Deception (16 page)

I think my heart must have stopped then, for I felt such a shooting pain under my ribs. I stared at him. I could barely see his features in the dim and flickering light.

“That’s not possible,” I said tensely. “That can’t be right.”

“Upset you, has it?”

“She was sorry when you left. I remember her crying. I thought it was because she didn’t want you to go.”

“She was the one who told me to get out.”

“But she loved you!”

He looked thoughtful. “Yes, maybe she really did love me once. At the beginning of our marriage, when it was just her and me. Before the children came along and ultimately ruined everything.”

I stared at him in shock. His eyes had glazed over, and I wondered what he was thinking, what he was remembering. And then he seemed to come to himself again, and his expression changed. It grew cold and forbidding.

He said, “Any love she once had for me soon stopped when she found someone who could give her what I never could.”

Mystified, I said, “What are you talking about?”

He lifted his head, and his gaze became almost challenging.

He said, “We wanted children. Of course we wanted to start a family. She was desperate to have children. I was happy to oblige, it showed a maternal side of her I’d never seen before. But month after month passed, and she was having trouble falling pregnant. A friend recommended a gynaecologist specialising in fertility treatment. Unknown to me, they started seeing each other. And I don’t mean in the medical sense.”

His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile.

“I was often away travelling, and I admit I was often busy with my work. But I was never too busy for Lara. I always had time for my beautiful wife. But despite everything, cracks started appearing in our marriage. She started sniping at me, for no reason. When she finally fell pregnant, I was overjoyed and thought that she’d be happy again once she’d had the baby. Once you were born, I thought we should be content. That our life would go back to being good again. Not great, but good. I adored my gorgeous wife and my lovely little girl. Men envied me. I admit it felt good knowing that Lara belonged to me.”

He paused, and I knew he was remembering the past, because he was looking straight through me.

“Then, a few years later, just after Jonti was born, she told me she didn’t love me anymore and didn’t want to stay married to me. Just like that. She told me she wanted a divorce, and that our marriage was a lie and a sham. I couldn’t believe it. As I said, we’d had our troubles, all couples do, and she’d always been a tempestuous even wilful sort of woman, but that’s partly why I adored her. She was so exciting to be around. I never wanted to lose her, or give her up, I truly didn’t want that.”

He took a deep breath.

“Then she played her trump card and said she’d been seeing someone else. Been seeing him for years. She was quite open and unashamed about it. It almost seemed to be a relief to her to tell me.”

A moth flew against the lantern, trying to get to the flame. I watched while it battered itself valiantly before giving up and flying away into the darkness, towards the sea. It seemed somehow rather symbolic of all that Dad was telling me.

He went on, now speaking in a strange sing-song sort of voice. “Leaving her almost destroyed me. But short of killing her, what else could I do? I had to accept it. And I had my pride. So I agreed to give you all up and start a new life far away from her, from my beloved family. It was either do that or go totally mad.”

I reached across the table, wanting to console him, but he ignored the gesture, and my hand fell back into my lap.

I said uncertainly, “I honestly don’t know what to say, dad. She never really talked to us about it afterwards, so I always thought it was your fault.”

His expression turned bitter. “Fault! Blame! You’d better wait until you hear the whole story, Bailey, before you start laying fault on one side or the other!”

Rebuffed, and confused, I fell silent.He seemed to shrink even deeper into the chair, and the flickering candle threw weird shapes over the angular planes of his face. He carried on talking, and now the tone became dull and relentless, as if he was punishing himself as much as me by relating what had happened all those years ago.

“I had business here in Jersey, and that’s how I met Gwen, a young widow. Her husband had been killed some years earlier. She came from a good family, and was kind and understanding. More than that, she needed a man around the place, and she wanted a husband. God, I so wanted to be needed again. And then, of course, she had two small children to bring up. Twins. And I knew all about having children and rearing them didn’t I?”

There was something in his tone that made me catch my breath and shoot him an enquiring look, but he wasn’t even looking at me. He was staring up into space, as if the heavens above held all the answers.

“So we got married. And, like before, in due course we started talking about having children. Why not? She was a ripe young woman, and I was more than willing to have more kids. What could be more natural than for two people to raise a family to cement their marriage? So we tried. And the months passed. And still she didn’t conceive. So in all innocence, we both took ourselves off to doctors to get ourselves tested and checked out. I really only went along to oblige her, because of course I knew there was nothing wrong with me, didn’t I? Then the results came back. Nothing at all wrong with Gwen. She was as fertile as they come. No, the fault lay within me. I was shooting blanks. Turns out I was sterile, always had been, ever since I’d caught mumps as a boy. What did I know? I was a kid when I caught it. As a man I’d always felt strong and virile. Impotence had never been a problem, so why would I even have considered the possibility that I was infertile? It never occurred to me that I couldn’t father children… because I’d always assumed Lara’s children were mine, too.”

I could feel his eyes on my face, as if he was waiting for me to speak, to react, but I said nothing, I was struck dumb. I couldn’t even move. A slow paralysis seemed to be creeping over me. I could hardly breathe. It was as if I’d been hit over the head with a shovel and was already lying in a ditch somewhere with my eyes open and my heart beating, but the rest of me frozen into a state of total immobility.

He wheeled his chair around the table until he was seated right in front of me. Then he said harshly, as if it was necessary to emphasise the point, “Do you hear what I’m saying, Bailey? Do you understand? You’re not my daughter, and
Jonti’s not my son!”

His white face encompassed my whole vision and I reared back.

Angrily I said, “I heard you, God dammit!”

He nodded in satisfaction. The motor whirred again, and he wheeled away a foot or so, giving me space and time to process the news.

I couldn’t look at my father. Except he wasn’t my father, he was just a man my mother had once married. An empty, bitter, unhappy shell of a man who still mourned his lost first love, and who had turned his bitterness at having been treated so unfairly by life against two entirely innocent children who’d only loved him as they ought.

He was also a gutless coward. How different might I have turned out if I hadn’t spent all those years feeling rejected by the man who I’d thought was my father?

How must my mother have felt when she was desperate to have children with him and been unable to through no fault of her own? And it was obvious she had wanted her own children very much, because apparently they had never discussed adoption, and she had never attempted to approach anyone about finding a sperm donor. So she had decided to have an affair to alleviate her distress. And had fallen pregnant.

Maybe. Maybe that’s what had happened. I’d have to ask her outright to know the
truth.What had Colin called her? Wilful? That sounded about right for my mother. Now a number of questions were eating away at me and turning the insides of my brain to mush. Had she had affairs with other men besides the gynaecologist?

Worst possible scenario was that
Jonti and I had different fathers. Would it really matter if we were simply half brother and sister? People had often remarked on the fact that I resembled my mother. Jonti had not looked like Colin in the slightest. He looked like Oliver Miller.So did that make our mother’s new husband our real father? Was that why he was so keen to be kind to me now? Because I was his daughter?

Oh, Lord. This was becoming unbearable!

I put my elbows on the table and rested my head between my hands. The pressure in my skull was increasing by the second. I thought I was going to burst my temples were pounding so much.

Interrupting my reverie, Colin said, rather formally, “So, to get to the heart of the matter, you know you’re not entitled to anything after I’m gone, you do realise that now, don’t you? You’re not family, we’re not related. The hotel belongs entirely to Gwen, a condition of the legacy from her father and his father before him and so on and so forth.”

I blinked, and tried to concentrate on this new direction the conversation was taking. Frankly, it was all getting a bit much. He leaned in closer almost as if he wanted to make sure I heard and absorbed every word.

He went on, “Because I’ve made my Will, and I’ve named Meg and Max as my beneficiaries, along with their mother, of course. That goes without saying. She’s a saint, that woman. A bloody saint.” He paused, and then added in a rush, almost like an afterthought, “You probably aren’t aware of it, but I adopted the twins and officially became their father some years ago. It seemed the right thing to do at the time, given all the love and support I’ve had from them both over the years.”

I couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d slapped me across the face. And for a moment I was too choked to speak. How can I be so completely misunderstood, I wondered? And then I thought: How could I have been so stupid?

How else could he inflict hurt on his ex-wife except by getting back at her through me? By turning up like this out of the blue I’d conveniently placed myself in the firing line, and this was his method, his final revenge, on the woman who’d betrayed him and broken his heart. I was merely the pawn in this nasty little game of pay-back.

Speaking very slowly and deliberately, I said, “It was never about money. I only ever wanted to be a part of your life again. I thought you understood that. Obviously I was as wrong as you are misguided.”

He said with some satisfaction, “Now I see it! The outrage at having been deceived all these years. Well, now you can appreciate how I felt, first finding out my wife’s been cheating on me, then later finding out that I couldn’t father children. Can you understand how something like that puts a strain on a marriage?”

Wearily I raised my head. “Of course I can’t…”

I jumped as he suddenly thumped the table with his fist. The candle in the lantern jumped, and then carried on flickering. I don’t think anybody noticed. Everything carried on just as before, but for me, the sounds of the party, the laughter, the chattering conversations around us, the music, all the gaiety had receded into the background until I was almost unaware of any of it any more. All I could hear was the sound of Colin’s voice going on, and on, and on, as if he needed to pound it into my head.

“You wanna know who your dad is, you should ask Lara.”

“Yes.”

“I guess it’s Miller. She actually had the gall once to tell me that she’s always been faithful to him. And once his sickly wife died, they were free to marry, so maybe she was telling the truth after all, if you can believe her that is.” He gave a sudden snort. “Your mother’s not exactly the type of woman you can trust, is she?”

At that, I got angry. “Does it still matter so much to you, even after all these years?”

His mouth suddenly turned down at the corners, making him look old and ugly.

“It’s eating me up inside.”

He stared up into the blackness of the sky. No moon that I could see, but millions of stars.

He said, “I’m dying, you know.”

I didn’t say anything, and he smiled wryly.

“Did Gwen tell you not to say anything?”

I shrugged, and said, “I’m not getting involved. You know, I used to think I was a pretty good judge of character, but it’s turned out I’m a walking disaster when it comes to avoiding crap because however hard I try I keep putting my foot in it.”

I stood up and gazed down at the man in the wheelchair. He only looked up at me mutely.

I said, “So before any more of the proverbial hits the fan, I’ve decided to leave you all to it.” I picked up my handbag. “I’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow, and I’ll be out of your hair for good. And you can rest assured I won’t bother you again.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

I smiled back politely. “Have a nice life, Colin. Enjoy it while you can.”

I didn’t bother looking back.

There are times when you’ve just got to let it go.

Chapter 16

I didn’t see anyone else from the family after I made my exit from the terrace.

No surprise there then.

Considering all that had just passed, it might’ve been better to have checked out of the hotel immediately, but it was impractical. Besides, it was late, I was tired and upset, and in no mood to start finding out about ordering taxis to the port, and worrying about timings and ferry reservations back to mainland Britain.

It could all wait until the morning, I decided, as I stepped into an empty lift that took me up to the fourth floor. A good breakfast would see me on my way, and then I’d be out of there. Back to… well, I suppose I could go anywhere I wanted, but I knew I’d go back home. Back to London, and the people who knew me best and understood me.

Too bushed to even fold my dress neatly, I slung my clothes in a heap on one of the tub chairs and climbed into bed. All in all, I slept surprisingly well that night, and awoke fairly late in the morning, feeling remarkably refreshed for one who’d spent the entire evening learning that her father wasn’t her father, and her mother was somewhat promiscuous with her favours.

I was the solitary customer in the dining room as I ate a lonely cereal. Even the coffee was tepid. Presumably most of the visitors who’d arrived yesterday and who were at the party last night had departed earlier. Anne
Gagnier was the only person I saw at the reception desk as I walked by, and she was at least civil as I said good morning. Seeing her once again in her official capacity I wondered if I ought to double check whether the family were going to ask me to pay for my stay. I wouldn’t have put it past them. And then I thought to myself, stuff it, if they want to charge me for two nights, they can damn well send me the bill. C/o Mrs Lara Miller, of course.

I expected to receive the same kind of lukewarm send-off that I’d received on my arrival - God, was it only a couple of days ago that I’d stepped up hoping to begin a new life? It seemed I’d packed a lifetime of knowledge in just that short time. But I didn’t kid myself there’d be any goodbyes from the family, and when Anne informed me that the family were
all out, that put the lid on it. But it was OK with me, too. I didn’t want to see them any more than they wished to see me.

Put it all down to experience and just move on, I told myself, managing to muster a cheerful smile for my reflection in the mirror in the lift as I went back upstairs again.

As I went into my room to finish packing, out of the corner of my eye I saw a swish of a dark coloured skirt disappear into a room further along the corridor. Obviously the lady in black hadn’t checked out yet. And there I was, bemoaning my fate and my future, when that poor soul had only yesterday scattered her husband’s ashes. I ought to be thankful for the things I had, I berated myself, as I flung open the French doors to the balcony to let in the sea breeze. For a while I just stood outside the room on the narrow balcony, leaning against the iron balustrade, taking in the spectacular scenery amid some deep, invigorating breaths.

Come on, Bailey, life wasn’t so bad. OK, there were things I didn’t have that I sorely needed - like a job, a home, and some money - even a steady boyfriend would be nice, but slowly slowly…It was strange how optimistic I felt as I brushed out my hair at the sink in the bathroom, and resolved to change back to my natural hair colour as soon as possible. I’d had enough of people telling me that they didn’t recognise me. And I wasn’t at all sure that blondes had so much fun.

There came a sudden, sharp rap at the bedroom door.

“Cleaning,” called out a woman in a heavy French accent. “Housekeeping.”

I came out of the bathroom and turned sharp right into the narrow little corridor that led to the bedroom door, and opened it.

It’s said that people see what they expect to see. However, what I didn’t expect to see was the woman in black standing in the doorway, still wearing the absurd little hat with the heavy veil that covered her face. I just had time to think how ludicrous it was that she was still carrying the urn around with her and then to wonder why she had said she was the chambermaid when she lunged at me. I opened my mouth to object, and she raised her arms and flung the contents of the urn into my face.

Blinded and in shock, I staggered backwards down the narrow hallway, gagging at the sand clogging my nostrils and throat. Gasping and spluttering, I heard the door slam shut, and then heard the key being turned in the lock. Even as I choked, and spat and rubbed my eyes, mouth and nose free of the gritty substance I could hear something thud onto the floor. The rustle of skirts stopped for a moment, and I sensed the woman bending down and picking something up from the carpet where it had dropped. Presumably whatever it was that had been hidden in the sand within the vase.

With my arms whirling like propellers so that I shouldn’t bump into anything, when the back of my legs reached the bed, I spat into my palms again and dug the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and blinked hard. My vision slowly cleared, though my eyes felt raw and rusty. I knew where my box of tissues was, and I reached for them on the bedside table, blowing my nose and spitting out the last of the sand from my mouth.

Then I turned and faced my attacker, who now stood just a few paces away from me. She held a wicked-looking knife in her right hand.

Kristie said, “What do you think, Bailey? Do you think black hair suits me?”

I could only stare at her, horrified.

She smiled. “Sorry about this.” She lifted the vase, which now I recognised as being one I’d once bought for the flat when I’d lived there with Freddie. “You don’t mind me borrowing it, do you? I promise to take good care of it. Oops.” She let go of it and it fell on the floor and shattered. “Ah well, it’s served its purpose I
s’pose,” she said, giggling.

I didn’t say anything but just slid a foot sideways, away from the bed. Yanking the hat and veil off and flinging it onto the floor, she took a step sideways too, all the while brandishing the knife in front of her, slightly tilted upwards.

“Going somewhere? I don’t think so.”

Though the weapon was frightening enough, it was her expression that absolutely terrified me. Her eyes were like huge, dark holes. It was as if all the lights had gone out inside. The person I’d known was no longer
there.The make-up she’d used to disguise her youthful good looks was smeared and grotesque, making her a caricature of the older, middle-aged woman she’d pretended to be. I was petrified, and I felt helpless.

“Don’t do this, Christine,” I said, breaking out into a sweat.

Her mouth was a sneer. “So some smart arse’s already told you what I did to Freddie and now you know my name. Well, if you know that much, then you know what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t doubt your ability to do it I just doubt your reason for wanting to do it.”

She grunted and pointed the knife at my stomach. “Prim and proper Miss Cathcart. Always so clever with the words. Not much use to you now, are they? Not so helpful when you know you’ve only got seconds more to live.”

Keeping my eyes on her, I inched my way backwards towards the rear wall. I knew there was a table and chair nearby. I remembered having to move them aside to get to the drapes and the balcony.

I was thinking, if only I could get something solid between me and her, maybe it would buy me some time so that I might be able to talk some sanity into her, make her see sense. Maybe even take the knife away from her - though that prospect was one I found rather too daunting. I was no Lara Croft.

Wiping perspiration from my upper lip, I edged back a little more and said, “You really don’t want to do this, Kristie.”

The hole under her mouth moved. “You’re not going to have his baby.”

The side of my foot hit a chair leg.

I said, “I’m not having a baby.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

My groping fingers touched the velvet softness of the arm of the chair.

I said, “It’s true. I never was pregnant. I only said that on the spur of the moment. It was a crazy thing to have said. I only said it to get back at you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

My hand gripped the arm rest. “It’s true.”

“I don’t care if it’s true or not. I’m not risking it.”

“Kristie…”

“Shut up, Bailey.”

She jiggled the knife in the air. She was just four or five feet away from me now.

She said, “I want you out of our lives for good. No remains.” She giggled again. It sounded like hysteria to me, and I shuddered.

“Please.”

“Beg all you want. Pleading won’t help. This is the only way. I’m going to cut that baby out of you, just like I cut mine out of me.”

I felt sick. “For God’s sake…”

She laughed. “…He won’t help you. He never helped me.”

My fingers closed around the arm rest of the chair. I said, “Listen to me. Killing me won’t make him want to take you back again, Christine. It’ll just drive him away further. Probably into the arms of another woman. There’ll always be other women for Freddie. You know that. Are you going to kill every one of them?”

“If I have to.”

“Face it, Christine. He doesn’t want you. Didn’t he tell you so himself? Isn’t that why you attacked him? Because he got tired of you and told you to get lost?”

She suddenly let out the most awful sounding, bloodcurdling scream, her face distorting in a frenzy of fury. Then she sprang towards me, the blade of the knife glittering in the sunlight. The chair was heavy, I knew that from having moved it before, but somehow I lifted it and swung it cleanly in a huge arc, hoping it might catch her unawares and knock her senseless, but she leaned backwards just in time and grabbed one of the chair rungs and held on, trying to tug the chair away from me.

And then it was just like being in the circus, with me as the lion tamer, and Kristie as the mad animal trying to claw its way to victory. She was pushing forward, inch by inch, and I was backing up, not as strong as her, trying to avoid the knife as she slashed with one hand and hung onto the chair leg with the other, trying to pull it from my grasp. It was a tussle. No, it was more than a tussle. It was a battle for supremacy. She was crazy, maddened with rage and insanity, but I was fighting for my life.

I was sobbing and sweating, knowing there was nobody around to hear me call for help, even if I screamed my lungs out. I knew there was no way I was going to get out of that room in one piece, not while she was still capable of inflicting harm and injury on me.

Or worse.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. My head jerked up. I heard a man’s voice call out. I thought it might be Max, coming to look for me, to say goodbye, wondering if I’d checked out yet. Relief flooded through me.

“Max, thank God you’ve come. I’m in here. Help me, please! I’m locked in here with the crazy woman in black!”

“Bailey?”

Recognising the voice, I did a swift reassessment.

“Ari? Is that you?”

I was so amazed to hear his voice, I almost forgot about the danger I was in, until Kristie aimed a vicious jab at my hand with the point of the knife, obviously hoping to get me to drop the chair if she managed to slice off a finger or two. She only missed by inches as I raised the chair even higher and rammed it back into her chest. Her eyes glittered like studs in a mask. From her intent expression, it was obvious she didn’t give two hoots that there was someone at the door trying to get in, for she knew she had the upper hand. I doubt whether she was even really listening.

Panting with the effort at keeping her at bay I yelled louder.

“Ari, it’s Kristie in here with me! She’s locked the door and taken the key. She’s got a knife! And I’ve no doubt she’ll use it. She says she’s going to kill me!”

It sounded then as if he was putting his shoulder to the door, as I heard grunting and swearing, and the door shook slightly in its hinges. There was reinforced pounding as he re-doubled his efforts, but it wasn’t going to give way to force. It had been made of good solid oak, and was virtually indestructible. The door shuddered only slightly as Ari then tried to kick it open, but all that happened was that the doorknob rattled and the notices hanging on my side of the door fell to the ground. Otherwise the door still held firm.

Suddenly all noise stopped, and there was a ghastly silence. I strained my ears. I couldn’t hear a thing.

Meanwhile I dared not take my eyes off Kristie again, who had barely glanced around at all, despite all the banging and thumping, so focused and confident was she that no one would be able to bust through such a solidly made structure. And maybe, too, she didn’t care so much what might happen to her afterwards, as long as I wasn’t around. I was whimpering at the thought that he’d left me alone with her. Cold shivers were descending down my spine.

“Ari?”

“I’m still here, Bailey.”

“Please, do something!”

I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold her off for much longer. My arms were already shaking and trembling from holding up the chair, and I knew I was weakening fast. And there was such determination on her scary-looking face. That alone was frightening to behold.