Bombshell - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 21

  I couldn’t believe that Bel had betrayed me like this. I decided who to tell, not her! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her. I’d been so fucking lonely, so fucking weak.

  And I’d spent six months forcing myself to forget her—to forget how she’d felt beneath me, surrounding me; to forget how her eyes shone when we were together, how her voice sounded sinfully husky when she woke up in the mornings. I’d forced myself to forget; trained myself to go a whole minute without thinking of her, then five minutes, then a whole hour.

  But now the memories all came rushing back in technicolour.

  My blaze of anger dissipated quickly.

  The truth was I didn’t know what to feel. I was a professional at keeping my emotions turned to zero, and I’d spent the last two years closed off to human interaction. But Bel had crept under my skin. I’d told myself that getting involved with her was a bad idea, that she’d never stand up to her father. But here she was, proving me wrong. Again.

  A strange feeling floated inside me, a bubble of lightness, a feeling that might have been hope.

  Damn her.

  Arabella

  SINCE I’D HIJACKED the Hunt Ball and earned my father’s subsequent anger, I’d been staying at the London townhouse. A strategic withdrawal, also known as, abject cowardice.

  I’d taken the offensive on my plan to regain my own life, starting with a quiet word here and there that had culminated with the Master of the Hunt agreeing that the fundraising could, for once and against all tradition, be diverted to the Halo Trust.

  I’d dropped ten pounds in the weeks before the Ball, terrified that someone would reveal my plans to Dad, which would mean that he’d stop them dead in the water. But, thankfully, that hadn’t been the case, and I’d been able to start on my second project: to clear James’s name, to have the ‘administrative discharge’ struck from his record, and for his heroism to be acknowledged.

  What I hadn’t expected was a call from the Halo Trust’s HQ to ask to meet with me.

  The very next day, I’d flown up to their offices in Dumfries, 80 miles south of Edinburgh in the Scottish Borders, excited and nervous. I desperately wanted this part of my fresh start.

  In the charity’s small reception, I was met by the Director of Operations, a lean, weather-beaten man with steel-grey hair and intense brown eyes. Obviously ex-Army. After spending so much time with James and Clay, I could spot the signs a mile away.

  “Lady Arabella, very good to meet you at last.”

  “And you, Sir Graham, but my friends call me Harry,” and the man I love calls me ‘Bel’.

  I banished the thought immediately.

  “And I’m Gray. Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

  He barked an order at a female member of staff who rolled her eyes at him, then smiled at me.

  “Please, come through to my office. Forgive the clutter—we’re dealing with a situation … a serious problem with a team in Syria at the moment,” and he frowned, the heavy lines of his forehead as deep as a ploughed field.

  “I understand,” I said quietly.

  And I did. I really did. I’d been there, I’d lived it.

  His eyes narrowed and his hard face became even grimmer.

  “I would like you to know that what happened to you…”

  I held up my hand to stop him.

  “I don’t hold the Trust responsible, Gray. One bad day doesn’t negate the value of my experience in Nagorno Karabakh or your work. Not for me. Yadigar Aghayev was arrested—I know that he has connections and the outcome isn’t clear…”

  Gray gave a thin smile.

  “One of the reasons that I wanted to see you was to tell you in person that the bast— person in question has been formally charged and could well see a number of years behind bars.”

  My eyebrows shot up.

  “Really? I thought his connection with his police cousin made him untouchable.”

  “That was his second mistake,” said Gray. “His first was laying one miserable finger on you.” He tapped the desk with his pen. “Let’s just say that the regional government values the capital potential that clearing the land of mines will bring, more than the value of a corrupt official or his relatives.”

  I gave a weak smile of relief.

  “So he can’t hurt anyone else? What can I say? Thank you.”

  Gray shook his head.

  “It should never had happened. And I wouldn’t have blamed Spears for killing the bastard.”

  I paled at the sound of James’s name, and Gray backtracked quickly, but for the wrong reasons.

  “My apologies, Harry. I won’t mention it again. Just know that it’s been dealt with.”

  “Thank you,” I said weakly.

  “Now,” he said, moving on rapidly. “Damn fine job you did with that Hunt Ball. We appreciated that cheque. And three Gauss’s for Clay Williams’ team. Excellent!”

  “You are very welcome.”

  “And the publicity for us has been incredible. We’ve had donations that have doubled the money you raised.”

  “Oh my goodness! That’s wonderful!” I said, stunned and delighted.

  “Yes, it is. So, I’ll get to the point. Firstly, we’re fully behind your father’s petition on behalf of Spears, and we’ve got our PR team working on it now. He’s been a hard man to contact, comms being what they are in Luanda, but by now he’s been made aware of the situation.”

  I winced inwardly. I could only imagine how angry James would be now that I’d outed him to the world’s media. I’d stripped him of his right to privacy. And even now, with the additional money raised for the Trust, I wondered if I’d done the right thing.

  Gray drew my attention back to him by slapping a document onto his desk in front of me.

  “We’d like to offer you a full-time paid position as our Director of Events Fundraising. It’s a self-starting position, so you could work from home, with occasional visits to HQ, on a need by need basis. What do you say, Harry? You’re just the man, um, woman for the job.”

  I was very nearly speechless, but all those ghastly months at Finishing School were useful for something.

  “It would be my honour,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “Excellent!” he grunted, pushing the papers towards me. “Read the contract and sign it when you’re ready.” He leaned forward. “Frankly, we want to capitalize on all the publicity that you’ve sent our way. We need you, Harry.”

  I felt tears spring to my eyes. No one had ever needed me before. It felt wonderful.

  It was several minutes before the blurriness cleared from my eyes and I was able to read the contract.

  Gray was tactful enough to bustle about while I sipped my tea and read the papers, signing with a flourish at the end.

  I pushed the signed contract back across the desk to Gray.

  “I’m ready to start.”

  We both stood up to shake hands.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Come and meet the rest of the team.”

  THE NEXT FEW days flew by. If my father thought that he’d be able to wriggle out of helping James, he was wrong.

  I’d long ago learned his email login, so I was able to check his calendar, which meant I could direct journalists to doorstep him wherever he went.

  It worked beautifully, and with every interview and comment, he dug himself in deeper. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to realize that backing out now would do him permanent damage.

  Playing him at his own game was enormously empowering.

  Which wasn’t to say that I wasn’t ready to shit a brick when Mrs. Danvers informed me with an evil smile that my father had arrived at the townhouse and wished to see me.

  “Immediately, Lady Arabella.”

  I smiled at her as she walked away.

  “And may warts grow on your vagina.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

  “I said I do hope that you’ve recovered from your angina.”

>   “I don’t have angina,” she snapped.

  “Oh, my mistake. I’m so glad.”

  When I continued to smile at her, she turned away with a puzzled look.

  I knew that it was petty to bait a member of staff, but the old cow had lorded it over me my whole life. I really did hope she got warts. Lots of them. Everywhere.

  I took a deep breath, and began the feared walk to my father’s study, when a shocking thought occurred to me: I don’t have to do what he says anymore.

  Liberated by that thought, I turned around and headed to my room. I had work to do for the Trust. People were relying on me.

  It felt scary, but wonderful.

  Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Danvers was back.

  “Lady Arabella, your father is still waiting for you!” she hissed.

  “I’ll be down shortly,” I said distractedly, scrolling through a cascade of emails on my laptop.

  “Now!” she snapped.

  I turned around slowly, surveying her from head to foot, then spoke with the quiet, authoritative tone that I’d learned from James. I just wished I could infuse it with the same sense of danger, an unspoken threat. Maybe one day.

  “As you can see, Brown,” I said clearly, remembering her real name just in time, “I’m rather busy with something that actually matters. You may tell my father that I’ll be available when I’ve finished in approximately 45 minutes. And,” I continued, my tone hardening even further, “I don’t appreciate being spoken to in that peremptory manner. Please close the door behind you on your way out.”

  She gasped, her face going stiff, and left the room shutting the door with a firm click.

  Three minutes later, my father barged in without knocking, all but frothing at the mouth.

  “I’ve had enough of your fucking games, Arabella.”

  I stared at the stranger who called himself my father.

  “Why’s that, Daddy? You’ve been playing games for years: mind games are your favourite past time—after making money, of course.”

  His face started to redden.

  I was honestly scared and my heart was hammering as if I’d been sprinting, but I refused to show it. After all, I’d survived Yad’s attack, and I’d survived watching the man I loved walk up to neutralize a booby-trapped car bomb, so I knew I was strong. My father had made me resilient, too—I just hadn’t known it until this moment. He could stamp and snarl and shout all he liked; he could even hit me, and I wouldn’t change a single thing.

  “You stupid cunt!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve had to waste hours on fucking journalists. Hours! It’s going to stop! NOW!”

  I gave him a wintry smile.

  “It’s not, Daddy. It’s really not going to stop. It’s going to go on and on and on, until this terrible wrong has been righted. Don’t you want to look like a hero, Daddy?” I taunted him. “Because we both know that good publicity is just the other side of the coin from bad publicity. If you back out now, everyone will see you for the cold-hearted bastard that you really are.”

  For a long moment, I really thought that he was going to hit me, but then an ugly smile formed on his face, and he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Oh, so that’s what it’s about. You fucked him, didn’t you?”

  And he gave a loud, vicious laugh.

  “Jesus Christ, Arabella! You really are a stupid cunt, falling for a fucking failure like Spears.”

  “He’s not a failure,” I said hotly, beginning to lose my careful control. “He’s a hero.”

  “He’s a one-minute wonder, and a penniless one at that. You’re really pathetic. Couldn’t you at least have chosen an officer? Someone of your own class, for fuck’s sake! God, you have the standards of a guttersnipe.”

  “And you have the morals of an alley cat, so I think that makes us even,” I said, lifting my chin, even though I was ashamed to sink to his level of name-calling.

  An icy silence descended.

  “Say that again and you’ll regret it,” he said coldly.

  “I will say this: I love James and I want the best for him.”

  I certainly wasn’t going to tell the old bastard that my relationship with James had already irretrievably broken down. That wasn’t the point. Not for any of this. It never had been.

  He lunged forwards and grabbed my shoulders, pushing his face into mine so I could see the tiny blood vessels in his eyes.

  “You really think this is what you want, Arabella?” he asked, shaking me roughly so my brain sloshed around inside my skull. “A grubby little life with a shabby little man?”

  “How dare you!”

  My father’s expression was that of a tank about to drive over everything I cared about.

  He shook me again then dropped me like a piece of rubbish, but he’d changed his bullying tone to one of amused reasonability.

  “Arabella, are you willing to leave behind your class, your clothes, your £150,000 a year allowance? You know that without me, without the family name, you’d be lost.” He smiled thoughtfully. “We’ve all had our little affaires with the servant classes. They can be very diverting. I remember a stable lass we had when I was fifteen. Great way to get broken in, but I can promise you this,” and his voice became threatening again. “Once the sex becomes a bore, monotonous, or he tires of you, whichever comes first, you’ll be back here, begging me…”

  “I won’t! I don’t want anything from you.”

  He slammed his hand against the wall by my head.

  “You have no skills! You’d never survive. You’re an infant with a woman’s body, but no brain! You’d never survive in the real world. You can’t even boil a kettle.”

  A year ago, I’d have agreed with him, but not anymore. My body was trembling, but I wasn’t giving in without a fight, a tiny gesture of disagreement.

  “I disagree, and besides, what I don’t know, I can always learn.”

  He laughed, giving me a fatherly smile that chilled my blood.

  “Four boarding schools and a finishing school in Geneva would beg to differ,” he said drily. “You’re nice to look at, Arabella, but you’re rather dim. But that doesn’t matter—many men prefer a stupid wife.”

  His expression darkened again. It was the quixotic temper that he used on his business enemies, wrong-footing them constantly with his changeability.

  “But that man! He’s a squaddie with no family and no prospects. Oh yes,” he smiled as I couldn’t help a surprised intake of breath. “I’ve had PIs looking into every aspect of his life: I know everything, and a hell of a lot more than you, you poor little cow. My God! He doesn’t even care about you—he loves the ghost of a coloured woman—a Muslim, for Christ’s sake. It’s degrading to even think about.”

  And with that, he’d finally managed to wound me, but he didn’t stop.

  “Are you really willing to throw it all away for this man?”

  His tone was disdainful and disbelieving, thinking that he’d won already.

  I stared back, my eyes traveling across his pressed shirt and three-piece suit, the Windsor knot in his silk necktie. He never had understood me.

  I cocked my head to one side.

  “What is it that you think I’m throwing away, Daddy?”

  He raised his arms wide, gesturing at the hand-painted wallpaper, the Georgian credenza that I used to store my underwear, the silk coverlet that had been imported from Xian in China for a mere £15,000.

  “You think you’ll be happy living with him in an ex-council flat because that’s all you can afford?” he sneered. “In fucking Reading of all places! Jesus, what a flea-infested ghetto. Is that the best you can do?”

  “Fine by me. Anything else I’m throwing away?”

  His expression was nonplussed.

  “Your name, your rank and position in life. Your family.”

  I counted to five. I didn’t have the patience to go any higher.

  “I have a new family now.” I meant the Tr
ust, but he didn’t need to know that. “Nothing else matters.”

  He laughed. He actually laughed at me.

  “He’s hardly suitable, Arabella.

  “Of course I understand that James isn’t ‘suitable’,” I said bitterly. “James is non-U … Not One of Us. You didn’t think he mattered when you left me alone in Nagorno; he wasn’t someone you’d have to worry about. I could have a discreet little affair with him. Is that what you thought? After all, I’m too shallow, too selfish to care about anyone other than myself. Isn’t that right, daddy dearest?”

  He looked away, already bored.

  “See if you feel the same after you’ve given up all those lovely credit cards that I pay for. I’ll give it a week.”

  My cheeks reddened, but I held my head up high.

  “Done.”

  I reached into my purse and pulled them out, slapping them down onto the credenza.

  For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Then he snatched them up, bent them in half and stuffed them in his pocket.

  I picked up my phone and pressed the button that I’d had ready to order myself a taxi. I’d always known that this moment was coming, one way or another.

  James didn’t think I’d ever stand up to my father, but now I was doing it. I was really doing it. James had given me the tools that I’d needed, but now I was using them all by myself. Well, almost by myself.

  I picked up my handbag, coat and laptop bag. My suitcases were already packed and in the hallway closet.

  “I’m leaving now, Daddy.”

  He didn’t even look at me as I brushed past him.

  Silence was his favourite weapon and he employed it ruthlessly. But it couldn’t hurt me anymore.

  “And the difference is,” I said slowly and clearly, “James loved me when I had nothing, he loved me when it mattered, and he loved me just as I am.”

  “Get out,” said my father.

  Arabella

  MY BLACK CAB dropped me at Alastair’s house overlooking Hyde Park. I’d been there many times before and I knew that he wouldn’t turn me away.

  His lovely old housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, opened the door. So different from Danvers—because she actually liked me.