Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  She didn’t have the time, or the energy, to think about it.

  Instead, she said, “I’ll just run upstairs for my wrap.”

  Then she turned and escaped, ascending the stairs to her room. She grabbed her pink pashmina from the bed and wrapped it around her, throwing a free end over her left shoulder. She took a deep breath and thought, I can do this, just a few hours, I can manage not to fall face forward in my soup and then it will be over and I can come back and sleep. Once she told herself this (and almost believed it), she headed back down the stairs.

  At the curb, Carter opened the door to the Bentley for them, closed it behind them and they were whisked into the London night.

  Julia stared out the window feeling strangely shy and decided to put it down to tiredness and Douglas’s earlier look. She had always been outgoing and found talking to anyone from any background easy. You just found out what their interests were and then asked questions. Nearly everyone loved to talk about themselves. Simple.

  But she was so exhausted, she couldn’t think how to make small talk with Douglas and then she realised belatedly that Douglas wasn’t speaking either. She turned to look at him and saw he was staring at her legs which were crossed. It was too dark to see his expression but she sensed something in the car and that something made her cheeks warm.

  “How was your week?” she asked in an attempt to dispel her bizarre feeling.

  “Long,” he answered shortly, not offering any more information as he shifted his gaze from her legs to her face. “Yours?” he asked.

  “The same.”

  And that was it, the extent of their conversation. Not long after, they slid to a halt at the front of a fashionable restaurant, so fashionable that Julia had heard of it, even in Indiana, and all the celebrities that haunted it.

  The place was a crush at the front but the moment the doors closed behind them it was serene, decorated with an overdose of trendy bamboo and lots of glass. The hostess immediately stiffened and came forward, oozing courtesy as she guided them to the table Charlotte and Oliver were already occupying.

  Julia was pleasantly surprised when both the petite, slim, stylish, black-haired Charlotte and the tall, straight, sandy-haired Oliver greeted her with friendly familiarity.

  They’d barely taken their seats when a waiter appeared at the table.

  “Would you like drinks, Lord Ashton?” he asked reverentially.

  Douglas didn’t even look at Julia before saying, “Miss Fairfax will have a dry vodka martini, up, with an olive. I’ll have the same, with gin, no olive.”

  Julia was stunned speechless.

  It was true, she had a strict regimen of drinking. Margaritas while eating Mexican or on hot summer evenings. Micro-brewed beer while watching sports. Spiced rum and diet cola while lounging at home with friends or on the rare occasions when she was at a beach. Dry red wine with dinner. Amaretto with coffee after dessert. Mojitos when she was feeling saucy or eating Texas chilli. And, on posh nights out, a dry vodka martini, up, with an olive.

  She didn’t know what was more shocking, that Douglas knew her preferred drink or that he hadn’t bothered consulting her when ordering it. No man, not even Sean, had ordered for her without taking her request. The sensation was alarming because even though it was irritating, it was also somehow delicious.

  She tried to hide her contradictorily pleased annoyance but when she glanced at Charlotte, the other woman was watching her closely.

  “So!” Charlotte cried suddenly and Julia jumped. “How are you settling into the spooky manse? I see Monique hasn’t driven you to tearing your hair out yet, which, I must add, is a shining testament to you, my dear.” Then she lifted her drink in an amusing salute to Julia.

  “Monique is on the Mediterranean,” Douglas announced, the waiter long gone, rushing to do the bidding of a very famous and powerful client.

  “Oo, what luck. So, you’ve been spending this time counting your lucky stars,” Charlotte asked Julia, a twinkle in her eye.

  Julia didn’t know what to make of Charlotte, nor how to respond, but was spared by Oliver who said warningly, “Charlie.”

  “She’s been around long enough, I think she knows what she’s in for,” Charlotte told her husband with blithe unconcern at his warning and turned back to Julia. “I’m putting my money on you.” Her eyes still sparkled but there was something kindly speculative in them that told Julia that Charlotte Forsythe understood very well and not just about Monique.

  With that firm announcement of support, Julia began to relax and enjoy the evening.

  Dinner was delicious, even if the servings were sparse, and Charlotte and Oliver were good company. She learned that Oliver and Douglas had gone to school together, played rugby and cricket together and raced cars, horses and anything else that was fast or dangerous while Charlotte, at a sister school for girls “across the lake”, tagged along after them, naughtily egging them on whenever she could.

  Julia realised almost immediately that she liked Charlotte immensely. She was witty, obviously in love with her husband and not at all reverential of Douglas.

  Julia’s enjoyment of the meal and the company was only marred when, after they were finished and enjoying coffee, Douglas leaned back and rested his arm across the back of her chair.

  It was an entirely male gesture and incongruously familiar. And the way Douglas did it was somehow… predatory.

  What was more, their table was the focus of a great deal of attention from the other diners and even the staff and Douglas’s behaviour was odd in the extreme.

  True, she and Douglas had known each other for years, spent holidays together, ate many a meal in each other’s company and had even engaged in a variety of conversations both with others and alone.

  And there had been three times, three very memorable times, when Douglas had shown her fleeting moments of tenderness.

  The first was during one of her early visits, a summer holiday. They’d been outside Tamsin and Gavin’s house, Gavin at the barbeque with everyone else eating and drinking. Julia had turned her ankle walking back into the house. Douglas had just arrived and had been close enough to catch her before she fell. Unfortunately, she’d turned it quite badly and he assisted her to a chair, his strong arm supporting her. Once he had her seated, he bent to her foot, carefully, even fondly, lifting her ankle and inspecting it. Gavin had come forward to take over but Julia had never forgotten Douglas’s (strange, for him) thoughtful attention.

  The second was during her first visit to Gavin and Tammy’s after her divorce was final. When they’d had a moment alone, Douglas had asked quietly if she was all right and she had the distinct impression that he genuinely cared about her answer. Douglas had been quite obvious about the fact that he never cared for Sean, unlike Monique who doted on her ex-husband. However, with no small surprise, Julia felt that it wasn’t the fact that Douglas disliked Sean and was making some point in asking, it was that he wanted to be certain she was, indeed, all right.

  And last, after Tammy and Gavin’s funeral, Julia had found a quiet corner in the library at Sommersgate where she thought no one would find her. Douglas, to her stunned amazement, not only found her, she had the impression he’d come looking for her and, without a word, pulled her stiff body loosely into his arms. At this act of compassion, she’d clutched his shirt, buried her face in his chest and burst into tears, the grief shuddering through her body as the gravity of her loss settled on her soul. Through this, he silently absorbed it, the whole time stroking her back in a way that was both absent (for him) and comforting (for her). Then Patricia walked in and Douglas turned her into her mother’s arms, again without a word, and walked away.

  Putting these things out of her mind, Julia also tried to shrug off her feelings at Douglas’s arm on her chair. Gavin would and did put his arm on the back of her chair and it was obviously never predatory or possessive (but maybe protective). Perhaps, Julia told herself, it was a brotherly gesture.

  Once sh
e had that comforting thought settled in her mind, she relaxed. Until she saw Charlotte, who Julia was realising didn’t miss a trick, had noted the action with raised brows and a feminine glance at Julia that spoke volumes. This was something else Julia decided to put out of her mind.

  After their coffees, Charlotte and Oliver took their own car to the gallery while Carter drove Douglas and Julia

  “I’m not good company this evening,” she told him and she watched as his head turned to her. “I still think I’m a little jetlagged and it’s been a long day. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded but didn’t respond.

  “Dinner was lovely and I like Charlotte very much,” she tried again, desperately wanting to dispel her awkward feelings.

  No response for a moment, then he asked, his deep voice sounding strangely lower, more throaty, “Your perfume, what is it?”

  She blinked in the darkness. “Wah… why?” she asked, thrown by his odd question.

  “It’s extraordinary,” he said it in such a tone that she didn’t know if it was good-extraordinary or bad-extraordinary. “What is it?” he repeated.

  “It isn’t from a shop. A friend of mine makes it for me. She’s a bit, er… unusual, my friend. She says it’s an aromatic manifestation of my ‘essence’.” He made no response to this so Julia inquired hesitantly, “Is it too strong?”

  “No,” Douglas answered and said nothing more.

  She sat there, bewildered, and thought it best to let it go. Then curiosity (as often was the case with Julia) overrode common sense.

  “Why do you ask about my perfume?”

  “It suits you,” was all he said in reply.

  At that moment they slid to a halt in front of the gallery and Douglas threw open the door before Julia could form a thought. She was still reeling at the strange conversation. Julia thought he had just called her extraordinary, though she still didn’t know if that was good or bad but she had the feeling it was good.

  Then she could think about it no more. The flashbulbs started popping and the shouts were frenzied while he alighted and she saw his hand offered through the door to help her. She put her own in his and exited the car to the blinding lights. She instantly became discombobulated and dropped his hand as the shouts became louder, more frenzied. She heard his name repeated again and again while the blinding flashes came with such swiftness there seemed no pause between.

  She felt her hand taken again in a firm grasp as she was pulled forward, Douglas guiding her, or more to the point, dragging her towards the door.

  They made it through the door and crush outside was nothing to the crush inside. It was wall-to-wall people.

  Someone rushed forward to Douglas the minute they entered the gallery.

  “Lord Ashton! You’re here!” It was a young, eager, overly-made-up woman who turned curious eyes to Julia, looked her from head-to-toe, made a judgement and, Julia thought, dismissed her. “Can I get you some drinks?”

  “Champagne,” Douglas commanded shortly and then completely ignored her.

  He’d dropped Julia’s hand upon entering but now he slid his fingers, starting at the side of her waist, to the small of her back and guided her forward, stopping her by wrapping his arm fully about her waist and pressing his fingers gently and firmly against her side as they arrived at the first wall filled with art.

  She barely had a moment to get her breath or process the pleasant warmth of his hand at her waist and his body at her side when she heard a call.

  “Douglas!” a man shouted, far louder than needed even in the din of the crowded gallery. Douglas dropped his arm but kept himself positioned close to Julia’s side. The older man was paunchy with a shock of bright white hair and very red cheeks. “You’ve done it again. It’s the next Picasso. I’ve already bought two. How do you find them?” he asked, apropos of nothing.

  He too looked over Julia and didn’t bother to hide his curious interest before he again turned his eyes to Douglas.

  Douglas didn’t answer as the man babbled on, “Masterpieces, all, the like I’ve never seen before.”

  As Julia finally realised what the older man was referring to, she turned her attention to the artwork on the walls.

  Each piece was suspended between two sheets of plexiglass with no other adornment. They were drawn on bits of wrinkled scratch paper and each one, she saw, looked like a doodle done in pencil while the artist was taking a telephone call.

  Julia couldn’t claim to be an art aficionado but even she could doodle better than this. And without the theme of blood, guts and violence that ran throughout the works she could take in from her vantage point.

  “These are hideous!” Charlotte shrieked gaily as she and Oliver joined them, the white-haired man obviously taking the hint of utter silence from Douglas and moving off. “What on earth made you become patron to this person? Dear God.”

  Julia was surprised. She didn’t know Douglas was the opening’s patron and she peered more closely at the disturbing doodles. She also looked at the prices discreetly affixed on the walls to the side of each piece and gasped in shock, each piece cost a small fortune.

  The girl arrived with their champagne, Douglas handed Julia a glass and his to Charlotte. “Two more,” he told the girl without a thank you and, apparently not expecting one, she immediately melted into the crowd to do his bidding.

  “I’ve never seen these,” Douglas belatedly answered Charlotte. “Samantha finds it amusing to use my influence and money to do shocking things that will make people wonder about me.”

  “Well, she’s succeeded,” Oliver replied, laughter in his voice. “From the looks of these, you’re a very disturbed individual.”

  “Hideous or not, most of them have sold,” Charlotte noted and then she came forward and wrapped her arm around Julia’s waist. “We’re off to the ladies,” she announced and pulled Julia along with her and through the throng of the crowd before Julia could say a word. “We’re not off to the ladies, I’ve got to have a cigarette and Ollie doesn’t know I’ve started up again,” she confided to Julia conspiratorially, still giving Julia no time to respond.

  She guided Julia through the gallery, down a hall at the back and outside into an alleyway. Other guests mingled with staff to enjoy their cigarettes in the surprisingly tidy but smoky alley.

  Charlotte pulled Julia away from the smoking crowd and down, stopping them within sight but out of hearing distance and surreptitiously lighting a cigarette with a slim, gold lighter.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” Charlotte said, even though she hadn’t given Julia much choice. “Now, we can really talk. Tell me, how are you getting on?”

  Her words were not gossipy but kind. Nevertheless, Julia was aware this was a family friend and she forced herself to be discreet even though she desperately wanted to talk to someone, anyone.

  “I’m settling in…” she started.

  “Codswallop,” Charlotte announced, the strange word forcing a giggle out of Julia and making her relax.

  “Okay, it’s been tough,” Julia allowed.

  “Tough is when you break the heel of your favourite pair of Jimmy Choos. There’s another word for it when your whole life turns on its head.” She took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke away from Julia. “Come on, you can tell Auntie Charlie,” she coaxed with an encouraging smile.

  Julia smiled back. She needed someone to talk to and Charlotte seemed genuinely concerned so she gave in. “I’m tired, exhausted… the kids are, well… things are not good.”

  “Monique,” Charlotte guessed, making the name sound like a curse and correctly judging the state of affairs at Sommersgate. “That woman is a nightmare. She wasn’t a good mother and she certainly isn’t a good grandmother.”

  Julia was stunned by her frankness and curious at her words. Tamsin (and certainly not Douglas) had never spoken about her relationship with her mother even though Julia knew it was obviously nothing like what she and Gav had with Patricia. She knew, though, th
at it was none of her business.

  “It’ll get better,” Julia assured her, trying to believe it herself. “I haven’t even been here for a week. I haven’t had the chance to really talk to Douglas.”

  “Who ever really talks to Douglas?” Charlotte asked with further brazen honesty as she waved her cigarette around in the air. “I love him but he’s about as approachable as The Guards.” She took another deep drag and then glanced at the crowd, obviously worried that Oliver would discover her habit then her eyes moved back to Julia. “Listen to me, I was Tammy’s friend, I miss her. She was wonderful and an important part of my life. But I cannot imagine what possessed her to do this to you and Douglas. She loved that house, God knows why, it’s the creepiest place on earth. But she connected with it. I figure she talked Gavin into having the kids brought up there and to protect you, they made Douglas guardian too.”

  Julia couldn’t hide her surprise at this announcement. She, too, had spent hours trying to figure out what intentions Gavin and Tamsin had when they put her and Douglas in what was seeming, more and more, not only an impossible, not even an inconceivable but maybe a catastrophic situation. Especially if Julia couldn’t control the avid clenching of her stomach any time Douglas was near.

  “Do you think?” Julia asked.

  “I can’t imagine why else. Tammy adored Douglas but she didn’t fool herself about him. He’s a good man but, let’s face it, he’s no father figure.” Julia couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that, Charlotte threw her a grin and carried on. “So, Tammy wanted the kids at Sommersgate and you to raise them because they both thought you were fabulous and everyone knows you love those kids. But they had to know Monique would be a problem. Ergo, Douglas is thrown into the fray, poor man. He worshipped his sister, you know.”

  No, she didn’t know. Worship was the kind of thing people did to Douglas, not the other way around.

  Charlotte continued. “It’s clear he’s already decided on protecting you, if you know what I mean. So, my advice to you is to take him up on it.”

  Julia frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”