by K L Clare
In the beginning, it had all been for Elle, and in the very end, it will still be for her. Building a moneymaking enterprise had been about accumulating wealth for Ethan, but for me, it was the means to how and when I would finally have her. It was how I channeled my obsession, how I prepared my life for the day I would possess her. Money was power, and power was necessary for me to have her and to keep her alive.
My obsession changed the moment I touched her hand on that pier in Stonington for the first time. Truth be told, an obsession never fails, never ceases, but mine did change. The longing and fixation had always been about me, about what I wanted to take from her.
Jesus Christ, how I wanted to own every part of her.
But when I finally had the chance to feel her pain, kiss her lips, see her dreams, and hear her laugh, I fell in love with her the right way. I fell for her heart . . . her soul . . . her mind. I was no longer in love with my father’s plan for me to save her and keep her as my prize, no longer in love with the desire to win what was supposed to be mine. My obsession transformed then, and it became an addiction to the deep, mutual connection Elle and I had discovered between us. Not another goddamned thing mattered to me if it wasn’t something she needed or demanded of me.
My heart had traded one sickness for another.
“Yes, I’m still here,” I said into the phone to the investigator. “What about Sarah Parker? Where are we with that case?”
“Well, Devon Parker wasn’t lying when he told your wife he assumed she was dead. In late July of last year, his mother was granted a declaration of presumed death. The court document indicates that no living family member had seen her alive in the prior seven years. At the time of the filing, the family members who legally attested to in absentia were the mother, Simon Parker, and Devon Parker.”
“Was there an application for an inquest without a body?”
“Yes, the Kent County Coroner applied to the Secretary of State’s office for one,” he said.
“What about a police report? The government can’t issue a registration of presumed death without a legitimate enquiry.”
“Quite right. It couldn’t have been certified without one. The police examination was handled by the Tonbridge Police Department. The report cites no precise evidence, but the assigned detective indicated in his statement that Sarah Parker was a known drug abuser and that he believed she was dead.”
“Is the mother still living in Tonbridge?” I put the call on speaker so Elle could listen. Her stare was burning into the side of my face, and she’d gone quiet.
“She is. I’ve been to Mrs. Parker’s home twice, but she won’t agree to speak with me or even fully open the door. From what I could see, she’s rather frail.”
“How certain are you that she lives alone and that there are no other children? Sons, daughters, grandchildren.”
“She receives a government attendance allowance and universal credit for housing. A nurse visits once a day. I believe the woman is terminally ill. No one else enters or leaves the flat. Devon Parker is her only living relative.”
Christ. Elle would insist on seeing the old woman herself.
As if she’d read my mind, Elle jumped into the conversation. “We need to go see her, Will. She’s the only person who can confirm this and give us the reason behind it all. And if she’s hurting, if her sons have neglected her over the years . . . she’s Lissie’s biological grandmother, and I need . . . I don’t know. I want her to be okay. Maybe she’ll talk to me if I’m alone.”
I would have expected nothing less from my wife. I hated the idea of her doing it alone, but I wouldn’t forbid her from contributing to the investigation. We’d made an agreement to share and work together, and I was determined to keep my end of the bargain.
“We’ll see her together,” I said. “It sounds as if she’s in financial distress in addition to her physical suffering, and I’d like to help.”
The woman’s losses were on me. My father took her husband. I had seen to the death of her oldest son, Simon Parker. And soon I would take Devon’s life as well. I couldn’t help but think of my own mother and what her life might have become had she lost us all. I owed Mrs. Parker recompense—some comfort to see her through to the end of her impoverished life.
“Text me the address of the flat and the visiting nurse’s schedule. Focus on surveilling her son,” I told the private investigator before disconnecting our call.
My wife slipped her fingers beneath the cuff of my sleeve. Her soft touch on the inside of my wrists was a gift that I craved. “You are a good man, William Hastings.”
“Mrs. Parker doesn’t deserve to be punished for the sins of her husband and her sons any more than my mother should have to pay for my father’s and mine. If she accepts our help, I will provide complete financial support for her. But Elle, that’s as far as it goes. There is no room for the old woman in our daughter’s life.”
Elle stretched to kiss me on the lips. She locked her eyes into mine and nodded. “We need to think about what we’ll tell Lissie in the future. Right now? I can’t see telling her or anyone else outside of our small circle that she’s not Isobel’s biological daughter. I can’t break her little heart with another loss.”
I caressed her bottom lip with my thumb. “You love her so beautifully. We should tell her soon about Ethan. It’ll provide her with a greater sense of belonging to know that she’s a Hastings in name and blood.”
“Let’s wait until we resolve this mess with the Parkers, Will. Please. It will change her. She will ask why the lies were told. I need more time. I want to give her the truth she deserves.”
Soon after we first met, when I had confined her under my protection in the beach cottage she owned, Elle expressed how afraid she was to be Lissie’s legal guardian. She was lost then, naïve and unaware of her own truths, but not any longer. Somewhere along the way, my wife found her fortitude, her desires, herself. She became the woman who loved and gave forgiveness and gifted everyone round her with something special, something untouchable. Elle was the perfect mother for Lissie, and she would be for our children as well.
“Okay. When you’re ready,” I breathed, my words touching her lips first before I kissed them. “We’ll get this right, Elle. All of it, I promise. And you’ll have everything you’ve asked me for.”
She pulled a sharp inhale through her mouth. “You’re talking about our own children—is that what you mean?”
I didn’t say anything. The words stuck on my tongue, so she broke the silence.
“I know it’s hard for you to talk about it. But you’re trying. . . . I can see that. And Will, I appreciate that you’re taking an honest look, sizing it up to see how it might feel.” The secret smile. It changed me a little more each time she shared it.
I lifted one shoulder into a blasé shrug. “Just want you to know.”
“I do,” she whispered.
The text message with Mrs. Parker’s address buzzed my mobile.
Tonbridge was ten miles ahead. We usually bypassed the old town without as much as a thought, but it was now one more portentous obstruction I had to eliminate from our path.
I displayed the message for Elle. “Shall we make the stop today?”
Walking Among Ghosts
From: Ellie
To: Isobel
You’re gone from my dreams. Vanished completely, Isobel.
Even though you’re no longer here, and your spirit no longer visits my sleeping mind, the number of lies you left behind continues to increase, one building on top of another. I wish we could have been partners, that you would have confided in me.
Maybe you believed I wasn’t strong enough.
But I am, and I hope you can see that now from wherever you are.
We found Mrs. Parker. She is kind and warm.
She was hesitant before receiving us at her rundown old flat. God, the smell. I made her some tea using an old
saucepan, and we brought in Mrs. Bates to assess the living conditions and help to convince Mrs. Parker to allow us to move her into a comfortable residential nursing facility in London, where she would have a private suite with around-the-clock nursing staff and palliative care.
She is dying alone. Metastatic breast cancer.
Even if Will allowed Devon Parker to live, the hateful man would not take care of his mother.
I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the Parker children chose to abandon their lovely mother. She has been left penniless for God knows how long.
It all started with one lie that has affected so many. I often wonder why you and Gran carried the story forward after my parents were gone. It would have been so easy to share the secret, and we three could have lived together in the truth of my family’s real identity.
But here I stand, living in the aftermath among the ghosts—living with your ghost—watching an innocent woman suffer alone through the end of her life.
I know it’s not as simple as sharing a single secret. I do. Because our fathers compounded the original lie by using it to cover their missteps and sate their egos. But maybe there would have been fewer ghosts.
Will tells me I’m wrong about that. There would be one more ghost, not fewer, he insists—and that one more would be mine. Without the lies, as much as we hate them, he believes I would have been found sooner and my life taken.
Once we had Mrs. Parker’s permission, Will arranged for her to be housed and cared for in London, where we can keep tabs on her without interference from Tonbridge locals. We have no plans to introduce her to Lissie, and for now, we have no plans to tell our little girl that you are not her biological mother.
Sarah Parker is dead. What good would come from telling Lissie that she had another maternal link . . . another connection that failed her . . . another person gone from her life forever?
But in order to keep this information to ourselves, we must be careful not to reveal who your father was.
30
Elle insisted she would walk into the house on her own when we arrived at Eastridge, though she was quite weak. I called my mother as we approached the ridge and ordered her to find Jessica and otherwise keep our arrival quiet until we figured out what was happening. I didn’t want Lissie unnerved by Elle’s unexpected condition.
We had stopped for lunch at a small diner outside of Tonbridge after settling things with Mrs. Parker. Elle later into the drive complained of a headache and mild nausea. We’d assumed the soup or banoffee pie she’d eaten was bad—but just a few miles from home, an unusual fatigue had settled over her, and I could see anxiety chipping away at her resolve.
The fact that the Parker family was still hurting her made my fucking blood boil.
Mrs. Bates had been the one to persuade the frail old woman to accept our offer of financial responsibility for housing and medical care. Mrs. Parker plainly hadn’t trusted me. She’d taken quite well to my wife but couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with me. Her lack of confidence was to be expected. Her family’s blood dripped from my hands.
Elle had warned that my size was intimidating Mrs. Parker and had asked me to stay seated while she and Mrs. Bates had moved about the flat to pack up what little the woman owned. I’d gone out to the car instead and continued working over the phone with my lawyer to get a private room secured at a nursing home in London. It hadn’t been difficult to circumvent the waiting list. I had authorized a generous donation to the institution’s operating fund through one of HG’s private real estate subsidiaries.
Money talks and all that bullshit.
I kept my arm round Elle’s waist as we made our way from the car but lifted her into my arms once we were inside the house and carried her upstairs to our master suite. She rested her head on my shoulder, finally giving in to the fatigue wrecking her body. The scent of her hair drifted into my face.
For a fleeting moment, I saw a vision of my wife dragging her toes through sand along some tropical coastline, plucking little white shells from the shallow water.
“I’m fine, Will,” she said. “I need a nap, that’s all. It’s been a long week. God, I’m so happy to be home.”
“Are you lying to me again, baby? Because last time I checked, that wasn’t true—napping in the middle of the day has never been your thing.” I kissed her forehead to soften the accusation.
Tears glistened in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. She met my gaze with defiance.
There’s my angel. Come on, challenge me. Challenge the anxiety.
“Yes, Elle, this week was rough, and you soldiered through it. You were strong even when you should have leaned on me.” I set my wife on her feet outside the doors of our suite, and as if I needed to further demonstrate my stamina, I pounded on my chest. “Here is our physical strength. My body is made to handle the effects of our stress. Yours is not. I won’t allow you to become broken this way.”
Her lips were pressed into a tight line, and her eyes still burned with a rebellious spark.
Good. Come on.
Stubborn determination was part of her process. But it would soften, and she would hear me. Feel me.
“What would you have me do differently, Will?”
“You tell me. It’s quite clear you’re holding out on me, suppressing emotion.”
The softness came then, faster than expected. “If we could get away from it all . . .” she whispered. Her lids dropped. “I need to be alone with you for more than a few hours here and there.” She opened them and lifted her lovely green eyes back to mine. “We need some time alone. No family, no staff. Just us.”
“We’re on the same page, Elle. You know I couldn’t agree more. You’ve never said the words, never demanded it of me. And I have to ask, why are you telling me this now?”
She shrugged. “It’s time.”
“Time?” I reached behind her and placed my hand over the electronic door sensor on the wall. The door opened, and I forced her backwards one step at a time until we were beyond the threshold. I closed us in. “Explain.”
“I want the honeymoon you promised.”
Elle staggered, the fatigue causing her movements to become awkward, and I caught her. I pulled her into my arms. “Do you?”
“Yes, I do. It was always important to me. From the moment you made the promise, I wanted it. Do you remember what you promised—on the beach at Lords Point?”
“Yes, of course. I never forget my pledges to you.”
“I know this sounds selfish, but I want to not care about what everyone else needs for just a little while. So, I’m saying it now, Will. When we leave this house again, I’d like for us to go to Paris. Alone.”
A strand of hair fell onto her cheek, and I tucked it behind her ear. “I’d like that as well. Paris it is, baby.”
She smiled. Adoration. The affection I craved. “I need to lie down and recover my strength, but I’ll be totally refreshed by dinner. You should go see Lissie. She must be home from school by now.”
I kissed her lips. Four times. Or was it five? “I’ll send in Jessica when I go. Mother called her back from the children’s clinic, and she’s waiting to see you. You must let her help you feel better.”
“I do feel better. I’m sure those sick children need her nursing skills more than I do, but all right.”
“Promise me you won’t hide what you’re feeling, that you’ll tell me what you need. Nothing is more important to me, Elle, than what you feel, what you need. Don’t shut me out.”
She nodded. “Lie down with me for a minute before you go?”
“Are you well enough for me to draw you a hot bath?”
A sweet smile curved her lips, and she hugged my neck. “Yes. That sounds amazing.”
“Done.” I kissed the top of her head, then pulled her into our bathroom.
She waited on the armchair near the tub while I filled it and dropped in some of her favorite rose oil. I undressed my wife and loved her graceful, feminine
body with my eyes, dragging my stare from those sensual lips to the curve of her arse to her toes and back to her mesmerizing green eyes. I kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulders.
“You are strong, but you are also perfectly delicate, my angel. You will not deny me that part of you,” I said close to her ear. “You are mine.”
Goose bumps covered her soft creamy flesh, and my cock reached out for her. I held both of her hands as she stepped into the steaming, fragrant bath.
I turned to go, and another thought circled through my mind.
Pivoting to see her eyes, I asked, “The pregnancy test was negative?”
“It was. You read it yourself.”
I nodded and left her alone in that rose-scented water to contemplate whatever the lie was that she clearly still safeguarded.
31
The next morning, after breakfast was finished and I’d had a walk about the south garden overlooking the English Channel with Elle, Lissie, and the four pups, I hit the war room to join Thomas, James Jackson, and my executive assistant, Sean.
Christ, springtime had arrived out of nowhere, and Lissie would soon turn eight. We’d told her about our impending visit to Paris, and all she wanted for her birthday right then was to come along with us to France. She had negotiated her way to victory in true Hastings form, emerging from the deal with a trip to the Continent later in the year over the summer holiday.