Seeing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Tonight is not the night to piss me off,” he snarled, continuing to pull and watching her squirm mouth-wateringly at the tension he was creating for her. She giggled. Well fuck it, maybe he would go that far. He pulled again and her moan of satisfaction was all he needed to confirm his thoughts. “I did warn you, Tara. Remember that tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she said.

  He chuckled at her response and held the candle out to her.

  For a human rights lawyer the woman was really far too attached to torture.

  Chapter 8

  Molly Peters

  M olly Peters sat at her desk going through the papers and documents she had been researching for the last three years. The only thing she had to go on was half a sheet of paper that had been found after the fire at Risebrook.

  “Where are you, Nicholas?”

  She’d been trying to piece together the limited information she had but she wasn’t getting anywhere quickly. She hadn’t even got a surname, only the letter W. When the paper had been burnt, the fragment that remained readable was his new first name and W, the case number 1283719 and the words “abusive father, remains exceptionally aggressive and unreachable via normal mediums.”

  The best course of action was to try and find the psychiatrist, Mr. Patrick Callen. That name had luckily been legible but she’d had no luck reaching him. He’d apparently moved out of the States for another job after Risebrook had gone up in flames.

  She at least knew that Nicholas had gone by the time of the fire and so he was alive somewhere, hopefully. The lady that had helped her retrieve the fragment of paper from the archives had worked there for a while and was helpful enough to explain that from her memory, case numbers beginning with 128 would have been from the year 1996. Molly knew he’d been born on January 1st 1982, making him fourteen at the time. He would have been released from care at sixteen so he should have gone by 1998. Given that the Risebrook fire had been in 2000, he should have been long gone by then. But where to?

  She understood, having spoken to a few people that had worked there, that the children from abusive or violent parents were renamed to provide anonymity from the abuser. There had been no other family known of and so no one had been contacted. Molly understood only too well why her dear brother-in-law hadn’t told anyone else that there was more family available to help.

  Richard Adlin was an extremely cruel and deceitful man. He was unbalanced and unpredictable. He was also highly intelligent and had been able to wrap anyone around his fingers including her sister, Julie. Oh, he was always seen as the perfect parent and husband, but she knew better.

  He was undoubtedly responsible for the death of Julie but there was never any proof of that. He was far too clever to be caught. Her nephew had only been removed from his home because someone had informed social services that the boy had been left at home alone most evenings and he was starting to become troublesome in the neighbourhood. There had been talk of bruising and scars but Molly didn’t know the facts. It was more than likely true though. By the time she had returned from Devon, there wasn’t any sign of her nephew or his father - if that’s what he could be called. Neighbours at the time seemed reluctant to talk about it and the little information she did find out was sketchy at best.

  Now she just needed to find out who he was and where he was? He had family and he needed to know they were here for him.

  She had never forgiven herself for not being stronger at the time, but she was simply too scared of Richard and had fled as far away as she could. Her sister had needed her and she’d run away. Her nephew had then also needed her and she didn’t have the guts to return and help. Now in her fifties, she would find him and she would tell him everything. She would let him know he was loved and wanted. She would tell him everything he wanted to know about his mother and their family.

  He would never remember his mother. He’d only been two when she died so there would be no memory of the love she had for him - no memory that Julie had begged Molly to take him with her to start a new life somewhere else where Richard would never find them.

  When she’d finally agreed and they’d tried to make a plan, Richard had found out about it and showed Molly exactly what he was capable of. He’d grabbed her by the hair, tied Julie up and made her watch while he repeatedly raped Molly until she bled. They put on a show for weeks while he held them prisoner until Richard allowed Molly to go to the shop one day. She ran as far as she could and she didn’t look back.

  She’d chastised herself repeatedly for being too scared to do anything, but when she finally built up the courage to go back a few weeks later, the news came that her sister was dead. It was too late. She was even too scared to go to the funeral because she knew he’d be there. He’d killed her. There was no doubt in her mind, but the coroner’s report had said that the fall from the cliffs was accidental and once again, the man got away with it.

  Molly had found out eight weeks later that she was pregnant. It was the one good thing that came from the whole sordid situation - a beautiful baby girl, Evie. They had moved to the Lake District shortly after the birth when she’d been offered a cleaning job on a caravan site for the summer, and there she had met Tony Peters, a man who changed her life and gave her and Evie a second chance.

  She constantly regretted leaving her nephew, but what could she do?

  Deep down she knew there was much more she could have done, but through sheer selfishness and fear, she’d just wanted to move on in a new life and forget. She’d get in touch when he was older.

  Molly sighed as she looked at the mass of paperwork and files staring at her. How on earth was she going to find him now? She was so confused and held her head in her hands as she continued to gaze, hoping for inspiration of some sort.

  “Mum, are you okay? You look tired,” Evie asked as she swept into the room.

  Molly looked at her daughter and smiled. She was twenty-eight now and stunning. She also definitely had her father’s features. With long black hair and beautiful blue eyes, there was no denying she was Richard Adlin’s child. Not to mention her intelligence. She’d always been extremely clever. That was also all her father, and although she knew nothing about him, Molly could see the questions in her eyes becoming more intense every year. They’d kept the whole thing private. Tony Peters was her father as far as she knew and a perfect father he was.

  “Just a bit tired, love,” she replied, standing from her desk and turning around.

  “What are you working on?” Evie asked, looking at her quizzically.

  Molly shut the file in front of her and closed the desk. Drawing the key from her pocket, she locked it tight and put her hand on the wood.

  “Nothing, darling, just something that’s unfinished. Let’s go and have a cup of tea and you can tell me all about your new job in London.”

  They left the room to head to the kitchen. Molly turned and looked at the desk with tears threatening to spill. She was so sorry and just didn’t know how to make it right, but she had to do more to find him.

  “I will find you, Nicholas Adlin. I promise I will,” she mumbled quietly, staring back at the desk.

  “What did you say, Mum?” Evie asked as she looked over her shoulder.

  “Just muttering to myself, darling. Nothing to worry yourself with.”

  She composed herself for a moment, sniffing back the tears that were forming before she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Chapter 9

  Elizabeth

  I sit at the kitchen table, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve been trying for a good hour to bring my eyebrows under control and I’m failing miserably. I just can’t concentrate on anything. The day at work was long and hard and I was distracted, messing up various orders and putting confectionery custard in the pastries instead of crème anglaise. I irritated myself so much that, eventually, I gave in and told the girls I was going home at four o’clock. Since then, I’ve been sitting here at the
table, trying to work out how to deal with my current predicament.

  The phone call from Alex completely threw me. Actually, the phone call wasn’t from him at all. His very efficient PA called to tell me the car would be picking me up at my apartment on Saturday at 7pm. I went from confused but deliriously happy to feeling like I was heading to a business meeting in minutes. Now I’m really not sure what to make of any of it. If he wants a date, why isn't he picking me up himself? This isn’t exactly roses and kisses, is it? Who sends a driver to pick up their date?

  The whole idea is just bloody ridiculous.

  Sighing, I leave the mirror and walk to the kettle to make myself some tea. In two days I will be seeing him again and I haven’t got a thing to wear or the faintest idea what I should do to myself to feel confident enough to deal with him. Maybe I’ll just keep it casual in jeans or maybe a skirt. That will make me comfortable at least. It’s not very elegant though, and he is probably used to elegant. I have no idea how to achieve that in the slightest. God knows.

  I throw my hands into the air, asking for some sort of divine inspiration. No one replies.

  The door slams behind me as Belle enters, shouting into her phone.

  “I don’t care how many times you ask, Conner. This just isn’t going to happen.” Pausing, she listens. “No really, you’re just being too pushy.” Pausing again and giving me a frustrated glare, she rolls her eyes. “I tell you what, you come up with something that is stunning enough to knock me off my feet and maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider saying yes.” She pauses “Well you’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” Another pause. “And that is just pornographic, quite revolting actually.” And another. “Right, well, before you embarrass yourself further, I’m ending the call. Bye.” With that, she presses the end button. “Good God, that man just will not accept that I’m not interested.” I smile and look over at her with a giggle as I get to the teapot and grab two mugs.

  “Just say yes, will you? We both know you fancy him rotten,” I reply sarcastically.

  She smirks. “I’ve told you before, I do not!”

  “Right,” I say, loading the cups with sugar and milk.

  “Right,” Belle confirms as she storms to her bedroom.

  I can’t stop the giggle that follows her.

  We make ourselves some tea and retreat to the lounge to chat about the week’s events and issues. Stretching her sore muscles, Belle talks about needing a massage and how she probably needs a holiday as well. She’s right. In fact, we both do. I can’t remember the last time we ventured outside the country or even took a bit of time off. We’ve both been so busy that somewhere along the business building timeline we’ve failed to relax.

  “We should go on holiday then,” I say.

  “We should. Let’s sort that shit out for the New Year. Get the laptop and we’ll book now while I think about it,” she replies without opening her eyes.

  “Okay, first though I need to talk to you about something. I need your help,” I reply, wandering over to get some Aspirin from the kitchen.

  “Really, what?” Belle opens her eyes and looks at me with interest.

  “I’m having dinner with Alexander White on Saturday and I-”

  “You’re what?” Belle splutters, throwing her tea over the carpet. I smirk and grab a towel as well as I walk back across to her and hand her the little tablets.

  “He invited me to dinner and I don’t know what to wear,” I reply as I get on my knees to mop up the tea.

  “Beth, what are you saying? When did he...? Why didn’t you say anything? And will you stop mopping up the fucking tea,” she says, leaning forward and snatching the towel from me, narrowing her eyes.

  “Well I didn’t know if it would come off and I didn’t think it was real to be honest, but it’s going to happen and now I’m just so nervous and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve been messing up everything in the kitchen. I can’t concentrate, and the way he looks at me, it’s just so disorientating and I can’t think straight around him and…” Definitely rambling again.

  “Whoa, calm down and tell me all about it. In fact, hold on a minute. Teresa will be here in ten minutes and we need to get the wine out. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Is this why you’ve been murdering your eyebrows?”

  “Yes,” I reply as she heads to the fridge to get wine.

  “Bloody rain! I hate it,” Teresa exclaims, storming through the door. We both stare at her in near shock at her timing.

  “What?” she says, immediately pouring her wine and then wandering into the lounge to sit.

  “Well, honey, Beth is about to tell us something very interesting. You’ll want to hear this and so do I. Off you go, little sister,” she says, slumping back into the sofa and raising her brows.

  “Really? What’s going on?” Teresa questions as she tucks her feet under her.

  I proceed to tell the girls the truth about the meeting I had with Alex and what really happened. I’d fibbed a bit and told the girls that I had simply dropped the bracelet off with Louisa Trembell. They’ve received emails since then confirming new catering orders so no one worried that returning the gift had offended him in any way. I tell them about the intimate moments and rather interesting questions and then tell them about the phone call from Louisa.

  Teresa is now open-mouthed gaping at me. Belle is smiling and blowing me kisses. Neither of their responses is going to help me in any way at all but at least I’ve shared.

  “Well done, darling. It appears you have bagged yourself a millionaire… or billionaire. I’m not sure which. Scrummy though. A bit unfair of you if I’m honest as I saw him first, but hey ho off you go and all that,” Teresa chides.

  “I doubt that, honey. He probably just wants a fling or something.” I smile shyly and snuggle deeper into the chair.

  “I think this deserves a shopping trip on Saturday then and don’t worry, honey I’ll sort out your eyebrows,” Belle says. I glare at her, trying to tell her in no uncertain terms that I am at least capable of that. She laughs at me.

  “Actually, I have a much better plan. The Thompsons have just cancelled their lunch tomorrow because of the rain. Don’t worry; they’re still paying us. They don’t hold us responsible for the weather but they’ve moved it to next Wednesday. I said we could fit them in. Why don’t we just close up shop for the day and go to the spa and then do some shopping?” Teresa says.

  “What? We’ve never shut the shop before,” I burst in, completely shocked by her proposal.

  “Well, you’ve never had a date with Alexander White before, have you? I think that deserves some rather special treatment, don’t you?” Belle says pointedly.

  “Okay, well listen. How about I phone Tom and ask if he’ll cover for the shop front. You haven’t got any big orders, have you? And there are plenty of pastries available,” Teresa questions.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s worth shutting up the kitchen for. I mean really, ladies, a quick shopping trip on Saturday will do just fine.”

  “It most certainly is. I am the eldest and I say we do it. I can rearrange the appointments I have. You will feel like a princess for this date and I will get my massage.”

  “Right, I’ll get on the phone, call my dearest brother who hasn’t got anything better to do anyway, and book it. I wonder if we can get into that new place. Apparently it’s wonderful. I heard on the grapevine that it started out in the North West somewhere. Still a bit quiet so we might have a chance if I get straight on it.” Teresa jumps with joy and heads to her bag.

  Apparently I have been railroaded. She, of course, does her thing and unbelievably, within twenty minutes, with a few freebies thrown in from Scott’s, we’re in. She’s booked three haircuts, three sets of nails and three waxes all before lunchtime, giving us plenty of time for clothes finding in the afternoon. They’re both overjoyed with the thought of it. I am not in heaven at all as I watch them discussing my date because they simply don’t understand what
he’s like, and although they would probably handle it better than me, I can’t help but feel that if they were in my shoes, they wouldn’t be quite so enamoured by the reality either.

  ~

  Hoffi Studio is by far the swankiest place I have ever been for a haircut. I normally go to the lady on the corner of our street. This place is gorgeous and so far removed from what I’m used to that it’s just scary.

  I now stand here feeling completely at odds with my surroundings. The words awkward and ungainly spring to mind. Belle and Teresa simply waltz into the sleek white interior and collapse on the sofa, talking about what type of nails they will be wearing by the end of the day. I’m not even sure I realised different types of nails existed, so I sit self-consciously on the end of the red leather sofa and look around the multitude of rooms. Beautiful women lounge around in their high-end clothes, perfectly made up, with a confidence and poise that seems to radiate from every pore on their flawlessly polished skin. I cringe inwardly at my dull hair and lack of make-up. I don’t stand a chance. What the hell am I doing here? Trying to impress Mr. White, that’s what.

  Bloody ridiculous.

  “I’m leaving,” I state, getting up and grabbing at my bag.

  “What?” Teresa exclaims far too loudly. Both of them look at me.

  “I can’t do this. I don’t even know why I said yes to him. It’s just stupid. As if he would ever be really interested in someone like me. Look around you. These are his women, not me.” I start for the door.

  “Elizabeth Scott, get your arse back on that sofa immediately,” Teresa states with a fury not often heard in her voice. I slowly turn and start to protest but am yanked into a quiet corner.

  “No! You will shut up and listen. I have been your friend for a long time now and I have listened to your sister try to give you some confidence. You blatantly disregard her good advice every time. You will not do this again. You are absolutely the most beautiful woman I know. You do not need any of this to stand out in a crowd. The grace and composure that flow from your demeanour when you stop over thinking everything is astounding and if I had one ounce of the traits and qualities that ooze out of your being every day, I would be a very happy girl. Stop beating yourself up about whatever it is you’re beating yourself up about. You have every right to date Alexander White and he obviously thinks so too,” she says in a low tone so no one can hear. I look at her agog, having never seen her like this before. “And furthermore, I will not let you screw this up because you feel you are not worthy for some stupid reason. You know nothing about him apart from what you’ve read and learned from spending an hour in his company. Did you enjoy it?” she continues with seething eyes and a tapping foot.