Bombshell - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 19

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for…”

  “Stop right there! Stop freezing me out! I don’t deserve that. Please! Just talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  I wanted to show how frustrated that made me; I wanted to hit something, but I knew that wouldn’t help.

  “Then I’ll talk.”

  He stared at me warily.

  “What you did last night was beyond heroic. Was that really just another day at work for you?”

  I knew that my voice was shaking but I couldn’t stop it.

  James just looked at me and nodded.

  It was as if he’d shut off his emotions as easily as turning off a tap. There was no hint of the passion which I knew he was capable of. It was eerie and it scared me.

  “Well, it was amazing. You’re amazing. And I get, sort of, why you need to think it through on your own,” my lips trembled. “But you’re not alone. I’m with you.”

  He looked at me for the longest time, searching for something in my face. I didn’t think he’d found whatever he wanted, whatever he was looking for, but at least he spoke.

  “All the time in Nagorno, you were counting the days until you could go home. But why, Bel? What have you got to go back to?”

  I swallowed, blinking hard. I’d changed so much since I’d left the UK. It was hard to remember the emotions I’d felt when my father had dumped me there. Even so, his question wrong-footed me. Why had he brought that up now?

  But at least he was talking again.

  I tried to explain.

  “At first, I just felt lost. But after I was in Nagorno for a while, I began to … fit. I was useful. I told you that I’d never had a job before, so it felt good to be able to contribute to something important.”

  “Yeah, I get that, so why go home to that old bastard?”

  “It probably doesn’t make much sense to you—or to anyone else—but I need to go home to face up to who I am. I have to face up to my father, to stand up to him, or I’ll never be able to be strong. Do you understand?”

  Oh, sure, I had a plan. Go home, tell my father that I didn’t need him, then prove it by living my own life. But all of that meant leaving James until I’d got my life sorted out. I just wasn’t sure my heart would survive it.

  I could see from his expression that he didn’t understand what I was so badly trying to explain to him.

  “I asked you to come with me, but I won’t beg. Not again. The door’s open, but you’re the one who’s got to walk through it.”

  “I…”

  “What do you want, Bel?”

  You.

  “I want an everyday love. I don’t want a shooting star, I want a love that lasts.”

  He didn’t even blink.

  “Don’t you get it? Guys like me don’t do relationships because we can’t. You think you can fix me, but you can’t. What if we did the whole marriage and kids thing…”

  I was stunned, but he didn’t notice.

  “…and five years from now something sets me off? I’m a ticking time-bomb, and you do not want to be around me when I explode.”

  I held my breath as the pain in my chest grew worse.

  “You’ll want me to give this up. You’ll want me to do a ‘normal’ job,” and he pulled a face. “I can’t, and you know why? A shrink told me once why danger is addictive. The bigger the event, the bigger the hit of dopamine, but then it loses its novelty so you keep on needing bigger hits. So, no. I can’t give you that. All I have is this, me.”

  He was giving out mixed signals. Possessive, but ready to bolt at the first sign of affection; demanding, yet aloof.

  I was so in love with James, I couldn’t remember how my life had been before him.

  And he was wrong, so wrong, but he couldn’t see it. I knew the real James was in there, screaming to be let out, but I couldn’t reach him, couldn’t touch him, and if I didn’t find a way to unlock his prison, he might be trapped there for the rest of his life.

  Maybe he would understand in time.

  We were leaving in the morning with a flight booked to Paris. We’d be there for five days to be debriefed by the Halo Trust team. Part of this would involve meeting with their shrink, which was standard practise after a long deployment or an incident, apparently. Then there’d be a couple of days to decompress and enjoy the city. After that, Clay and Zada were going home on leave, before prepping for Angola in five weeks.

  Clay and Zada seemed to assume that I was going back to the UK with James, but I wasn’t certain of any such thing. I wasn’t certain of anything at all.

  I lay there, chilled and panicked. Finally, I screwed up every tiny piece of courage I had and turned to James.

  “Make love to me?”

  He hesitated long enough to stop my heart.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t be with me because it’s easy, James, because I’m here, because I’m convenient, because I won’t say no to you.” I took a deep breath, studying the closed expression on his face. “I want you to choose me. Do you understand? Choose the living, not the memory. You have to make a choice. You have to decide. You have to choose me.” I paused and looked down. “I’ll understand if you don’t.”

  He ran his rough fingers down my cheek, his mouth finding mine. A tentative kiss turned to a heated one and our bodies shared the emotions that our lips would never speak.

  For a few hours, we were together again.

  WHEN I WOKE in the morning, uncertainty still hovering over me, I felt James’s hand on my stomach. I breathed in deeply, the essence of our bodies and lovemaking in the air around us.

  But his hand slipped away, and I heard the rustle of the sheets as he stood up.

  A second later, he dropped a soft kiss onto my shoulder, and I smiled.

  “So I was thinking,” he said, “after we’ve done our debrief in Paris, I’m not really interested in going back to the UK. Clay says we can tag along with him and Zada. I wouldn’t mind seeing California. What do you think?”

  It sounded wonderful, but my heart sank. Hadn’t he heard anything that I’d said to him yesterday?

  He didn’t give me a chance to answer, relaxed as he turned on the hot water in the shower.

  I joined him quickly, because I wanted to remember forever the way he felt now, his warm silky skin under my fingers. He looked surprised, but he didn’t send me away.

  Then I had to hurry to dress and finish packing before meeting Clay and Zada for breakfast.

  James hadn’t pressed for an answer to his suggestion, and I wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or not. Anxiety was a great appetite suppressant, and I picked at the Pamidorov Dzvadzekh, a sort of tomato dish with scrambled eggs added in. It was certainly more appealing than the other traditional item on the menu: Hash, a dish of simmered cow’s hooves.

  We all heard the whop-whop of the helicopter’s rotor blades at the same time. Clay frowned as he stared out of the window.

  “It’s private, not military or police. I’d say for a diplomat, but they probably wouldn’t stay in a two-star hotel.”

  They all turned to look at me, and my stomach fell as the helicopter noise increased.

  We watched as it landed in the ornamental garden in front of the hotel, crushing the rhododendrons.

  There was only one person who’d act with such arrogance.

  “Better be up front and centre,” murmured Clay, standing up and heading outside.

  We all did the same, and I squared my shoulders, knowing that I’d see my father soon.

  He was the first to step out of the helicopter, his steel-grey hair and overcoat as familiar to me as breathing. I knew that he’d be wearing one of his power suits, probably with a red tie.

  Clay looked at me, a question in his eyes. I shook my head and stared at my shoes.

  “Williams,” barked my father, extending his hand.

  He shook hands with Clay but ignored James and Zada who were standing at one side, then
fixed his gaze on me.

  “Well, Arabella. Trouble follows you, even here.”

  My jaw dropped open.

  I should have known he’d blame me for everything that had happened, I just hadn’t expected to hear the verdict given so brutally or so publically. I should have known better. I really should have. But I’d honestly thought there’d be a shred of concern for what we’d been through—for what I’d been through. I was wrong.

  “Your daughter survived a serious assault, sir,” said James, striding forward his arms folded across his chest, his eyes glacial. “I’m sure you’re concerned for her well-being.”

  My father used silence like a sword. His contempt for me showed in every breath, every blink of his eyes.

  Dad simply turned away from James without replying and focussed on Clay.

  “I trust this won’t hold up work for too long. I’ve told your superiors at Halo that I expect the Nagorno project to be completed on time regardless.”

  Clay’s eyes flashed with anger. It took a lot to make him lose his cool, but my father had a way of getting under everyone’s skin.

  “The Trust will undertake a risk assessment to ensure the safety of any replacement team,” Clay said clearly. “That will be their first priority. And it will take time.”

  “More delays,” my father spat out. “Fucking ridiculous. What sort of show are you people running? I was told you were professionals.”

  “We are,” said Clay. “Which is why the safety of the personnel comes first. I hope I’ve made that clear, Mr. Forsythe.”

  I saw my father bristle. If there was one thing he hated, it was not having his title used. He glared at Clay, and some silent message passed between them. Then my father turned to me again.

  “Your presence has endangered the team and my company’s investment,” he said to me. “Get in the helicopter, Arabella. I’m sending you home.”

  My humiliation was now complete. I didn’t have the strength to fight him, not here, not now, not while I was still so raw inside. I needed to go home and pick my battleground. I hoped that James would understand. It was a very tiny hope.

  I turned to Clay and Zada.

  “Thank you so much for everything,” I said. “You guys have been amazing and I’ve learned so much.”

  Clay wrapped his arms around me, bending his height to hug me back.

  “Look after yourself, Harry. Don’t be a stranger.”

  But Zada’s gaze threw daggers, her anger palpable.

  I stepped back, shocked.

  Then James grabbed my hand and turned me to face him.

  “Bel, don’t go. You don’t have to go with him.”

  His voice was low and gruff.

  I stared up at him, tears threatening as I forced them back.

  “James, I have to go. Please! Remember what I told you.”

  My father glanced at his watch impatiently.

  “Very touching, now get in the fucking helicopter.”

  James walked away without another word. I began to go after him, but my father caught my arm and gave me a warning look.

  Clay started forward, but I shook my head.

  “It’s okay…”

  It really wasn’t.

  Zada’s lips curled, and she gave me a hard, thorough, dismissive look.

  “You’re not worthy of taking her place. You haven’t even tried to fight for him.”

  I nodded once, as if confirming what I’d feared, and I walked away, my head held high. I pretended that I understood, I pretended that I wasn’t crushed, and I pretended that I still had a sliver of pride.

  I didn’t. I had none, nothing. And now I had no one.

  As I boarded the helicopter and Yerevan began to fall away, growing smaller with each second, I let the first tear fall.

  For all that I had lost. For all that I had found.

  Six months later…

  Arabella

  MIST DRIFTED OVER the moat making Roecaster Castle eerie and mysterious, a modern-day Brigadoon. The rural rhythm had been shattered by hundreds of guests, and the gravel driveway was lined with Bentleys, Rollers, and a ridiculous display of high-performance sports cars. I spotted Alastair’s new Ferrari parked at a jaunty angle across the croquet lawn.

  I stared out of the small, leaded window, pressing my face to the cold glass. Down below, the grounds sparkled with a thousand miniature lanterns and I could hear the party-goers shouting with laughter.

  Once, I would have been down there with them—the loudest of them all, the drunkest, the wildest.

  I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.

  Even surrounded by crowds of party-goers, I’d never felt so lonely. I didn’t know missing someone could be so physically painful, as if half my body had been hacked away.

  I loved James Spears with my heart and soul, and every breath.

  Something that only happens once in a lifetime … if you’re lucky

  And he was missing someone, too, but it wasn’t me. It would never be me. Not in the same way, never. And how could I compete with the idea of a woman like Amira? Someone who was perfect—beautiful, committed, a martyr to humanity. Killed saving lives.

  I was just a waste of everything—space, life, the air I breathed.

  If I understood the intense pain I felt, maybe I could make friends with it?

  But without love, what’s the point of any of it?

  If only that could have been our happy ending—all that hope, all that optimism. But life isn’t like that.

  We were going to defy the odds, defy everyone. I thought I understood how hard it would be, but I was wrong. So wrong.

  James knew. James who’d left school at 16, James who hadn’t passed his GCSEs, he knew. My expensive private education, my three years at university, the Swiss finishing school amounted to nothing compared to his knowledge, his understanding of the brutal realities and complexities of life.

  The last six months had been hard. Such a small word for everything that I’d felt, everything I’d endured.

  I’d come back to London with my father, but couldn’t stand being in the same house as him; so complacent, so overbearing now he’d brought me to heel.

  The only thing that kept me going was the belief that I wasn’t worthless—and I needed to make things right for James. For the first time ever, my life had a direction and purpose. I had the why; I just needed to work on the how.

  Licking my wounds and sick to my stomach of London and my feckless and false friends, I headed for my childhood home, Roecaster Castle.

  There, in the empty rooms and empty nights, I’d begun to formulate a plan that could achieve my goals. At first, it was tentative and weak, but each day my vision became clearer, my idea stronger. And I began to believe that I could pull this off. I just needed a little help and a speck of luck.

  Well, I wasn’t my father’s daughter for nothing. All those endless business dinners that he’d dragged me to, all those tedious events, all those bores that I’d had to entertain and charm for him—I knew people, I had connections. And I planned to exploit them as ruthlessly as my father ever had. But not with threats and bullying; with persuasion and smiles, with charm … and with justice on my side.

  I was doing it for James and all the men and women who risked their lives, like him. I was doing it for myself, too.

  And if there was one thing I knew, it was how to throw one hell of a party.

  I took a deep breath and pulled the ice-blue satin dress over my head, feeling the soft rush of material against my bare skin. Then I turned to stare in the mirror. I’d chosen this dress because the colour reminded me of James’s eyes. Even thousands of miles away, he was always with me.

  I let that thought settle into my heart with a pained smile.

  Always with me, but forever apart.

  And I was finding my way to live with that. I’d found my cause, my reason for living. I’d be okay on my own, I knew that now. It was James’s final gift to me.

  I straightened
my spine and swept from the room, gliding along the thickly carpeted hallway until I reached the top of the stairs.

  I gazed down the wide double staircase that framed the entrance hall of Roecaster Castle, the Forsythes’ ancestral home, taking in the glowing crystal chandeliers, the vibrant bouquets of gardenias, their intoxicating fragrance drifting upwards.

  And beyond, I saw the scarlet tailcoats of the Hunt members, the women pale jewels in the ballroom beyond. It was a scene that had been reenacted for hundreds of years in this very place, only the beeswax candles making way for electricity, the women’s dresses a little racier, the décolletage a little deeper, the gowns clinging to subtly tanned bodies, whitened teeth, and carefully dyed hair.

  The clink of glasses and the sound of laughter filled the vast rooms. It looked perfect, if you ignored my father’s simmering resentment, the shallowness of the friendships, the desperate, forced enjoyment. Ah yes, looks were everything, and I was an expert at faking it.

  I paused at the top of the staircase, allowing the crowd to run their greedy little eyes up and down me, smiling coolly as a ripple of applause began as I descended, step by step.

  “I say, Harry, you look absolutely delish,” cooed Alastair, abandoning Lady Marchman’s daughter, Cordelia, to take my elbow and escort me into the ballroom.

  “You are a darling,” I smiled, shedding his arm with ease as I snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter. “Do give my regards to your mother when you see her.”

  He gaped at me open-mouthed as I sailed past.

  Sinclair, our ancient butler, bowed when he saw me.

  “Everything is ready for the slide show, Lady Arabella.”

  “Thank you, Sinclair.”

  “And if I may be so bold, Lady Arabella, I’m very proud of you.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I’d known Sinclair my whole life, grown up with his silent glares of disapproval as he prowled the many rooms of the castle. He saw everything, knew everything, and sealed it all behind thin lips and an impassive exterior.

  I blinked rapidly.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

  He gave a tiny smile, bowed, and continued with his duties.