‘It’s not about me and you,’ I say, looking up at him earnestly, ‘Well, not just anyway. You have an amazing career, with millions of adoring fans, but we all know how fickle the public can be. You could lose those fans in an instant if they think you’re involved in something dirty and grubby – like murder for example.’
‘God, you sound like my agent,’ Noah interjects impatiently as I pause for breath. ‘But, don’t you see, he’s right love,’ I respond grimly. ‘I could never forgive myself if you lost everything because of me.’ I sit up, not daring to look at him as the next words come out in a rush, ‘The sooner you distance yourself from my family Noah, the better you’ll be.’ There, I’ve finally said it. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting tensely for the explosion. Instead, the silence goes on for so long I want to scream, and when he finally does speak, his voice is quiet. ‘Yes, I love what I do,’ he says softly, achingly, ‘but the truth is I love you more. And I’m not prepared to give up what we have based on gossip and scaremongering.’
‘You call murder gossip and scaremongering?’ I respond tartly, even as my heart swells at his words. Noah waves his hand irritably at my comment. ‘We don’t know yet whether your father killed anybody. You told me yourself that he denied it when you tackled him. Have you ever known him to lie...?’ I interrupt him with an incredulous snort and he continues quickly before I can butt in, ‘I mean about anything like this? Your father’s no murderer Tory, but you’ve got him locked up before he’s even been arrested.’ I open my mouth to speak, then stop and rest my head onto my raised knees. Am I being too hasty? I just don’t know. I can’t seem to think. My mind is picturing Noah’s cold remoteness when I confronted him in London. ‘I just couldn’t bear it if you started hating me again,’ I whisper finally. I can feel him sit up behind me a second before he leans forward to put his arms around my shoulders, pulling me back against the warmth of his naked chest. ‘I’ll never hate you Tory and I don’t abandon someone I love simply because the going gets tough. I’m not my father.’ I frown, momentarily distracted. This is the first time he’s ever voluntarily mentioned his father. Whenever I’ve brought the subject up, he’s always deflected it. Intrigued, I turn towards him. ‘You’ve never spoken about your dad before. Why did he leave?’
For a second I don’t think Noah’s going to answer, but in the end, all he says is, ‘The usual – no money, another baby on the way, greener grass beckoning somewhere else. He just went to work one day and never came home. Mom was worried sick the night he disappeared, spent the whole night on the phone. The police wouldn’t do anything until he’d been missing for over twenty four hours. The company he worked for told mom he’d quit, but they didn’t have any idea where he’d gone. They said it was strange that another one of their delivery drivers – a woman – had walked out at the same time. So there we go, you do the math.’
‘What did your mum do?’
‘The same as every woman who’s been abandoned by a douche bag. Got three jobs and did her best to keep a roof over our heads. Luckily we had great neighbours who looked out for us. I used to spend every day there and when Kim was born, they babysat her too.’
I sit for a second deep in thought and can’t help but reflect just how different Noah’s childhood was to mine. Even though my father’s always been a bit eccentric, I grew up with two parents who both loved me, in an area that was quite simply a paradise for kids. Sighing, I snuggle back against him. ‘You’ve come such a long way Noah. Your mum must have been so proud of you.’
‘She was proud of both of us. I know it sounds clichéd, but the biggest reward to being supposedly rich and famous was being able to give her everything she’d missed out on when we were kids.’
‘Are you sure your father actually left you? What if something bad happened to him?’
‘Oh, he left us alright, and he didn’t end up as a John Doe in some morgue.’
‘How do you know, did he contact you?’ I know I’m pushing it, but it’s so hard to get Noah to open up about his past and I’m determined to strike while the iron’s hot.
‘Yep, he crawled out of the woodwork a few years ago. Did an interview on ABC saying how sad he was that we didn’t have a relationship. How much he’d missed me, blah, blah, blah.’ Noah’s voice is becoming flippant and I can tell he wants to change the subject, so I capitulate and turn my head to kiss him lightly on the lips. His sudden indrawn breath indicates how much just the simple kiss affects him and I marvel that I’m actually able to do that to him.
Then, as his hands slowly work their way down from my shoulders, I stop thinking altogether.
It’s almost lunchtime by the time we finally venture downstairs and I smile apologetically at Kit as Dotty dances up to me, tail wagging as though I’ve been away for years. We still haven’t come to any decision about the future – or rather I haven’t. Noah seems determined to commit professional suicide, no matter what arguments I put in front of him.
‘Any news?’ I ask my two best friends as we help ourselves to coffee. The mild tone of my question fools neither of them and my stomach lurches at the glance they exchange. Resisting the urge to scream at them, I force myself to wait, staring expectantly.
‘The Admiral offered to turn himself in to the Metropolitan Police this morning, although he hasn’t shown up so far. Apparently the Thai authorities are demanding he be extradited to stand trial for murder.’
‘But it happened over forty years ago,’ I burst out, ‘Surely they can’t just demand extradition now. How on earth will they ever get to the truth? Oh God, I’ve heard about Thai prisons, how can we even be sure dad will get a fair trial?’ My voice is getting louder as my panic intensifies along with the sick feeling in my stomach. Noah puts his hand over mine, slowly unclenching my fingers with his. ‘The UK Government won’t simply hand him over Tory. They’ll do their own investigation into the allegations first. Let me see if I can find anything out. I have a few favours I can call in.’
‘NO.’ I turn to him wildly, gripping his hand. ‘You can’t get involved Noah. Please stay out of it. Promise me.’ He stares back at me without speaking, a mixture of sympathy and frustration palpable in his silence. I take a deep breath. ‘Please, Noah,’ I continue more calmly. ‘If you love me, then do this for me, or we finish it right now.’ The anger flares in his eyes at my ultimatum and I just want to curl into a ball and cry. But I know I have to be strong. ‘I mean it Noah,’ I whisper finally when he fails to answer. This is what I was afraid of. Noah’s innate sense of decency won’t allow him to sit on the sidelines when someone he cares about is suffering, but if he can’t do as I ask, then it really is better to walk away now. We stare at each other, completely oblivious to Kit and Freddy sitting silently on the sofa opposite. Then he shakes his head slowly, eyes still steady on mine. ‘I don’t know if I can do that Tory,’ he says at length. His voice is low but determined. ‘How can I not get involved if I can help?’
‘Ruining your career won’t help anybody.’ I force back the tears, wondering how we got to this so quickly, after all my efforts so far have failed to budge him an inch. My heart is thudding in a staccato rhythm, so hard I’m sure they can all hear it. ‘Your agent said exactly the same thing,’ I continue fiercely, ignoring his dismissive scowl as I throw his agent’s words back in his face again. ‘Tim understands that everything you’ve worked for is teetering on a knife edge.’
‘Do you think any of that matters?’ he snaps back heatedly, finally losing his patience. ‘How many times and in how many ways can I say this. You are more important to me than my acting career. I can’t sit back and watch the woman I love go through hell without trying to do something about it.’
‘How can you say that?’ I burst out wretchedly, ‘You won’t feel that way when all your fans have turned away from you; when the movie roles stop coming and you’re reduced to advertising cleaning products on a cable channel.’ I stop, unable to go on, my anger and misery hanging in the air like a physical thing.
At my outburst, Noah simply stares at me before closing his eyes and shaking his head wearily. When he finally opens them, I can see his withdrawal in their beautiful depths. ‘Don’t do this Tory, please don’t do this,’ he warns in a low voice, but I have no answer. The lump in my throat is the size of a boulder and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force back tears. When I finally manage to speak, my voice feels like it belongs to someone else. ‘I don’t want your help Noah. We’ve got this, my dad and I.’
‘So we can only stay together if I sit on the sidelines like your bitch, is that it?’ His voice as he lashes out is scathing and my heart feels like it’s breaking. ‘Are we a partnership Tory?’ he continues angrily. ‘Have we ever truly been a couple? Or am I just your pin-up, like something out of a magazine, someone to sigh over - a nice daydream, but not real, not really part of your life?’
‘No, it’s not like that,’ I cry, making no more effort to stem the tears flowing down my cheeks. ‘I just don’t want you to lose your career.’
‘That’s my choice to make,’ he retorts vehemently. ‘If my so called fans turn away and the movie roles dry up, I can live with that. But you can’t can you Tory? It doesn’t fit in with the fairy tale.’ He pauses, and runs his hand through his hair with a small frustrated groan, before continuing in a softer tone, ‘Can’t you see Tory, I’m a normal flesh and blood man, not just some idol to be pinned on someone’s wall.’ Then, achingly, ‘Ask for my help, as your lover and your partner. Ask me to support you. I’m me, Noah – you know me Tory.’
I stare helplessly at him, my whole body a maelstrom of heartache and grief. ‘I.. I can’t, I just can’t let you lose everything because of me,’ I sob finally and watch him close his eyes and slump in defeat. At length, climbing wearily to his feet, he says flatly, ‘I wouldn’t have lost everything, I’d still have the thing that matters most. But this isn’t about me Tory, this is about you. You’re simply too afraid people will look at you and say, ‘Bloody hell, he gave up fame and fortune for her?’ He emphasizes the word her, pouring scorn and disbelief into one word. ‘You just don’t understand that all of that Hollywood stuff – it’s not real. What we had – me and you – that was real.’ I have time to note that he’s speaking about our relationship in the past tense, then he turns and walks towards the stairs without looking back.
It’s five o’clock. Noah’s been gone for exactly four hours, thirteen minutes and twenty six seconds. I’m sitting alone in the Great Hall and feel as though someone has taken a sledgehammer to my heart. The worst thing is the fear that it’s all my fault – that I’ve brought this misery on myself. Kit, Freddy and Mabel are upstairs packing. I can’t face my bedroom at the moment – it smells too much of Noah. So here I am, feeling miserable and wretched with the two dogs my only companions. Dotty is curled up on my knee, licking my hand in silent commiseration every few minutes, and Pickles is on the floor with his head resting on my foot. Even Spike, who’s made himself scarce since the curtain episode, is sitting on top of the dining table, watching me unblinkingly. Animals are more sympathetic than humans sometimes. Not that my friends haven’t shown compassion, but it’s clear they think I fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.
I didn’t see Noah after he went up to our bedroom, instead, I mumbled my apologies to Kit and Freddy, and simply left, walking until I couldn’t see the Tower anymore. Then, collapsing onto the hard ground, I buried my head into my hands and wept, both dogs licking anxiously at the salty water as it dripped off my nose.
By the time Kit and Freddy turned up about twenty minutes later to sit on the grass beside me, the tears had finally dried up, leaving me feeling like a wizened old prune. Looking up, I saw in their eyes that Noah had gone. Wordlessly, they both put an arm around me and we sat huddled together in silence. There really wasn’t anything to say. After a while though, I gently extracted myself and said, ‘Let’s go home.’
Stroking Dotty absently, I come back to the present and look around at the beautiful, faded furnishings in the Great Hall. Fittingly the weather has been overcast today, so there’s no sun shining to soften the decay, causing the room to look disturbingly like Miss Haversham’s house in Great Expectations. Shivering slightly, I make a move to go upstairs to pack, but, as I put Dotty on the floor, Aileen bustles in with tea and shortbread. I open my mouth to say I’m not hungry but suddenly realize I haven’t actually eaten anything today and I’m ravenous. She places the tray onto the coffee table and hovers, clearly wanting to say something and I look up at her expectantly as I take a bite of her delicious homemade shortbread. To my surprise, she sits herself down beside me and places a warm hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s gaein be awricht ance the pain has gane awa,’ she murmurs, and for the first time since we’ve been here, I understand exactly what she’s trying to say.
Chapter Twelve
The train to London was late getting into Paddington and Jimmy found himself anxiously tearing up the pieces of his paper coffee cup as he stared unseeing out of the window.
He’d received a brief phone call from the Admiral at five o’clock this morning asking Jimmy to meet him in London pronto. Obligingly, the small man had immediately dropped everything, making the excuse to his wife that he was going fishing. Had he not been so worried, he might have picked a better reason for his absence, since he’d never actually been fishing before in his life. But perhaps Emily knew him better than he thought, as she’d taken one look at his anxious face before saying mildly, ‘Try not to get yourself into any trouble love, and let me know when you’re on your way home.’ He hoped he wouldn’t have to break his promise about staying away from trouble. His track record where the Admiral was concerned certainly wasn’t encouraging.
As the train finally pulled into Paddington Station, Jimmy quickly texted the Admiral’s phone as instructed and after a couple of fretful minutes, he received a reply telling him to make his way to a café in Pimlico. Forty five minutes later, he was pushing open the door to a tiny eatery tucked away in a forgotten corner just off Regency Street. Looking around the small airless dining room, Jimmy thought for a second he’d come to the wrong place, then he spied two men sitting in the corner, and although he couldn’t quite make out the one with his back to him, the other portly gentlemen, sitting next to the window and wearing a ridiculous straw hat was unmistakably Charles Shackleford. Hurriedly Jimmy made his way over, saying breathlessly as he reached the table, ‘I’m so glad I’ve found you Sir, I was really beginning to get worried.’ In time honoured tradition, the Admiral’s response was to look up at Jimmy irritably before saying, ‘Bloody hell Jimmy, you trying to get the attention of the whole bollocking café? Stop making a spectacle and sit yourself down.’ Jimmy opened his mouth to argue that his entrance could hardly be described as a spectacle, but before he could speak, he glanced down at the Admiral’s companion, and the words died in his throat. Hugo Buchannan. He hadn’t seen the Scotsman for nearly forty years, but in that instant, it was as though those years had never existed and Jimmy was transported back to a dingy alley in Bangkok. Squeezing himself into the corner of the small table, Jimmy felt his apprehension rise. He really didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded to Hugo and mumbled a hasty greeting. The Admiral didn’t seem to pick up on Jimmy’s anxiety, which wasn’t really surprising as Charles Shackleford was normally about as intuitive as a sack of potatoes. Instead, after informing them both that he intended to order some scran before they got down to business, the Admiral waved over the waitress, and arbitrarily ordered for all three of them. ‘I don’t like tuna,’ was all Hugo Buchannan said when the waitress disappeared into the kitchen, to which the Admiral’s only response was a puzzled look as if to ask what his point was. Then, shifting himself forward in his chair, the Admiral leaned forward, looked at Jimmy and Hugo in turn and said in a low voice, ‘I’ve come up with a plan…’
~*~
We decide to start out immediately after dinner, taking it in turns to d
rive through the night. As we leave, Aileen hugs each of us in turn before plying us with lots of goodies to eat on the journey so the only stops we’ll need to make are for petrol and weak bladders. There’s still no sign of old Mrs. Buchannan, and thinking back to my last little chat with Jason, I really do hope she’s not actually popped her clogs. Still, Aileen doesn’t look particularly worried and she knows her better than we do. I stand a few yards away from the car, giving the dogs a last chance to do their business while watching Freddy load the suitcases into the boot. I have no idea where I’m going to stay when we get back to Dartmouth. The Admiralty will likely still be swarming with journalists, but it’s enough that I’m going back to familiar turf. Maybe then, somehow, I can let Noah go, and focus on what’s going to happen to my father.
Doggy business taken care of, I walk back towards the car, to see Mabel clambering laboriously into the back, all the while thanking Aileen effusively for her delightful “vittles” (she’s definitely been with my father too long…) Within ten minutes of us starting out, she’s snoring in time with the dogs. Freddy drew the short straw for the first stint in the back and has Mabel’s head on one shoulder, Pickles’ head on the other and Dotty on his lap. ‘Are we there yet?’ he mutters plaintively as Mabel lets out a particularly loud snore directly in his ear. Kit and I laugh – it’s the first one I’ve cracked today and it actually feels good.
Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Page 10