Roses in June

by Clare Revell

  Blake dropped her off, and Dawn walked up the path. A bunch of cornflowers lay on the doorstep. Without even reading the card, she lifted the lid of the dustbin and tossed them inside.

  ~*~

  Gabe shut the study door and prayed for guidance as to what to say.

  His mother stood by the desk, rigid and unyielding. “Well? Are you going to do as I say and not see that woman again?”

  “No. I will see who I like in my own house. And this is my house and my staff. You have wanted me to step up since Dad died and take control both of my life and the estate. Well, this is what I’m doing. If you don’t like the way I run things or live my life, then you can pack up and move out.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Outrage crossed the Dowager Countess’s face. “You know full well that Blake is using the Dower House for his children’s home. Another venture I don’t approve of.”

  Gabe sighed. Was there anything his mother approved of? “Mother…I don’t want a heated debate over my choice of occupation. Or over my choice of friends. I’ve allowed you a certain measure of latitude since Dad died. I know how much we owe you—that without you the estate would no longer exist. But things are different now. And if you don’t like it, well you’ll need to make other arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dinner guests are waiting.” He paused. “Will you be joining us?”

  “No, I will not.”

  “Then I will have your meal brought to you on a tray. Where would you like it?”

  “My room.” His mother turned and left the room, almost blazing a trail behind her.

  Gabe rubbed his hands over his face and sucked in a deep breath before going to find Dawn and Blake. If they were still here. The way his day was going, it’d be dinner for one. In which case, he’d eat in the study.

  11

  Monday break time arrived with a bunch of blue roses. Dawn inhaled the scent deeply before reading the card. Dawn, these mean impossible and unattainable. Which is what your forgiveness is, but I am really, really sorry. In Derbyshire this week. Will call when I get home.

  Dawn slowly walked down the hallway.

  “More roses?” came Jonathan’s amused voice behind her. “I think it’s time you are honest here.”

  Dawn moved to the side of the corridor and lowered her voice. “OK, yes, I like him, a lot. But his mother hates me. He’s a different person around her and up at the house. I simply don’t know where I stand with him.”

  “Then you need to go and talk to him.”

  “He’s away filming still.”

  “Then go up there. Tomorrow is an inset day. I’ll give you the papers you’ll need to cover the course so you can miss it and see him.”

  “Are you sure?” Dawn was surprised. Normally, no one was allowed to miss a training day, unless on their death bed.

  “Quite sure. Now go text the man and tell him you’re coming up to see him.” Jonathan took the flowers. “I’ll put these in the staff room for you.”

  She rubbed her temples. “OK.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Headache, that’s all.”

  Jonathan handed her the flowers. “In that case, go home. I’ll cover your classes today. Go, before I change my mind.”

  “After lunch. I’ll take this class then go.” Dawn went back to her classroom and looked out of the window. The summer sun beat down sending ripples of heat rising from the tarmac. She pulled out her phone. Hesitating briefly, she texted Gabe. Need to talk to you. Can I see you 2moro? I will come to you as have day off.

  The phone beeped just as the kids piled into the classroom. The message was from Gabe. That’s fine. Need to talk to you too. Meet me Ladybower Dam midday. Filming AM. Free in afty.

  Dawn dropped her phone into her bag. She moved over to the window to open it. “OK, settle down.” The same red sports car was parked over the road from the school. The driver, black hair, middle aged, same bloke as before, leaned against it, looking up at her classroom.

  Jonathan stuck his head around the door. “Miss Stannis, do you have a minute?”

  “Mr. Brooks, you’re just the man I wanted to see.” Dawn went over to him, an idea striking her. “Fancy coming outside with me and the kids? My stalker’s back. There is a red car parked opposite the school. I’ve planned to have the students count cars as a carbon emission experiment.”

  Jonathan grinned. “Nice—just leave the stalker alone. Did you phone your friend?”

  “I did. It’s all arranged for tomorrow.”

  “Good, don’t come back until it’s sorted.”

  Dawn turned to the class. “OK, grab your pencils, notebooks and come and line up. Mr. Brooks and I are taking you outside to count the traffic.”

  Henry looked at her. “Why?”

  “I want you to note the color, make and model of all the cars parked around the school and that pass by. We’ll repeat the experiment on and off all week, at different times of the day. See how it differs and what effect the pollution is having on our environment.”

  ~*~

  Watching the stalker had had the desired effect, and he’d gotten back in his car and driven off. At the end of the lesson, Dawn drove home in a car that was more like an oven than anything else. She lugged her stuff up the path to the house. On the doorstep lay another bunch of cornflowers. She sighed and dropped them straight into the bin. Then she shivered. She did a slow three-sixty, the feeling she was being watched heavy upon her.

  Not seeing anyone, she headed inside and locked all the doors. She grabbed the landline phone and called the florist.

  “Carnation Street Florist.”

  “Hi, it’s Dawn Stannis. This is kind of a silly question really, but have you been delivering a lot of roses to me recently?”

  The florist laughed. “That would be from Gabriel Tyler. He comes in or rings each day for them.”

  “What about cornflowers?”

  “No…we don’t sell those. No one has ever asked for them.”

  Dawn pushed a hand through her hair. “OK, thanks.” She rang another three florists before she found what she was looking for.

  “Yes, we stock them. I have a regular daily order for them. They are collected and paid for in cash.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Black hair, about five ten, mid-forties maybe. He has strange eyes.”

  Dawn shivered. It was him, it had to be.

  “And he drives a red sports car with a personalized plate. GAB 8T.”

  Dawn leaned back against the wall with a thud. Her heart sank. Her throat tightened and she felt sick. Gabe’s car. The same one she’d been in. She wasn’t sure if it was the one following her as the front plate was broken and needed replacing.

  Things would get sorted tomorrow, but not the way she’d initially wanted. This had to end. One way or another.

  ~*~

  Gabe finished for the day and walked into the car park at Ladybower Dam just as Dawn pulled in to the only free space. The morning had been busy, with multiple takes of the same scene, and he had begun to doubt he’d be done by lunch at all. He crossed quickly to the car smiling as the door opened. “Hey, how was the drive?”

  “Long. The traffic was awful.”

  “I’m glad you’re here though.”

  Dawn picked up her bag searching for something. “Are you still filming?”

  “I’m done for the day. Shall we go for a walk while we talk? I would drive us somewhere, but I don’t have my car with me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Peters drove me up here in the limo. He’s collecting me on Friday.”

  She put her sunglasses on. “Why didn’t you bring your car?”

  “Mother insisted on Peters driving me and no one but me drives my baby.” He held the door for her as she climbed out of the car and stretched.

  “Ah.” She locked the door and shouldered her bag. An expression he couldn’t fathom crossed her face. “So, which way?”

  “There’s a chip shop just down
this way a bit.”

  “OK.” She began walking with him keeping pace easily.

  “I really am sorry about Sunday,” he said. He knew she said she wanted to talk, but he figured it was about this and decided to start himself. “Mother had no right to speak to you like that, and I told her so in no uncertain terms after you left. That’s why I didn’t run after you or take you home myself—I wanted to deal with it there and then. Mother wants me to take this role of Earl seriously, so I will. And that means running the house as I see fit.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s hard,” he said honestly. “I’m trying to bring the whole system kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century—seemingly singlehanded. Mother’s old school. She likes things done the way they have always been done and hates change.” He rolled his eyes. “She won’t touch a computer. Let alone answer the telephone, use a mobile, or even pick up the TV remote control.”

  “Do you mean to tell me she has a servant to change channels for her?”

  Gabe laughed despite himself. “She would if she could, believe you me.” He paused as they reached the chip shop. Film crew and extras mingled eating and drinking. “What can I get you?”

  “Just chips, please.”

  Gabe went over to the counter and ordered. The food took a moment. He paid and carried the two cones of chips back to Dawn. “Here you go.”

  Dawn took it. “Thanks.” She walked over to the wall and sat stabbing the chips with the wooden fork.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked wondering why a frown creased her otherwise gorgeous face.

  “Just wondering how many facets there are to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stabbed her chips slowly eating them. “There’s the actor, the Earl, the Hollywood playboy. Even the flowers—two different types. It must be costing you a small fortune, but I guess you can afford it.”

  “You mentioned that Sunday,” Gabe looked at her over his food. “I meant to ask and didn’t get the chance.”

  “Roses to where I work and cornflowers to my house. Almost as if you were two different people.” She raised her fork and pointed across the courtyard, a visible shudder running through her. “Over there, see him?”

  “See who? Where?”

  “Over there. It’s the same bloke who’s been following me for days.”

  Gabe looked in the direction she indicated. “There’s no one there.” He turned back to her. “I haven’t sent you anything other than roses. I don’t even like cornflowers. Why would I send them to you?”

  “I rang the florist. The girl said it was definitely you sending the roses. A florist on the other side of town said she had a daily order for cornflowers. A bloke came in and paid in cash, before driving off in your car.”

  “My car?” He frowned.

  “A red sports car. GAB 8T. The same car which has been following me to church, work and home for days.”

  Gabe put the chips in the bin, no longer hungry. That number plate was his. “What?”

  “I’m tired of you stalking and harassing me.”

  He frowned genuinely puzzled. “But I’ve been up here filming, you know that.”

  “Then you paid someone to do it. You have enough drivers and servants. Though what you hoped to gain by all this I have no idea.”

  Gabe shook his head, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I promise I’m not paying anyone to follow you. I admit to sending the roses, but that’s all, and if you don’t want any more, then I’ll stop. Why would I stalk you anyway?”

  “I have no idea.” Dawn thrust her empty cone in the bin. “But I want you to stop, because otherwise, Earl or no Earl, I’m going to the police and pressing charges.” She pushed to her feet. “Just leave me alone. Oh, and get your number plate fixed. The front one is broken.”

  ~*~

  Gabe sat in his trailer feeling physically sick. Who could hate him this much? Hate him enough to ruin things between him and Dawn before they’d really started. His car was stalking her?

  He’d brushed off the inconsistencies with his beloved red sports car. The seat was always in the wrong place. There was the crack in the off side mirror. A dent in the bonnet.

  But the number plate? Nothing was wrong with that—he’d paid a fortune for the personalized plates.

  Was his mother somehow in on this? Could that be behind her sudden decision for him to be driven everywhere in the limo and not taking his own car?

  There was no way he could work like this. He called the director on his mobile and begged time off sick. Having been given a few days, Gabe called Southby and asked Peters to come and get him in his car.

  “Your sports car is in for repair, sir. I’ll have to bring the limo.”

  Gabe caught his breath. “My car is what?”

  “It’s gone in for repair. Mr. Hardy noticed the front number plate was damaged, and there was also damage to the front bumper. The car went in yesterday. I’ll leave now.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” Gabe hung up, his stomach threatening to eject his lunch. With numb fingers, he dialed the children’s home and waited for Blake to pick up.

  “Cherry Tree House. Blake Tyler speaking.”

  “Blake, it’s me. I need a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “And I need you to do this in person rather than ring.”

  The chair squeaked. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

  Gabe stood pacing the trailer. “Go to Holly’s garage and find out who brought my car in for repair. If it’s there, stop her working on it. Call Nate Holmes and have him dust it for prints.”

  “Why?”

  “Dawn says my car has been stalking her. Peters says it’s in for repair, and I didn’t crash it. Or hit anything. And I know someone else has been driving it as the seat keeps moving. I want to know who it was. Peters is coming to get me, but I won’t be home for hours yet.”

  “I’ll go now. I’ll call you back soon as I know anything.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  ~*~

  Dawn drove towards home, the midafternoon sun warm through the windows of the car. She’d gone from the dam to see Jonni in Nottingham and spent almost two hours crying into her coffee. And a further hour or so talking. Tears still burned her eyes, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Jonni had suggested calling the police now, but Dawn wanted to give Gabe one last chance to do the right thing and back off.

  Of course the delay meant she still had a good two hour drive ahead of her rather than being home by now, but she didn’t have anything else planned. And it had been too long since she’d seen Jonni.

  She glanced in her driving mirror. A red sports car was in her boot. Too close for her to read the number, but she didn’t believe in coincidence. She shook her head. So much for Gabe’s good nature. She tapped the brakes, and the red car pulled back a little. Just enough for her to see the plate. GAB 8T. With a crack down the front of it.

  Gabe’s car. Dawn frowned. He said he hadn’t driven it up here. Yet, here it was, in her boot. Was the man mental?

  The car accelerated and bumped into hers.

  “Oy.” Jerked into the seatbelt, she slammed on the brakes before pulling away again. This was beyond a joke. She’d stop at the next services and call the police. They could pull him over on the road and arrest him.

  The sports car pulled level with her then side swiped her sending her car slewing to the left. Dawn struggled for control, but the car was going too fast and slid into a tree.

  She sat stunned, the engine in front of her starting to smoke. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the seatbelt. She had to get out.

  A bloke stood by the door, black hair, odd eyes then he was gone.

  The seatbelt was undone, but the door was stuck fast.

  Dawn pounded on the window. She had to get out of there.

  The engine burst into flames.

  ~*~

  Gabe sat in back of the limo. The traffic was at a standsti
ll. They’d moved perhaps half a meter in the last thirty minutes. Several fire engines, ambulances, and police cars had raced past them. He sent up prayers for whoever was involved in the accident that must surely be blocking the carriageway.

  His phone rang. Opening the window a little, he answered it. “Hello?”

  “Gabe, it’s me.” Blake sounded uncharacteristically worried. “Your car isn’t in the garage.”

  He caught his breath. “Hang on. Peters said it had gone in for repair.”

  “Holly said it was booked in, but never arrived. She’ll let me know when it does. At which point, she’ll also contact the police and get it dusted for prints.”

  “OK thanks. I was thinking of changing the car anyway.”

  “But you love your sports car. You even gave her a name.”

  Gabe grinned. “Yeah, well. I want something more, I don’t know, discreet. Less…”

  “Showy-offy is the word of the day according to the kids,” Blake chuckled.

  “I prefer pretentious, but yeah.” He wound down the window further. “There’s a lot of smoke up ahead. Looks like an accident. Two maybe three cars. Lots of emergency vehicles.”

  “You take care.”

  The limo began moving slowly. “Oh, I am,” Gabe told his brother. “I’m not driving, just sitting here—”

  He broke off, recognizing one of the cars involved in the accident. He pounded on the glass separating him from Peters. “Pull over. Now.”

  “Sir?”

  “I said pull over. Blake, I have to go. Call you later.” Gabe hung up and shoved the phone into his trouser pocket. As soon as the car stopped, he leapt out backtracking to the accident scene.

  A police officer stepped in front of him, a yellow fluorescent coat over his uniform and peaked cap pulled over his eyes. “Get back in your vehicle, sir. You can’t stop here.”

  “You don’t understand.” Gabe pointed to the red sports car. “That’s my car.”

  “Sir?”

  “GAB 8T, the red Porsche. It’s my car. It was meant to be in a garage in Berkshire, but it never got there. Not that I booked it in.”

  “Are you claiming this car was stolen? And who are you?”

  “Lord Tyler, eighth Earl of Elton.” Gabe glanced past him to the other car. The front of it was burned out and embedded in a tree. Five firemen were working on it. His gaze fell on the number plate and frozen numbness filled him. Bile rose in his throat. “Dawn…”