by Tara Hyland
‘I can’t let people know that Gabriel was driving.’ Max was focusing on the problem of his son at the moment, trying not to think of what had happened to Olivia. ‘The stigma of having been responsible for his sister’s death will follow him round for ever. It’ll ruin his life.’
‘So what do you propose?’ Franny could hardly take in what was happening herself, that her lovely, sweet stepdaughter – who had been through so much these past eighteen months – was dead.
‘I’m going to go to the police and say that I was driving,’ Max told her.
‘No!’ Franny’s voice was filled with panic. ‘You could go to jail.’
‘I know.’
‘But you can’t leave me!’
Max knew it wasn’t fair to her, especially now that she was ill. But he also knew he couldn’t let Gabriel down either. He’d failed his children enough already. ‘What else can I do?’
Franny thought about it for a long moment. When she looked up at Max, she seemed very calm, as she said: ‘Let them think I died in the crash.’
Up until that point, Franny’s plan to fake her death had still been in its early stages; no details had been decided on. She and Max had assumed that they wouldn’t put anything into effect until she got noticeably sicker. What had happened tonight stepped up her timetable, but it seemed like the best solution in the face of a horrible situation. Nothing could be done about poor, tragic Olivia, but at least this way, Gabriel wouldn’t be implicated in his sister’s death. Franny would be sacrificing a few more months of the life she knew – there would be no going back after this. But that didn’t seem like such a hardship, if she could also help her stepson, too.
Max and Franny agreed that there needed to be as few people involved as possible, to ensure that no detail was leaked. Their only accomplice was Hilda, trusted Hilda, who would do anything for the man she’d worked for most of her life. Hilda helped smuggle Franny out to one of the guesthouses that night, and agreed to care for her when she got sicker.
As for Max’s children, it was made known that Olivia had become something of a recluse at Stanhope Castle. No one thought to question the story, as it was widely known that she’d suffered from psychiatric problems. Gabriel was packed off to Europe until everything died down, his college place deferred to the following year. He’d reluctantly gone along with the plan, in too much shock to object. He blamed himself for what happened that night, and wanted to be as far away from any reminders of Olivia as possible.
No one thought to question that it was Franny who’d died that night. After all, she’d crashed her car once already, and it was common knowledge that she hadn’t been herself lately.
On the day of the funeral, Max’s grief was obvious to all – just no one realised it was because he was burying his child rather than his wife.
That night, Max had gone to see Franny. There was no turning back now; no shying away from what was to come.
But Franny herself seemed almost serene, sitting up in bed in her bright, cheerful room. That was something she had insisted on – to be able to see outside, to have colour around her – not to be shut away in some grey prison like Mayfield Care Home.
‘There’s one last thing you have to do for me,’ she told Max that night. ‘One last favour I need to ask of you.’
It was something she had been thinking of ever since she’d found out about her condition. She had written to her mother, Theresa, telling her about the illness and how she wanted Cara to come to California to live with her. That had been several weeks ago now, but she still hadn’t heard back from her mother and she was growing worried – which meant she needed Max to help her out. She’d waited as long as she could, knowing the state he was in over Olivia. But she couldn’t put it off any longer.
‘Promise you’ll do this for me,’ she said now. ‘However much you might not agree with what I ask.’
‘Anything. I’ll do anything you ask.’
Then she said: ‘I want you to bring me my daughter.’
Epilogue
‘Franny told you about me?’ Cara couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice.
His story had answered all her questions: about whose body was in the car; why Olivia had never been seen again; and why Gabriel hadn’t spoken to his father for twelve years – nothing to do with hating Max, as everyone assumed, but because of his guilt over the role he’d played in his sister’s death. Max went on to tell her that when he’d found out from Gabriel that Duke had fathered Olivia’s child, he’d made sure that he was blacklisted by every studio in town, destroying the actor’s career as revenge for ruining his daughter’s life.
But there was one revelation that had stood out most for Cara: that Franny had told Max about her existence years earlier.
‘She should have told me about you from the beginning,’ Max said now. ‘But she thought I’d reject her. She didn’t understand then that I loved her enough to accept anything.’
‘But why didn’t she try to contact me sooner?’ Cara asked.
‘She wrote to your grandmother when she first found out about her illness, but Theresa was sick herself by then, so she never picked up the letter. With the time it took for the letters to go back and forth, your mother didn’t realise at first that there was a problem. Once she told me about you and we’d sent someone to find you . . .’
‘Theresa was already dead, and I’d gone to Saint Mary’s,’ Cara filled in.
‘That’s right. My investigator managed to pick up your trail again when you were back in London with the Connollys. You seemed happy, so your mother decided to leave you. She felt that she’d done enough damage and didn’t want to disturb your peace.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me all this straight away when I arrived? After all, you were the one who invited me out here in the first place.’
‘Franny didn’t want me to.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘She wasn’t ready to see you. She didn’t know how you’d feel towards her.’
Cara rubbed her hand across her face. It was impossible to take everything in.
Then Max asked the really difficult question: ‘Are you up to seeing her?’
It wasn’t even a choice. After all this time, it was the only way to lay the ghosts to rest.
Cara’s memories of her mother were distant, but she could remember a beautiful, special woman, someone she dreamed of being like one day. As an adult, she’d watched all of Franny’s movies again and again, wishing she had just one fraction of her charisma. But this woman before her was someone different: twitching and messy; her vibrant red hair cut short out of necessity.
Tentatively, Cara approached the bed. Franny’s eyes were on her now, and there seemed to be recognition there. Cara knelt down beside her mother, so their faces were almost at the same level.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she said. It seemed inadequate, but she didn’t know what else to say.
Cara could see that her mother was struggling to say something. Her mouth was moving, forming words. Cara leaned closer, so she could just about make out what she was saying.
‘I’m sorry,’ Franny stuttered. ‘I’m sorry.’
Cara stared at her mother, broken and contrite. Franny had made so many mistakes. Cara thought of all the misery that she could have been spared if her mother had made different choices – but then she also thought of the journey she had come on, and how she would never have met Jake, either. And, apart from that, how would bearing a grudge help anyone?
So she reached out and took her mother’s hand. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Everything is all right.’
And she found that she meant it.
Later, Cara stood by the door, watching Max and her mother together. It was Franny’s dinner time, and he was cutting the food into small portions, patiently feeding her and tenderly wiping any spills from her mouth. The way he was with her reminded Cara of how she had looked after her grandmother all those years ago. This was the kind of love that meant something: to be
there for someone until the end.
Max had allowed people to assume that he had killed his wife. He’d been prepared to destroy his reputation rather than reveal his wife’s secret. What her mother and this man had was a true love story.
Cara stayed in California to be with her mother. Franny died a few days later, from a weakened heart, a common complication in Huntington’s patients. Cara liked to think that she’d hung on until they’d had a chance to reconcile. Max went less than a week later, after his remaining lung collapsed. The couple were interred together in the family plot at Stanhope Castle. The headstone was left blank.
Gabriel went back to Morocco right after his father’s funeral service. He had inherited Stanhope Castle, but from what Cara understood, he was putting it up for sale: it wasn’t like he had any good memories of the place.
Cara stayed one last night at Stanhope Castle. The following morning, she sat alone on the cliffs, looking out over the dark sea. She felt more optimistic than she had for a long time. Knowing that her mother hadn’t abandoned her had set her free. Now, she wanted to go back home to England – and to see Jake.
Because now she realised that was who she wanted to be with. She was finally ready to give it a shot with him. She knew she’d hung back these past years, and perhaps she’d left it too late, but at least she was ready to open herself up to the possibility of falling in love again.
Of course, she knew that she could end up like her mother; the knowledge was there, lurking at the back of her mind. And she would have to deal with that at some point. If Jake wanted to get out, then this was the time. Because she wasn’t prepared to settle for anything less than what her mother had had with Max.
The wind began to pick up then, sending Cara’s hair whipping around her face. Shivering, she pulled her jacket tighter. But instead of leaving right away, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep, filling her lungs with the cold sea air, certain that she’d never felt more alive. She stayed like that for a long moment. Only then did she get to her feet and, with one last look at Stanhope Castle and its dramatic coastline, she walked across the mossy cliff-top and back to her car.
As she drove away, Cara didn’t look back once. Her business here was done. Her eyes were on the road and her mind on the future. She had everything to look forward to. Finally she could start living the life she wanted – with the whole of her heart.
A note on Huntington’s Disease for readers
While obviously this is a fictional story, for one in 10,000 people Huntington’s Disease is a very real degenerative brain disorder. Onset typically occurs between the ages of 30 and 50, and the average lifespan after symptoms appear is 10–20 years. Particularly prior to the development of genetic testing in 1993, sufferers in the early stages of the disease were often misdiagnosed, and thought to be simply depressed or alcoholics. There is currently no known cure for HD.
For more information or help on the subject, the Huntington’s Disease Association has a very informative website, www.hda.org.uk, as does the Huntington’s Disease Society of America at www.hdsa.org.
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
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