‘Which land is up there, today?’ Victoria asked, a memory of her favourite childhood book flashing through her mind. ‘Something far away.’ She ran her hand along the greying bark. ‘Well, you’ve withstood the test of time. I wish I’d aged as well.’
‘What’s your dad called?’
Victoria stepped out from behind the tree. There was no one there. She definitely heard a voice. It wasn’t soprano Seth’s. This was more like an adolescent’s – a voice on its gravelly passage to manhood. And American. She was about to call when a familiar, high-pitched voice replied.
‘I don’t have a dad.’
‘Huh. I don’t have a mom. She died. Dad wants me to talk about it, but I wanna be left alone. Keep her in my head, you know?’
‘I have Cerys. She’s my nanny.’
‘You mean, like, your mom’s mom?’
There was a silence. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Does she live with your grandpa?’
‘No. My granddad is called Pops. He has Livia. She’s very old.’ Another pause. ‘Cerys’s face isn’t creased like Livia’s, and her hair isn’t crunchy.’
‘Cerys is younger. Cool.’
Prompted by the ‘crunchy’ remark, Victoria crushed her curls in her hand. When she released them, they bounced back into shape. ‘I possess young hair.’ At last, something in its favour. She continued to eavesdrop.
‘Cerys takes me to school, or to the shops to buy shoes. Sometimes we play in the park. I like Cerys.’
‘Yeah. She sounds nice. What about your mom?’
Whoever the young lad was, Seth was happy chatting with him, and undetected, Victoria could learn more in the next two minutes than she would in a lifetime. The risk was that she wouldn’t like Seth’s answer. The delay of indecision took the power from her.
‘She doesn’t like me.’
Victoria fell against the oak, as the air was sucked from her. She forced herself to inhale, and counted to three before letting it out. With her head spinning and her field of vision constricting, she slithered down the rough trunk until her bottom hit the ground. She brought her knees to her chest, and rested her forehead upon them.
‘Man. That sucks.’ The American.
‘I’m bad. I get cross. She shouts at me and I throw things,’ Seth said.
Not ready to stand, Victoria raised her head and opened her mouth, hoping words and not vomit would pour out. She wanted to yell, ‘It’s not your fault. I do love you’, but her voice was that of nightmares – snatched by the wind, and sacrificed to the universe. She’d heard enough and was desperate to reveal herself, but unable to move or speak, she was forced to hear the conversation play out.
‘You throw things at your mom?’ The American’s shock was evident by the rise of his vocal pitch.
‘Sometimes. You talk funny.’
‘So do you.’
With a throat dry from forced gasps of air, Victoria swallowed, wincing as her saliva, like acid, burned its way down.
‘Your voice is squeaky,’ Seth said. ‘And you say “mom”.’
The older boy laughed. ‘You think my voice is squeaky? Heard yourself, lately? And you say “mum”.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Seriously? Well, what do you say? What do you call her?’
Victoria imagined the look of scorn on Seth’s face.
‘Her name is Victoria, but I don’t call her anything.’
‘Listen … what did you say your name is?’
‘Seth.’
‘Listen, Seth, you only get one mom. You need to look after her. I promise you’ll miss her when she’s gone.’ The American’s words were halted by the ringing of a mobile. ‘I gotta go. Dad says lunch is ready. You should get home. Do you know your way?’
‘Yes. Can I come tomorrow?’
‘Yeah. All right.’
Nothing further was said.
Giving herself time to recover, Victoria continued resting against the tree. Seth wasn’t that far away, and the likelihood was he would retrace his steps and walk right past her. Cerys had told her he had an uncanny knack for remembering routes.
As she hauled herself to her feet, he wandered into view. He stopped and appeared to analyse the situation. ‘Are you lost?’ he said.
What a question. Victoria was floundering in an ocean of unknowns. ‘A little,’ she said. ‘What about you?’
Seth shook his head. ‘Shall I show you the way?’
Please, God, yes. If He did exist, He wouldn’t mind a non-believer asking for help, would He? She smiled. ‘I’d appreciate that. Thank you.’ She considered offering her hand, but Seth was already on the march home, clearly confident of the route. ‘Who was the boy you were talking to?’
Without missing a beat, Seth said, ‘Rick. He talks funny and he says his dad’s famous, like those men on TV.’
Victoria stiffened. On the rare occasion when Seth had decided to converse with her, his words struck her dumb.
The man she thought she would never see again was back.
With her thoughts centred on Chris Frampton, and Seth running most of the way, the walk to the pub took less time than Victoria would have liked. She had plenty to occupy her mind.
Unless Rick was visiting his father’s old stomping ground, his presence in the wood suggested the Framptons were living at Hope Cove Castle. As the crow flew, that was less than a mile away from Victoria’s cottage. The probability of running into Chris was unnervingly high.
She was convinced she would unleash years of hurt and resentment the moment she saw him. What he did to her the night before he left for LA was unforgivable. He had ruined her, body and mind. Because of him, she’d thrown herself into her business. Because of him, she had a failed marriage, and a child she didn’t know how to love. Chris’s actions had stunted Victoria’s emotional growth and stolen her innocence.
As she approached the inn, she emitted a faltering sigh. She was being unfair. It wasn’t all Chris’s fault. She shouldn’t have allowed him to take advantage of her, but at eighteen, she was naïve, and in love. She thought they were destined to be together forever.
And what about Lacey’s history? She couldn’t let on that she knew. She had paid a lot of money to keep those details from surfacing. If the board had wind of Lacey’s blue movie career and HIV, they’d have insisted EweSpeak broke the story. Victoria didn’t want that. At the time, she’d kidded herself it was to avoid tarring EweSpeak with a bad name, but in reality, she did it to avoid causing Chris further pain and anguish.
That didn’t mean she’d forgiven him for using her.
This was not the new beginning she had in mind.
She discharged a small, frustrated scream, and the wind whipped it out to sea. To her surprise, it was good, and what felt like a sheepshank knot in her stomach uncoiled. The second of the day. Maybe there was something to Olivia’s method of letting go.
In that short journey from the wood to the pub, Victoria had covered a lot of ground.
The hugs Frank and Olivia bestowed upon Seth, which he accepted with little resistance, took the sting out of Victoria’s eyes.
‘Don’t reprimand him,’ Olivia whispered. ‘Trust me on this.’ She turned to Seth. ‘We’re so pleased you came back. We waited right here for you.’ She crouched to his level, and took his hands. ‘We will always be around for you, and you can talk to us anytime.’ Her next few words were spoken directly into his ear, which made him giggle. Olivia unfurled. ‘Right. I’m jolly well starving. Let’s get that very late lunch, and afterwards, you can come and look round my shop and choose something to take home.’
As Victoria drove a sleeping Seth and her father home, she reflected on the day. There was nothing she could do about Chris Frampton, and as much as she wanted to avoid him, there was a small
chance seeing him would bring closure. It was a scary thought, but if, or more likely, when they met, she’d have to wing it. Until then, it was pointless worrying. Juliette would be proud of her.
That brought Victoria to thinking about EweSpeak. She had promised her sister she would return and fight the new proposals, which she had every intention of doing, but the desire to be in charge had weakened. She didn’t need the hassle, and she had more money than she knew what to do with, besides, following the visit to Chiswell Crafts, Olivia’s declaration that the best things in life were free was firmly implanted in Victoria’s brain.
The shop was jam-packed with exquisite works of art that Olivia had created from beach booty – driftwood, defunct fishing nets, shells, gulls’ feathers. She sold the finished articles for very little profit, and yet lived a life full of riches.
The common perception was money made life easier. Hard, cold cash bought freedom, and yet it was a protector and a guardian, and an excellent cushion when things got too much. For Victoria, it bought silence, nannies, and the luxury of never saying no. It alleviated the burden of responsibility. Her problems were remedied by throwing coins at them. Overflowing treasure chests had been cast in Seth’s direction.
Victoria pulled up at a red light, the houses to the side shielding the car from the sun. The inside temperature plummeted and the light dimmed. She rubbed her hands together. ‘Stop hiding behind things,’ she muttered, keen to move out of the gloom and return to the warmth.
‘What was that?’ Frank wriggled in his seat, settling in an upright position. ‘You’re hiding behind things? Like what?’
‘Not me. The sun. It’s disappeared behind those buildings.’ But her father’s question planted a seed in Victoria’s mind. She considered the possibility she was using money to provide cover, when what she needed was exposure.
Her eyes registered the green aura of the traffic light, and she resumed the drive home. ‘Olivia asked why I’m thinking of renovating the cottage when I can afford a new build,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t answer at the time, other than to say it felt right. I thought it was something to do with it being Nan’s old place, and my home for five years, but Olivia’s made me think differently.’
Frank chuckled. ‘She has the knack of doing that.’
‘Money’s crippled my personal growth. I’ve never had to resolve problems outside of the office. I’ve paid people to take care of my home life.’ Victoria had her father’s unswerving attention. ‘Something else occurred to me. Do you remember Chris Frampton?’
Frank scratched his chin. ‘Was he the one whose dad owned that huge yacht in the harbour?’
‘Not him. The one after. I knew Chris from college. We got together after I left.’ She glanced at her dad. ‘You must remember him. He was mad about bikes.’ She saw the grenade drop as Frank’s blank expression exploded with recognition.
‘Chris Frampton. The lad who made it big in Hollywood? I liked him. Well, I did until he upset you. You were heartbroken when he left. Stayed in your bedroom for months. And I thought he was such a gentleman.’
‘Hmm. Not that much of a gentleman.’ Victoria stared ahead, glad of a reason to avoid her father’s glare. ‘I believe he’s moved into Hope Cove.’ She pressed on, not giving her father time to react. ‘Anyway, I was thinking about him and how my perception of relationships was set by a single moment in my youth. I let my guard down and gave in to love, and then was used and discarded, like an old, oily rag. Because of that, I’ve spent years avoiding emotional turmoil. I’ve used EweSpeak as an excuse to disengage from the real world.’ Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘I need to change, Dad. I want to be a good mother, and I want to find love.’
‘So money and Chris Frampton are to blame for the state you find yourself in?’
Victoria smiled. ‘No. The way I dealt with them brought me to this point. There’s no one to blame but myself. It’s just taken a while for me to work it out.’
‘So, what’s next, or are you still riding the wave of spontaneity?’
‘It’s not my strength, is it?’ Victoria laughed. ‘I’ll compromise. I’ll work to a flexible plan. How’s that?’
Frank patted her knee. ‘Sounds like a decent proposal. What will you do first?’
Her father’s use of the word proposal sent her mind scurrying in the direction of EweSpeak again. She needed to get back to London and sort out her case for voting against the board, but she had lost the sense of urgency, and the thrill of the fight. Her priority was Seth.
A surprised ‘Huh!’ left her mouth as she realised she was already changing. ‘I’m going back to basics. I’m going to stop using money as my guardian, and discover for myself that the best things in life are free. And I’m going to look into this child attachment disorder Olivia mentioned. There must be things I can do to help Seth, and if I learn from it too, who knows? We might forge a decent relationship.’ She drew up to the bungalow. ‘And money can’t buy that.’
‘No. It can’t.’ Frank unclipped his seat belt. ‘And what about EweSpeak and your sister?’
‘I won’t let the business or Juliette down, but Seth has to come first.’ She’d not said that before. Her son was continually beaten into second place by technical difficulties, or rampaging board members. Another huh escaped, as Victoria’s understanding took a huge stride. Her mother had always put her faith first and Victoria had resented that big time. No wonder Seth felt unloved. No wonder he reacted so violently against Victoria. The name he heard most often issued from his mother’s lips was EweSpeak.
‘Seth,’ she said, thinking how like a sigh his name was. She could say it a thousand times and still not make up the difference. Once more. ‘Seth.’ This time, it was a statement of intent. A promise.
As the container lorries rumbled into the distance, Chris returned to the study; the box had to be emptied and its contents secured. With Rick camped out in his bedroom, and no sight of Tommy, now was as good a time as any.
He gathered together Lacey’s medical papers. They described her condition and treatment in explicit detail. Her death certificate and autopsy report were part of the bundle, too. He’d considered burning them before leaving America, but they offered such an insight into who Lacey was and the choices she had made, that his gut reaction was to keep them for a time when Rick was mature enough to understand. Explanations were for the future. Tommy had no right interfering now. No right calling the shots. Chris shoved the papers into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, and ensured it was locked.
Systematically, he emptied the box, keeping his mind occupied on menial tasks – sharpening pencils, testing each pen for ink, sorting and arranging, until with one final skim of its base, he found three sealed condoms. Shaken, he stepped back and crumpled into his chair. He’d always kept condoms in his desk. The last time he and Lacey made love was in his office. It was a memory so sharp and vivid, it brought both intense pleasure and pain.
He’d watched her, from behind the blinds of his converted barn. He’d savoured her glorious figure, as she’d exited their homestead, danced across the dusty ground, and halted outside his office. He was familiar enough with her behaviour to know what was about to happen. Thirteen years of marriage, two boys and an unrelenting work schedule for Chris, fuelled his and Lacey’s love-life rather than killed it.
His attention was drawn to his boys horsing around in the dry Los Angeles dirt. At eleven years old, Todd and Rick were cheeky, mischievous and as full of life as their mother. It brought a smile to Chris’s face.
‘Where are you off to, boys?’ Lacey’s voice.
‘Riding.’ The boys’ standard reply.
‘Behave yourselves.’ Lacey’s warning. Almost a reprimand.
Chris eased the vertical slats of the blind further apart, pressed his cheek close to the warm glass and strained to see his wife. There was nothing
but a tantalising ripple of her white hem. He pulled away from the window as the door opened and a bare foot appeared across the threshold.
‘Rick. Get Tommy to go with you. He’s in the homestead. And Todd. Be careful.’ Lacey stepped into the room, placed her hands behind her back and lent against the door. It closed with a satisfying click. She regained her breath, smoothed down her hair and touched her lips. As she lifted her eyes, she took a small pace forward.
Her cheeks were red.
Enjoying the spectacle before him, Chris waited a few seconds before closing the blinds; he was reluctant to banish the LA sun from his office. The light produced a golden aura around the stunning woman gazing at him.
Lacey withdrew from the sunlight, brushed her arm against his, and coaxed his hand away from the cord. ‘The boys,’ she said, adding a shrug to her sideways nod. ‘They don’t need to see everything.’ She pulled the blinds shut.
‘They’re definitely off to the stables, aren’t they? Only the arena’s all set up. The bike, the ramp. And there’s no one there. I’ve sent the team home for the day. I’ve nipped back to confirm my calculations.’ Chris’s sudden anxiety threatened to destroy the highly charged moment, but he had good reason to worry. His lads were fearless. They’d grown up on a huge ranch, with a Hollywood stuntman for a father. And Todd had the Frampton reckless gene. ‘Lacey, they’re not going near the arena, are they? They’re safe, right?’ He flipped his fringe from his eyes. ‘The stunt’s been a real bugger to master.’
Lacey weaved her fingers through his, and nodded. ‘Relax. They’re going riding. Tommy won’t let any harm come to them.’ She raised her hands, bringing Chris’s with them, and rested them against her collarbone. ‘I think your director’s expecting too much. If I asked you not to go through with this stunt, would you stop?’
He bent to look into her eyes, cloudy blue like an English summer, so mismatched with her heavy American brogue. ‘It’s who I am, Lacey. It’s what I do, what we do, and it’s given us this incredible life.’ He paused to reflect on the last fifteen years in the USA. As a Brit in a foreign land, he’d worked hard in a tough and potentially lethal industry to fulfil his schoolboy dreams. Would he give it up because his wife asked him? Without a moment’s hesitation. He kissed her forehead and straightened up. ‘I’ll call my agent and tell him it’s off.’ He unthreaded his fingers, walked across to his large, leather-inset desk, and reached for the phone.
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