That terrifying day on the beach at Martha’s Vineyard had changed everything for Alexia. Whether it was God who saved her, or fate, or blind luck didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had been saved. She was convinced that she was alive for a reason. And the reason, at last, was clear.
She had to tell the truth. To bear witness.
There could be no more secrets.
From her hospital bed in Boston, Alexia told the police everything. She admitted being negligent in Nicholas Handemeyer’s death, from all those years ago, and allowing Billy Hamlin to go to jail in her stead. Double-jeopardy rules meant it was too late for her to be tried for involuntary manslaughter. In the end she was given a six-year sentence for perjury and perverting the course of justice.
She also told the authorities that Teddy had been responsible for Billy Hamlin’s murder. She’d kept his secret thus far, but the whole truth had to come out now. Teddy was serving a life sentence anyway, and Alexia owed poor Billy that much at least.
Teddy had been good about it, writing Alexia a typically kind and amusing letter from his own jail cell. The worst part about it is that I shall have to go back to court and face all those ghastly reporters again. I’d happily sign up for a year in solitary if it meant never setting eyes on another white-sock-wearing pleb from the Sun ever again.
He still had no remorse about what he’d done. It was as if there were a gene missing. He seemed incapable of guilt. But by the same token, he shared none of Lucy Meyer’s hatred for his victims, none of Lucy’s blind, psychotic thirst for violence and for vengeance. In Teddy’s mind, he had merely done his duty—protected his family. The fact that two innocent men lost their lives as a result was dismissed as collateral damage, an unfortunate side effect that couldn’t be helped. Teddy died in his sleep a week before he was due in court for Billy Hamlin’s murder. Perhaps it was more than he deserved, after all he’d done. But Alexia took comfort in the fact that he had died peacefully. She loved him to the last.
As for herself, she’d already applied for permission to serve her sentence in England. Thanks to her full and frank confession, the fact that she had two “disabled” children in the UK, and her political and personal links with the country, the U.S. courts agreed. Alexia had arrived at Holloway three months ago and had seen Roxie on three occasions since.
“Has anyone else been to see you since I last visited?” Roxie asked.
“No, my darling. But you mustn’t worry. There’s no one else I want to see.”
Roxie found this hard to believe. She thought back to her childhood and how social her mother had been. Both her parents, in fact. Politics was a social profession if ever there was one. It had been Alexia’s drug for well over half her life.
“Really? No one from the old days? What about Henry Whitman?”
“Henry?” Alexia laughed loudly. “You must be joking. Do you know, the entire time I was in the Home Office, he thought I was about to expose him for having an affair? Can you believe it? He only appointed me because he thought it would keep me quiet. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Why would he think that?”
Alexia shrugged. “Rumors. Westminster gossip. Who knows? I certainly never had the slightest intention of shopping him.”
“So he never made contact, not even after Daddy died?”
“I never expected him to, darling. Word is he’s angling to become the next UN secretary-general. With friends like me he won’t need enemies.”
Her mother seemed sanguine about it, but Roxie was aggrieved on her behalf. “Surely there must be someone from Westminster who keeps in touch? All those years . . .”
“I did get a sweet letter from Sir Edward Manning,” Alexia said wistfully.
“What did he say?”
“Oh, this and that. Political gossip mostly. He offered to visit, but it wouldn’t have felt right. He did send me a copy of Jeffrey Archer’s prison diaries, though. Have you read them? They’re terrific.”
“I haven’t.”
An awkward silence fell across the table. Both women longed to reconnect with each other. But after so many years of estrangement, conversation didn’t flow easily. They had so little in common. Roxie was artistic and creative, Alexia pragmatic and ambitious. The one thing they shared was their family bond. But after everything that had happened, family was the one topic they both struggled to avoid.
“How’s Summer?” Alexia asked eventually. “Do you two see much of each other these days?”
Roxie brightened. “We do. We try to. She still visits Michael every day, you know.”
Both women marveled at Summer Meyer’s loyalty. Lucy’s affair with Michael was public knowledge now. The letter that Lucy had written to Summer, before she and Alexia set out to the beach that fateful day, was made public at her trial. Lucy Meyer had been posthumously convicted of the killings of Milo Bates and Jennifer Hamlin, as well as the attempted murder of Michael De Vere. She was buried in the family plot in Martha’s Vineyard, where Arnie apparently visited her daily. Still in love, still grieving, still unable to process the revelations that had surrounded his wife’s death. Poor man.
Lucy’s letter made it clear that she had always intended to kill herself once she’d “disposed” of Alexia. Like Alexia, Lucy had wanted justice, closure, and for the truth to be known. The only difference was that Lucy Meyer’s view of justice, of right and wrong, had been so skewed and poisoned by decades of hatred that it bore no relation to Alexia’s, or to any thinking person’s. There was no hint of apology in her note to her daughter, not for what she’d done to Michael or for anything else.
Summer and Arnie had both witnessed Lucy’s gruesome death. The police told Alexia afterward that Summer had been just feet away when Lucy blew her brains out. You never got over something like that. Arnie coped by denial, but Summer was too rational for such a strategy. Instead she’d fled to England and to Michael, burying her feelings as best she could. It was a wonder she wasn’t a total basket case.
“Give her my love when you see her,” said Alexia.
“I will.”
“And your brother, of course.”
“Of course,” Roxie mumbled guiltily. The truth was, Roxie no longer visited Michael. There was no point. His body might be there in the bed, but he was gone. But it would only upset her mother to tell her that. Better to focus on the future, on happy things.
“By the way, it’s not a big deal or anything. But I’m seeing someone.” She blushed endearingly.
Alexia’s face lit up.
“That’s wonderful, darling! Who?”
“His name’s William. William Carruthers.”
Alexia dimly recognized the name.
“He’s an estate agent,” Roxie went on. “Actually, he’s the chap who sold Kingsmere for us after Daddy died.”
Alexia frowned. She was about to say, So he knows exactly how much money you’re worth and he’s moved in for the main chance. But with an effort she bit her tongue. It wasn’t her place to try to manage Roxie’s life, romantic or otherwise. At some point she had to trust her daughter’s judgment. After all, how much worse could it be than her own?
“It’s early days,” said Roxie. “But I’m very happy.”
“Then so am I.” Alexia squeezed her hand. “I’d like to meet him sometime.”
“Sometime.” Roxie blushed again. “Let’s see how it goes.”
The two women talked for a few more minutes. Then the inevitable buzzer sounded to indicate that visiting time was over. Around the room, prisoners embraced family and friends. Some stoically, others in a flood of emotion, particularly the mothers with young children. Alexia felt for them. Those precious childhood years, once gone, could never be recaptured. Roxie and Michael had happy childhoods, I think. Teddy and I gave them that much at least.
She watched her daughter push her wheelchair through the double doors and out of sight, and she tried to feel hopeful for her future. Would this William Carruth
ers really love her, and care for her? Or would he break her heart, like all the prior men in Roxie’s life? Just the thought made Alexia feel sick with anxiety as she walked back to her cell.
You can’t protect her, she told herself firmly. And you shouldn’t try. To love is to take a risk. And life without love is no life at all.
The future belonged to Roxie now.
What she made of it would be up to her.
Epilogue
Summer Meyer stared out of the window in Michael’s hospital room, lost in thought.
It was a stunning day. Outside, the modest London garden burst with life like a miniature Eden. The scent of cut grass and sweet honeysuckle hung in the air like a summer mist, and the long, trailing branches of a willow tree tapped gently against the glass of Michael’s window, as if inviting him outside to enjoy it all.
Or perhaps it’s me the tree’s beckoning? thought Summer. Perhaps I’m the one who needs to be rescued?
Her father certainly thought so. Arnie called Summer daily, begging her to come home, to “move on with life” and not “chain herself” to Michael and to the past. Darling Dad. Summer loved him so much it was painful. But Arnie couldn’t see that staying on the Vineyard and spending hours by Lucy’s grave every day was chaining himself to the past and in the worst, most painful way imaginable.
The truth was Summer had no idea what the future held for her. Right now it was all she could do to survive the present, to breathe in and out. But she did know she would never set foot on Martha’s Vineyard again. Never, ever, for as long as she lived.
She still dreamed about Lucy’s death almost nightly. The cove, the crack of the gunshot, the red water staining the sand like cranberry juice spilled in sugar. Phrases from the letter too came back to haunt her, in Lucy’s distinctive, gentle, maternal voice.
He had to die, darling. It was the only way.
The affair was simply a means of getting close to him.
I do so hope you understand. . .
Understand? Summer thought.
She looked at Michael, then out of the window again. What her mother had done was beyond understanding. Beyond forgiveness. The best Summer could do was accept that Lucy had been mentally ill. That something had snapped in her at an early age, with her beloved brother’s death. And that the break, instead of being treated and healed, had been hidden from view, left to get deeper and more fractured until Lucy’s entire personality had split in two.
One side was the mother and wife that Summer had known and loved all her life. That was the side she grieved for. The other side . . . she tried not to think about the other side.
Picking up Michael’s limp fingers, Summer stroked them tenderly, as she had so many thousands of times before. She couldn’t go back to her old life in America. But she couldn’t go on like this either.
I’m hiding. Hiding from life, from the future. And I’m using Michael as an excuse. I’m being a coward.
And then she felt it. The tiniest twitch, so small that at first she thought she was imagining it.
“Michael?”
A few seconds of nothing. Then there it was again, harder the second time. A finger, a single finger, moving against her palm.
“Nurse!” Summer’s screams could be heard all the way down the corridor. “Nurse!”
Tomorrow was once again another day.
Acknowledgments
My thanks are due to the Sheldon family, especially Alexandra and Mary, for their ongoing trust in me and their support and encouragement. Also thanks to my editors, May Chen in New York and Sarah Ritherdon and Kimberley Young in London, and to all at HarperCollins who have worked so hard on this book. To Luke and Mort Janklow, my incredible and tireless agents. And to my family, especially my husband, Robin, who provided a lot of inspiration and advice as I grappled with this story.
The Tides of Memory is dedicated to my sister-in-law, Heather Hartz, a strong woman and great mother who has turned her life around and amazed us all. I hope you like the book, Heath.
About the Author
The late novelist and screenwriter SIDNEY SHELDON remains one of the world’s top bestselling authors, having sold more than 300 million copies of his books. He is also the only writer to have won an Oscar, a Tony, and an Edgar.
TILLY BAGSHAWE is a New York Times bestselling author. She lives in Los Angeles, California, and London with her husband and children.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Books by Sidney Sheldon
Angel of the Dark
After the Darkness
Mistress of the Game
Are You Afraid of the Dark
The Sky Is Falling
Tell Me Your Dreams
The Best Laid Plans
Morning, Noon & Night
Nothing Lasts Forever
The Stars Shine Down
The Doomsday Conspiracy
Memories of Midnight
The Sands of Time
Windmills of the Gods
If Tomorrow Comes
Master of the Game
Rage of Angels
Bloodline
A Stranger in the Mirror
The Other Side of Midnight
The Naked Face
Credits
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover photographs © by Gravicapa/Shutterstock Images; Dan Goldberg/Getty Images
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIDNEY SHELDON’S THE TIDES OF MEMORY. Copyright © 2013 by Sheldon Family Limited Partnership, successor to the rights and interests of Sidney Sheldon. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bagshawe, Tilly.
Sidney Sheldon’s The Tides of Memory / Tilly Bagshawe. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-06-207342-6
1. Rich people—Fiction. 2. Family secrets—Fiction. 3. Domestic fiction. 4. Mystery fiction. I. Sheldon, Sidney. II. Title. III. Title: Tides of Memory.
PR6102.A525S68 2013
823’.92—dc23
2012044351
EPub Edition © APRIL 2013 ISBN: 9780062073440
13 14 15 16 17 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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