Resurgence: Book 2 of the Second Chances Trilogy

by M. M. Mayle

  That’s just been agreed to when the women return. Amanda, attempts to read their decision, darts glances from one countenance to another; Laurel asks flat-out what it is.

  “Subject to hearing direct from Chris, what I recently told you would never happen is apparently gonna happen,” Colin answers.

  “Oh thank god, because that means my next proposal’s got a chance,” Amanda says and goes a bit round-eyed with excitement as she spells out a plan that would see Verge fulfilling the twenty-three date European tour Rayce was set to embark on in a month’s time.

  “Bloody hell, Amanda, where are you gettin’ these big ideas?” Colin says.

  “That’d be my thought,” Jesse says. “Where is Nate, anyway? He must be lurkin’ round here someplace.”

  “If you mean Nate Isaacs, I can assure you he has nothing whatsoever to do with these proposals.” To everyone’s surprise, it’s Laurel who answers Jesse, and by the look on her face it would be easy to believe that Amanda engaged her as counsel whilst they were out of the room. “Perhaps no one’s told you and Lane that Nate Isaacs no longer serves as Colin’s manager. Or advisor,” Laurel goes on. “And I think you all should be made aware that while Amanda Hobbs is acquainted with the gentleman in question and has consulted with him on the practical aspects of her assignment here in London, her ideas are entirely her own and are being exercised independently.”

  “What do you mean independently? Are you sayin’ not even David’s in on any of this?” Colin says.

  “That’s correct,” Amanda says. “Although I’m working under his auspices and expecting his full endorsement of these projects, I see no point in adding anything else to his already overflowing plate until I’m confident I have something positive to offer. Now, if I may continue, I’d like to present my second proposal—”

  “I dunno,” Jesse says. “A onetime-only reunion for a good cause is one thing but a twenty-three date tour’s another. Got my doubts. Serious ones, they are.”

  “At least hear her out,” Lane says.

  Colin concurs and motions Amanda to get on with it.

  She then gives a breathless account of David’s present whereabouts and his activities that include refining refund arrangements for Rayce’s cancelled tour. “Those refunds don’t have to happen and those thousands of fans don’t have to be disappointed if we act quickly to retain those dates and venues,” she concludes.

  “If you’re sayin’ you want us to be some sort of Rayce Vaughn tribute band, I’ll have no part of it,” Jesse says. “And I can’t imagine Colin’s willing to front any outfit covering someone else’s greatest hits. Even if they are Rayce’s.”

  “That was the reasoning of the now defunct band Rayce would have been fronting. Bringing in another lead singer was never a consideration because that automatically categorized them as what you describe—as nothing more than a cover band.”

  Amanda pauses for breath and resumes: “But that’s not the role you’re being asked to take on. You’re being asked to celebrate Rayce Vaughn’s life and give his fans something to cheer about by being yourselves. No true fan of either Rayce Vaughn or Verge is unaware of the influence he had on you as a group, or of the inspiration you provided him, both as a group and as individuals. You could almost look on this as taking up the torch dropped when Rayce was so tragically struck down.”

  With that, Amanda gets absolute pindrop silence; no one is breathing very deeply or moving a muscle beyond the occasional blink when she goes on.

  “Given enough time and resources, I dare say we could fill Wembly Stadium for a memorial concert and thousands would still be left out. Those thousands have the same need as you. They need to pay homage and reconcile themselves to the loss. By giving them what they need—at twenty-three concerts throughout Europe—you’ll be accomplishing the same for yourselves. You’ll be getting back everything you give them.”

  Jesse, who has scowled throughout her pitch, brings out a butane lighter that he ignites and holds aloft in traditional fan manner—in traditional torch manner.

  Lane grimaces a bit and gives a strong nod.

  Colin checks Laurel for signals. None are forthcoming. He’s on his own. “Have you got a number for Chris?” he asks Amanda. “And after that I’ll want a word with David.”

  ELEVEN

  Late afternoon, April 17, 1987

  Although tensions were relaxed during the lunch Amanda arranged for them in a posh private room of the nearby Argentine Club, there’s no guarantee Jesse and Lane won’t surface old grudges and grievances down the road a bit. Despite the relative ease of their agreement to salute a fallen comrade, Colin is assailed with doubts. He keeps them to himself as he and Laurel take their leave, begging off further socializing with the weak excuse they have a long drive ahead when it’s not much longer than the commutes awaiting Jesse and Lane.

  Laurel, who’s been as enthused as Amanda since Chris’s agreement was confirmed and David’s dumbfounded and delighted approval was received, picks up on his mood the minute they’re alone in the car.

  “What?” she says in her no-nonsense voice.

  He halts starting the engine and spits out the first thing that comes to mind. “This tour business—I don’t fancy leaving you behind. Yeh, Amanda showed me the itinerary—I have a copy with me—and yeh, it’s set up so I can pop home every few days, and I still don’t like it. Another thing, I don’t like leaving you alone to deal with Anthony. He told me what he said to you your first day here. Bragged about it actually, the shit about not wanting another American mum that might prove to be a flight risk. And . . . and you shouldn’t be saddled with Simon till you’re better acquainted with all his quirks and demands, and—”

  “You can stop right there because we need to get something perfectly straight. I’ve no intention of remaining home with Anthony and Simon. I’m coming with you on this tour. So are the boys, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “But what about—”

  “Anthony’s schooling? I’ll see to it. If I can’t qualify as a tutor, we’ll find someone who can.”

  “But you don’t know what life’s like on the road. It can be tedious, stressful and—”

  “How in hell will I ever find out what life’s like on the road if I don’t go on the road? And don’t forget, I’ve never attended a rock concert—I’ve never seen you in concert—so please don’t deny me this.”

  “I’m not denying you anything, baby. I just wanna be sure you know what you’re gettin’ yourself in for.”

  “I think I had a very good idea of what I could be in for when I flung myself at you in my kitchen a week ago. I knew you to be an accomplished musician and performing artist. From that, it wasn’t difficult to believe that you might one day embark on a concert tour, and I knew I’d want to be with you. I knew going in that you had two children who were shortchanged at birth and might be difficult to win over. Had Rayce’s death not intervened, I would have pointed out before now that if I’m ever to become their adoptive mother, you’ll have to let me be involved with those children instead of trying to shield me from them.”

  “But—”

  “You’re reminding me of when you said I couldn’t just drop everything and go to England with you. But I did, and I’ll never ever regret it. So please trust my instincts about this. Please allow me to be thrilled—what’s the expression, over the moon?—at the prospect of going with you on tour and taking charge of the boys.”

  He starts the engine and revs it a couple of times before he’s ready to meet her gaze again. “There’s times when you rather scare me,” he says and turns to see her determined expression soften to apologetic.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so—”

  “Not that, not your ability to argue paint off a wall, it’s your knowing exactly what I want most and giving it to me without a struggle. That’s what’s unnerving.”

  “It shouldn’t be, should it? I love you, Colin. Why wouldn’t I try to anticipate what yo
u want and give it to you if I can? Your happiness is my happiness, isn’t it?”

  He leans over and kisses all the places he’s been hungering for throughout the day. She’s only yielding at first, but when their open mouths come together she’s the aggressor, she’s the provocateur till the gearbox console proves too much of a barrier.

  “To be continued,” she says, flashing a fabulously suggestive smile as she settles back into the passenger seat and adjusts her clothing. “Now, if you’ll tell me what’s really bothering you, maybe it can be fixed by the time we get home.

  Unburdening himself of his primary concern could use up the entire distance home, saying he’s willing to admit there is a concern other than the one expressed. Once they’re under way, she doesn’t prod him further and the conversation drifts to the subject of Amanda, and what a little dynamo she’s become in under a week’s time.

  “She’s always been resourceful and venturesome, but there wasn’t always an outlet for those traits when we worked together in the DA’s office,” Laurel says.

  “Certainly would explain why Nate gave her a second look, wouldn’t it?”

  “Isn’t that a little uncharitable? Might not Nate have noticed her other attributes? She brings a lot to the table, you know. She’s very pretty, in case you haven’t noticed, and she’s a very positive, upbeat person to be around.”

  “Are you sayin’ he could have romantic interest in her?”

  “Why not? And if he does, will it affect your working relationship with her?”

  Revealing what’s really bothering him has more appeal than pursuing this loaded line of questioning, so he says nothing on any subject and appears to be getting way with it till they’re entered onto the motorway and she looks over at him and puts her hand on his knee.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” she says.

  “Ready for what?” he says like he doesn’t know.

  “To hear whether you’ll cut Amanda loose if it turns out she has more than a casual acquaintance with Nate . . . and to hear what’s bothering you about the recent developments.”

  “Amanda’s not in jeopardy unless it turns out Nate’s callin’ the shots. Then the whole project’s in jeopardy. All right?”

  “Fair enough. Good, nothing to worry about there. And?”

  “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Very well.” She removes her hand from his knee, “I’ll just have to guess,” she says. “Can’t be your physical condition you’re worried about. There’s the filmed evidence of you taking on the photographer and a squad of bodyguards, and I can readily attest to your endurance and stamina. Think of those long walks we’ve taken . . . Think of those long nights.”

  He doesn’t have to look at her to know one corner of her mouth is no doubt turned up and one eyebrow lifted in that wise-arse way she brings off so well.

  “Can’t be anything to do with Nate,” she says after a while. “That subject’s been exhausted, and if you’re having misgivings about tolerating David as interim manager, Amanda can probably keep that contact to a minimum.”

  “What about keeping your contact with him to a minimum? It’s inevitable you’ll be thrown together again,” he says.

  “I’ll manage. Now don’t distract me while I’m on a roll. You can’t be worried about your ability to perform, or the current state of your creativity. You’ve an Icon—albeit uninscribed—and the Icon telecast itself to demonstrate there’s no wavering in either area, plus I have the fantastic video you made for me to back that up.”

  “You can leave off. You’ve made your point.”

  “Not quite. You could be uneasy about how you’re going to get along with your former band mates. But I’m here to remind you you’re not the same person you were when you last performed with them. Chances are, they’re not the same either. And even if old animosities do revive, they will be defanged by the mutual high-mindedness that enables your coming together to reciprocate the benevolence of your great friend and patron and celebrate his legacy. So . . . what’s the problem?”

  “When you were a prosecutor, did you ever lose a case?” Colin says.

  “Of course.”

  “I find that as hard to believe as tryin’ to believe you can’t read my mind.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

  “It is. Trust me, it is. And you really do scare me, but I fuckin’ love it.”

  She puts her hand back on his knee and he hasn’t another care in the world till they approach the gates to Terra Firma, where he’s reminded—as he is every time he comes and goes—that he really should have the antiquated, way-too-accessible, pillar-mounted keypad replaced with remote controls. And he will, soon as it seems more like his idea than Nate’s.

  TWELVE

  Evening, April 17, 1987

  At Laurel’s request, the boys’ tea is delayed for an hour and the adults’ dinner moved up an hour so they can all eat together. Excitement generated by the news brought from London tapers off once everyone gathers at the kitchen table, where Simon is quite tractable for Simon, and Anthony is quiet to the point of subdued.

  The event—an experiment, actually—goes better than anticipated. Grownup conversation accommodates the children’s presence with only his mum showing a bit of disquiet, and that could relate to whatever it is she wants to discuss after the meal is finished.

  Once the meal is finished, Laurel volunteers to supervise the lads’ baths and get them ready for bed. That leaves him alone with his mother and a vague sense of foreboding when she suggests they resettle in the snug—as she calls the winter parlor—where they won’t be overheard.

  “It’s time,” she says from the same chair Laurel favors whenever she’s in the room. “It’s time for me to move on, something I was already considering before you were so fortunate in finding Laurel. And now that you have—thanks be—I won’t delay any longer. I rather doubt she was counting on an onsite mum-in-law when she accepted your proposal.”

  “I think you may be mistaken about—”

  “I think not. But before I set the wheels in motion, I want your promise that you’ll fill Laurel in on the history of the house, and by that I mean the recent history. I’m not talking about whatever Jacobean wool merchant expanded the banqueting hall, or which nineteenth century laird added a wing, I’m referring to—”

  “I know what you’re referring to . . . who you’re referring to.”

  “I hope so, because your lovely Laurel shouldn’t be left wondering if any ghosts are lurking about, and it shouldn’t be up to me to assure her that Aurora never set foot on this property. Or laid eyes on it, for that matter. You’re the one to fill her in, and if you have to let on that the place was originally meant to be a fortress where Aurora could be protected from herself, Laurel won’t think less of you for it. Believe me, she won’t.”

  “I think she already knows, I think Rayce touched on that when she interviewed him.”

  “She ought to hear it from your mouth, dear. You should tell her she’s had no predecessor since you’ve owned the property, and that you’ve never paraded any prospects through here. In the same vein, you should let Laurel know that if she doesn’t fancy the way the place has been renovated and the rooms done up, she’d only be stepping on Nate Isaacs’s toes if she changed something.”

  “I will not be telling her that. She already thinks too highly of that tosser and I’m not keen about providing her with another reason to praise him.”

  “Aha! That remark says you do agree Nate did a bang-up job once it was known you’d survive.” She gloats briefly over her spot-on assessment before wondering aloud if anyone’s told Laurel the place was only just bought when the accident took place.

  What’s that got to do with anything, he wonders behind a placid façade. But an itch of impatience will become a rash of annoyance if this hectoring goes much further. If she were anyone but his mother, she’d be encouraged to leave now, and take care not to let the door hit her ar
se on the way out. Nate-esque, she’s become with all these borderline insulting directives and reminders, so he’s only half tuned in when she veers off in another direction, restating opinions and repeating advisories about everything from his neglected workout regimen to the dietary restrictions he’d be wise to observe.

  Finally, he sees all this blather for what it is and recognizes his own tendency—learnt at her knee—to conceal the most pressing matter in a smokescreen of incidentals—something Laurel would have detected a full five minutes ago. Encouraged by the realization, he cuts into her talk.

  “Okay then, let’s have it.”

  She appears more relieved than cheesed off by the interruption. “It’s Anthony,” she says after a little pause. “I feel it was my failure as much as his, because I wasn’t minding his every move whilst you were in London.”

  “We’ll place blame later. What’d he do this time? Just get on with it.”

  “He and his mates escaped to the oasts to play their high adventure games.”

  “Bloody hell! I’ll kill him.”

  “Colin! Don’t say that—not even figuratively.”

  “Fuck all!”

  “Foul language won’t help anathing, will it then?”

  “How were they found out?”

  “A bit surprising they were found out, actually. The Thorne family’s away on Easter holiday so there was no one nearby to catch sight of them. Sheer luck, it was, that one of our groundskeepers heard their shrieks of deviltry and Toby’s barking and troubled himself to bring them back here instead of just chasing them off.”

  “Did you punish him straightaway?”

  “Tongue-lashing, yes, and his mates were taken home directly. He knows more is in the offing, though. His quiet at dinner told me he’s suffering no small amount of anxiety knowing I’d tell you of his escapade.”