Storm Redemption

by Magda Alexander

  “I’ll sit, thank you.” Having never visited a psychotherapist before, I’m not sure of the process. Unbuttoning my jacket, I sink into a white upholstered armchair and wait for her next move.

  In her two-piece, navy blue business suit, she’s beautiful, feminine, the embodiment of everything I found attractive before Elizabeth. And yet, I don’t feel the smallest inkling of interest in her. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be so hung up on one woman. And yet, there it is. I can’t think of anyone but Elizabeth.

  “So what can I do for you, Mr. Storm?”

  Where to start. “My brother suggested I talk to you.”

  “What’s his name?” She jots the information on a pad. When I don’t answer, she lifts her head and gazes at me expectantly.

  “You also take notes?”

  “Yes. It helps with the analysis.” She points to a small machine in the corner of her office. “I shred my notes once I type them on my laptop.”

  Enough delays. Get on with it. “Edward. My brother’s name is Edward. He’s two years younger than me. Surely you’ve read about him in the news. How he disappeared and only recently returned to the family fold?”

  “I find it best to hear the details of my patients’ lives from my patients, not from the media. The press so often gets things wrong.”

  “Well, in this case, they have it right. He went missing.” A wave of resentment washes over me. “I thought he was dead.”

  Her pen pauses over the pad, and she directs a curious glance at me. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Angry. I believed I caused his death. He stepped into the path of a bullet meant for me.” I brush a hand across my brow as confused thoughts roil through my brain. “Please don’t get me wrong. I’m very happy he’s alive. But . . .”

  “You’re cross with him, as well.”

  “Very.”

  “Why?”

  “He let me believe he was dead,” I yell. “Not a word. For five years. When he could have so easily called, written, something.”

  “The papers said he’d suffered amnesia. How could he call if he didn’t know who he was?”

  So she had learned about Edward from the news, but she preferred to hear it from me. “That’s the story we fed to the media. The truth is quite different, I’m afraid.”

  I spend the next hour talking about Edward which is not why I came here at all. Before I know it, the hour’s up. Where did the time go?

  “We’ll need more sessions, Mr. Storm. I think twice a week appointments, if you can manage it.”

  “Yes, of course.” Now that the dam has broken I want to get my thoughts out, unjumble them, find out just why I’ve made such a hash of things. I walk out of there just as confused, but somehow lighter in spirit. It’s good to share, I guess.

  I’ve taken time off from work, not only so I could visit the doctor, but to talk to Samuel about the dual investigations. When I arrive home, he’s waiting for me.

  “So have you made any progress into the fire investigation?” I ask as soon as I take a seat.

  “Yes, Sir. Ronald Malloy is alive and well working at the Duke of Wentsworth’s castle in Norfolk.”

  “So he just took off the night of the fire without letting anyone know? Did the fire spook him?”

  “He knew nothing about the fire, or Winterleagh Castle for that matter.”

  “How could that be?” He’d worked as a groundskeeper’s assistant at Winterleagh. Had he suffered an accident that caused memory loss? I could certainly empathize if that was the case.

  “Turns out Ronald Malloy’s identity papers, along with his reputation, were stolen by Bernard Simmons.”

  “Sarah’s brother?” Sarah, the agent I assigned to watch my mother in Scotland, the woman who betrayed us by taking a bribe from her. In exchange for the cash, she’d allowed the Countess to phone Elizabeth so she could threaten to kill her and our baby.

  “Yes. They grew up in the same neighborhood. While Ronald Malloy made something of himself, Bernard Simmons turned to a life of crime. But they stayed in touch. When I interviewed him, Mr. Malloy said Bernard dropped in out of the blue a couple of months ago. Took him out for drinks to relive old times. He got drunk, so much so that Sarah’s brother had to carry him home. Ronald doesn’t remember much of the ride home or what happened once he got there. Sarah’s brother must have stolen his papers, or at least photocopied them, while Ronald lay unconscious. When Ronald moved on to another job, Bernard must have seen his opportunity to apply for the groundskeeper’s assistant position at Winterleagh. They look enough alike. That’s why we didn’t pick up on it.”

  “Bloody hell.” I run a hand through my hair. “So our Ronald Malloy was a fake.”

  “Exactly, Sir. This would not have occurred if we’d fingerprinted him. With your approval, I’d like to fingerprint the staff at all your properties to verify everyone’s identity. We can then run the data through a criminal database and see if anything pops up.”

  That thought gives me pause, but only for a second. After the fire at Winterleagh, it’s a small price to pay to secure the personal safety of my family. And truth be told, of the staff themselves. Right now the Winterleagh servants have to be wondering who set the fire and must not be feeling too safe at the moment. “Very well. But let me tell them. I’ll drive to Winterleagh and personally address the staff. I don’t think they’ll protest the safety measure. After the fire, they might not be feeling too secure.”

  He types the details into his notebook. Fingers paused, he asks a follow-up question. “What about your other properties?”

  I nod. “Yes. Of course. I’ll talk to the townhouse staff here in London. As far as the other properties, I’ll contact the stewards in charge and let them know what to expect.”

  “Very well, Sir.” More keying into the notebook. “If you approve, we should also institute the same procedure at Storm Industries. Whether at headquarters or in the field, everyone should be fingerprinted, not just a select few.”

  Jake had instituted such a measure for Storm Industries’ high level staff, basically anyone with access to sensitive information, and all security personnel. He’d suggested we fingerprint the rank and file staff as well, but I’d nixed the idea, thinking it unnecessary. But maybe that decision needs to be reconsidered.

  “Give me a few days to think about that.”

  “Of course, Mr. Storm.”

  “Going back to Bernard Simmons, what does your gut tell you?”

  He shifts his focus from the laptop to me. “That he set the fire.” The blaze in the Emerald bedroom, the chamber where Elizabeth had gone to breastfeed our son. After feeding Andrew, she’d fallen asleep and awakened to a fiery hell.

  “I agree.” No doubt in my mind, he’s the one who started it. He’d probably sneaked in through the castle tunnels, hidden somewhere in the room, and waited until Elizabeth had nodded off. He’d then set the fire by piling clothes in the middle of the room and putting a match to them. “But where is he now?”

  “We’ve instituted a search of all the tunnels in the castle. So far we haven’t found anything.”

  And several weeks have passed since my father’s funeral. Any evidence left behind would be difficult to find.

  “Keep looking. There’s got to be proof somewhere in one of those tunnels. Have you searched the one that leads to the beach cove below the castle?”

  “Yes, but there was a recent cave in which has made the search a big more treacherous than I’d like. I’ve acquired the services of an expert on cave explorations. He will arrive next week. If there’s anything there, he will find it.”

  “Thank you, Samuel. What about the other thing I asked you to investigate?”

  “The concierge no longer works at the hotel. He was let go with little notice. Couldn’t get anything from the hotel management, but I tracked him down. He claims he was wrongfully accused of taking a bribe. Although he obtained another position, the hotel where he now works does not e
njoy the same sterling reputation as his old one, so the tips are probably less generous. He’s bitter, but more than willing to cooperate to clear his name.”

  “Very well. You might want to talk to a bellboy named Julio. I tipped him a time or two. See if he has anything to offer.”

  “I will.”

  “Until we find out Bernard Simmons’ whereabouts, please have Elizabeth’s security detail keep a sharp lookout. She’s not to go anywhere without Jonathan Tilden.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Samuel. That’s all. As soon as you hear anything, let me know.”

  “Of course, Mr. Storm.”

  After he leaves, I drop my head against the back of the chair and torture myself with the thought. What if Bernard Simmons is out there somewhere planning to strike again?

  Chapter 14

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  TWO WEEKS HAVE ELAPSED since Edward’s homecoming party at the family’s mansion. With his siblings no longer in town—Bri gone to Brazil, Royce returned to South America, and Edward back at Winterleagh—Gabriel and I sit across the vast dining room table, eating dinner alone. Well, as alone as we can be with several servants around.

  Gabriel and I have been tiptoeing around each other for the past fourteen days. During the day, I come up to feed and play with Andrew. But in the evenings, I linger only long enough to eat dinner before I hole up in Bri’s apartment. To say things are tense between us is an understatement.

  “Have you heard from Bri?” I ask, dipping my spoon into the potato leek soup.

  “No. I’ve phoned and left voice messages, but she hasn’t returned my calls. I did hear from her foreman.”

  “Oh?” I don’t know if that’s standard operating procedure or something unusual.

  “They’re experiencing complications. Equipment pilfering, destruction. And the laborers are having problems with Bri.”

  My head comes up at that. “What kind of problems?”

  “Misinterpreting her directions, downright disobedience. The locals don’t respond well to a woman in charge.”

  “Did you have these issues in the past?”

  “No. Jake kept them in line. Terrence, who took his place in Brazil as security head of the project, does not possess Jake’s gift of command.”

  I frown. “Then why did you send him?”

  “Terrence speaks Portuguese fluently. I thought that would help. Unfortunately, it hasn’t. At least not enough. But from something the foreman said, there’s more to it than Terrence’s weak managerial skills. Bri’s behavior may be responsible for the trouble.”

  “Bri? What has she done?”

  “She’s acting out of character. I pushed him for details, of course, but he refused to provide more information.” He rests his spoon on the soup bowl. “I hate to do it because we need him here, but I may have to send Samuel to Brazil to get a handle on things.”

  “As highly as I think of him, he’s not the man for this job. Not if it involves Bri.”

  “Then who would you suggest?”

  “Jake.”

  His hand clenches around the eating utensil. “He’s not available.”

  “How do you know?” I push. “Have you talked to him?”

  “No. Not since . . . I let him go.”

  I blot my mouth with the linen napkin. “Since you fired him, you mean. Your sister needs Jake, Gabriel. You must mend your fences with him.”

  He lays down the spoon, leans back on his chair. “And how am I supposed to get a hold of him? He didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address.”

  The night Gabriel fired him, Jake returned to London, grabbed his gear, and jumped on his Ducati motorcycle, never to be seen again. But I doubt he can’t be reached. “Maybe not with you, but surely with Samuel. Jake wouldn’t have disappeared without leaving a phone number or another way to track him down.”

  He twirls his wine glass stem. “He left without saying goodbye to her,” he says in a much softer voice.

  “You fired him. He had to break things off with Bri.”

  “He could have stayed in touch with her.” His tone turns accusatory.

  Can’t he see the impossible situation he created? “And how would that have worked out, Storm? She’d be torn between loyalty to you and her attraction to Jake.”

  He darts a questioning gaze across the table at me. “Do you think Bri would welcome his involvement in Brazil?”

  “I believe so, yes. I don’t pretend to understand their relationship dynamics. But he centers her somehow. Now that he’s not here, well, it’s like she’s lost her anchor. You saw the way she acted at Edward’s dinner when the issue of her legitimacy came up. She fell apart. And with Jake not around—”

  “—there was no one there to help her pick up the pieces.” Some more wine glass twirling. “I’m sorry she’s so upset about our mother’s announcement. I doubt the dowager told the truth.”

  Our conversation temporarily pauses while the maid removes the soup bowls and replaces them with the entree and accompaniments—chicken kiev, roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes.

  As soon as she disappears through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, I say, “She wasn’t lying.”

  He squints. “How do you know?”

  “Brianna had a servant sneak out your mother’s hair brush to test her DNA. It came back not a match. Bri’s not your mother’s child.”

  His fork clatters to his plate. “Why didn’t she say something?”

  “She only found out the day before she left. And she and you weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time.”

  He temples his hands over his plate. “She should have told me. Not that I care. She’s still my sister, no matter who her mother is.”

  “She cares, Gabriel. A lot. She sets great store at being a member of the aristocracy and a part of your family. Now she’s someone born on the wrong side of the blanket not entitled to the benefits that come along with being a legitimate heir.”

  “I don’t support that interpretation.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think. That’s the way she sees it.” Stubborn, stubborn man.

  “Christ.”

  “So that’s why she needs Jake. He can help her find her footing again. Just think about it, okay?”

  “Fine.” He spits out through clenched teeth. Clearly, last thing he wants to do is ask Jake for a favor after the very humiliating way Gabriel fired him. But it’s something he must do. For Bri’s sake and for the sake of Storm Industries as well.

  I wish I didn’t have to, but I have to bring something else up, something he won’t like. “I’m starting work tomorrow at Payne Industries.” I blurt out after the dessert is served. After the altercation between Sebastian and Gabriel at Edward’s welcome home celebration, I thought the job at Payne Industries was gone for good. But to my surprise, Sebastian called me the next day, confirmed the job offer and asked me for my start date. Immensely grateful, I didn’t hesitate and said I could report to work in two weeks which makes tomorrow my first day.

  Gabriel pauses before he dips his spoon into the black currant sorbet. “Are you?” Not by so much as a raised brow does he give away his feelings.

  “Yes. I’ll be gone from ten until two. Jonathan will be my bodyguard.” When I discussed the arrangement with Samuel, I asked him not to tell Gabriel until I had a chance to talk to him. He didn’t like it, but he agreed to keep quiet. Driving myself to and from work is out of the question. Gabriel would never approve that, but I’d insisted on only one person to watch over me and chosen Jonathan as the least objectionable guard.

  “Do you know what you’ll be doing?”

  “Working in legal, that’s all I know. The experience should improve my chances for admission at King’s College.”

  “So you would attend school in the fall?”

  “If I am admitted into the dual degree program, I’ll need to return to D.C in August and finish a final semester there.”

&
nbsp; “And come back to London and do your work in King’s College in the spring?” There’s an edge to his voice, as if he’s unsure of my answer.

  “Start it, yes. But I need to complete three years here as well.”

  “And what about your . . . job at Payne Industries?”

  “I’ll take a sabbatical while I’m in D.C. Sebastian has already approved it. When I come back, I’ll go back to work for him.”

  He voices no objection. Gotta give him credit. He’s trying hard to remain neutral. But I want more from him.

  “Can’t you be happy for me, Gabriel? This is exactly what I want.”

  “And what about Andrew? Does he get what he wants?”

  “Andrew will not be neglected. I will feed him before I leave and be back for his late afternoon meal.”

  “There’s more to raising a child than feeding him.”

  I bite down on my lip to keep from lashing out at him. “I play with Andrew every chance I get. You’re just not around to see it.”

  “Because I’m at work. Christ.” He tosses his napkin on the table. “What about me? What about your husband? Don’t I count in all this? You’ve barely spoken to me for the last two weeks. And God forbid you’d come to my bed.”

  “Can you blame me after your fight with Sebastian? I’m lucky I have a job after the way you acted.”

  “That bastard doesn’t deserve you.”

  “He’s not getting me. He’s getting my services. Can’t you understand that?”

  His hands tremble as he temples them above his plate, shakes his head. “I don’t understand your need to work. Not when you have everything right here. If only you would reach for it.”

  Glancing down, I twirl my wedding and engagement rings. “I’ve lost things my mother promised, things she never delivered on. The foster care system failed me by placing me in a dangerous situation.” Lifting my head, I fix him with a steady stare. “But my brains and hard work? I can count on those.”

  “I’m not your mother. I’m not the foster care system. You can count on me.”

  “Only when you get your way. When you don’t, you haul me somewhere and fuck me to prove your mastery over me. That’s no way to conduct a marriage, Gabriel.” God, I really hope the servants can’t hear any of this.