Last Child

by Terry Tyler

  His answer made me love him even more. If that was possible.

  The crunch came at the end of May. Bradgate Sports was moving out to New York and they wanted me to be a part of it. Only Dana and two other colleagues knew about my romantic circumstances (I had to talk to someone), so management thought I was a free agent; all it would take was my signature on the relevant pieces of paper, a rental arrangement for my flat, and that autumn I could be off to live and work in the most exciting city in the world.

  Miss Ambitious wasn’t going anywhere, though. I was offered everything I thought I’d always wanted, but I chose love instead.

  Jim didn’t put pressure on me; well, not in words. When I told him about New York he just shut his eyes and didn’t speak for about thirty seconds (a long time when you’re waiting for a reaction to a bombshell like that), then he opened them, and asked me to come and work for him, as the Public Relations manager for Lanchester Estates’ fledgling enterprise, one day to be Lanchester Dudley Hotels (it was my idea to drop the ‘and’ from the name).

  He couldn’t bear to let me go, and I couldn’t bear to leave him.

  “The three French hotels are just the start,” Jim said, as we clinked glasses on the day I turned down a ritzy life in Manhattan to join him. “I want to move on to other themes, too—I’ve got so many ideas. Lanchester Dudley is going to be a household name, like Radisson.” He wanted to compete with his soon to be ex-father-in-law, and who could blame him? I handed in my notice; I would leave Bradgate at the end of July, take a week off and start at Lanchester Estates on the ninth of August.

  I was so, so happy. Any tiny, subconscious fear that Jim’s promises would never come to fruition disappeared; we were going to spend every day together, working towards the culmination of his ambition. Our ambition, our life. The time was right, now. I was going to help make it happen, too, rather than just sitting back and waiting for progress reports. I could have a fairly free rein, I was told, and employ my own staff for a new PR department; the old one had long ago been merged into the sales and marketing team, but new operations needed new strategies. We would be a brilliant team; I was quietly confident that my being there would hasten his departure from the marital home, too. Well, I was a clever girl, wasn’t I? Hard work and money would bring us the rewards we sought; our goals were the same, something few couples can say. I would have a great life with the man I loved. I would be a success. Yes, I felt sorry for Jean, but she wouldn’t be exactly destitute, she had her family and friends to rally round, and there was no point in Jim being chained to her if he loved me, was there?

  I thought I was so street smart and lucky, lying in bed with my lover and talking about our wonderful future, while I turned my back on the real career, the one that was made of more than just smoke and mirrors.

  Oh, when it all came crashing down it wasn’t Jim’s fault. He’d been completely honest about his intentions. His only sin was not telling me when our plans turned to dust.

  For during that month of July, as I wound up my time with Bradgate Sports, woke each morning with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, as I counted down the hours until the evening when I could see Jim, he failed to tell me one massively, hugely important thing.

  He never told me about the tragedy that put an end to all our plans, and changed the world we thought was ours.

  I didn’t know that Jasper Lanchester II had died in a terrible, random accident and, from that moment, Jim was no longer acting chairman and managing director of Lanchester Estates. Before my replacement at Bradgate Sports had even been chosen, while I was still working out my notice, Jim’s temporary residence on the throne was over. The moment that poor boy breathed his last breath, the company fell into the hands of Isabella, who was about as likely to sell any of her shares to Jim or allow him to continue with his dream of a hotel chain as Jean Dudley was to wish us well in our new life together.

  How he must have panicked. How quickly he must have decided to maintain the lie, to make sure I didn’t dash straight back to Bradgate Sports and ask them to reconsider. He needed me by his side; when I found out, he said he thought that with my PR experience and expertise we could both persuade Isabella not to trample over his vision.

  He was kidding himself, as I was to find out. She hated him, and she hated me by association.

  Jasper Lanchester was already lying in the ground when Jim brought the contract of employment round to my flat. That really got to me. Isabella and Erin must have been going through hell, but nothing mattered to Jim as much as his ambition. As for the contract—can you believe I didn’t even read it properly? He told me the standard three month trial was just a formality, and I was happy with that. I did, however, insist on going in to meet some of the key staff the week before I started work, but did not find out until later that they’d been instructed not to mention the sad demise of Jasper, because it might make me, as a new employee, feel awkward. They were told to be upbeat, and talk to me only of the future.

  I met Will Brandon, the childhood friend of Harry Lanchester and godfather of Jasper. He must have wondered why I didn’t offer condolences for his loss, poor chap. I met Nick Throckmorton again, and Tim Wyatt; both talked enthusiastically of Jim’s plans. I expected to meet Erin; I was looking forward to seeing Rob’s dream woman in the flesh, but was told she was off sick. Looking back, I recall awkward glances between Nick and Jim as this was said, but it washed over my head at the time.

  Everything washed over my head apart from my love for that man.

  He’d picked me up to take me in, that day. When we left the office the heavens opened but unfortunately I had to make a stop at Sainsbury’s as I had nothing in, not even milk. Jim dropped me off as near to the door as he could; I flew in, made my few purchases, and stood outside the building scanning the car park for him while I wrestled with the new umbrella I’d just bought; I’d just had my hair done, you see. I couldn’t find what to press to make it flip up, which wasn’t helped by the fact that I’d had a new set of nails done that morning, too, and they were too long. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman looking me up and down as she hunted through her bag for something. We exchanged a few words about the rain and my umbrella, the way you do with total strangers, and I’d have forgotten all about her had I not discovered, later, who she was. I remember feeling a subconscious flash of satisfaction because she was looking at me in that I wish I looked like her sort of way. Please understand this is not innate vanity, but a reaction to the years when it was me, with my beaded hair and shabby, weird second-hand clothes, who looked at others and envied them. I noticed that she was still staring as we drove away, almost peering into the car, and I wondered if she envied my prolonged snog with my sexy lover, too, but Jim had to go home that evening so I was mostly concerned with getting back to my flat to spend a snatched hour together, and I didn’t think any more of it.

  I found out about the sad demise of Jasper Lanchester on the day before I started work, when Jim came round to see me, looking very serious. He greeted me with no more than a hug and a peck on the cheek and told me to sit down. Naturally I feared the worst, or any of several worsts, so the relief of his not being terminally ill or deciding that he could never leave Jean meant that what he told me didn’t fully register straight away.

  “So—what you’re saying is that you no longer have control over the company, will never get your hands on shares other than the five percent you own, and the Lanchester Dudley chain of hotels might be just a pipe dream, after all?” I said.

  He put one cigarette out and lit another. “Aye. That’s about the size of it.”

  Then the implications of what he’d only just seen fit to admit all sank in at once, and I hit the roof. I’d turned down my dream job in New York for—what? I ranted and raved at him for not telling me earlier, and he just sat there and took it.

  When I looked back, he’d been keeping conversation between us away from work throughout the last month, always with the suggestion
that we leave it until I was actually there with him.

  “I could have taken that job in New York,” I said, wanting to hurt him because he’d lied to me, and I’d never, ever thought he would do that. “I could have been there, now, having the time of my life.” My own lie didn’t come out right. How could I have had the time of my life without him in it?

  “I couldn’t bear for you to go.” He looked so shamefaced; I had to look away to stop myself feeling sorry for him. “I love you, and I need you with me,” he said. “You and me, together, we’ll be so much stronger than that spoilt little rich bitch.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said, standing up, arms folded—a ‘keep-out’ body language signal if ever there was one. “You need me to help you scramble out from the heap of crap that’s suddenly become your career, right?”

  He held his hands up. “Look, it’s a fucking huge setback. I’m not denying that, and I’m a pathetic wanker for lying to you, but I still think we can get what we want, if we’re together. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Us being together?” He looked at me so intensely then, his eyes burning into me. “You wouldn’t really have gone to New York and left me, would you?”

  “We’ll never know now, will we?”

  “Tell me you wouldn’t.”

  I shut my eyes. “You know I wouldn’t.”

  He reached forward and took my hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’ve done a really bad thing, but you were so happy and I couldn’t bring myself to spoil it. I suppose I just wanted to carry on in that moment. You know, the one where all our dreams seemed possible.” He looked up at me. “Sit down. Please.” I sat. “Look. Isabella’s not popular within the company, apart from with a few old codgers who were friends with Harry, and they’re not the decision makers. The purchase of land for the two French hotels has been made, the plans have been drawn up, she’s got to honour contracts that are already in place, and I can have another go at relieving Auntie Dahlia of some of her own shares. We could go up to Scotland together, put our case to her, both of us. Erin’s on our side, too.”

  “But I could have made a complete fool of myself last week, when I was talking to people like Will Brandon,” I said, pulling my hand away from his, though I could feel myself weakening.

  “Will doesn’t matter. He’s not a person of any influence.”

  “No? Harry Lanchester’s oldest friend, who’s been at the company for nearly forty years?”

  “The clue’s in what you just said. He’s past it. But okay, if you like, consider him, and remember that he voted for me to become MD after we kicked Seymour out. He didn’t vote for Isabella.”

  “Isabella who will be paying my salary, and signing the cheques.”

  “She does in theory,” Jim said, “but Tony Risley is the keeper of the privy purse, remember?” He’d done it, he’d made me smile. Very clever, Jim. ‘Keeper of the privy purse’ was what he sometimes called Jean. “Our relationship aside, you’re just the right fit for the company,” he said, taking my hands again, and this time I didn’t pull away; I moved closer to him instead. “You’re going to love working there, and we’ll be able to see each other all day, every day, won’t we? Yes, Isabella becoming headmistress is a bit of a setback, but we’re stronger and more savvy and better at what we do than she will ever be. I firmly predict that within three months she’ll admit I’m right, and give the pair of us huge salary increases!”

  He was wrong, of course.

  ***

  Isabella Lanchester was organising affairs up north when I started on Monday, and for the first week, I settled into my office, got to know Emma, the secretary who’d been assigned to me until I chose my own, and went on a tour around the building, arranged by one of Erin’s HR girls. I familiarised myself with the computer system and made a hundred and one phone calls to all my contacts. I talked to the architects about the plans for the new hotels, I had meetings with Jim and Tony Risley about budgets, I put together a promotional plan for Calais. I wanted to be as au fait with everything that was going on as I possibly could be, for when Isabella came back the following Monday. Jim had promised me he would come clean to her about the projects he’d put in motion, and once he’d laid the groundwork I’d be there too, to help pitch to her the way forward for the company.

  I’ve always been a practical person. I understood why Jim had done what he had, and despite the less than ideal circumstances of the firm’s ownership, I felt very positive. I loved knowing he was just down the corridor from me in his MD’s office that was more like a posh living room; I could nip down and see him whenever I liked, and we could legitimately go out together at lunchtime, or for after work drinks. I thought the time until he finally left Jean might pass very pleasantly indeed.

  As for Isabella, I thought the best thing might be to appeal to the woman in her. We were both childless women who loved our work; we had so much in common, surely?

  I tried to remain confident and positive over the weekend before her return. Jim prepped me over and over, and we crossed fingers that I was ready for anything she might throw at me. For the first time, I was actually glad not to be seeing him on a Sunday evening. I needed time to compose myself. I spent the hours before an early bedtime re-reading a document about the history of the company that Jim’s secretary had prepared for me.

  On Monday morning I sensed the buzz in the building as soon as I walked into the foyer; Isabella had been there since six-thirty that morning, Emma told me.

  “She’s already circulated an e-mail to officially announce the change in management, and she’ll be visiting each department individually over the course of the week,” she said. “She hasn’t got your e-mail address, but I forwarded it to you. There’s going to be a welcome do for all staff on Thursday evening next week, location to be announced. Dunno where we’ll have it; we won’t all fit into the boardroom, or the training room. Perhaps she’ll hire somewhere, if it’s going to be a big do.”

  Jim usually arrived between seven-thirty and eight, so I guessed he’d already have talked to her—and I was to meet her much sooner than I’d expected.

  I’d just switched on my computer when she stormed into my office. I recognised her from the photos in the firm’s brochure and on the website, but I’m sure I’d have known who she was anyway.

  Isabella Lanchester did not look at all happy. She gave Emma such a fierce look that the poor girl scuttled out without waiting to be told. Then she turned her cool, collected wrath on me.

  “So, you’re the little whizz kid PR chick who Jim Dudley has seen fit to employ without asking me first, is this right?”

  My new boss stood in front of me, arms folded, holding what I could see was my employment contract; her expression was a frightening combination of blank and homicidal. Yes, she was very, very pissed off indeed.

  I quickly sussed out that the warm, woman to woman approach might not work.

  “How do you do, Miss Lanchester? I’m Raine Grey,” I said, standing up and holding out my hand for her to shake. She didn’t take it, so I placed it back on my desk and tried my best not to show that she’d already made me feel silly. “I know Mr Dudley was looking forward to introducing me to you, and I think I can do a great deal for the company. I’m ready to do a full presentation as soon as you like.” I smiled. “I turned down a job in New York to come here.” Surely that would indicate my commitment?

  “Did you really?” She raised her eyebrows. “How misguided of you. I hear you’ve been promised your own PR team. Well, you can forget that. What, exactly, do you plan to relate to the public about, then?” She practically spat out the words ‘relate’ and ‘public’. I swallowed hard; maybe I shouldn’t mention hotels yet. Instead, I launched into a speech about my expertise in the field of marketing and branding, my contacts in the media. Hard, when someone is just staring at you as if you’re—well, a piece of shit, really.

  “So what do you know about the construction industry and the housing market?” she asked, and I was just wonder
ing how the hell I was going to answer that to my advantage when her phone rang. She stood there barking instructions into it, and my mind went blank. I hadn’t expected this to be an easy meeting, but I didn’t think it was going to be this bad. Instead of coming up with something to say that might improve matters, I just stared at her, listening to that clipped, well-educated accent. I’d heard and read so much about the Lanchesters, and here was my first meeting with one of them. Isabella was tall and thin, with fine, dark blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, one side tucked behind her ear; she was neither pretty nor plain, but had that confident air of wealth and privilege about her that I envied. She wore a flimsy, cream-coloured shirt tucked into brown tailored trousers; expensive, I could tell, but her minimal make-up was inexpertly applied and she wore no jewellery, not even earrings. My impression was that she took little interest in her appearance and was just lucky that she was reasonably good-looking to start with. I wondered if she might look more attractive if she smiled; I never did find that out.

  My brain felt scrambled. My expertise might lie in communication, but it was usually with someone who was interested in what I had to say. I was no thick-skinned salesperson with the ability to bounce back whatever the reaction.

  Isabella Lanchester ended her phone conversation with a final snarl, and fixed me with her steely glare, once again.

  “Where were we? Oh yes, you were about to admit to me that you know next to nothing about our industry. Right, then, you’re of absolutely no use to me, so I suppose you’d better start using all your contacts to find a buyer for that white elephant in Calais, hadn’t you?”

  Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. “Miss Lanchester, that’s not really what I do, I work more with the image-building of a company, and—”

  She waved her hand at me as she turned to leave. “Well, image-build that wretched hotel so someone will buy it. I just want rid of the damn thing.”