by Mandy Baggot
‘This isn’t a joke you know,’ Freya retorted.
‘I know it isn’t a joke and I can’t imagine how you’ve felt carrying this around for so long. But did you really think it would change my opinion of you?’ Nicholas asked her, holding her arms and forcing her to look at him.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think. All I know is how it might change things for me. It’s been eleven years and although I try to pretend it’s all behind me, there isn’t a day goes by when I don’t think about it. And I’m scared that everything I’ve made for myself and everyone who knows me as Freya will look at me differently because I lied to them - because I’m not who they thought,’ Freya spoke, the words choking in her throat.
‘Listen to me Freya. When I met you it was like this whirlwind coming into my life. I’ve never met anyone like you before. You have an amazing spirit; you captivate everyone you come into contact with. I don’t care if you’re Freya or Jane or Peggy Sue or even Bill Clinton’s lovechild. You are you and everyone will realise that. And it’s you, the Freya I’ve only known for a few days, that I’m already falling in love with,’ Nicholas announced.
Freya looked at him, lost for words. The rain had soaked them both in a matter of minutes and both raindrops and teardrops were clouding her eyes.
‘Say something,’ Nicholas begged, breathing deeply as he looked at her.
‘I’m not Bill Clinton’s lovechild,’ Freya said before she could stop herself.
‘Well thank God for that, because I have to tell you, although I said it would be OK I do have to draw the line somewhere,’ Nicholas responded with a smirk.
‘I’m scared,’ Freya admitted with a shiver as the dampness of her clothes began to affect her.
‘Come here - I’ve got you,’ Nicholas spoke and he drew her into his arms.
He held her close to him as the rain continued to fall on them. She closed her eyes and felt him stroke her wet hair and she clung to him, feeling truly protected for the first time in her life.
Twenty Five
Freya was woken by the sunlight. When she managed to open her eyes she could see it was filtering through the shutters at the end of the room. She immediately sat up and looked around. She didn’t recognise it but it was certainly a step up from her room at the Calypso Apartments.
She saw her clothes, still looking damp, hanging up on the front of the wardrobe and she remembered then where she was. She had spent the night at Villa Kamia.
Wet from the awful storm she and Nicholas had gone back into the villa and talked. There had been few light moments as she detailed her relationship with her parents and Nicholas had told her exactly how difficult it had been coping with the loss of his parents and raising his brother.
They had drunk brandy and Coke; they had watched the lightening from the verandah and then - what had happened then? Freya wracked her brain, putting her hands to her head. She didn’t remember this bed; nothing about it was at all familiar.
She lifted up the duvet and saw that she was wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt which she could only assume was Nicholas’. But how did she get it on? Did she take her own clothes off or did she have assistance?
Nicholas was in the lounge when she came downstairs, still wearing the shirt she had woken up in. He was dressed in linen trousers and a white shirt and he was sat on the sofa scribbling in a notepad. He looked up and stopped writing when he saw her.
‘Hey you’re up. Come and sit down. Want some coffee?’
‘I’m a tea person actually and normal tea, none of that fancy stuff,’ Freya told him as she crossed the room to join him.
‘Very English,’ Nicholas said and he kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘What are you writing?’ Freya asked as she sat down on the sofa.
‘My speech for the party on Friday,’ Nicholas replied.
‘You mean you don’t have someone to do that for you?’ Freya questioned.
‘I do, but I decided this one’s going to be a bit different,’ Nicholas answered.
‘I do hope it’s nothing controversial or Martha will never allow it,’ Freya spoke.
‘That’s why Martha’s getting the uncontroversial one to look at and this one stays with me,’ Nicholas replied with a smile.
Nicholas made the tea and they sat outside on the patio to drink it. It was a glorious morning. The storm of the night before and the rainfall had made the air fresher and less humid. However, it was still Corfu in June and the sun was already up in a cloudless sky promising a warm day.
‘I think I drank too much last night,’ Freya admitted as she took a sip of her tea.
‘Yeah me too. I have a very dry throat,’ Nicholas agreed.
‘I don’t really remember going to bed,’ Freya stated nervously.
‘Oh,’ Nicholas answered disappointment in his voice.
‘Oh God, we didn’t did we? I don’t remember, oh God how awful, I…’ Freya started, feeling very flustered.
‘Hey, I’m kidding, nothing happened. I leant you a shirt because your clothes were wet, you got changed and then you fell asleep on the couch. I carried you up to the guest room and that’s it,’ Nicholas told her.
‘Carried me! You carried me upstairs! You carried me upstairs and you’d been drinking! My God, are you OK?’ Freya asked him.
‘It was fine. I work out remember, and I only dropped you twice,’ Nicholas joked.
‘Well I’m sorry I crashed out. It was a difficult night and I was just so tired,’ Freya answered with a sigh.
‘I know, it was quite an evening all in all. By the way, filming went awful last night, so now we’re even more behind. I should be annoyed about it but I’m not because it means we get to stay on Corfu a bit longer,’ Nicholas told her.
‘How much longer? Freya enquired.
‘Two weeks - maybe more - how about you?’ Nicholas asked.
‘I don’t know. I spoke to my assistant yesterday morning, before we went out. He seems to be handling things, although he did say there had been a significant increase in bookings since my photograph was printed in the tabloids,’ Freya responded.
‘Who said there was such a thing as bad publicity,’ Nicholas told her.
‘Yeah well, wait until Russell tells everyone who I really am and that I went to prison. I don’t think that news is going to give your movie anything but bad publicity,’ Freya stated with a sigh.
‘No one is going to hear anything from Russell,’ Nicholas spoke, taking a sip of his tea.
‘What do you mean?’ Freya asked him.
‘Do you really think I’m going to let him get away with threatening you?’ Nicholas asked her seriously.
‘Nick this isn’t The Sopranos, you don’t have to arrange for someone to bump him off. This is Russell we’re talking about not some gangster,’ Freya reminded him.
‘He tried to blackmail you and he hurt Emma, nearly causing her to lose her baby. You want me to let that go?’ Nicholas queried.
‘It isn’t your decision to make, it’s mine and I will deal with it,’ Freya told him.
‘I was going to give him the money,’ Nicholas stated simply.
‘What?!’ Freya exclaimed in horror.
‘Well what’s twenty five grand if it means he’ll shut up and leave us alone?’ Nicholas stated.
Freya just looked at him, a shocked expression on her face. She put her tea down on the table and stood up.
‘Did you not listen to a word I said last night? Using your money like that, to make people go away, is exactly what my parents did,’ Freya stated and she turned away from him and began to walk back towards the villa.
‘Freya, wait,’ Nicholas called and he hurriedly got up from the table and followed her.
‘I don’t believe you said you’re going to give him the money, like by doing that it’s all going to disappear. Don’t you understand? Now that Russell knows it isn’t ever going to go away, because the cat’s out of the bag and things will only snowball,’ Freya shoute
d, tears springing to her eyes.
‘Freya, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it came out. You know the money isn’t important to me,’ Nicholas said as he attempted to defend himself.
‘There’s a vast difference to it not mattering and it not being important. You can’t say you don’t care about it and then use it to get what you want,’ Freya told him as she climbed the stairs to the bedroom.
‘No, you’re right,’ Nicholas agreed, following her.
‘I’m going back to the Calypso,’ Freya said as she took her clothes down from the wardrobe door.
‘Don’t go like this. I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea. Perhaps offing Russell might have been a better plan,’ Nicholas said, watching her as she shook her clothes out to ascertain if they were dry enough to wear.
‘Maybe,’ Freya agreed, stopping what she was doing and looking at him.
‘I don’t want to fight and you’re right about the money. I can’t change the fact I have it, but perhaps I can start to use it differently,’ Nicholas spoke.
‘If I had twenty five thousand pounds to throw around I would give it to Emma to pay for her wedding. After all she’s done for me over the years she deserves to have the perfect day,’ Freya announced with a sigh.
‘Well maybe I can help there,’ Nicholas suggested.
‘I don’t want a handout from you,’ Freya responded.
‘I wasn’t offering you one. I thought we could agree a fee for you to take some photographs of me,’ Nicholas told her.
‘Why d’you want me to take photos of you? You have people snapping you all the time,’ Freya reminded him.
‘Not photos like this. I want you to take pictures of me no one has seen before, real photos - intimate photos,’ Nicholas told her.
‘You want to pay me to take kinky photos of you in the buff,’ Freya spoke.
‘Just like I would pay anyone else. Except of course I wouldn’t normally take all my clothes off,’ Nicholas replied.
‘What if I’m not that sort of photographer?’ Freya asked him.
‘It would mean a lot to me if you did it and it would pay for Emma’s wedding. It wouldn’t be me flashing my money around, you would have earned it,’ Nicholas said.
‘Twenty five thousand is too much,’ Freya stated.
‘Then name your price.’
‘Fifteen and I’m only inflating my fee because it isn’t my usual line of work and it is for Emma,’ Freya agreed.
‘Then we have a deal? How about this afternoon?’ Nicholas suggested.
‘Fine,’ Freya answered.
There was an awkward silence.
‘Look, I know how important it is that you distance yourself from the life you had with your parents, but you can’t keep thinking that everyone who has wealth is like them. I was only thinking of paying Russell to protect you and maybe that’s the wrong thing in your eyes, but the gesture was made with the best intentions. He hurt you Freya and he wants to broadcast private details about your life. I don’t think I would be normal if I didn’t feel anger at that,’ Nicholas told her sincerely.
‘No I know, I overreacted, I’m sorry. It’s just last night, reliving it all again - it still hurts. And I told you about it because I trust you more than I’ve trusted any man in my life before, which is completely crazy because we’ve known each other barely a week,’ Freya admitted.
‘I am not like your father Freya. I’m not going to ask you to fit into my world,’ Nicholas told her.
‘I don’t think I can fit into your world,’ Freya said a little sadly.
‘Well that’s fine, I respect that. But perhaps my world can fit in somewhere around our world,’ Nicholas suggested.
‘Our world,’ Freya stated.
‘Yeah, you see, I’m really not the holiday romance kind of guy,’ Nicholas responded with a smile.
‘No?’ Freya queried smiling back.
‘No,’ Nicholas told her and he took hold of her hand, pulled her towards him and kissed her.
Twenty Six
Nicholas had filming for the rest of the day on Mount Pandokrator, so Freya returned to the Calypso Apartments to shower and change into some clean clothes. She should have felt liberated and unburdened having told Nicholas things she had never told anyone before, but it now felt like she was just waiting for events to blow up. It wasn’t a case of ‘if’ now, but ‘when’.
She had tried to telephone Emma to see how she was but her phone was switched off. Freya assumed from that, that she was still at the hospital. She decided she would go to Petroholis Restaurant for lunch later and see if there was any news then.
After her shower she had telephoned Russell. It had been a quick conversation asking him to meet her at the C Bar, and that was where she was now. It was 11.00am and she was waiting for him to arrive.
In front of Freya, lying on the table was a plain white envelope with nothing written on the front. Freya picked it up and tapped the corner of it on the table, mentally going over its contents.
She saw Russell as he arrived at the entrance to the bar. He looked terrible. His hair was dishevelled and he had bags under his eyes. Seeing him now, Freya felt almost sorry for him. He had obviously got out of his depth with a bookmaker. He had been in debt before, at the beginning of their relationship, but then he’d had a large win that cleared his bills and had vowed not to gamble again. At the time Freya had believed him but once a gambler, always a gambler. It had obviously become an obsession or it was an uncontrollable addiction.
Russell met her gaze and moved to join her at the table.
‘I got you a beer,’ Freya stated, indicating the bottle on the table.
‘Thanks. Look, about yesterday - is Emma OK?’ Russell asked in subdued tones.
‘Yes and the baby’s fine, no thanks to you. What has happened to you Russell? Pushing people around to get what you want? Begging for money?’ Freya asked him.
‘It isn’t through choice,’ Russell responded, sitting down and straight away taking a swig of the beer.
‘So you are in debt? Bookmaker or loan shark? Why the Hell didn’t I know about this? How long has it been going on? Why didn’t you talk to me about it instead of shagging my mother to keep up the repayments?’ Freya questioned.
‘I made you a promise I wouldn’t gamble again. How could I tell you?’ Russell answered.
‘That’s so lame Russell. Was our relationship really so bad that you couldn’t tell me you were in trouble?’ Freya wanted to know.
‘Is there any point discussing this now?’ Russell replied, unwilling to answer.
‘No, I suppose not,’ Freya agreed.
‘Is that envelope for me?’ Russell asked her.
‘Yes it is, here,’ Freya said and she slid it over the table to him.
‘Who signed the cheque then? Kaden or Daddy?’ Russell enquired as he eagerly tore open the envelope.
He pulled it apart and produced a sheaf of A4 paper and a business card.
‘What’s this? Some sort of joke? I thought you said you had the money,’ Russell questioned as he took the paper out.
‘No. I said I had what you wanted and there it is. That’s my life. In those notes are all the details of my life as Jane Lawson-Peck. Things even my beloved mother would have been unable to tell you,’ Freya announced.
‘And the business card?
‘Sandra McNeill from Shooting Stars magazine might give you a decent price for an interview and the information. Or you’re welcome to sell it to the highest bidder. Just be sure that whoever you choose to tell prints only the facts. If I read anything inaccurate, like how fantastic you were in bed, be sure that I will sue your arse,’ Freya told him.
‘So you’ve told lover boy have you?’ Russell asked as he took another swig of his beer.
‘Yes,’ Freya replied.
‘But you could never find the opportunity to tell me,’ Russell stated.
‘Is there any point discussing that now?’ Freya retorted.
‘Pe
rhaps neither of us trusted each other enough,’ Russell answered.
‘Obviously not,’ Freya replied.
‘Your mother has no idea who I am by the way. She doesn’t know about us,’ Russell told her.
‘That’s a shame. It would have given us something in common after all these years,’ Freya said.
‘I did love you,’ Russell spoke honestly.
‘No you didn’t. You thought I was large and ordinary. I heard you at the restaurant on my birthday. Discussing it with the barman called Milo,’ Freya informed him.
‘What?’ Russell asked.
‘I heard you describing me. I was stood behind you Russell. I heard what you said and I saw the hand actions,’ Freya stated.
Russell didn’t respond.
‘Well, you’ve got what you came for,’ Freya spoke, indicating the envelope.
‘Yes, I suppose I have,’ Russell agreed and he rose to his feet.
‘We’re done then,’ Freya stated finally.
‘I’m on the first plane home,’ Russell spoke with a nod.
‘Have your pick of stuff from the flat and drop the keys into Simon at the studio,’ Freya said, unable to meet his eyes.
‘I’ll see you,’ Russell spoke and slipping the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans he headed for the exit of the bar.
Freya watched him go and couldn’t help feeling a little sad. How could a year and a half of her life with someone amount to so little?
From where she sat she had a view of Petroholis Restaurant and she watched as a taxi pulled up and Emma and Yiannis emerged from it. Freya knocked back the remainder of her drink, hurried from the bar, and made her way up the road towards them.
‘EMMA!’ Freya called as she rushed along.
Emma and Yiannis stopped outside the restaurant and waited for her to reach them.
‘Oh, let me just get my breath back. How are you?’ Freya asked as she took gulps of air.
‘I’m fine, just a bit bruised,’ Emma responded.
‘And the baby?’ Freya enquired.