Full Circle

by Davis Bunn

  “I won’t make it so long between trips. Not ever again. I promise.”

  Kayla watched the woman’s beautiful features melt slightly. Then recover with sheer internal determination. “I pretend to sleep at night. Knowing I’m awake will only add to his concerns. But I know he’s not resting well. He is so worried about me. The house, the firm, the baby, everything all bundled together.”

  Kayla said, “I want to give Daddy back his money.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. That is so incredibly kind. But Peter wouldn’t dream of accepting—”

  “Adam managed to get back a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. From Geoffrey. I mean, Derek. We didn’t talk about it last night, there was so much ground to cover about Daddy’s company and MVP. But I have it. And I can give Daddy back his funds.”

  Honor stared at her a long moment. “Peter would never accept.”

  Kayla started to argue, but Honor’s fragile state defeated her. She would bring it up with Peter.

  Honor said, “I’m so glad Adam went with Peter today. And to have you join us at church this morning. You don’t know, you can’t imagine, how much that meant. Especially today.” She hesitated, then asked, “Would you mind terribly if we prayed?”

  Kayla neither spoke nor shut her eyes. But she allowed Honor to take hold of both her hands, then sat there and listened to the soft words wash over her. Honor tightened her grip in regular pulses of tension, of confession, of fear. Even so, Kayla felt nothing save a remarkable sense of peace. The calm from that moment, and the way they had embraced at the front door, two friends sharing a very difficult time, stayed with Kayla as she drove into town.

  The Christmas market stretched the entire length of Broad Street, nestled among the colleges and their walls of honeyed stone. Sunlight and ruddy faces and good cheer and a fierce winter wind filled the market. Kayla bought a tree so large she could only fit it into Honor’s car by bending it slightly. She went back for a holly wreath, and on a sudden impulse purchased a second. The air was laden with chatter and cloves and cinnamon and fresh-baked tarts. Kayla walked until the cold worked its way through her clothing layers and into her bones. There was no reason for how she felt, so light it seemed as though only the holly wreaths kept her from floating away.

  When Kayla pulled up in front of the house on Norham Gardens Road, the word that best described the way she felt about stopping by was natural.

  Professor Beachley greeted her with a delighted, “Oh, my dear Kayla, what a lovely wreath. Set it there in the hall and come sit down.” The old lady beamed as Kayla settled into the seat beside her. “I had the most marvelous chat with your father this morning.”

  “Daddy stopped by?”

  “We spoke while your young man changed clothes. I had quite forgotten what a distinguished gentleman your father is. Despite his rather frail state, he remains so very handsome. I haven’t seen Peter since the funeral. He apologized repeatedly for not making it by since. Which was quite unnecessary.” She patted Kayla’s hand. “I must say, your own young man is quite the looker.”

  “Adam was an actor. On television.”

  “Well, I’m hardly surprised. The both of you harbor an air of refined beauty tempered by rather large measures of the world. Not in a bad way, mind. You have been tested by fires which lie far beyond the border of my ivory-towered realm.”

  Kayla found it the most natural thing in the world to tell her what she faced. Just launch in and share the story. Of her growing feelings for Adam.

  When Kayla lapsed into silence, the professor asked, “What do you suppose might be the true purpose behind Oxford’s tutorial system?”

  Kayla responded with the first thing that came to mind. “To get under the student’s skin.”

  Sylvia Beachley laughed, and her face shed a dozen years. “You are closer to the truth than you might suppose. The task is to illuminate. A student comes with a problem, a hope, a pain, a quest. More often than not, students are so tightly enmeshed in their issue, they fail to see vital elements clearly. Which brings us to the matter at hand. Might I have a go at reinterpreting this issue of yours?”

  Kayla took a firm grip on the chair’s arms. “All right.”

  “You are at an impasse. Your dreams and ambitions and passions have been reduced to rubble. You have been made an outcast from hope. Your journey home from Africa was driven by desperation. And what happens, but another man appears. A wounded hero with his own burdens. One who accepts your quest as his own, who moves heaven and earth to aid you. Suddenly you find yourself within a swirling vortex of new questions and unexpected challenges, which you feel utterly unable to confront. Even your need to return swiftly to salvage what you can of your project is under challenge.”

  Kayla said, “I have to go back to Dar es Salaam.”

  “Fine. That is established. You shall go. And soon.”

  Kayla blinked. She knew there was more. She craved it.

  “But there is also a new choice which you must make. And here, I feel, is where your vision remains cloudy.” The old professor steepled her fingers around the head of her cane. “You think the question is, do you love this man or not. Do you trust him? Do you give yourself to him? Do you bind your futures together?”

  Kayla shaped the words with her mouth. But there was not enough air in the room to give them sound.

  “I’m sorry, but this is not correct. You miss the core issue. The real choice is this.” Dr. Beachley took a firmer grip on the cane and leaned in so close Kayla caught the rosewater scent of her powder. “The critical issue, my dear young lady, is whether you wish to renew all your passions. Do you choose to regain your zest for life? Do you desire to have the dross of bitter experiences turned to the gold of new beginnings? Do you seek the freedom to love anew?”

  Kayla whispered, “How?”

  Dr. Beachley leaned back, clearly satisfied. “An excellent starting point for your new assignment, wouldn’t you agree?”

  chapter 26

  Following the Bodleian luncheon, Adam dropped Peter off at the company and silently accepted the chairman’s hoarse thanks. Adam remained deep within the adrenaline rush of a successful role. He drove back to the village where Honor greeted him with a hug, led him into Peter’s office, delivered a tray of sandwiches and tea, and shut the door as she departed.

  Adam pushed wearily through Derek Steen’s downloaded files. By dinnertime he was certain they contained no direct reference to MVP’s attack on Peter’s company. Even so, the term Serengeti was everywhere, referred to in terse bullets that included such words as crush, brutalize, bury. Adam checked corporate listings in Europe and the United States, but could come up with nothing that used the Tanzanian name. The search kept him up until well after midnight. He would have stayed at it longer, but exhaustion swept him away. Adam barely made it up the stairs and into the guestroom bed.

  He came grudgingly awake at a knock on his door. Honor stood in the alcove doorway, a steaming mug in her hand. “I let you sleep as long as I could.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten.” She entered the room and set the mug down on the side table. “Peter was hoping to speak with you before he meets with the executive committee this afternoon. And Professor Beachley phoned. She asked if you would stop by this morning. She made it sound quite urgent.” Honor took a slip of paper from her pocket. “And Kayla asked me to give you this.”

  She handed him the note, then retreated to the doorway. “Adam, I hope you someday understand what your assistance has meant to Peter.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes. He is that.” Honor smiled. “Well, I’d best let you get dressed. Your breakfast is waiting.”

  Adam waited until the door closed behind her to unfold the slip of paper. Kayla’s note read, I went to church this morning. I prayed. For me. For you. For us. Love, K.

  The church door squeaked loudly as he let himself in. The sound echoed through the empty chamber. On the altar table, a
single candle gleamed inside a lead crystal vase. Adam walked to the front pew and seated himself. In front of him was a waist-high frieze of intricately carved wood. Beyond it, a pair of stone steps rose to the altar and the table with its linen tablecloth. The cloth was embroidered with a crown of thorns surrounding a gold chalice.

  He had spent a lifetime running from this place. It all came down to that. He had a million reasons to walk away. He caught a fragrance of incense as he slipped off the pew and came to rest upon the cold stone floor. He shut his eyes with the certainty he could not find his way alone.

  That morning Kayla drove her father to the office. He had apparently rested well, for his voice was stronger and his features not so stained with exhaustion. Kayla allowed her father to escort her through his outer office as he would an honored guest. Mrs. Drummond served them coffee in the gold-rimmed china instead of the normal mugs. When they were alone, Peter said, “Honor told me of your desire to return the money. I won’t hear of it. I don’t wish to argue with you. So I’m asking that you set this notion aside.”

  She had a dozen reasons all lined up, ready to fire. But she did not have the heart to add to his strain. “All right, Daddy.”

  “Are we done with that?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “Have you heard anything about yesterday’s meeting?”

  “Their response should be coming through later today.” Peter coughed. “Adam was magnificent.”

  “So you told us last night. I wish I could have seen him.”

  “If we succeed in holding on to these investors, it will all be due to him.”

  “No, Daddy, I’m sorry. But that’s not correct. He followed your lead.”

  His smile lacked the shadow she had been seeing since her return. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He hesitated, then asked, “You’re still determined to return to Africa as planned?”

  “I must.” Suddenly the air carried a razorlike edge. “My ticket is booked. Tomorrow is your birthday. I leave the next morning.”

  She was terrified at what he might say. The slightest comment, the softest argument, and she knew her control would shatter. All the tears she had held back would come pouring out. And for a reason she would never have expected to find in this brief journey home.

  But when Peter spoke, it was to say, “These past few days I have witnessed miracles with my own two eyes. Astounding events, joyful moments. The impossible made real. A young man who has been fired from my firm does everything within his power to keep this same company alive. My daughter joins me in our beloved church for the first time since her mother’s funeral. And suddenly I find myself daring to voice a word I thought was lost to me.”

  Kayla waited until she was back in her little alcove before she whispered the word for herself. But saying it softly was not enough. She took out a clean sheet of paper. She wrote down the word. She pinned it to the bulletin board. She sat there for quite some time, studying the word as she would a timeless mystery. Hope.

  chapter 27

  Adam drove to Oxford and spent an hour with Professor Beachley. The previous day, the professor had met with the former student. She was now more adamant than ever that Adam was the answer to this young woman’s crisis. Their discussion left Adam scarcely able to see the street back out to the corporate headquarters. His preoccupation carried him into the offices from which he had just been fired. A very curious receptionist told him to go straight to the chairman’s office. Adam walked the long hall that carried him past the library and conference rooms and felt scrutiny from every quarter.

  Mrs. Drummond was her normal unflappable self. “Mr. Austin will be with you directly.” The chairman’s secretary indicated Kayla’s space. “Miss Austin asked me to give you her best, sir. She’s off doing Christmas errands and said you might like to share her desk.”

  Adam glanced at the spot where he had first seen Kayla. “All right.”

  “If you’ll excuse me for saying, sir, this is the first time Miss Austin has ever invited anyone into her alcove. You’d be well advised to find a proper means of saying thanks.” Mrs. Drummond returned to her work. “Flowers might make for a nice start.”

  Adam seated himself and pulled out his two sets of notes, one from the previous evening’s work and the others from his astonishing conversation with Dr. Beachley. Kayla’s fragrance still lingered, a heady mixture of spices and distant lands. The desk was delicate and feminine, the edges carved into gentle waves. Adam then noticed the paper pinned to the board above the desk and it’s single handwritten word, Hope. He sensed Kayla only left it because it was meant for them both.

  “Mr. Wright? Mr. Austin will see you now.”

  Joshua Dobbins was seriously displeased to see Adam enter the chairman’s office. “Really, Peter, this is most unwise.”

  “Your objections are duly noted.” Peter waved Adam into a seat and declared hoarsely, “The colleges have elected to give us another six months to demonstrate a viable plan for recouping the lost earnings.”

  Adam felt a definable lightening of his body. As though he could suddenly cast aside the mental stones that had weighed down his hours. “That’s an eternity.”

  “Not quite. But close enough from where I sit.”

  Joshua Dobbins protested, “This man has been dismissed.”

  “And I have hired him on my personal payroll. To work on a specific project.”

  “The board backed my decision!”

  Peter Austin coughed, took a raspy breath, and said, “Old friend, we are poised on a knife’s edge. I ask you to trust me. As you have so often in the past.”

  When Joshua subsided, Peter went on, “ MVP has requested a meeting to discuss the acquisition of our firm.”

  “They must have heard about the colleges’ decision to grant us more time,” Adam said.

  Joshua fumed, “Grant us?”

  Peter glanced at his number two, then said, “I feel we should take the meeting. It may well buy us some breathing room.”

  Adam agreed, “They’ll hold off trying to destroy you as long as they think there’s a chance of buying the firm.” He had a sud-den thought. “Why not insist they ease the pressure being put on the Italian company that’s brought you to the brink?”

  Joshua said, “They’ll deny all knowledge.”

  “It doesn’t matter what they say. You heard Peter. We’re after breathing room.” Adam turned to the chairman. “Send Joshua. Put some space between you and the negotiations.”

  Peter cut off Joshua’s protest before it could fully form. “Old friend, I have relied on you so often. It seems we are in need of your well-honed skills once again. Do not, I beg you, let us down.”

  When Joshua had departed, Peter said, “Joshua is not the spy.”

  “I know that.”

  “If there is one at all.”

  “I think he’s correct. About MVP having a spy, and MVP being behind this crisis of ours.”

  “Joshua has been with me since the beginning. He is irascible, confrontational, often able to see only the potential risk. But I trust him implicitly.”

  Adam nodded, not so much in agreement as respect for this man and his ironclad principles. “I may have something. It could be nothing. But I think it’s big.”

  Peter studied him across the expanse of his desk. “On what grounds?”

  Adam extracted his second set of notes. “I have just had the most amazing meeting with Professor Beachley.”

  Adam drove them from the offices into the center of town. The sky brooded low over the city. The college’s stone edifices frowned back at the sky and the passersby, gray and sullen. The streets were packed, particularly as they passed the Christmas markets. The front door of the last home on Norham Gardens Road opened before Adam cut the motor. The professor’s smile of greeting defied the otherwise gloomy afternoon. “The past never seems more alive than in the faces of old friends.”<
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  Peter Austin bussed both cheeks. “You are very kind to a man who has ignored you for so long.”

  “Stuff and nonsense. Do come in and sit down.” She thumped her way back into the front parlor. “I was just going to ring Mrs. Brandt for tea. Will you join me?”

  “We don’t want to be a bother.”

  “None of that. Adam, would you be so kind?”

  When he returned, she directed him into a neighboring chair, then said to Peter, “Your young associate has impressed me to no end.”

  “You should have seen yesterday’s performance.”

  “I am certain he did you proud.”

  When tea was served, Peter went on, “I really must apologize once more for not staying in touch, Sylvia.”

  “Oh, do be a good boy and let it be. You had lost your cherished wife. Anyone in their right mind would have known you were devastated by the loss. You did not need reminders like me hanging about. You needed to get on with life and be a father to your daughter.” She erased the subject with a delicate gesture. “I must say, it was good to see your daughter looking so well. Kayla has a great deal of Amanda in her.”

  “That she does.”

  “Which, of course, makes her absence all the more difficult for you.”

  “Indeed, yes.”

  They took a distinctly English pause, an unspoken agreement between two old friends to set one topic aside and move on to another. Peter set his cup down on the table between them and said, “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to repeat for me what you told Adam this morning.”

  chapter 28

  Rain pattered softly against the French doors as Kayla helped Honor prepare dinner. A fire crackled in the living room. Two gentle melodies, rain and flames, nestling the home in a harmony of refuge and peace. When Peter and Adam had returned an hour early, she had found herself observing Honor as much as the men. This was how a woman in love greeted her man and did her best to erase the stain of a hard day. This was how she made her husband’s new ally feel welcome. This was how she cherished. This was how she gave. Yet as soon as Peter and Adam retreated into the study, Honor seated herself at the kitchen table and cradled her baby with both hands. Kayla did not ask if she was all right. The words were not necessary. Kayla set the table, and twice as she passed set a quick hand on Honor’s shoulder.