by Allen, Anne
As they retraced their steps toward the house, Malcolm laughed.
‘What’s so funny, Mr Roget?’ Nicole asked, her hand resting lightly on her stomach.
‘Please, call me Malcolm. It’s occurred to me that you must be a very wealthy young woman, if this was your inheritance. So you don’t need to work!’ He smiled at her.
‘You’re right. Thanks to my grandmother’s generosity I’m financially secure. My husband Ben’s a doctor and we both keep pretty busy. I love my work and didn’t want to give it up. But now…’ she patted her bump and smiled.
‘When’s the baby due?’
‘In April, in the spring. I can’t wait!’
He nodded. ‘Well, take it easy, my dear. And if you’d like a massage or some other pampering, please be my guest. It’s the least I can do for a former owner!’
Nicole smiled. ‘Thank you. I could always report on my experience in my programme and gain you more guests.’
‘Now that is a good idea! By the way, I'm late registering with a doctor, would your husband take me on?’
Nicole said he would be happy to, explaining that he had been her grandmother’s GP. Malcolm noted his contact details before saying, ‘Now, I must introduce you to La Folie’s manager, Paul. Without him, this centre would not exist…’
He was glad of this opportunity to earn good publicity for the centre. The digging up of his father’s body had created a flurry of prurient prying, but Inspector Ferguson had managed to keep the identity secret. The police agreed that it was better not to alert Archie Blake, assuming he was still alive. And having invested millions in the project, Malcolm wanted it to be a success, untarnished by stories of murder. It wasn’t for the money. He was financially secure, but the idea of failure was anathema to him. Something he’d learnt from his mother. He had to succeed – for her sake, not his.
Once the TV crew had left Malcolm was able to relax and decided to ask Paul to join him for a beer. As he waited for him to finish talking to one of the therapists, Malcolm recalled how they had first met. Not a propitious occasion.
‘What a load of old codswallop! I can’t believe people pay good money to hear such rubbish,’ Malcolm muttered to his neighbour in the meditation group. The young man turned round, looking surprised.
‘Oh! So why are you here if you think it’s rubbish?’ he asked, his blue eyes boring into his.
Malcolm shifted in his seat. ‘I was talked into it by a friend who persuaded me it would do me good. But I can close my eyes and picture a flower without paying out good money for the privilege. Thought TM was more than that – supposed to be transcendental isn’t it? I don’t feel any different!’ He stood up, disliking the pungent scent of incense clinging to the saffron-robed followers of the guru seated on the dais. The bearded man, for one, looked beatific. And so he should, charging so much for nothing!
The young man smiled. ‘Well, it does take time, you know. Took me weeks to really let go when I started. This your first time?’
‘Yes, and my last! I don’t wish to be rude, but I’d like to go and get a drink. Could do with a whisky.’ Malcolm moved towards the door, wanting to leave the ashram and head back to his hotel, but the man stayed by his side.
‘You’re not staying in the ashram?’
‘No, I bought a daily pass so I wouldn’t be stuck here with a load of weird…’ He stopped, and then continued, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that–’
The man laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I used to think that people who came here were weird too! But I assure you, they’re not. Or at least most of them aren’t! Look, I don’t have any classes for a while, how about if I take you to a great place for a drink? My name’s Paul England, by the way.’ He held out his hand and Malcolm shook it, giving his own name and deciding that he hadn’t anything to lose by joining him. Paul certainly looked normal; tall, slim with blue eyes and blonde hair, he could pass for Nordic but for his name and voice.
Moments later they sat outside in a whitewashed bar overflowing with tubs of olive trees and exotic flowers Malcolm did not recognise. The aroma of spices and fragrant flowers made a confusing mixture and Malcolm felt light-headed. The heat didn’t help, either. Paul ordered a whisky on the rocks for Malcolm and a beer for himself.
‘So, what brought you to Mumbai? Not the ashrams, I’m sure!’ Paul said, grinning.
‘No, you’re right. I had some business to attend to and one evening got into a conversation with a fellow guest in the hotel. I happened to mention that my doc had told me to slow down, that my blood pressure was way too high. And this guy told me how he’d spent time at the ashram and how much good it did him. Had to admit he did look pretty good for his age. I’d put him at about sixty but he was seventy-five; a few years older than me.’ Malcolm sipped his whisky. ‘Gave me a shock and made me think I should try it, too. But, as you gathered, I wasn’t much impressed.’ He took another sip.
Paul laughed. ‘So I noticed! But there’s a lot more to it than one hour of TM, Malcolm. I’ve been involved in yoga and meditation for years and, believe me, it does work. But you have to be patient and not give up after the first attempt. Let me explain…’
He went on to give Malcolm a potted over-view of Eastern medicine, suggesting approaches that might be of benefit to him. It transpired that he’d been working in natural health centres in the UK for years and came out to India for what he referred to as a field trip every year or so, picking up new ideas along the way. A qualified yoga teacher, Reiki Master and herbal practitioner, he now managed a centre in London. But he really wanted to get out of the city and live by the sea.
‘Although I’m a Londoner by birth, I’ve always preferred to be near the sea. My artist parents were archetypal hippies, travelling whenever possible, and they brought me with them to India when I was quite small. They often headed to the coast to pitch camp and I thought it was magical.’ He sighed and took a sip of beer. ‘Unfortunately, I have to go where the work is. But if the chance to run a health centre by the sea came up, I’d grab it.’
‘Is there good money to be made in that business? I’d always seen it as a bit fey, all sandals and brown rice.’
Paul grinned. ‘You’d be surprised! Things have moved on apace since the 70s. As long as the facilities are top rate then people are prepared to pay thousands for a week’s stay. Personally, I’m not keen on the financial aspect; I like to focus on getting people well, on all levels, mind, body and spirit. There’s so much dis-ease nowadays…’
Malcolm felt the familiar tingle of an exciting idea. Is this something he could be involved in? He needed a project to occupy him now that the business was sold. He’d felt so empty these past months but this young man, with his beliefs and enthusiasm, bubbling with vibrant health, seemed like the answer to his prayers. He wanted to ask more questions.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to shoot or I’ll miss my next class. Perhaps another time?’
‘Of course. When are you free?’
Several meetings later and they were firm, if unlikely, friends. Paul agreed to help Malcolm improve his health – providing Reiki healing, personal meditation sessions and a foul-tasting herbal concoction, all of which left him feeling better than he’d done for years. He became a firm believer in what he’d once thought to be codswallop and had nothing but respect for Paul. He could understand why people might want to visit a centre that offered such healing and asked Paul if he’d be interested in working for him if he were to invest in a centre. Paul agreed instantly, on condition that he found a place near the sea. Malcolm smiled his agreement and shook on it. And his quest for the ideal place began.
That had been two years ago and now here they were, about to open their centre. Right by the sea, as agreed. Malcolm smiled inwardly at the journey that had brought him full circle, back to the place where he was conceived. And if it hadn’t been for the hand of fate – or in this case, Archie’s – where he would have been born and grown up to i
nherit from his father. That thought made him scowl. I still have unfinished business to attend to. I haven’t forgotten, Ma.
chapter 5
2009 – March – London
Somehow Louisa muddled through the months since her mother’s death. Margaret stayed until after the funeral and then suggested that she return with her to Yorkshire for as long as she needed. Although tempted by the offer, Louisa declined. In her heart she knew that leaving London would only delay her recovery. She needed to get on with her life, hard as it was to imagine without her mother by her side. Having inherited both her mother’s house and business, money wasn’t an immediate issue, so Louisa gave in her notice at the hospital, glad to escape her stressful job. She intended to find something else when she felt stronger. At thirty-four it was time to be an adult, she told herself, and follow her mother’s example. As a single mother in her thirties, Susan had kept working, eventually opening her own successful, upmarket travel agency. Louisa couldn’t recall her mother ever moaning about the difficulties of bringing up a child on her own, always willing to spend as much time with her as possible. She worked long hours, employing a mix of au pairs and mother’s helps to ensure that Louisa was well cared for. Susan’s parents, now dead, had lived in Surrey and she only saw them in the school holidays. But they had helped Susan financially until her business took off.
After her mother’s death, Louisa had tried to recall everything she had said about Malcolm, the father she had never known. Susan had seemed reluctant to say much, only telling her that they had met when he worked in London for a couple of years. A Canadian, though born in England, he worked in his mother’s hotel business, and came to London to gain more experience. Although her mother hadn’t said so, Louisa got the impression that Malcolm was the love of her life. Susan only dated occasionally and never, as far as Louisa knew, became seriously involved with any man. Her life revolved around her business and her daughter.
One cold, blustery day in early March, Louisa paced around the sitting room excited by what she’d just discovered. For weeks she had tried to trace Malcolm Roget on the internet without success. But this day, she was flicking through the latest edition of a natural health magazine, when her attention was caught by a feature about a new residential centre, La Folie Retreat & Health Centre, in Guernsey. While admiring the photos and descriptions of stunning rooms she noticed a reference to the owner, Mr Malcolm Roget. Stunned, she read it again to be sure. Yes, she’d read it right. The reference was short, mentioning that Mr Roget, a retired Canadian hotelier with an interest in natural health, had invested in the centre after being impressed by the man who would become his manager, Mr Paul England. The rest of the article went on to extol the virtues of spending time as a guest at the centre.
Louisa’s emotions were mixed. Excited that Malcolm was only a short plane hop away, but sad that he and her mother could not now reconnect. I wonder how long he’s been back in Britain? Mum seemed to think he’d be unlikely to return. So what happened? And what’s it going to be like meeting him after all these years and…and without Mum? Tears welled in her eyes as the pain hit her in force. For a brief moment her only thought had been about finally meeting her father, a man who had been lying in wait at the back of her mind for years. Everyone wanted to know who their father was. What he looked like, how he spoke, laughed. Was he funny or serious? But it seemed so cruel that just as she might now have a chance to meet him, her mother was no longer there by her side. As the tears flowed Louisa reached for the only photo she had of Malcolm. The one with her mother wearing fabulous looking rubies and diamonds. Assuming they were real. But that horrible burglar seemed to think they were or why threaten her mother? Brushing away the tears, she studied the photo for the umpteenth time. Malcolm, in full black tie gear, stared straight ahead, a frown creasing his forehead. He didn’t look as if he wanted to be photographed, his hand close to his face, as if to shield it from view. Tall, dark haired, a little overweight, he looked a serious kind of guy. She wondered what her bubbly mother had seen in him. I guess he does look sexy, in a broody way. Oh, Mum! Why aren’t you here? There’s so much I want to ask you. I know I must go and see this man, my…father. But will it only bring more heartache? What if he’s married, with his own family? He might not be best pleased to have me arrive on the doorstep.
The questions skittered around her head until it ached. There was only one way to find the answers. Picking up the phone Louisa dialled her mother’s assistant manager, now running the business while she decided whether or not to sell.
‘Hi, Glenn. Could you book me a trip to Guernsey, please? With an open-ended return.’
Louisa, not one to act on impulse and, she would be the first to admit, a tad unadventurous, found it difficult to travel anywhere on her own. She’d always been able to rely on either her mother, a girlfriend or boyfriend for company. The advantage of having a mother with her own travel agency was a constant supply of cheap holidays and Louisa had taken full advantage of that. Susan had often asked her to go somewhere new for a recce, taking a friend along for company. Louisa had loved it, knowing her mother would be able to sort out any problems that arose with a phone call. But now she was on her own, and somehow even flying the few miles to Guernsey seemed a step too far. As she prepared for take-off at Gatwick, anxious thoughts gnawed at her mind. The first problem was not even knowing how long she would be away. A couple of days? A week? Or more? A lot depended on Malcolm’s reaction to finding he had a daughter. With a woman he hadn’t seen for thirty-five years. When Louisa had told Margaret that she was going to see Malcolm, her aunt had suggested it would be better to write to him first. But she didn’t want to do that in case he didn’t reply, or wrote and said he wanted nothing to do with her. This way he wouldn’t have any choice but to at least see her.
Louisa’s self-confidence had not been great since she’d been unceremoniously dumped the previous year by Jack, her erstwhile live-in boyfriend. Telling her “you’re no longer fun to be with and anyway, I’ve found a new girlfriend”, Jack had simply packed his bags and left. Unable to afford the rent on her own, she had crawled home, devastated, to Susan’s comforting embrace. Her mother suggested she move in to the attic converted by the previous owner, and providing a large bed/sitting room, kitchenette and shower. Previously only used for guests, Louisa was only too happy to have her own space and still be near her mother. The downside was the long journey to the south London hospital where she worked, but she could cope with that. As the hurt began to heal, Louisa felt more settled in herself, socialising with her friends, but unwilling to risk further heartbreak by dating.
Her fear of rejection had grown from the seed planted by the lack of a father. Logically, she knew Malcolm had not rejected her. He hadn’t even been aware of her existence. But logic did not enter into it where her emotions were concerned. Particularly after Jack’s self-confessed betrayal. Sitting in the airplane, braced for take-off, Louisa sent up a silent prayer that her father would accept her and, perhaps, might even come to love her. If not she was truly an orphan. Glenn had booked her into La Trelade Hotel, a short drive from the airport and en route to St Peter Port, the capital. He had also arranged a hire car, giving her the freedom to explore the island if she wished. Louisa had visited Jersey with her mother as a teenager and remembered it as a pretty island with lovely beaches and a bustling shopping centre in St Helier, but this was her first trip to Guernsey. From the air she could see it possessed great beaches but looked more built up than its larger sister island. Her hotel booking was for a week so, at the least, she could use the time to have a break. Not that March was the ideal time, she thought, buttoning up her jacket against the brisk wind accompanying her walk to the car park. Glenn, efficient as ever, had provided a map showing the directions to the hotel and to La Folie. She had told him that she had business at the centre and asked Glenn to choose a hotel within reasonable reach.
Pulling into the drive, she thought La Trelade a good c
hoice. Smart, but not ostentatious. All she really needed was a comfortable room and good food at reasonable cost, but was pleased to find that the facilities included a health suite with indoor pool. The double room having met with her approval, she changed into her swimsuit and went downstairs to the pool. Louisa joined a solitary swimmer, and as she struck out in a strong, smooth crawl, her tight muscles began to relax. She hadn’t been near a pool for months, unheard of for her. Swimming was her go-to exercise of choice, enabling her to keep fit while freeing her mind. Bliss! But since her mother’s death, she hadn’t felt in the mood. Like so many things, it had seemed too much effort to get out of the house and down to Ironmonger Row Baths for a good workout in the pool.
The thirteen metre long pool gave her ample opportunity to stretch her body and after a few lengths her mood began to lift. With a nod to the other swimmer, still crawling slowly up the pool, Louisa pulled herself out in the shallow end and shrugged into her towelling robe. Glancing out of the French windows, she noted the terrace and lawns. Hmm, pity it wasn’t warm enough to sit outside. Shivering, she wrapped a towel around her hair before returning to her room and a welcome hot shower.
Dressed, she found her way to the bar for a snack lunch. While waiting for her soup to arrive, Louisa gave some thought to her next step. She decided to turn up at La Folie and ask if Mr Roget was available. She knew it was unlikely that he would be and planned to make an appointment. From the article in the magazine it was clear that the manager, Paul, ran the place and that Malcolm took a back seat. She could only hope that he wasn’t off the island. In that case she was back to square one. Trying not to think about that eventuality, Louisa enjoyed her meal, allowing herself a small glass of wine. Feeling as if she were about to enter the lion’s den, she grabbed her bag and made her way to the car park.