by S. Quinn
‘She’s wants a divorce,’ Dad says to no one in particular. ‘A divorce. Sammy will grow up in a broken home.’
I risk a sideways glance at Marc. He looks serious and thoughtful.
Dad takes a swig of champagne from his mug. ‘Sophia, let this be a lesson to you. Rushing into marriage causes nothing but heartache.’
‘Dad, you’re upset. Don’t read too much into this right now. Maybe Genoveva—’
‘No, I’m seeing sense for the first time in years,’ Dad interrupts. ‘You and Marc have known each other for five minutes. You’re from completely different worlds. Just like Genoveva and I. I’m sorry, but I can’t give my blessing for the two of you to marry. I just can’t.’
I try not to get emotional. Dad’s upset, I tell myself. He’s just had some devastating news. He’s not thinking straight.
‘Dad, maybe you should take more time to think about things.’
‘I don’t need any more time. I’ve made my decision.’
‘Dad, please—’
‘I’m sorry, Sophia. I just can’t see you get hurt the way I’m hurting.’
Denise leans over and puts a hand on Dad’s arm. ‘Mike. I’m so sorry you had that terrible news. We’re all sorry. Truly. And I know you’re coming from a good place, as far as Marc and Sophia are concerned.
‘But how about rethinking your decision in a few month’s time? Sophia’s show will be finished in March – why don’t you reconsider things then? I’m sure, once you’ve seen her do a whole West End show run, you’ll understand what a grown-up young lady she is. And how well she and Marc fit together.’
Dad sighs. ‘I know Sophia is mature for her age. She’s had to be. But … I still think she’s not seeing things clearly. Marc is a very forceful man. I don’t think, with him around, Sophia is in charge of her own decisions.’
‘I am,’ I insist. ‘Of course I am.’
‘He’s a very strong influence, Sophia. Perhaps you don’t realise how strong. And then there’s the over-protective thing – all these security guards prowling around the cottage. It doesn’t seem healthy.’
I glance at Marc, my eyes silently pleading with him not to tell Dad why the security guards are here.
‘Mike,’ says Denise. ‘Give them a few months to prove how well-suited they are. Don’t make any hasty decisions just yet.’
Dad puts down his fork. ‘Okay. Right. Fine. I’ll rethink things in three month’s time, when Sophia’s show run is finished.’
I slide my hand into Marc’s. ‘Dad! Thank you—’
‘Wait.’ Dad holds up a hand. ‘There’s one condition.’
‘A condition?’
‘You and Marc have to spend those three months apart.’
‘Three months apart?’ I say.
‘A few months not seeing Marc isn’t going to hurt you,’ says Dad. ‘And it’ll give you time to think. To consider life without Marc, and to understand there are other options for you.’
‘Three months won’t change my mind.’
I turn to Marc, and notice he’s loosened his grip on my hand. He doesn’t look angry. Actually, he looks thoughtful and that worries me.
‘Marc.’ I shake my head at him. ‘You’re not seriously considering this, are you?’
‘I see the sense in what your father is saying. Taking a break will give you a chance to understand what you truly want in life. There may be someone out there who’s better for you than me.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Marc, I love you. Only you. You’re all I want.’ I feel tears coming and swipe at them, embarrassed to be making such a spectacle of myself. If Marc truly loves me, how could he stand all that time apart?
Marc gently wipes away my tears with his fingers. He puts an arm around my shoulder and his warmth comforts me a little. But not completely.
‘I know how important it is for you to have the blessing of your family. And if separation means having your father’s blessing, then I could bear it.’ He turns to my father. ‘But I have a condition too. I need to be able to see Sophia if her safety is ever compromised. And I need to be able to watch her via my security cameras. To make sure she’s safe. But I’ll give her space. I won’t be a part of her life.’
‘Agreed,’ says Dad.
I shake my head. ‘Dad, no! You don’t have to put us through this. You could just understand that we’re in love. That our love won’t change.’
‘I want you to be sure, before you commit to something that’s for life. Forever.’
I hear the tone of Dad’s words and see that practical look on his face – the one that says ‘this has to be done’. I saw that look when we couldn’t afford flowers for Mum’s funeral and we had to cut down her favourite rose bush to decorate the coffin. He’s not going to change his mind. He really thinks he’s doing the right thing. That he’s saving me from some terrible mistake.
I cling to Marc as reality sinks in. This is our choice. Three months apart, or Dad won’t give us his blessing to marry.
I feel sympathetic looks from Annabel and Denise.
‘Three months,’ I murmur, feeling numb inside.
‘Like Denise says, your play finishes in March,’ Dad says. ‘You’ll have three months to focus on your career. Your future. And if the two of you still feel the same way after your play is finished, I’ll think again about giving my blessing.’
‘We will feel the same,’ I say. ‘Okay. Okay, fine. I agree. I agree because I want you to see what a good man Marc is. That he’ll honour his promise to you. And that even after three months apart, we’ll still be in love.’
36
Dad says that while we’re separated, Marc and I can have one half hour phone call a week. That’s it. Other than that, I’m not allowed to see Marc at all. And our separation begins from tonight.
As we head away from the dining table, I’m holding Marc’s hand but I don’t really feel him. I’m just in shock.
Marc is silent, deep in thought. I guess he’s preparing himself.
‘Are we really going to do this?’ I whisper, as everyone takes seats in the lounge.
‘It could be for the best,’ says Marc. ‘A break will help you think about your future. And whether or not I should be in it.’
‘Of course you should be in it. Marc, I love you.’
Marc’s jaw tightens, and at that moment all my worries about his love for me vanish. I know he’s feeling this pain just as badly as I am. He’s just coping with it in his own way – by trying to stay in control.
‘I love you too,’ Marc replies, as we sit next to each other on the sofa.
There’s a knock at the front door.
I tense, wondering whether Genoveva has come back, but then the front door creaks open and I hear Jen call out, ‘Well hell-oo everyone!’
Jen comes into the lounge, blowing a noisemaker. ‘Happy Christmas!’
She’s wearing a bright red dress with a white fur trim, and carrying a shopping bag full of presents and wine.
‘Hey Jen.’
‘What’s up with everyone?’ Jen says. ‘It feels like I’ve walked into a morgue. It must be present time, mustn’t it? You’ve had your dinner.’ She glances at the empty dining table, now strewn with empty Christmas pudding plates and cracker paper. ‘Wow! Fabulous tree.’ She drops her present bag under the branches.
‘We hadn’t got around to handing out presents yet,’ I say.
Jen notices Annabel and Denise. ‘You must be Marc’s sister.’ She totters over and gives Annabel a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Nice to meet you. And I don’t need to ask your name.’ She gives Denise a kiss too. ‘I saw you in Les Miserables years ago. You were amazing. And Soph says you’re a fantastic teacher too.’ She turns back to me. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘Marc and I … Dad thinks it’s best if Marc and I spend a little time apart.’
‘Oh.’ Jen looks from me, to Dad, and back again. ‘Time apart?’
‘Three months to be precise
.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because otherwise, Dad won’t give us his blessing to get married.’
Jen’s jaw drops open. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope.’
There’s an awkward silence.
Jen plonks herself down on a sofa arm and turns to Dad. ‘What’s this all about then? Doesn’t sound very Christmassy.’
‘I don’t mean to be the big, bad ogre,’ says Dad. ‘But if Sophia wants my blessing to get married, I think she and Marc should have some breathing space.’
Jen raises her eyebrow. ‘Why can’t you just trust Sophia’s decision? She’s in her twenties. It’s not like she’s a teenager.’
‘I don’t want her to get hurt,’ says Dad. ‘If the two of them are meant to be, a break will do them no harm at all.’
‘Don’t hate me for saying this,’ says Denise, leaning towards me. ‘But I can see where your dad is coming from. Love when you’re young isn’t necessary the same as being married. You can fall in love many times when you’re young, but a lifetime commitment is different.’
‘I’ve only ever fallen in love once,’ says Marc. ‘With Sophia.’
‘You might feel that way,’ says Denise kindly. ‘But what about Sophia? Mike’s right, she hasn’t seen nearly as much of the world as you have.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ says Marc. ‘And I don’t disagree with the decision either. I think it would be good for Sophia to have some time to consider what she’s getting herself in to. There may be a better life out there for her – a life I can’t provide.’
‘Are you really going to do it?’ Jen asks me. ‘Spend all that time apart?’
‘I don’t want to,’ I say. ‘But … I don’t see that we have much choice.’
Jen turns to my dad. ‘Mike. Look, are you sure you’re not letting other things cloud your judgement? I heard about Genoveva …’
Dad frowns. ‘I think the Genoveva situation has made me see things clearer than ever. She came over earlier. And now I see a lot of things I didn’t before.’
There’s that awkward silence again.
I think of Genoveva’s present, wrapped under the tree, and wonder why I ever held out hope that she’d act like a decent human being this Christmas.
Poor Sammy.
‘Shall we open our presents?’ I say, in a bid to change the subject. ‘Annabel. Denise. I’m so sorry I don’t have anything for you here.’
Annabel smiles and pulls a silver locket free of her jumper. ‘I got your present in the post a few days ago. It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.’ She clicks open the locket. ‘How did you get the picture of Daniel?’
I smile at the child with blonde hair inside the locket. He looks a little like the childhood picture I saw of Marc. ‘I asked Marc.’
‘And thank you for my book,’ says Denise. ‘I love Robert Burns.’
‘I noticed a few poetry books in your classroom and sort of guessed.’
I hand out presents to Jen, Dad and Sammy. Dad gets stuff for his car, and I give Jen some movies I know she likes and the tea set from Marc. Sammy gets a little plastic elastic man that folds in all sorts of directions. Then I give Marc his present.
‘It’s not much,’ I say, embarrassed suddenly to have everyone watching. The gift is wrapped in black tissue paper and suddenly looks ridiculously small and humble.
Marc shakes his head and smiles. ‘What happened to not getting me a gift?’
‘I sort of ignored you.’
He gives that quirky grin of his. ‘You sort of ignored me?’
‘Yes. Well, I’d already made it for you when you said that. So ... open it.’
Marc pulls off the black paper.
‘You made this?’ he asks, pulling out a hand-woven wristband of black and silver silk. The band is woven with silver ivy leaves and has a little silver clasp to fasten it around the wrist.
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘It’s really not much. But I enjoyed making it for you. I hope you like it.’
‘I do,’ says Marc, fastening it around his wrist.
God, I love his wrists. They’re so strong, so dipped in light and shadow.
I blush. ‘You don’t have to wear it all the time or anything. I mean, it’s nothing special.’
‘It is to me,’ says Marc. ‘Time for your gift.’ He goes to the tree and picks up a tiny, wafer thin square wrapped in gold and silver paper. There’s a huge sprig of mistletoe decorating the corner.
‘Nice wrapping,’ I say, stroking the mistletoe. I’m relieved that the gift is small. I didn’t want anything extravagant from Marc. It just would have made me feel uncomfortable. But then again, as Jen always says, big things come in small packages.
Carefully, I open the paper and stare at what’s inside.
37
I turn to Marc. ‘Is this … this isn’t what I think it is, is it?’
‘What do you think it is?’
I look down at what’s lying within the folds of gift wrap. It’s a photograph of a beautiful black horse with a white spot on its nose.
‘It’s a picture of a horse,’ I say. But I know Marc better than that. He wouldn’t just give me a picture of a horse as a present. Which means ...
‘She’s yours,’ says Marc softly.
‘You’re kidding me.’ I stare at the picture of the beautiful horse, with its shiny coat and beautiful black eyes. ‘I … Marc I …’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know if I can accept this. I mean, I only got you a homemade bracelet, and this is …’
‘She’ll keep you company while you’re away from me,’ says Marc. ‘Her name is Ebony. She’s has a very good nature. I have people at my stable who’ll take care of her. But you can see her, ride her, whenever you like.’
I get to my feet and throw my arms around Marc, hurling myself into his body. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘This is … an amazing present.’
‘I’ll take you to see her today,’ says Marc. ‘She’s an hour or so from here. On the farm we visited before.’
‘Your farm,’ I say.
‘Our farm.’
I’m suddenly aware that there are other people around and peel myself away from Marc.
‘We should … shall we all have a cup of tea?’
*****
Later that day, while the others are relaxing in the lounge, Marc offers to take me to see Ebony.
‘Will Keith drive us?’ I ask.
Marc shakes his head. ‘My Aston Martin was couriered over while we were preparing the dinner. I’m going to drive us.’
I smile. ‘Sounds good.’
Jen and Annabel are having fun playing Scrabble, and Denise and my Dad are talking away, drinking tea and eating chocolate biscuits, so nobody misses us when we head out.
We drive to the farm in silence, happy to be together, but both lost in our own thoughts. There’s a lot to think about after what Dad had to say.
When we arrive at the farm, I notice security guards surrounding the perimeter.
‘Marc.’ I turn to him as the car bumps over the muddy track towards the main house. ‘You said you were going to tell me what’s going on with all the security after Christmas. Well. I think my Christmas is pretty much over. So. Will you tell me?’
Marc pulls the car to a stop. ‘Okay.’ He stares out of the windscreen at the open countryside and I follow his gaze, seeing the bare trees sway in the icy wind. ‘Maybe it’ll help you understand why I’m not fighting your father’s decision too much.’
A pause.
‘Marc?’
‘My legal team are taking care of Getty. You don’t need to worry about him coming anywhere near you. But there’s something else.’
‘Okay.’ I swallow.
‘There are others.’
‘Others? What do you mean?’
‘Getty was part of an underground network. They’re known as PAIN. They have clubs throughout London. Few people know about them. But they’re very protective of their members. Word has got out
that Getty has been imprisoned. And so it looks like the leaders of this group want to take revenge on the people who put him behind bars.’
‘They want to take revenge on us?’
‘That’s what it looks like.’
I feel sick. ‘Do the police know about this group?’
‘Not exactly.’ Marc shakes his head. ‘Not yet, anyway. That has to be handled very delicately. PAIN are clever. If we make the wrong accusations too soon, the police might not be able to prosecute them at all.’
Silence.
‘Marc?’
‘There’s something else too.’ Marc grips the steering wheel. ‘Someone else, actually. Wrapped up in all this. Out for revenge.’
‘Who?’
Marc turns to me. ‘Cecile.’
38
‘Cecile from Ivy College?’ I ask.
‘Yes. PAIN sought her out after Getty was taken into custody. She’s been seen in their night clubs.’
‘She’s never liked me,’ I say, feeling strangely numb inside. ‘And now she has more reason to hate me than ever.’
‘I don’t know for certain how Cecile could be involved with them,’ says Marc. ‘But what I do know is that, right now, it’s not safe for you to be at my townhouse.’
‘That I don’t understand,’ I say. ‘I thought your townhouse was secure.’
‘It is. Against almost everybody.’
‘Almost everybody?’
‘There’s a woman. One of PAIN’s leaders. Her name is Yasmina. She knows the townhouse inside and out. Security systems. Layout. Everything.’
My blood runs cold. ‘How?’
‘She worked for me. As my PA. Years ago. I hired her at Getty’s suggestion. She was Getty’s way of hooking into me. Of making sure he had a hold over me. She knows things about the townhouse. And about me. She’s clever. Very, very clever. And ruthless. She and PAIN’s other leader, Warren, have been accused of some fairly sickening crimes. But nothing has ever stuck.’
I nod slowly, feeling even sicker now. ‘This Yasmina. Were the two of you …’ I let the question trail away.
‘No.’ Marc shakes his head firmly. ‘Never. She and I had different tastes in that department.’
‘Oh. Right.’