Tara reached Willowborough Hall in record time. Driving through the gates, she was struck, as she always was, by the drama of her imposing home. The vast, stucco-fronted, pale grey Regency mansion was built in neo-classical style, spread over three storeys, with two symmetrical wings leading off the main section. Tall mullioned widows glittered in the sun, and through the lower bay-windows she could see the mahogany-panelled Great Hall, designed for entertaining on a palatial scale. Stone statues of grave-looking ancestors and other notables gazed imperiously down as she climbed the curved marble steps to the huge front doorway.
Those Regency walls had seen so much over the centuries. An intricate painting in the Great Hall, one of few remaining original artefacts, portrayed Willowborough Hall and the surrounding village as it had been all those years ago when her family had been gloriously influential. She loved to study it whenever she returned home at weekends. But these days the house was no longer in its prime. The ivy and wisteria were out of control, the furniture had been patched many times over, and the fountain, whose magnificent spray had once reached almost to the window of her third-storey bedroom, now stood dilapidated and dry.
Lady Tina rushed out of the house, letting the heavy front door slam behind her.
‘Hello, darling!’ She took Tara in her arms and hugged her, standing on tiptoes to kiss her cheek. ‘Gosh, you have grown thin, are you sure you’ve been eating properly? And gosh, Tara, where on earth did you get that car?’
‘Oh, it’s just a friend’s. Is lunch served? I’m starved.’ Tara raced past her mother and into the house.
‘Papa, Papa, I’m home.’
She ran down the hallway, shivering. The cost of adequately heating the house was something her father had never been prepared to entertain, but it now seemed even colder than she remembered.
‘Tara-Bara. Welcome darling.’ Lord Bridges emerged from the library where he had been reading the Telegraph, followed closely by Ferdy and Lamb, the two little white-and-brown-flecked Jack Russells. ‘You look well, got a bit of colour to your cheeks. Have you been spending more time outdoors?’
‘Yes Papa,’ lied Tara, glad she’d added some extra blusher. ‘Is it just us today or are we having anybody over?’ She bent to scoop up Lamb, who was yapping at her feet, and he licked her sunken cheeks worriedly.
Hugo’s jaw stiffened. ‘Your mother has invited somebody from the Committee over. A young chap, goes by the name of Orlando or—’
‘Orlando heads up the National Trust Committee,’ Tina cut in. ‘He’s been an invaluable help with the sale.’
‘What sale? You didn’t tell me you were selling anything?’ Tara said accusingly, dropping poor Lamb in her surprise.
‘We’ve had to sell four hundred acres of the estate to the National Trust, darling, there was simply no other option,’ Tina pleaded.
‘What! I can’t believe you didn’t even see fit to consult me! Well, how much did you get for it anyway, can you at least pay off my student loan now?’
Hugo was becoming irritated. ‘We received £2 million for the land, Tara, just part of what is owed to the bank. We’ve paid off a little of our debt and the rest has already been spent on restoring this dump. Now be quiet.’
Not for the first time, Tara felt a deep sadness that came with the knowledge that she would probably be the last Wittstanley to grow up at Willowborough. Even if the family could find a way to avoid eventually having to sell the entire estate, there was no way she or any of her cousins would be able to take on the burden of its maintenance.
Connie crept in, sensing tension. Then she cleared her throat and announced, ‘Lunch is served.’
‘Well, what of Orlando? He’s late.’ This time Hugo snapped at his wife.
Tina was spared from having to fabricate an excuse when the doorbell rang. She rushed to open the door and Tara shuddered as her mother’s most flirtatious giggle echoed around the hallway.
‘What do you know of this Orlando guy, Papa?’ Tara whispered. For an innocent Sunday lunch there were more sequins on her mother’s outfit than in an entire series of Strictly Come Dancing. ‘Do I have to be nice to him?’
‘Staff’ was her father’s curt reply. ‘I’ve never met him, but your mother said he is simply staff at the National Trust.’
‘Well,’ Tara retorted, sensing her father’s indignation, ‘if Tina says he’s “staff”, then I shall bloody well treat him as such.’
‘Do behave yourself, dear,’ Hugo admonished, but not before shooting his daughter an approving smile.
Hugo took his seat at the head of the large table and Tara sat at his side. As Tina entered the room Hugo rose slightly to acknowledge her then seated himself once more, barely even nodding at Orlando. When all where seated, Hugo said grace. The meal kicked off awkwardly but drink soon raised Lord Bridges’ spirits and Orlando and Tina seemed unable to stop themselves giggling like schoolchildren over Committee jokes. The only person present who remained unamused was Tara.
****
Natalya felt as though she was walking on air as she boarded her flight back to London. ‘A glass of champagne please,’ she said to the air stewardess. She had good reason to celebrate. The weekend had flown by and she was secure in the knowledge that Claude was besotted with her. It was sooner than she had anticipated, but the decision to end things with Gregory had been the right one. The rent for her apartment was paid in advance for the next three months and Claude was finalizing the purchase of a London home for himself, which she could no doubt move into afterwards. She wondered how Gregory would take the news. He had never loved her. She knew that. For him it was a sexual thing. When she’d wanted him to leave his wife he would not even consider it. She was glad of that now, but at the time it had hurt. When you are sixteen and alone in a new city you cling to the first person who happens to find you. After five years alone, however, you adapt to your situation and you exploit it in any way you can. There is no choice but to do so.
Natalya’s plane arrived on time and she hailed a taxi back to Knightsbridge. She picked up her letters from her mailbox, nodded at the concierge and took the lift to the fifth floor. Scrabbling in her bag for her key, she paused. Was she imagining things, or could she hear someone in her apartment?
She opened the door.
A hand grabbed her through the darkness and she screeched, dropping her bag and the letters in terror. Gregory put one hand over her mouth. The other was still clamped around her neck, his body pressed against hers. She could smell his sweat and stale breath. Had he been waiting there all weekend?
‘Who is he?’ Gregory yelled. ‘Who is he?’ He dragged Natalya to the kitchen and reached for the bread knife, letting go of her mouth.
Holding the knife to her throat, he whispered, ‘If you scream again, I’m going to use this.’
Natalya whimpered, then started to cry. Would he do this? Would he really hurt her? He had been violent before, but a knife?
Gregory put the knife slowly back down on the counter. Natalya exhaled audibly, but still did not dare to scream.
‘H-h-how did you get in here?’
‘Thought you were clever, didn’t you, you bitch, changing the locks so I wouldn’t be able to get at you. Well it’s a good thing your friendly concierge knows who I am.’
‘Gregory, please, let me go, you’re hurting me, I … Can’t we sit down and talk about this properly?’
‘How could you do this to me? Not now, after everything I’ve done for you?’ He released Natalya from his grip and fell against the counter sobbing uncontrollably.
Natalya edged slowly away. She was very shaken, but also disgusted by the sight of his puny frame, quivering in the corner of her kitchen as he wailed like a little girl.
‘Who is he, Natalya? You have to tell me.’
‘You would never leaf your wife for me. You can’t. I need to move on, Gregory, I’m not the girl I was when you met me.’
‘I’ll kill him. Tell me who he is, where did you meet him?�
��
Natalya thought quickly. ‘He is in property, we met in St Tropez. His wife died, Gregory. He is lonely, and he wants a new family.’
Gregory frowned at this and Natalya went on, hastily, ‘You and I would drive each other crazy; we do, and you know it. There is no future for the two of us, Gregory. Please, just let me try to be happy with somebody of my own.’
Gregory stood and lunged, as though he was about to hit her.
‘Don’t!’ she shouted. ‘If you hurt me now, there are witnesses. The concierge knows you are here. You can leaf now. Go back to your pregnant wife and she will never know what you hef done to her.’
That seemed to hit a nerve with Gregory. He stopped in his tracks and looked away.
‘Well, give me back all the jewellery then. And you’d better get the hell out of this flat. Just see how long your new man will support you after he gets bored of fucking you. You’ll be back.’
‘I don’t hef your jewellery.’
‘What do you mean YOU DON’T FUCKING HAVE MY JEWELLERY?’
‘I don’t hef it, Gregory! I don’t hef it. I gave it to my mother in Latvia.’
Gregory walked slowly towards her and grabbed her once more by the neck.
‘You listen to me, you whore. I pity you. You’re gonna be trampled on and used and abused. You’d better steal a hell of a lot more from this sucker than you’ve stolen from me all these years because you have nothing. Nothing! You’re gonna get old. And ugly. You’ll be alone, and what will you do for money then? You’re already losing your looks – you’re nothing like the beauty I met five years ago. You and this cunt deserve each other.’
He threw Natalya across the room, turned on his heel and walked out of the apartment.
As soon as his footsteps faded from earshot, Natalya rose and slammed the door shut, leaning her back against it. She closed her eyes and imagined what he might have done if she hadn’t thought quickly and brought his wife into it. The man had left her with many bruises in the past, but he was weak, and terrified of his wife – and her minor fortune – leaving him for good.
She bent to retrieve her letters and for the second time in half an hour was stricken with panic. There, underneath her telephone bill, was a plain white envelope bearing her name in that peculiar handwriting. Shaking, she ripped open the envelope with her brown, manicured fingertips.
Its contents were as vile as the first one.
Hurling the letter against the wall, Natalya burst into tears. As she tried to gulp down the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her, she realized this was the first time she had completely let go since she had arrived, alone, in London six years earlier. Crumpled on the floor, her slight frame shook as she wept. Who would do this?
Panicked now, she ran back to the door and double-locked and bolted it. Her heart was thumping; she had never been so petrified. She took a breath and tried to focus. Who could be sending these letters? Not Claude or Gregory, surely. One of the first things Natalya had learnt about men was not to give away more than the bare minimum of information. Not only did it keep them intrigued and keen, it kept her protected. They could not know her past to use it against her and she could disappear from their lives in the blink of an eye. One moment she would be the centre of their universe, and the next, she would be gone.
No. She knew that the letter could only be from him. The person she had really been thinking of when she’d said yes to the model scouts. The man she had come to England to find. Her father. Now, somehow, he had found her, and he wanted her out of his life. He wanted no record of her; of his dreadful history. Natalya shivered. He wanted her dead.
Part Two
Chapter 15
‘This is insane!’ Abena shrieked as she climbed out of Henry’s convertible and followed him and Tara into Reza’s villa.
‘I can’t believe we’re back in St Tropez again!’ Tara agreed. ‘Henry, you could have given us some notice – I haven’t even had time for a wax!’
Henry laughed. ‘Sorry, girls, but Reza only decided to sail her here a few days ago. We were in Sardinia all last week for the first launch parties, and of course we’ve had to keep everything hush hush as we haven’t finished arranging all the licences.
‘A floating nightclub – amazing! I can NOT wait for the party later!’ Abena enthused.
‘Hell YEAH, baby! And we’ve decided to call the club Sin. Reza liked The Sea-Stalking Stallion, but boats are female really, aren’t they?’
‘So come on, what’s the deal – how much is membership? Who are the founding members? I know Sebastian is dying to join!’
‘I’ll definitely see what strings I can pull for him, sweetheart. I’ll smuggle him onboard inside my wetsuit if I have to. Reza wants word to spread amongst those who can afford it, but he’s told me not to sell any memberships for the first few months, to get people hungry. When they do go on sale, membership will be five-hundred grand a pop and obviously based on referral. Members can stay on the boat whenever they wish and the party never stops. There’s dance music at night, lounge music by day, live performances, non-stop first-rate haute cuisine, booze or whatever else one might wish for …’ Henry broke off. ‘Sorry, I sound like a brochure don’t I? But I tell you, this place is going to blow your Jimmy Choos off. We’ve already turned away interest from a state president because Reza didn’t think he was influential enough! What these boys will get for their membership is the chance to socialize with the brightest and the best in a secure, exclusive environment, away from the paparazzi, away from the tax man and away from their wives.’ Henry smirked. ‘But there are only three founding members at the moment. There’s Reza himself, of course, then there’s a financier and co-investor in the club called Bertrand Brampton Amis, and the third member is … yours truly.’ He puffed out his chest proudly.
A maid appeared out of nowhere with a tray and three glasses of champagne and they each thanked her and reached for one. ‘To Sin,’ they roared, holding their glasses high above their heads.
A few minutes later a horn tooted in the driveway.
‘Oh. My. God.’ Henry raced to the window and pressed his nose against the glass in time to see Sebastian Spectre pull up in a vintage sports car, looking like a forties movie star with swept back hair and dark glasses. Sebastian jumped out of the car, stormed in through the open front door and grabbed Abena’s hand without bothering to say hello.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Sebastian said.
‘B-but we’ve got to get ready for the party tonight. It starts in an hour!’ Abena protested.
‘We’re going for a swim first,’ Sebastian grinned, pulling Abena out and back towards his car. ‘We’ll meet you guys on the boat,’ he called over his shoulder at a swooning Henry and bitterly jealous Tara. There was no sign of Alex.
‘Darling, can you sort me out a little something for tonight?’ Tara wandered over to the window to join Henry.
‘Leave it with me,’ he replied. ‘You sure can get through that stuff can’t you?’
‘Not really!’ Tara retorted. ‘I mean, I never really buy – just do the odd line at parties if I’m offered it. Well, sometimes I buy, but I take it with all my friends. It’s a perfectly civilized and social thing to do. And anyway everyone and his dog does coke these days, it’s not like I’m out robbing old ladies.’ She laughed shrilly. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ Henry said.
‘Well then why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Come on, get ready my love, it’s nearly time to go. I’m going to check on the Frenchies then come back for you.’
Tara felt great as she arrived at the harbour in the early evening, dressed in a Grecian-style draped ivory silk dress and flat jewelled sandals. She was to take a speedboat out to the club – Sin was far too big, not to mention exclusive, to be moored in the port. A gentle wind tousled the sea and as her boat surged forward, lurching on the uneven water, flecks of spray hit Tara’s face and her dress billowed in the breeze. She felt exhilarated and
free.
There must have been two hundred people on the boat already when Tara arrived at Sin. Not that it felt like a boat. The wide jet-black deck was furnished with long, black, luxuriously soft outdoor sofas that curved around the gleaming black sides of the ship, beneath its solid-gold gunwales. Tara pushed her way into the covered central area, wondering how on earth she’d find Abena in the crowd. Inside, the walls were also jet black, and the crystals and mirrors embedded in the padded silk gave it a clubby feel. An oval bar, also apparently of solid gold, dominated the immense space. Behind it an army of busy bar staff were preparing fantastically outlandish cocktails. Tara watched, riveted, as pure cocoa was melted into a glass of champagne and sprinkled with what looked like pepper. Circling the bar a flashing revolving dance floor moved in time to the music. It was spinning slowly but Tara had a feeling things would get faster as the night progressed. There were excited whispers that Jay-Z and Beyoncé were to perform later. The whole boat buzzed with suspense, as though everybody was waiting for something.
Behind the bar Tara could see a casino. The only people who had been allowed to wear bikinis instead of party dress were the girls handing out complimentary chips to Reza’s guests. She wandered over to the blackjack table and a pretty girl gave her a gold case. Tara laughed at her own naivety when she realized that the bikini was in fact painted on, and the girl was naked. She was about to start a game when there was an announcement over the speakers.
‘Will all guests please proceed to the front deck.’
Tara stashed the case in her bag and followed the throng out on to the deck.
At once all the lights went out and there was an awed hush. The sea seemed to part as a sleek black speedboat charged towards the big yacht. Behind it, an upright figure, his head haloed in light, appeared to walk on water. It was Reza, illuminated by a strong spotlight fixed to the boat, balancing on a single golden water-ski and clutching a golden tow-rope in the boat’s wake. He twisted and turned skilfully, easily manipulating the ski. His hair blew in the wind and his body, tense with thrill and exertion in a skin-tight wetsuit, was so low to the sea that he was almost horizontal as he zigzagged over its surface.
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