‘Victoria? You’re very pale.’
With her insides reacting to the maelstrom in her head, Victoria felt faint and nauseous and presented no resistance as Juliette guided her back to the sofa. With a gentle push on her shoulders, she sat, assumed the hunched recovery position and waited for the dizziness to settle.
Two distinct and unpleasant insights emerged from the darkness: Seth hated her and it was her fault. Instead of living life to the max as she once had, she’d invested her time in developing EweSpeak, and in the process, lost her husband and gained a son full of resentment. At some point, she’d made the decision to escape into the virtual world.
As she searched her memories for answers, one stood out: the night she and Chris Frampton made love on Chesil Beach. Was that her conscience suggesting betrayal was responsible for how she lived her life? She’d have to review that later. Right now, she had her son to think about. ‘I need to fix things with Seth, before it’s too late.’
‘What do you mean fix things?’ Juliette’s nose wrinkled. ‘What things?’
‘Everything. You heard him. He hates me.’
Juliette knelt at Victoria’s feet. ‘All children say stuff like that when they don’t get their own way. You’ve had a difficult day, that’s all.’
Victoria shook her head. ‘No. Every day is difficult.’ She blew hard air through her lips. ‘I need to distance myself from the business, and concentrate on my son. I don’t want to wake up one morning to find mine or Seth’s world destroyed by my short-sightedness.’
‘Victoria, you’re a visionary.’ Juliette jumped up, grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk, ripped it in four and scribbled money signs on each quarter. She let them fall like confetti onto the couch. ‘You took this scrap of an idea and turned it into a multi-million dollar business. How is that short-sighted?’
‘I’m not talking about EweSpeak. I’m talking about my son. I’ve been blind to his needs. Selfish.’ Admitting it didn’t appease Victoria’s guilt. So much for a problem shared … ‘This is important, Juliette. Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do?’
Juliette retreated to the coffee machine, paused, seemingly caught in thought, and then pressed the power button. ‘I have it easy, don’t I? Of course it’s important. You must go. How long do you think you’ll need?’ Not waiting for the drips of water to finish splashing into the drink, she withdrew the mug. ‘A week? A month?’
Victoria shrugged. It was pointless guessing. ‘Tell me how long it will take for me to get to know my son and I’ll give you a date.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Nope.’
‘You always know.’ Juliette sipped her coffee. ‘You plan your life to the nth degree. You don’t do spontaneity.’
Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s caught me on the hop too, but it feels right.’ She shrugged again. This was all new to her. Winging it was Juliette’s speciality. ‘I’m the only parent Seth has. It’s time I behaved as one. I was given this most precious gift, and I let it slip through my fingers. Gone.’ She stared at the ragged strips of paper Juliette had written upon. ‘I love the protection EweSpeak provides, it’s my sanctuary, but I love Seth more, despite everything.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’ Juliette’s face was crumpled; folded in on itself.
Victoria collected the four paper examples of empire building, scrunched them into rough balls and aimed them at the metal bin beside her desk. ‘No. Nor do I, but I can’t go on like this.’ She pointed to her bruised forehead and waited for Juliette’s reaction.
‘That wasn’t an accident?’ Calmer than Victoria expected.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, what?’ A definite rise in Juliette’s tone.
‘Seth was angry, he pushed me, and I fell onto the hooks.’
Juliette approached the Chesterfield. ‘Seth pushed you?’ She perched on the back. ‘He was angry, and he pushed you? But he’s four. It must have been an accident.’
‘The push was no accident. The whack to the head was a bonus.’
‘How can you say that about your own child?’
‘Because it’s true. It’s happened before. Kicks to the shin, thumps to my back. Missiles. And sometimes, it bloody hurts.’
‘But he’s only four.’
‘I know. You’ve said that already.’ Victoria was losing patience. Juliette disbelieved her. This was the very reason she’d not mentioned it before. If her own sister thought she was lying, what chance did she stand telling others? ‘Forget it, Juliette. Forget I said anything. I thought I could talk to you. I thought you of all people would listen. More fool me.’
Victoria rose from the sofa, moved over to her desk, and sank on to the chair. Blindly, she rooted through her desk drawer, gathered a few items together, and dropped them into her bag. She stood, ready to leave. ‘I’ll be back for the board meeting, otherwise, consider me on sabbatical.’ She covered the distance from her desk to the door with determined speed, and snatched at the handle. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t discuss this with anyone.’ As she waited for confirmation to her request, she saw Juliette’s eyes glisten and her mouth tremble.
‘I’m sorry, Victoria. I had no idea. I realise Seth can be a handful, but to lash out so violently? I can’t imagine it. He’s never done it to me.’
‘That’s because he doesn’t hate you. Or wish you dead.’
‘He’s said that?’
Victoria nodded. ‘Even though he’s only four.’ She released her grip on the handle, and bowed her head. ‘I don’t know how to put things right, but I’m hoping time away will provide a bit of perspective.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Dad’s. He always has an answer.’ Victoria gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘Not necessarily the right one, but he’s a good starting point.’
‘And Seth adores him,’ Juliette added.
‘Apparently.’ Visiting her father was another of Victoria’s shortcomings. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d driven to Weymouth. She must have taken Seth for a visit as a baby. ‘He’ll be surprised to see me. Us.’
‘He’ll be over the moon. And you’ll be the first to meet his new lady friend.’
The women stared at each other, before Victoria gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘That’ll be fun. I hope Seth behaves.’
Juliette stepped forward and embraced Victoria. ‘I’m so sorry it’s come to this. I should have helped you more.’
‘None of this is your doing, Joo. And you did try. You drove me round the bend with your helpful hints and subtle suggestions. Have you forgotten the arguments?’
The hug was abandoned and Juliette shook her head. ‘I should have stood my ground. Insisted I helped.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. I wasn’t listening. I was too busy proving I was capable.’ Victoria released a low, drawn out sigh. ‘Nothing new there.’
‘Still, I wish you’d told me sooner.’
‘I wasn’t ready until today. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick. Talking about it … Well, you know me. I like to work things out for myself.’ Victoria drew her sister to her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Right. I’ll be back to stick a rocket up the board’s fat backside, so don’t do anything daft.’ She pulled away and searched Juliette’s eyes. ‘It’s your vote, but use it wisely. Think about what I said. There’ll be members round that table who’ll see this as an opportunity to reduce costs and stamp on our authority. What’s left of it.’ The conniving bastards.
Chapter Three
Chris Frampton pushed open the square framed door to Hope Cove Castle and peered in. ‘Don’t know about you, Tommy,’ he said, without looking behind, ‘but my hope is the heating’s on.’
His friend’s heavy footsteps crunching along the gravel drive were accompanied by the word, �
��Wuss.’
‘You’re calling me a wuss? You’re the one who’s whinged all the way here about the British weather.’ Chris clapped his hands to keep his blood moving. ‘Right. I’m going in. It’s arctic out here, and I’m about to lose a finger to frostbite.’ He shivered, made his way into the building and dumped his rucksack on the marbled floor.
Inside wasn’t much warmer.
‘It’s England. It’s winter. Told you we should’ve stayed in LA.’ Tommy’s voice echoed round the hall.
Chris grimaced and rubbed his neck. The journey had sucked the last of his energy and now he wanted to be cosy, comfortable and alone. ‘I’ve never been in here. Not in the actual property.’ He breathed in the atmosphere. It smelled old. Musty. He liked it. It gave him an immediate sense of history. He knew of the castle’s origins; he’d heard of the death of the old man who’d lived here when Chris was a boy, read reports pertaining to its brief spell as a hotel, and he was aware it had stood empty for many years. The rumour it was haunted had little impact on Chris.
He didn’t believe in ghosts.
Not anymore.
‘This is some reception area.’ Tommy whistled. ‘Are you coming in, Rick?’
The long-haired, lanky youth, standing in silence on the sand-coloured stones, gawked at the first floor windows. ‘Yeah. All right.’ He shuffled past Tommy, acknowledged Chris, and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Within seconds, he’d gone.
‘The English girls are going to love his American accent,’ Tommy said.
‘If he ever meets any.’
‘I’ll make sure he does.’ Tommy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll add it to my list of godfather duties.’
‘I’m not sure your taste in girls would suit my son,’ Chris said, a gentle smile putting to work lapsed muscles.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my taste in women.’ Tommy, his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, stared at Chris.
‘Hey! Easy.’ Surprised at how quickly the mood had blackened, Chris remained silent and scanned the room. Dramatic was the word that came to mind. His eyes were drawn to the large, brick fireplace at the end of the hall. Its surround and mantle were simple in design, and carved from grey-white Portland stone. A basket of logs nestled in an alcove to the right, and in the left recess, was a burgundy, leather porter’s chair. A gold gilt mirror hung above the fire.
‘Let’s get this monster blazing. I don’t suppose you’ve got a lighter?’
‘No, because neither of us smoke. And I wouldn’t use one to light this anyway.’
Tommy’s ugly tone matched his dense scowl. Chris put it down to the long flight, the different time zone, and the grey, damp miserableness of the English weather. He attempted to lift his friend’s spirits. ‘I was a cub scout. Got any sticks? I could rub them together.’ Going by Tommy’s unchanged expression, humour wasn’t the key. Perhaps sincerity was. ‘Seriously, mate, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re my right-hand man.’
‘Dogsbody, more like.’ Tommy freed himself of his luggage, lumbered across the length of the hallway and bent down. ‘Well, at least there’s kindling, but we still need a match.’ He groaned as he straightened up and rubbed his knees.
The men had known each other too long for Chris to take offence. Tommy was prone to the occasional bout of self-pity, and under normal circumstances Chris would talk him round, but these weren’t normal circumstances – such an idealistic view no longer existed.
‘Go and get some rest, mate, I’ll sort it later.’ Chris patted Tommy’s back and waved in the direction of the stairs.
‘No. You’re all right.’ Tommy pointed to the basket. ‘There’s a box of matches on the logs.’
Chris stayed for a few seconds more before leaving the hall through a door on the right. It led to a light and airy conservatory that overlooked the castle terrace, and beyond that, the sea. The menacing, ashen clouds had shifted, revealing an arctic-blue sky, and the winter sun was streaming down, glinting off the glass of the building, but warming the conservatory. Chris removed his coat and laid it over his arm. His fatigue-laden limbs gained a renewed buoyancy and he strode across to the double doors. Surprised to find a key in the lock, he tested it and jiggled the handle. The door opened. He was used to heat and dust and sounds of motorbikes and horses, but here he was exposed to the chill of the English Channel, the roar of the sea and the taste of its salt upon his lips. He ran his tongue around his gums. It was there too. And so instant. Gulls swooped ahead, cawing and calling, following a small fishing vessel, and the men aboard shouted obscenities, chasing them off. Trees creaked in the breeze, and the grass whooshed in time with their elder statesmen.
Stepping onto the patio, Chris filled his lungs. ‘Why did I never bring you here, Lacey?’
The wind picked up, licking the skin on Chris’s arms into tiny peaks and bumps, so he shook out his coat and put it back on. The mobile phone in the pocket buzzed. He hooked it out, switched it off, and shoved it in his trouser pocket. It would be another EweSpeak update.
The wave of interest the sale of the ranch had caused, shocked him. His name appeared on multiple online forums several times a day, but the main hub of activity was EweSpeak, with its constant bleats. Mostly, people were discussing Chris’s career, voting on their favourite Frampton film, describing in great detail the stunts he’d performed, and lamenting the loss of a great action hero. It was all a bit surreal, as if it was he who had died, not Lacey and Todd. He bolted his hands behind his neck. In many ways, he had.
He turned and regarded the roofline. Somewhere up there, all on his own, was Rick.
He’d been alone for two years.
Chris lifted his hands to the top of his head and let out a breath weighted with guilt and fear. Rick was unreachable. Not Chris, not Tommy, not even the highly-qualified, highly-priced doctors in the States found a way through. They spouted terms like ‘survivor’s guilt’ and ‘survivor’s syndrome’, asked about sleep patterns and nightmares, and told Chris to keep notes on any physical difficulties Rick suffered. They tried grief therapy, counselling, and sitting him in a room with other children who’d lost a parent or a sibling. They even prescribed medication. Rick didn’t take it.
Letting down his arms, Chris turned to face the sea. The fishing boat was out of sight now, but the gulls were still swirling in its wake; a metaphor for his life without Lacey and Todd.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
‘Fire’s lit.’
Chris shrugged away from Tommy’s hold. ‘Now the inquest’s over, I honestly thought coming home was the answer. I thought reconnecting with my past would help give me back a sense of who I am, and then I could share that with Rick. Build a new relationship with him. Show him we can make it work.’
‘It might, given time.’
‘I don’t know.’ Chris watched the birds disappear over the horizon. ‘I waited almost two years for that inquest. I was left drifting, and I’m scared I won’t find my way back.’
‘You found your way here.’ Tommy loosened the muscles in his neck and stretched out his arms.
‘Yeah. And I’ve torn Rick away from his friends, and put an ocean in the way of his memories.’ Chris edged onto the grass and noticed the depth and darkness of the wooded area. Bleak. ‘I didn’t think it through. I acted on impulse. Didn’t calculate the risks. Rick has nothing here.’
‘He has us.’
‘I can’t be his mother, Tommy. And I’ve never been anyone’s brother.’
‘You’re his father. If you tell him this is home, he’ll have to accept it.’
Tommy’s attitude was bordering on indifference. Another moment to put down to jet lag.
‘It’s not his home, though, is it?’ Chris said.
‘Wherever we are is home.’
Tommy had a point.
Chris dragged his palm over his face, and scratched his chin. ‘I guess a drastic problem requires a drastic solution. I hope this is it. I can’t lose him, too.’ He waved a see-you-later salute in Tommy’s direction and walked through the ornamental garden into the summoning copse.
As a youth, he’d spent many summers wandering through the woodlands of the Hope Cove estate. He mapped the area, identifying places to ride his BMX, and built courses to test his skill. Like the trees around him, Chris’s dreams were planted and nurtured there. He was trespassing then, but the old man who owned the castle never ventured beyond the lawn, and Chris was never caught. The memory triggered a smile. And a glimmer of hope. This was the stuff he wanted to share with Rick.
He turned on his heels and set off to find him.
Chris scanned the landing. Out of the six rooms on the floor, one door was shut. He knocked on its oak panel and waited. Silence. Too much, in fact. ‘Rick? Can I come in?’ Indistinct mumbling and scuffling footsteps confirmed his son was inside. ‘Rick?’
‘Yeah. All right.’
It wasn’t all right. That was obvious. In those few words, Rick expressed his intense irritation at being discovered. It wasn’t the new dawn Chris wanted, but at least he wasn’t sent away. He entered the room and joined his son at the window. ‘Great view.’
‘Yeah.’
Turning to assess the space, Chris nodded his approval. ‘Good choice. Have you checked out the other rooms?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And?’ He addressed his son with a half-turn of his head.
‘They’re okay.’ Rick smoothed his hand along the stone sill.
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