Season of Desire: Complete Edition (20 page)

The voiceover is explaining that Freya Hammond was missing for two days after a car crash during an alpine storm. ‘Miss Hammond is said to be in surprisingly good health after her ordeal. Despite claims of a near-fatal crash and two days in sub-zero temperatures, there are no outward signs of injury. In fact, some sources are suggesting that this could be an elaborate stunt to win back her former boyfriend, Jacob Amsell.’

I laugh out loud as the screen fills up with pictures of me and Jacob during our days together, frolicking on yachts, sunbathing on beaches and turning up to film premieres as the voiceover gives a précis of our relationship. It never occurred to me that anyone might think I’d somehow arranged to fake a crash – after all, it would be incredibly difficult to do such a thing even if such a crazy idea had occurred to me. I’d certainly have needed Miles’s cooperation and it’s hard to imagine getting him to agree to let one of my father’s cars topple over the edge of a mountain just because I said so, and then disappear with me for two days. The press have an even wilder imagination that I gave them credit for – but I can see that it’s a good story. As for the pictures of me with Jacob – just a short time ago, I’d have been cut to the core to see them and now I don’t care at all. He’s in the past. He was an asshole and now he’s history. A learning experience. One of the guys whose role in life is to teach us what we don’t want in a man.

Now . . . there’s Miles.

I lean over and click the remote. The sound stops abruptly and the picture vanishes.

‘It’s a good story,’ Flora says softly, looking over at me. ‘But there’s nothing in it. Right?’ She lifts her eyebrows enquiringly.

I open my mouth to rebut the suggestion that I might have faked a car crash and put my family through hell just to win back that ridiculous lowlife, then stop. My sisters don’t know the truth about why Jacob and I broke up. Miles doesn’t know the full story either, even though I confided part of it to him. No one knows, except Jacob, my father, our lawyers and me. Oh, and some hookers, if they ever recognised Jacob and heard what had happened between us.

Maybe this story might be a good way to deflect attention from the truth.

At the moment, everyone is just happy to see me back in one piece, but my father intends to find out what happened, and so do my sisters. Once it’s known that Miles and I spent two days and nights holed up together in a snowed-in mountain hut, surely it won’t be long before people begin to ask what happened between us during those long, dark, cold hours . . .

‘You didn’t!’ Summer says disbelievingly. ‘You didn’t cook this up, did you?

She looks indignant and I can’t blame her. It would be terrible thing to do, and tempting though it might be to throw up a smokescreen, I can’t do it.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Of course I didn’t. It’s a stupid idea. The press will get over all this in a day or two and all the ridiculous gossip will die down.’

‘They have a point, though, don’t they?’ Flora says, looking at me intently. ‘I mean, you look absolutely fine. You don’t have a mark on you.’

I say nothing but unbutton my shirt and open it to display the livid bruise, now an interesting melange of purple, green and yellow, that crosses my chest, disappearing under my bra and coming out the other side.

Summer gasps. ‘What’s that?’

‘The mark from my seatbelt. If I hadn’t been wearing that, then believe me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And the car took most of the impact – you should have seen it. You wouldn’t have believed we could get out of there. But we did.’

Flora bites her lip as she regards the mark on my chest. The twins really look nothing like each other. Summer has that blonde blue-eyed prettiness, but Flora has a pale russet look that’s not exactly beauty but is very arresting. She has almond-shaped eyes and spikes her lashes out with lots of mascara to create a feline look. Now her eyes, brown like mine but speckled with hazel, look worried. ‘I didn’t really believe those stories about you faking the crash,’ she says, almost apologetically. ‘And now I can see that bruise . . .’ She gazes at me as I button up my shirt again. ‘I realise what a lucky escape you had.’

‘It wasn’t just luck. It was Miles too.’ I try to keep my tone and expression neutral. I don’t want anyone speculating about us, not when I have no idea myself what is happening between us, but I can’t help talking about him.

‘Miles?’ says Summer, frowning. Then her face clears. ‘Of course – you set out with the bodyguard you can’t stand.’

‘I know. And I’m counting my blessings I did.’ I tell them about the crash and how it was the most frightening thing that’s ever happened to me. They listened in wide-eyed silence as I describe the sensation of the car leaving the road and the impact that followed. I describe Miles getting me out of the car just moments before it slid off the plateau to vanish in the snowy valley below, taking our phones with it. I’m almost reliving it as I tell them about the terrible weather, the icy, penetrating cold, and the sense of fear and despair as Miles disappeared into the storm to look for shelter.

Summer’s eyes are wide as she listens intently. She says, ‘That must have been weird. You hated him – and he saved your life!’

I nod. ‘Yeah.’ I try to sound casual and laugh lightly. ‘I suppose he’s not so bad after all. I owe him a lot.’

Flora has been gripped by my narrative and she leans forward to say urgently, ‘But what happened? Did he find the shelter?’

‘Of course!’ I laugh again. ‘Do you think I’d be in such good shape if he hadn’t? We had the most amazing piece of luck.’ I tell them about the shepherd’s hut and they are gripped by my description of its privations.

‘Tinned food,’ says Flora, pulling a face.

‘No running water!’ breathes Summer, her eyes wide.

‘No nothing,’ I reply. ‘No
bathroom
at all . . .’ I look at them both meaningfully and they gasp as they take in the implications.

‘So how did you . . .?’ Flora can’t articulate it but we all know what she means.

‘A bucket.’

They both gasp again and Flora shudders. ‘How awful,’ she says. ‘In front of the bodyguard?’

‘He went outside.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Flora says and Summer nods in agreement.

‘Luckily we weren’t there for too long. I didn’t think I could stand going without a shower for much longer.’

Summer says, ‘You were so lucky though. Thank goodness for that hut.’

‘And the fact that Miles is trained in arctic weather and mountain survival.’ I can’t resist saying his name. I know that the real story of the crash is not the filthy sleeping bags and the nasty food or even surviving the storm against the odds, but I don’t want to give them any clue of what is, so I start to describe the rescue and they are quickly diverted. When I finish, I realise that Flora is crying.

‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘I’m fine, you don’t need to cry!’

‘I know, it’s just . . .’ She gulps and sniffs. ‘You could have died if hadn’t been for those bits of luck that saved you – the car landing on the plateau, and then finding the hut. I can’t help thinking that someone was looking out for you.’

I get up, sit down next to her and wrap my arms around her. She clings on to me and sobs.

‘I think that maybe . . . Mama was protecting you,’ she whispers.

I feel my own eyes fill with tears and a tightness form in my throat. I can’t speak. The same thought had occurred to me but I’d hardly acknowledged it until Flora said it out loud.

Summer gets up and joins us, clutching my hand and Flora’s. ‘Maybe Mama is your guardian angel,’ she says.

I say, ‘If she’s looking out for me, she’ll be looking out for all of us.’

Flora sobs again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s a happy thought, not a sad one, and yet . . .’

‘I understand,’ I say quietly, hugging her tighter. ‘We all do.’

We sit quietly for a while, bonded by the memory of our mother.

I barely have a moment to myself for the rest of the day. Not surprisingly, I’m inundated with calls and messages as soon as I switch on my phone. I find myself telling the same story over and over until I begin to suspect that it’s taken on a whole new life that is completely removed from what actually happened. Everybody is clamouring to see me, to invite me here and there, but I have no appetite for it. I put them all off, telling them I have to rest and get back to my old self, which seems to satisfy them.

When my father gets back from shopping with Estella, he calls me to his study so that I can recount the whole thing again from beginning to end. I go there excited, hoping that Miles might be there, but he’s not. Instead, I’m treated to the grizzled, menacing presence of Pierre, who listens in silence as I tell my story. I know that they’re trying to discover exactly what Miles’s role in the whole thing was, so I make sure that I play up the way he saved my life, the fact that his training and knowledge brought us safely through the whole ordeal, along with a helping of good old-fashioned luck. I paint the relationship between us as that of a damsel in distress and the heroic, utterly chivalric knight who saves the day and protects the maiden and her purity with complete, unquestioning devotion. By the end, my father seems happier. It’s impossible to tell what Pierre thinks; his face is so creased and lined and battered that it’s difficult for emotions to make any impact on it, but that doesn’t really matter. He’ll follow my father’s orders. As long as Dad is happy, that’s all that counts.

Dad sits back thoughtfully behind his huge desk and frowns. ‘Well, as it seems as if Murray did play a crucial role in getting you through this.’

‘I’d be dead without him,’ I say frankly.

‘Yes but . . .’ He presses his fingertips together. ‘That doesn’t change the fact that it was his driving that took you off the side of the mountain. That’s the problem for me. The whole thing was his fault, even if he managed to save you from the consequences.’

I lean towards my father and say urgently, ‘No, Dad. You’ve got to believe me. It was my fault. Don’t blame Miles. I should never have demanded to be taken to the airport, or insisted he speed up, in those conditions. He was obeying my orders.’

Dad glances over at Pierre and they seem to exchange meaningful looks but I can’t work out what they’re saying by them.

‘Where
is
Miles?’ I demand, unable to wait any longer. The whole day he’s been on my mind, lingering in the shadows of it, like a dark and delicious secret. ‘I want to see him.’

‘Why is that?’ my father asks.

‘Why?’ I shoot him a look of frustrated bewilderment. ‘Because he saved my life! I haven’t had a chance to thank him properly yet, that’s why. Once we were rescued, we never had another moment to speak. And—’ I’ve tried to be calm and persuasive but I can feel anger building up in me now.
Why won’t my father treat me like an adult?
‘I want to make sure that you haven’t sacked him or decided to punish him for this! I’ve told you that it wasn’t his fault. Do you believe me or not?’

Dad looks at Pierre again and then back at me. ‘Of course I do, sweetheart,’ he says slowly, as though I’m a child needing to be pacified. ‘I know you want to protect Miles Murray, and that you feel strongly about it. But you’ve been through an ordeal and it’s our job to make sure that this is what it seems, that’s all.’

I frown, trying to decipher what he’s saying to me. ‘You mean – you think that there might be more to this than just an unfortunate accident? You’re crazy! I was there, and I can tell you exactly what it was like. That car was completely out of control. It was only Miles’s skill that managed to stop us being killed in it. I was frightened – really and truly frightened! There was no fakery about it, I can guarantee it.’

‘We know what you believe, honey,’ my father says, and the patronising tone in his voice just infuriates me more.

‘This is ridiculous!’ I declare. ‘You’re paranoid!’

‘I don’t think so,’ my father replies. ‘Remember what happened in the past.’

I go quiet, not knowing what to say to this. Things that happened long ago still have the power to leap out and control the present. They’re still shaping my future too. I close my eyes for a moment as powerful emotions grip me: a mixture of fear, confusion and horror. Things I’ve tried to block out of my memory rise up and clutch at me, delighted to be resurrected and to prove their power to control me no matter how hard I try to escape. My hands ball into fists and my nails cut into my palm. I’m glad. I want the pain to bring me back to the here and now. I open my eyes and take a deep breath. ‘That doesn’t have anything to do with what just happened to me. I know it – with my whole being.’

Pierre speaks at last. ‘We have to investigate.’ His harsh, rasping voice, heavy with its French accent, always sounds as if it’s rusty through lack of use. ‘We have to be sure.’

I turn to him. ‘But you hired Miles. You investigated his background. You know that he’s one hundred per cent trustworthy.’

Pierre stares back at me, impassive as a rock. His face, craggy and scarred, repels me.

‘Well?’ I demand. ‘Isn’t that right?’

‘We have to be sure,’ he repeats, with a finality that tells me he won’t be saying any more.

I swing back to look at my father. ‘Dad, tell him all this is a waste of time. Where is Miles? I want to see him.’