pound, but nothing could dim her determination. She knew what she needed to do now. She just needed the courage to go through with it.
‘Thanks, Sammy,’ she said, stepping up to the microphone. She coul
dn’t make out anything beyond the blurs of light in the crowd; she just had to trust that Tom was out there, listening. ‘And thank you all for coming tonight.’ She paused while the crowd cheered, and tried to ignore the way her knees were shaking. ‘The Huntingdon Hall Benefit Concert is always a highlight of the year, but this is the first time I’ve been able to be so involved in it. You might have noticed that I’ve been keeping a bit of a low profile over the past few years. But that’s...’ she stumbled over her words for a moment and bit the inside of her cheek hard, determined to keep it together ‘...that’s going to change.’
There were murmurs running through the crowd now, questions and speculations and probably a few off-colour jokes, too. Violet ignored all of them, looked up into the lights and said what she needed to say.
‘I wanted tonight to be a memorial for my Uncle Jez, for his life, and a way of raising both money and awareness for people who find themselves in the same position and need our help.’ She took a breath, drawing in courage. ‘Whenever we suffer a loss—from a loss of a job, or our reputation, all the way up to a beloved family member—we have to grieve. We have to heal and we have to move on. And sometimes that can be the hardest part—letting go of the past and opening ourselves up to the possibilities of the future. It’s taken me a while, but I’m finally able to do that. I am moving on. And you’re going to be seeing more of me because of it. I’m going to be out there, raising awareness everywhere I can. I want to let people know that if they need help, it is out there for them. And I want to make sure they get it—because if I can spare one other family a loss like we’ve suffered this week, it will be worth every minute.’
The roar of the crowd’s applause rumbled in her ears and the heat in her cheeks started to fade. She’d done it. She’d taken that step forward and moved on—she just hoped that Tom had seen it.
Because now she needed to find him for the next part.
Handing the microphone back to Sammy, she rushed off stage as the band started up their next song. Weaving her way through the business backstage, smiling vaguely at every clap on the back or supportive comment, she headed for where she hoped Tom would be—with her family.
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