Zara walked away from Xavier, then jogged, then ran down the stairs. She had to get away. From Xavier. From the house. From the betrayal.
She grabbed her handbag, raced out the front door and threw herself into her car. Rage and hurt and misery competed for first place in her heart.
It took three attempts to insert the car key, her hand trembled so violently. Finally, she threw the car in gear, slammed on the accelerator and tore down the drive.
She punched the brake when she came to the end of the drive. Her blurred vision made it impossible to continue. Roughly, she rubbed the wetness from her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to drive slowly and carefully. The restraint was so hard to manage when she wanted to scream, drive recklessly, do anything to take away the pain. The acute pain of lost love and mighty betrayal.
Today, the narrow lanes to the Meadows seemed to be designed as an infuriating obstacle course. Sinister clouds blocked out the sun. A few minutes later, hard, fat raindrops poured from the sky. If she hadn’t been so desperate to speak to her father, she’d have pulled over. But she wanted answers. Safety could wait.
Finally she manoeuvred into a parking spot at the Meadows. She ran through the building to her father’s room and yanked open the door without knocking. She walked into the middle of the room.
‘Tell me again what happened that night?’ she demanded. She’d never used such a strident tone with her father. She held her hands in fists to stop them from shaking. Her father could fly into a terrible, frightening rage. But she had to know. Needed to be told what had really happened. The truth about that night
But he didn’t reply. He shuffled further upright against his pillows and fixed her with an inquisitorial stare over the pages of the book he was reading.
‘The night you discovered the jewels and tickets in Xavier’s room,’ she pressed.
Her father laid down his book as casually as if she’d asked about his health, not one of the Ravensdale family’s darkest moments.
‘You’ve heard it all before,’ he said, in an infuriatingly dismissive tone, but she caught the slight smile on his lips. She’d always suspected he somehow enjoyed relaying the details of that night.
‘Tell me again.’ She wanted to be sure. Absolutely sure Xavier Hunt was the man her father had always painted him to be . . . a deceitful, ungrateful viper. That the courts had got it right. That Xavier’s talk of a set-up was simply a way of refuting his own guilt.
Her father sighed heavily, as though her demand was the most tedious topic ever brought to his attention. He often played this game. Made her wait. Made her feel small. Made her feel pitiable. As though she were a tiny mouse at the mercy of an all-knowing, all-masterful cat.
‘No matter which way I tell it, Zara, the Hunts are guilty. I know you’ve always had difficulty believing that, even with all the damning evidence. We aren’t the first people to have been hoodwinked by criminals.’
‘But the evidence . . . it was all circumstantial. The jewels and airline tickets could have been planted. The phone call to the dealer, faked.’
‘The airline tickets?’ he said, a high note of frustration in his voice, the tone he saved for those he considered imbeciles. ‘They had one-way tickets booked to America. It’s not as if they’d mentioned the trip. I don’t remember receiving a letter of resignation.’
He shook his head, as though desperately sad he had to explain this all again.
‘And the witnesses?’ he went on. ‘What about them? They were paid to perjure themselves in court? You knew them, Zara. They were good people who liked the Hunts. We all liked the Hunts, but we were deceived.’
Local policeman Andrew Philpott and travel agent Jane Fairley had both delivered damning evidence against the Hunts. He was right. They had no motivation to lie.
The old man leaned forward as though he was coming to the best part of his tale.
‘And then of course there were Xavier’s own actions. Do you think a boy out on bail, who throws a rock at every window in the place that has been his home for five years, could be innocent? He smashed every one of the downstairs panes before the police arrived. No.’ Hugh jammed his finger into the bedclothes to emphasise his point. ‘That was the act of an angry man who’d been caught out. Look, Zara. He wanted some sort of revenge on us before he was locked up.’
She dropped into a chair and rubbed her fingers firmly across her brow, hoping to ease the anxiety building behind her eyes. As she’d thought so many times before, she couldn’t see how the crime could have been fabricated.
‘There’s something else.’ The edge in her father’s voice seized her attention in a flash. He pulled back the bedcovers and slowly manoeuvred his legs over the side of the bed. ‘You’re old enough now.’
Barbs of heat jabbed down her spine. She jerked up straight. ‘What?’
Hugh shuffled from his bed and moved slowly to the chest of drawers against the far wall of the room, the small distance taking an eternity. It was almost as though he was drawing out the climax of a thriller novel.
‘What is it, Daddy?’ she asked, hating the beseeching tone in her voice.
Hugh wouldn’t be rushed. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a wooden box. Opening it, he withdrew a small paper booklet.
He turned and hesitated. Her father wore an unusual expression of concern. Hugh didn’t usually show concern for anyone around him. The expression only appeared in public when etiquette required it. She pulled on her ponytail. This must be bad.
‘This is going to come as a shock, but with Hunt back on the scene, I think it’s important you know the truth.’ He gave the paper a flourish. ‘All of the truth.’
He held out the paper. Zara took it. It was an airline ticket. An American Airlines ticket. The old-fashioned kind, printed on paper, from the days before internet bookings and e-tickets.
She looked at her father confused.
‘Read the passenger name,’ her father directed.
She flicked through the multi-layered ticket until she found the name. Lilly Ravensdale. She frowned. Her mother? What did she have to do with Xavier stealing the jewels?
‘Mum? What?’ She looked up at her father. His expression was one she’d never seen before. It almost looked as though he was trying to suppress a grin, disguise an expression of triumph. What was going on?
‘Mum was planning a trip to the US?’ she asked.
‘Look at the date, Zara,’ he said, his tone now holding a note of frustration. ‘Your mother. She was going with them. They were leaving together. Charlie, Xavier and Lilly. Father, son and mistress.’
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Impossible. What her father was saying was impossible. She blinked hard and found the date. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. That terrible date was printed on the ticket. The same date as the one on Charlie’s and Xavier’s tickets, which had been presented in court.
The room blurred. Zara slumped back. The ticket fluttered to the floor.
‘They were leaving you behind.’ Her father’s words sounded very far away. ‘They were leaving us both behind.’
Her chest constricted. This couldn’t be. Her mother would never have left her. Never.
‘We were all conned,’ Hugh said, hobbling back to his bed. ‘Deceived by the Hunts and their scheme to strip us of our fortune. To strip you of your mother. And to steal my wife.’
He patted her shoulder clumsily as he shuffled past. His touch was so foreign and the situation so terrible, she nearly recoiled.
‘Charlie couldn’t leave his son behind, but Lilly was happy to leave you.’
She gripped the armrests of the chair.
‘No. Mum would never . . .’
But she hadn’t believed Xavier and his father were con artists either, and that had proven to be true.
The thumping of her pulse made it difficult to think. To make sense of anything. She picked up the ticket and checked the date again. She shook her head, but the truth was printed in faded ink.
But perhaps Charlie had booked the ticket for her mother. Could it be that her mother was ignorant of the plan?
‘Maybe Mum didn’t know about the ticket,’ Zara said, holding up the slip of paper.
Hugh shook his head and stared at her with scornful pity in his eyes. ‘Believe that, if it gives you comfort.’
The walls pressed in on her. Her breath caught in her throat. She pulled at the neckline of her top. She pushed her way from the room, as if trying to swim to the surface of a lake with her legs weighed down with concrete blocks. She ran blindly down the hall.
‘Are you all right?’ a nurse called, but Zara upped her pace.
Could she trust no one? She shoved through the exit and bolted into the pouring rain.
Did nobody love her?
The dawn light streamed through the window of the London hotel. Xavier had forgotten to draw the blinds the night before. He rubbed his dry eyes. It didn’t help. He hadn’t slept.
Throwing back the covers, he got out of bed. His neck ached. Rubbing at a hard knot at the base of his skull, he tried to ease the pain, but this gave him no relief.
Zara’s message bank was full, he’d called so many times. He’d waited for her until nightfall but she hadn’t returned to Ravensdale.
He banged the wall on his way to the bathroom. He’d been so incredibly stupid.
Of course the idea of buying Ravensdale Hall was a mistake. As soon as he’d seen the horror on Zara’s face, the reality of what he was doing smacked him hard in the guts. He wasn’t drawing a line under his past, he was throwing himself right back in it. There was no way he could change what had happened to him. No way he could clear his father’s name. What was the point of buying Ravensdale to build a legacy for his father? What would it achieve anyway? He knew his father wasn’t guilty. He knew he himself wasn’t guilty.
He walked into the ornate bathroom. Stripping off his shorts, he turned the shower on to full and stepped under the sharp blast of hot water. The temperature was too high, but he wanted to feel anything other than the misery hollowing out his stomach.
He’d leave Ravensdale and Zara behind. Life could never be as wonderful as those few moments of happiness with Zara. Too much damage had been done. He loved her so much, but it could never work if she didn’t believe him. Didn’t trust him. He shook his head. He’d given her no good reason to change her mind. He’d been stupid. So incredibly stupid.
Of course she’d think his plan underhand. No, Ravensdale would be better sold to a stranger. The past wiped away.
Leaning his head against the cool marble, he closed his eyes. How could he have messed it all up so badly? Usually everything he did turned to gold, not to disaster.
He straightened and thrust his face under the stream of water. At least coming back to England had convinced him of one thing. He wanted to return to his home country. The new series he’d negotiated with the BBC would be the perfect motivation to come home.
And stay.
At last.
Life in America had been incredible, like living in one of those ‘rags to riches’ movies. But that world had always seemed like a precursor to real life. The real life that awaited him in Britain. Like a film trailer before the main feature.
Soaping up his hands, he ran them all over his chest and torso. The image of Zara’s naked body crashed into his mind. His pulse surged. How was he going to get over her all over again?
He tore the image from his mind, roughly washed the suds from his body, turned off the shower and grabbed a towel.
Maybe coming to England was a terrible idea. Being so close to Zara and never having her as his own would kill him.
He scrubbed his body with the soft cotton. He’d have to change his plan. He’d have to overcome homesickness. Make America his home. Forever. He’d complete the BBC series and leave the past in the past.
But even as he thought it, he knew he’d never be able to leave it all behind. England was his home. Zara would be his. His fists bunched into hard balls. He wouldn’t stop until he got what he’d come for.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he strode into the bedroom. He’d drive to Ravensdale and remain until Zara was back in his arms. That beautiful woman made him complete, and that was all there was to it.
A noise captured his attention. Was his phone vibrating? Why wasn’t it ringing? He frowned, then slapped his brow. He’d lent the phone to one of the BBC executives. She’d had to bring her son to work and he’d given the child his phone to play games. He’d turned off the sound so it wouldn’t disturb their meeting.
Picking up the device, he checked the screen. Hell! Ten missed calls from his assistant. He looked at his watch. Something was clearly wrong. He rang Julia in the US.
‘Hey, Julia. What’s up?’
‘Xavier. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.’
The urgency coming from his usually calm assistant sent a chill down his spine.
‘Why? What is it?’
‘It’s all over the news. Your . . . ah . . . your . . .’
‘My what?’
Julia hesitated. He heard her draw in a breath.
‘Your criminal past.’ His assistant rushed out the words in a funny high-pitched voice.
‘What?’ he roared into the phone.
‘There’s more,’ Julia said tentatively. ‘The BBC has been on the phone. They’re cancelling the series. Something about a morality clause.’
He gripped the phone so tightly he was surprised it didn’t shatter.
Zara!
It had to be Zara. She was taking her own revenge. Besides Hugh Ravensdale, all the other people who knew about his background were bound by confidentiality agreements, and they hadn’t broken their silence in fifteen years. No, this was Zara. Pay back for trying to buy Ravensdale Manor.
‘I’ll call you back.’
He threw the mobile on the bed, powered up his laptop and googled his name. News headlines filled the screen.
Billionaire Celebrity Gardener’s Dirty Past
Xavier Hunt, Youth Criminal
Granite Outdoor Clothing Cancels Sponsorship Deal with Hunt Worth Millions
He jammed his nails into his palms to stop himself hurling the computer into the wall. All the anger, all the shame, all the years of suppressing the desire to bring down the Ravensdales poured into one dark and dangerous idea.
He’d buy Ravensdale Manor and raze it to the ground.