by Carnegie, Jo
There was a bed shortage, so he had ended up in a mixed ward for the elderly. The air was tinged with the smell of antiseptic and a faint waft of urine, the gentle sound of monitors and an occasional rasping snore. Vanessa was still in her dress, although the cripplingly high heels had been kicked off long ago.
An old man wearing an oxygen mask in the bed opposite had been watching her with great interest for hours.
‘Wish my wife made such an effort when she came in to see me.’
‘I don’t always look like this, trust me.’
‘No? Shame. You look very pretty. Young girls these days don’t know how to dress.’
‘I’m not that young but thank you for the compliment.’ Vanessa felt like she’d aged a thousand years in the past few hours.
She looked back at Dylan. His eyes were closed and the normally brown face was a sickly white. A huge plaster covered the right side of his forehead. There had been so much blood. Too much blood. Vanessa’s stomach turned thinking about it.
Despite the time, a few patients were awake. ‘Are you on the television?’ the cockney lady on Vanessa’s right asked.
‘I was meant to be, last night.’
‘I know you: you’re that Vanessa Powell! My Angela has your perfume. She loves it, but it’s a bit overpowering, if you ask me.’
Vanessa smiled. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘So what’s going on there?’ She nodded to Dylan. ‘That’s not your husband, is it?’
‘No.’ Vanessa turned to Dylan. ‘This is the man I’ve left my husband for.’
‘That’s going to cause a bit of a ruckus, isn’t it?’
‘It already has.’
‘Well, you can’t pretend to be happy when you’re not. I’ve had four of the buggers. Husbands, I mean.’
She had to be twenty stone and then some. ‘I was quite the stunner back in my day. It’s no use blushing, dear, we all end up losing it along the way.’ She peered at Dylan again. ‘He’s quite a looker. Are you going to feel the same about him when he’s old and saggy?’
‘I don’t care about that. I love his spirit more than anything.’ Vanessa pushed a black curl off his face.
A breakfast tray rattled past in the corridor, distracting her. When she looked back Dylan’s eyes were open and he was looking right at her.
‘Dylan! Oh my God.’
‘Vanessa.’ His voice was cracked and barely audible. She poured a glass of water and held it to his mouth.
‘How are you feeling? Does it hurt?’
‘I’ve felt better.’ He gazed at her. ‘What time is it?’
‘Early.’ She stroked his hair. ‘You’ve been asleep for hours.’
He lifted his hand to caress her face. ‘How are you?’
‘I’ve left Conrad,’ she told him. ‘He’s been arrested.’
She watched him slowly absorb the information. ‘Wow. How do you feel?’
‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’
He smiled, his gaze falling on her dress. ‘You look pretty. Sorry you got my blood all over you.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as you’re all right.’
He took her hand in his. ‘So, this is it. This is us, I mean.’
‘I guess it is.’ She looked anxious. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’
‘Of course not! I just feel terrible dragging you into all this.’ The press were already camped outside the hospital. ‘You didn’t ask for all this attention and scrutiny. I don’t want you to sacrifice your life for me.’
‘Vanessa, my life is you.’ He gave her his crooked grin. ‘If we get any bother from people, I’ll set Eddie on them.’
They gazed into each other’s eyes, utterly lost. ‘For pete’s sake,’ the cockney lady said. ‘Are you going to kiss her or what?’
Dylan smiled, and with some effort, lifted his head and kissed Vanessa passionately. Clapping erupted round the ward.
‘Go on, my son!’ the old man called. ‘About time we had a bit of excitement round here!’
Chapter 89
The rustle of a nearby animal woke Fleur up. She opened her eyes, wondering why she was so cold and stiff. A second later it all came back to her. The devastation was crushing.
She sat up. Her back ached horribly from the hard ground, while goosebumps pimpled her arms and legs. She rubbed her limbs furiously, but it would be a long time before she ever felt warm again.
Blackwater Farm lay beneath her. She saw past the crumbling buildings, the sagging fencing, the rusty machinery that should have been replaced years ago. The farm was her heritage, her identity. It represented three hundred years of work by the Blackwater family.
Now Beau had taken it all away from her.
The last thing she wanted to do was go home and face her dad, but there was no use putting it off. She started the long walk down the hill, feeling as if she was going to her own funeral. After all, she was dead inside now.
She stopped halfway to take in the view, while it was still hers. In the west the sun was rising above a salmon-pink sky. The still air held the promise of another hot day ahead. Beeversham had never looked so beautiful.
I’m so tired, she thought. I’m so tired of keeping everything going.
She just wanted to lie down and close her eyes for ever. There was no more fight left in her.
A frantic shout made her start. ‘Fleur!’
Beau was standing behind her, breathing heavily. He looked terrible, black circles under his eyes and sweat patches staining the pale-blue shirt.
‘I’ve been looking for you all night. Where the hell have you been?’ He took a step forward.
‘Stay away from me!’ Fleur hissed. ‘You’re a lying piece of scum!’
An anguished look crossed Beau’s face. Guilty conscience? It was too bloody late for that.
‘Fleur, I know how it looks …’
‘You wanted the farm all along!’ She was so furious the words tumbled out on top of each other. ‘You knew how much this place means to me! You knew. And you used me to get close to my dad, so you could buy it behind my back. My God. How can you sleep at night?’
He pulled something out of his back pocket. ‘I want to show you something.’
She looked at the wad of papers he was holding. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The deeds for the farm. I’ve just signed them.’
She actually laughed out loud. ‘You’ve come all the way out here to rub my nose in it? You’re even sicker than I thought.’
‘Just look at them, will you?’ he said urgently. ‘OK, you think I’m the biggest bastard ever to walk this earth, but will you just stop shouting and take a look?’
He walked over and shoved the papers into her hand. She glanced at them unwillingly, before studying the first page more closely. ‘I don’t understand. These deeds are in my name.’
‘Of course they are. The farm belongs to you.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’ve bought your dad out. But only to keep it running as a farm. I’ve signed it all over to you.’ He tried a tentative smile. ‘You’ll make a real success of it. I know you will.’
She was utterly confused. ‘But you want to turn it into a spa! I heard you and Spencer plotting.’
He frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘That night you and Spencer tried to buy it off me! You said you wanted to turn it into a spa and later, when Spencer turned up at yours, I heard him out by the pool. He said, he hoped it was all worth it and said about “putting in the groundwork” with me.’
‘That’s because I’d just told him I was in love with you!’
‘Don’t give me that!’
‘Fleur, it’s true.’ He sighed. ‘I know I’ve made a total pig’s ear out of this. I knew you wouldn’t let me help, because you’re so goddamn p
roud. So I took matters into my own hands instead.’
‘You and Dad went behind my back!’
‘We did, and I’m sorry.’ He looked exhausted. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. Look, I admit I was interested in turning the farm into a spa at first. But that was before I got to know you, Fleur, and realized what a special girl you are.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she retorted, but she was no longer shouting.
‘Look, I’m not trying to give you some cod psychology, but I don’t want to live my life like that any more.’ His smile made Fleur’s heart clench. ‘For some unfathomable reason, you’ve made me want to be a better person.’
She wasn’t letting him off just yet. ‘You said farming was over.’
‘I might have revised my opinion.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘I’m not letting you off that easily, though. We need to sit down and work out a proper business plan.’
She looked down at the deeds again. He was taking a huge risk. ‘You did all this for me? Why?’
‘Because I love you,’ he said simply. His voice cracked. ‘Please, angel. Will you just come here so I can kiss you?’
A second later she flew into his arms. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ she wept, covering his face in wet kisses, ‘I won’t let you down.’
‘I know you won’t. Christ, you’re freezing. Oh God, Fleur. I’ve been so worried.’
‘Where have you been?’ she cried. ‘I thought you’d dumped me.’
‘What? Never. I had to go away and take care of something. I’m an idiot, I should never have just taken off like that.’
‘I know Talia Tudor is your daughter.’
She felt him go still. ‘What?’
‘I s-saw her school picture,’ she said. ‘In your study. You should have told me there was history between you and Lynette.’
‘Me and Lynette?’ Beau shook his head. ‘You’re right. I should have been upfront with you from the start.
‘Talia is family,’ he told her. ‘But not in the way you think. Talia is my niece.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Your what? Then that makes …’
‘Felix is her father.’
Fleur desperately tried to make sense of it all. ‘Felix had an affair with Lynette? When he was with Ginny?’
‘My brother’s had numerous affairs,’ Beau told her. ‘Not that he’s ever stuck around afterwards. I only found out about Lynette recently. I’ve been doing what I can to help her ever since.’
‘But, but … I’m sure if you told Felix, he’d help.’
‘He knows, Fleur.’
‘Oh. Oh,’ she said again. ‘Does Ginny?’
‘Yes. Talia doesn’t know, though, and I think it’s probably best kept that way.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘First the farm and now this.’ She looked up at him again. ‘I thought you’d ruined my life.’
‘I probably still can, if you let me.’ There was a vulnerability in his face Fleur had never seen before. It only served to make him even more beautiful.
‘I thought I was happy by myself,’ he told her. ‘I never wanted to let anyone in. Until I met you.’
His eyes were scorching in their intensity. ‘The more you push me away, the more I want to look after you. You’ve never been impressed by me, and yet all I want to do is impress you.’
He cupped her face. ‘You provoke this ridiculous reaction in me. I want to skip in the streets and shout from the rooftops. I’ve never felt this way before.’
‘M-me neither,’ she stuttered.
‘Let me look after you, Fleur. We can live together and make beautiful babies. OK, we don’t have to have babies,’ he added hurriedly. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart.’
‘I’m crying because I’m so happy,’ she sobbed. ‘I want to have beautiful babies with you. I love you so much, Beau.’
Chapter 90
Election day
Was it really only four weeks since Catherine’s campaign had started? It was terrifying how much a person’s life could change in such a short amount of time.
The bedroom was horribly quiet as she got dressed. The empty space on the right-hand side of the bed matched the size of the hole in her heart. She went through the motions: hair, make-up, fastening her Rolex. As she put in the diamond studs John had bought her for Christmas two years earlier, she nearly broke down all over again.
An early check showed that Twitter was full of people complaining about O2 crashing. Catherine checked her own phone and saw she had no signal. The timing could not be worse. Her spirits plummeted to new depths.
She could hear voices at the front of the house, members of the press wondering why they’d been summoned there for a 6 a.m. press conference.
The bile came from nowhere. Catherine rushed back into the bathroom and was violently sick.
It was a composed Catherine Connor who opened her door ten minutes later, holding a single sheet of paper. Aside from the slightly red eyes, which was expected from a candidate at the end of a campaign, she looked poised and confident.
The pack jostled forward. ‘Catherine, what’s going on?’
‘I’d like to make a statement on behalf of Beeversham’s Conservative Association, to the British public.’
She stared at the piece of paper. The words swam into each other. She looked back into the cameras.
‘For those of you who don’t know, I’m Catherine Connor, Conservative candidate in the Beeversham by-election. I’m sure you’re aware of the plight that faces our town. On Wednesday, plans submitted by Sykes Holdings for Ye Olde Worlde theme park were granted planning permission by the county council.
‘Sykes Holdings are building the development along with another company, Pear Tree Holdings, which owns the land. There has been much speculation about who owns that company. Last night I found out that Felix Chamberlain, chairman of Beeversham’s Conservative Association, is the owner of Pear Tree Holdings.’
She paused and waited for the significance to sink in. ‘What the hell?’ said the woman from Sky News.
‘I believe there has been a huge cover-up involving key individuals in both the building industry and Gloucestershire County Council. On behalf of Beeversham Conservative Association, I would like to extend our sincerest apologies. I was not privy to this information during my campaign, nor is Felix Chamberlain remaining as my campaign manager. I am still running today, but I strongly believe that this constituency should know the truth immediately.’
There, she’d done it. Laid out the facts. What people chose to do with them was out of her hands.
The assorted press had been listening, gobsmacked, but now the questions started coming thick and fast.
‘Catherine, where is Felix now?’
‘Catherine, surely this is going to ruin your chances of winning?’
‘Catherine, how can you not have known something about this?’
She folded her paper in half. ‘At this time, I have nothing more to say.’
It was a political shit-storm, of apocalyptic levels. The Prime Minister was on the landline as soon as Catherine shut her front door.
‘When did you find out this?’ he asked.
‘Last night.’
‘Didn’t you think it might be a good idea to run this past us first?’ He sounded furious. ‘You do know you’ve killed your chances of winning now?’
‘I told you I’d make a rubbish MP! I’m not asking people to vote for me when they don’t know the facts. Sorry if I’ve put integrity before your precious government, but that’s just the way I tick!’
‘Catherine. Listen …’
‘Excuse me,’ she said icily. ‘But I’ve got an election to be getting on with.’ She hung up on the Prime Minister of the country.
The news was across the Internet in minutes. Catherine had to struggle through a crowd of paparazzi to get through the front doors of Tory HQ. Inside, she was met by stunned faces. Even Aubrey Taunton-Brown and Charles Knatchbull had turned out at this unearthly hour. No on
e could believe what Felix had done.
Several of the Blue Rosettes were in tears. ‘He seemed like such a nice man,’ snuffled one woman.
Someone had to take charge now Felix was gone. ‘I’m sure some of you don’t agree with what I did,’ she said, avoiding Aubrey’s eye. ‘Felix was a friend of mine, too. But we owe the people the truth. If I have any chance of winning left, I want to come in with people knowing the real me. It’s going to be tough out there today. I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it, but I’m going out regardless. If any of you do want to join me …’ she smiled wryly ‘… I’d really bloody appreciate the support.’
One by one, every single Blue Rosette put up their hands. Catherine felt close to tears again.
Aubrey sniffed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take care of things here.’
The polling stations opened at 7 a.m., in local schools and village halls across the constituency. Catherine should have been concentrating on getting people out of their houses to go and vote. Instead she found herself facing a barrage of hostility.
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know something,’ one householder told Catherine through the door chain. ‘Now bugger off before I set the chihuahua on you.’
Tristan Jago wasted no time cashing in on this gift from heaven. ‘It just goes to show they’re the same old lying Tories,’ he told BBC Breakfast. ‘Corrupt, conniving and money-obsessed!’
At one house someone threw a cup of coffee at them. Kitty came away from another house in tears when the family Labrador was ordered to attack her. Bruised and stunned, they all took refuge in a café. No one could look Catherine in the eye. Oh shit, she thought. What have I done?
Fortified by coffee, they took to the streets again. The Ye Olde Worlde controversy had prompted an unusually high turn-out for a by-election. People were voting in their droves. Catherine watched miserably as another Labour pool car drove past, ferrying people to the polling station. The driver gave her a smug wave.
Tristan, buoyant in a new grey suit and reeking of sandalwood, intercepted Catherine at a T-junction.