Season of Desire: Complete Edition (37 page)

‘But you
do
stop us!’ I say, my voice pleading now. ‘Can’t you see that?’

‘I keep you safe,’ Dad says obstinately. ‘As any loving father would do.’

‘You stifle us.’

We stare at each other, incomprehension and hurt flickering between us. Then my father looks at Miles again and says, ‘That man has betrayed the trust I placed in him. He has seduced you while in my employment. That is unforgiveable. It’s a gross dereliction of duty, and I intend to make sure that he never works for any reputable family again. He’s dismissed at once.’

‘Why?’ I shout, furious again. ‘What’s he done?’

My father’s face becomes angry again too. ‘What’s he done? Freya, he’s taken advantage of you for his own ends!’

‘You don’t know that!’ I cry. ‘You have no idea what happened!’

‘We can guess only too well!’ retorts my father. ‘An older man, and a young
rich
girl? Oh please! It’s obvious that he’s manipulated you and made you fall for him.’

‘And what about an older rich man and a young
poor
girl?’ I shoot back. ‘You don’t expect us to question Estella’s feelings for you. Why should you question Miles’s for me?’

My father’s expression turns icy. ‘What?’ he hisses. ‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me!’

‘How dare you compare my sweet Estella to this man!’

I’m speechless. I don’t know where to start. I can’t find the words, I’m so angry. My father takes advantage of my inability to speak.

‘You’re a thankless, ungrateful daughter!’ he yells, his face turning puce with anger. ‘You lied to me about your whereabouts, and you’ve let yourself be made a fool of by this man. You’re not just a fool to me – you’re a fool in front of the whole world!’ He snatches up another newspaper and lifts it up.

In one smooth movement, Miles is on his feet. His fists are clenched but otherwise he seems completely in control as he says in a low, menacing voice, ‘Mr Hammond, if you throw that paper at Freya, I swear I will knock you down.’

Pierre leaps to his feet. ‘Murray, sit the fuck down! You’ll regret this.’

Miles turns to him, his face set hard. ‘You’re quite wrong if you think I’ll ever regret anything you can do to me.’

‘You’re fired!’ screams my father, almost spitting in his rage. ‘You get out of my property and never set foot in it again! If you come within one hundred yards of my daughter, I’ll have you sued! Imprisoned! And if you think you’re going to get a job in this country now, you’re completely mistaken!’

‘I kind of had the impression already that I was fired,’ Miles says, a tiny smile playing near his lips. ‘Okay. Fine. I’ve done nothing but care for Freya and protect her. You’re wrong about me, and I think that deep down you know it.’

‘I know nothing of the sort,’ Dad bellows. ‘Now get out!’

‘Okay.’ Miles puts out his hands in calming gesture. ‘I’m going. Don’t take this out on Freya, that’s all I ask.’

‘You’re in no position to ask for anything, Murray. And don’t you ever come near my daughter again.’

‘I think that’s down to Freya, actually,’ Miles says in a pleasant voice. He turns and begins to stride to the door. He stops opposite me and our eyes meet. His gaze makes me want to melt and he says in a caressing voice, ‘Don’t let him upset you, angel. Live life on your own terms, not his.’

‘Don’t go,
please
 . . .’ I whisper, my voice drenched with longing.

‘I have to. You see that, don’t you? But keep the faith. You’ll be okay.’ He smiles at me, that gorgeous half smile I love so much. I want to rush to him, kiss him, hug him and feel his strong arms around me. But I can’t move. ‘Bye, angel.’

He walks to the door, opens it and strides out. I feel as though my heart is being torn from me.

My father says in an icy voice, ‘Freya, you will never see him again, do you understand?’

I can’t speak. I’m watching the empty doorway where Miles has just exited.

‘You will never see him again,’ my father repeats. ‘He’s a traitor and a liar. Can’t you see that, Freya?’

But I can’t say anything. My throat is constricted and my eyes swimming. The vision of a life without Miles in it is too much to bear.

‘If you do,’ my father says in a tone I’ve never heard before, ‘you can leave this house and never come back. Do you understand, Freya? That man or your family. That’s your choice.’

I feel as though my heart will break.

Miles, I need you! Please . . . please . . . don’t leave me.

Chapter Twenty

I really don’t know if I can take this.

My emotions have been in a heightened state – one way or another – for so long that I’m exhausted. I’m so strung out by everything that’s happened that, even though I’m wound up to the point of tears, I can’t cry.

Miles walked out of my father’s study this morning, and out of my life. I couldn’t help wondering if he was glad that my father had dismissed him like that: he’d only come back because I’d begged him to, and I always knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t stay long. I’ve learned that Miles is a proud man, a man of principle and integrity. There was no way he would stay working for my father and Pierre when the two of them suspected him of duplicitous behaviour.

But what makes me lie on my bed, frozen and grieving, is fear. I’m afraid that Miles doesn’t feel anything for me. I replay every minute of our time together in the chalet, recalling what he said to me. He didn’t give much away, but I recall the look of pain on his face when I asked him if he was running away from a woman – the woman who, it turned out, was dead.

It’s hard not to leap to the conclusion that he still loves this dead woman, whoever she is.

But does that mean he feels nothing for me?

I bury my face in my pillow, and remember the moments of tenderness: the sweet snuggling in front of the fire, the breakfast he cooked me, the way he held my hand under the fur rug during our sleigh ride. He didn’t have to do those things. He wanted to do them – we both did. We ate and drank and laughed together; we made love and then slept wrapped up together, waking to the delight of sleepy smiles, lazy kisses and warm flesh.

Like a couple. A normal couple.

I remember how, when we talked about our future, Miles reminded me that I’m Freya Hammond, and told me I simply couldn’t walk out of my life. Maybe that’s it. Perhaps he won’t let himself fall for me because he believes it’s impossible that he and I could ever be happy together, ever have a future.

‘Miles, you’re wrong,’ I whisper into my pillow. ‘We do have a future – because I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I can’t go back to how things were, because my life simply wasn’t worth living. And I’ll do anything it takes to show you I mean it.’

The little voice in my head asks me:
what about the dead girlfriend? How can you compete with her, if he still loves her?

All I know is that she’s not here, and I am. Surely I have a chance – as long as I can show Miles how much I love him.

But where is Miles? His phone is switched off and he’s not replied to any messages. As far as I know, he’s simply disappeared.

The exhaustion of everything that’s happened catches up with me and I fall asleep on my bed for a few hours. When I wake up, groggy, it’s the early afternoon and my phone is flashing madly with an onslaught of messages. I sweep it up and scroll through them all, hoping desperately that one will be from Miles.

None of them are. They’re from friends demanding to know all the gossip about my love affair, or media outlets also demanding the same (as though I’d spill my secrets to them!), or just the usual crazy stuff from people who somehow manage to find out my email address and think that makes us soul mates.

There’s one from Flora:

OMG, you dark horse!!! So all along you and that hunky bodyguard were getting together! You kept that quiet. Sorry to see you’re the latest splash, honey. Come to Paris if you need to escape it all . . . xxx

And from Summer, who’s a little more succinct:

I THOUGHT YOU HATED HIM!!!! Xxx

I groan as I read the messages. Of course, I’d forgotten that the whole world now knows about my liaison with Miles.
Le Kiss!
It seems there’s no escape. I’m under scrutiny wherever I go. But who on earth recognised me, and was quick-thinking enough to take those long-lens shots when Miles and I kissed? The paparazzi have an extraordinary talent for sniffing out pictures that will make them money, that’s for sure.

And all my privacy disappears.

Only a day ago, my whereabouts were a secret and only two people knew I was with Miles in Klosters – Beth and Dominic. And now, anybody who can pick up a paper and read it knows. The papers will no doubt be in a frenzy of speculation over what that says about the accident and my romantic future. Well, let them obsess. I can’t care, or I’ll go mad. I just have to shut it all out and concentrate on what the hell I’m going to do next.

I ring downstairs for lunch to be brought to my room – I can’t face Jane-Elizabeth and her disappointment over my lies right now – and while I eat it, I answer the messages my friends have sent, usually with just a few words along the lines of how crazy the world has gone if I’m front-page news. I keep trying Miles but his phone remains off and none of the texts or messages I send are answered. All I want to know is where he is. I know so little about him, I can’t even begin to guess where he might have gone after leaving this place.

I’m staring at my phone, willing it to flash with a message from Miles and feeling utterly powerless. Then a thought strikes me.

I leap up and head for the door. Clutching my phone, I march to the lift and summon it. When it arrives, I take it down to the second floor and when the doors open with their tiny chime, I stride out, not caring if the cameras spot me or not. Last time I came to this floor furtively, secretly, but this time I’m reckless. Damn them all, why should I creep about in my own home, for God’s sake? I walk past the guards’ room with its bank of screens relaying all the activity through the property and then past the kitchen where there are preparations going on for the evening’s meal, judging by the aroma of cooking, then past the dining room and into the staff sitting room, where the television is playing. The atmosphere is livelier than when I was last here, but it’s still fairly quiet. A man in one armchair is reading a newspaper, while another is sprawled over the sofa, watching the game show on the television.

I walk in and say loudly, ‘Hi!’

Both the men turn to look at me enquiringly, and then leap to their feet when they see who I am. I recognise one as Thierry, a bodyguard and driver, but I don’t know the other.

‘Hello, miss,’ mutters Thierry. The other just stares at his feet.

‘Sorry to interrupt you,’ I say cheerfully. ‘I’ve got a quick question, that’s all. Do either of you know where I can find Miles Murray? Do you know where he’s gone?’

The gaze of the second man slides to the newspaper he was reading and which now lies abandoned on the floor where he dropped it. There’s the picture of Miles and me kissing on the snow slope. He looks back at me, wide-eyed, and shakes his head.

‘What about you, Thierry? Don’t you bodyguards tell each other things?’

Thierry also shakes his head. ‘Sorry, miss. I saw him this morning, but he didn’t say anything about his intentions.’

‘You saw him?’

‘Yes. He came down here with a look on his face like nothing I’ve ever seen. He went to his room and left a few minutes after that with his bag. I don’t know where he went.’ Thierry shrugs helplessly. ‘Sorry.’

His room. Of course. I’ll look there.

‘Okay, thank you. Apologies for disturbing you, go back to your TV show.’ I smile at them, then stride off out of the room and down the corridor. Thierry doesn’t do as I suggest but comes out after me, calling, ‘Miss, where are you going?’

‘Nowhere,’ I say, picking up my pace. I know exactly where Miles’s room is, thanks to my last foray here.

‘You can’t go down there!’ protests Thierry as I forge ahead, through the hall with the staff mail boxes and down the corridor towards room twenty-one. ‘Miss, stop!’

I turn around to face Thierry, who’s hurrying after me, his expression anxious. ‘Thierry – whose side are you on?’ I say pleasantly. ‘Mine and Miles’s – or my father’s?’

Thierry halts in the corridor and stares at me, his brown eyes confused. His mouth opens but he doesn’t say anything. I can tell that he’s thinking about the fact that while he might want to help Miles and me, it’s my father who pays his wages and it’s more than his job’s worth to be found permitting this kind of audacious act. ‘Sorry,’ Thierry says, ‘I’ll have to tell the house manager what you’re doing.’

‘Fine.’ I whirl round and am at the door of room twenty-one before he can do anything to stop me. The door stands ajar so I push through and slam it shut behind me. I know it won’t be long before Thierry fetches the house manager, who’ll have spare keys for the room, so I’ve only got a few minutes. I begin to search frantically, not even knowing what I’m looking for, except that there must be some clue to Miles’s whereabouts here. The room is almost completely bare, with only a few signs that someone recently occupied it. The sheets on the bed are rumpled – I long to inhale Miles’s scent but there’s no time for that – and the pillows dented. On the bedside table is a half-drunk glass of water. In the tiny bathroom, a towel has been thrown over the side of the shower and a bar of soap left in a dish on the side of the basin.