The Midnight Rose (49 page)

The sight of her crying brought Donald’s tirade to a sudden halt. “Look here, Mother, dry your eyes.” He awkwardly offered her a handkerchief from his pocket and she took it.

“You’re right,” Maud finally choked out. “I did hide those letters, or at least asked to have the post brought directly to me so that I could sift through it. But don’t you see that I was only trying to protect you? You say that it’s now accepted to marry someone such as her. I don’t know, maybe you are right. But on top of that, you were also selling this estate. What would you have had then, with an Indian bride and no family seat?”

“I would have had love, Mother,” Donald said quietly. “I would have been happy. But I can hardly expect you to understand that.”

She made no reply, appearing to be lost in her own thoughts.

“Thank you for admitting that you took her letters,” Donald said at last. “Now I have to try and sort out the mess this situation has left me in.”

“What will you do?”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that I have no intention of hurting Violet. None of this is her fault.” Donald eyed his mother and she had the grace to blush. “But equally, I’m not prepared to have the woman I love and the child she has borne me hidden away like a dirty secret, where I can’t watch my son growing up. So I’m going to suggest to Anni that she and Moh come to live nearby. I will provide them with a home somewhere on the estate.”

“But, Donald, what if Violet discovers the truth?” asked Maud, horrified.

“There are only five people in the world who know. I can vouch that none of them will tell. This is the only way in which I’m prepared to live out the lie you fashioned for me.”

“You took the decision to marry Violet, Donald,” Maud countered. “I didn’t force you down the aisle.”

“No, Mother, you did not,” Donald said. “But when all hope is lost, one hardly cares what the future holds. So, are we agreed?”

“As you wish,” she answered shakily, her eyes downcast.

“Good. Then I’ll set about finding Anni a suitable home. And,” he said as he walked toward the door, “perhaps one day you’d like to visit your grandson. He has your eyes.”

R
ebecca awoke to find herself sitting upright, Donald’s diary grasped in her hand. She had no idea when she had fallen asleep, but her dreams had again been disturbed and filled with the sound of strange high-pitched singing.

Flipping through the diary, she saw the entries stopped abruptly after September 1920, which disappointed her because she wanted to know more, especially about Violet. Rebecca looked at her watch and saw that it was past nine o’clock in the morning.

She climbed out of bed to use the bathroom, washed her hands and stared at her face in the mirror. There was no doubt that Donald’s description of Violet could just as easily describe her.

Rebecca shuddered suddenly. The sad thing was, from what she’d read, it wasn’t Violet whom Donald had loved, but a beautiful, exotic Indian girl from another world. Rebecca wandered about the suite of rooms, touching Violet’s possessions, smelling the now-familiar scent of her perfume, unable to shake off her growing sense of the surreal. This had been Violet’s bed, the one she had once shared with Donald. She was wearing Violet’s clothes every day, inhabiting the world in which she had lived . . .

“Jesus.” Rebecca sank into a chair in the sitting room, wondering what twist of fate it was that had brought her here to Astbury. It was impossible to ignore the similarities between the two of them.

“Becks, are you in here?”

A familiar voice broke into her reverie. “Yes,” she called, and a few seconds later, Jack burst through the door, followed by a red-faced Mrs. Trevathan.

“Hi, honey,” he said, walking over to her.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca, I know you need your rest and I did try to tell Mr. Heyward you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Trevathan,” Rebecca said calmly. “Don’t worry. I’m feeling better today.”

“All right, I was only doing as I was asked,” she said, turning around and shutting the door behind her.

“Thanks.” Jack collapsed into a chair and breathed a mock sigh of relief. “Who the hell does she think she is anyway? Your mother? How dare she try and stop me from seeing my fiancée? Now, come here and give me a hug.”

Rebecca didn’t move. She stared coldly at his bloodshot eyes and greasy, unkempt hair. He had obviously been out on another bender with James. “Good night last night?”

“Yeah, it was fun.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Jack looked at her uncertainly, trying to work out what she meant. Eventually, realizing she was being ironic, he went on the attack. “Stop treating me like a child, Becks! That’s half the problem with you,” he said, wagging his finger in her direction, “Miss Squeaky Clean and Perfect who doesn’t drink, never smokes, never does anything fun. Who thinks she’s so above us mere mortals who do.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Jack,” she answered wearily. “Listen. We really need to talk.”

“Oh Christ, here we go again—another lecture because I’ve been a bad boy. Well, get on with it then, Mommy, and smack me on my butt,” he said nastily.

“You’ve got a problem and you need to deal with it, Jack,” said Rebecca quietly. “I’m only saying this because I care for you and I’m scared that if you don’t stop it’ll simply get worse.”

“And which problem would this be?”

“Don’t be facetious, Jack. We both know you’ve been drinking too much, more or less since I met you, and you’re doing coke all the time. You’re an addict, Jack. And until you do something about it”—Rebecca steeled herself to say the words—“I can’t continue having a relationship with you.”

Jack threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Becks, you crack me up! Ever since you left to come to England, I’ve known that something was wrong. That maybe you’d fallen out of love with me, or perhaps there was someone else. And now, you sit here and pull the oldest trick in the book: you blame
me
and a problem that doesn’t even exist as an excuse to break up with me. Oh yeah”—Jack nodded in mock wisdom—“I can see it all.”

“Jack, I swear, the only problem I have with you is your drinking
and drug habit. When you’re sober and not on stuff, you’re just the greatest and I love you. But when you’re not, which is becoming more and more frequent, I simply can’t deal with you. So, what I propose is that you go back to LA and do something about it. If you do, I’ll be there every step of the way. But if you don’t . . .” Rebecca let the words hang in the air.

“So this is an ultimatum?” Jack stood up in front of her, arms folded. “Either I sort out a problem I don’t have, or we’re through. Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it and you know it. Who else is going to tell you the truth?” she entreated him. “Don’t you understand that this is as difficult for me as it is for you? I don’t want us to split up, Jack. I loved you from the first moment I met you. The only reason I haven’t said yes to marrying you so far is because I can’t cope with your problem.”

“So”—Jack started pacing around the room—“you’re asking me to go into rehab just to prove that I love you?”

“Oh, Jack, whichever way you want to phrase it, I can’t go on like this any longer. I’m sick, I have a film to shoot and whatever happens in the future, I want you to get help. Maybe, when I’m back home, we can talk then and see where you are.”

“Jesus, Becks! Will you stop patronizing me?” Jack sat down heavily again. “As a matter of fact, there’s a good chance I’ll be shooting a film with that guy I met the other day. And my manager has called to tell me he’s just received a couple of great scripts. So, even to please you, I may not be able to fit rehab into my schedule.”

“I’m happy some opportunities have come up for you, Jack,” she replied, exhausted now.

“Yeah, seems your guy isn’t as washed up as you’d have him believe. And if I have been going a bit heavy on the booze, it’s been out of boredom, nothing else. So”—Jack stared at her—“you’re serious? You want to call it quits?”

“No, I don’t, but I feel like I haven’t got a choice.”

“Okay!” Jack slapped his thighs and stood up. “I’m not going to stand here and defend myself any longer. If that’s what you want, that’s what you can have.”

“I’m so sorry, Jack, I really am.” Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.

“Sure you are,” he sneered. “But I think you should maybe ask yourself just why you’re giving me such a hard time for doing nothing except enjoying a party. I’m not your piss-ass drunk mommy,
Becks, and I don’t deserve to be treated like her either. And if you think this will break me, then you just watch this space. Perhaps you’d be better with a preacher than you would with a red-blooded male. But hey, that’s not my problem anymore. So, I guess I’ll say good-bye now.”

Rebecca felt as if she’d been slapped in the face by his dreadful words. She sat silently, unable to reply.

“Just one more thing,” Jack added, “as I’ve been dumped and sent back home for being a bad boy, it’s only fair to leave it to me to break the news to the media. I’ll ask my manager to put out a short statement. Okay?”

“Yes, say whatever you want.”

“I will. And I hope you don’t regret what you’ve done today. So long, Becks.”

Rebecca watched as the door slammed shut behind him. She shut her eyes and laid her head on the cool, silken fabric of the chair, reeling from Jack’s cruel reference to her mother. And yes, she acknowledged, he was almost certainly right. What she’d been through as a child had sensitized her to any form of substance abuse.

However, that didn’t make Jack’s behavior acceptable.

Tears pricked her eyes again as she realized the ramifications of what she’d just done and knew there would be no way back from here. Jack was used to women falling over themselves just to be close to him. She doubted he’d ever been dumped and would waste no time replacing her. When she saw future photographic evidence of it in the media, it would hurt like hell. But she had to accept that the Jack she’d once loved had disappeared.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Rebecca looked up and saw Mrs. Trevathan standing by the door and she shrugged silently.

“It’s none of my business, but I think you’ve done the right thing,” Mrs. Trevathan said gently. “As my mother always says, there are plenty more fish in the sea, especially for someone as lovely as you.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Rebecca whispered hoarsely. “Could you possibly let me know when he’s gone?”

“Of course I can, my love.” She smiled sympathetically at Rebecca and left the room.

Half an hour later, Mrs. Trevathan arrived with tea and toast and told her that Jack had left the house.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shaky, I guess. I just hope I’ve done the right thing.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was once married to a man like Jack. We lasted a year before I had to leave him. I’m not saying your Jack was the violent type like mine, but when they’re looking down the neck of a bottle day after day, there’s no telling what they might do.”

“No. Did you love your husband?”

“Of course I did,” she sighed sadly. “At the beginning, anyway. But by the end, I couldn’t stand the sight of him. Trust me, Rebecca, it might hurt now, but it’s for the best, it really is.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Trevathan,” Rebecca said gratefully.

“Well now, there’re a number of people who’d like to come up and see you, but I’ve told them you’re resting at the moment. Is that right, my love?”

“Yes, maybe I can see them later.”

“How’s the headache?”

“Better today, thanks.”

“Well, you’re still pale, although one way and another, I’m hardly surprised,” she clucked. “I’ll come back later and you can tell me whether you’re up to seeing a few visitors.”

Exhausted, Rebecca slept for several hours and woke feeling a little better. She washed and dressed, then, feeling guilty that she’d kept everyone at bay, she asked Mrs. Trevathan to send up Steve, who had understandably been asking to see her.

“Sorry to disturb you, sweetheart, I just wanted to see how you’re feeling,” he said as he walked into the sitting room.

“The headache is easing, so I’m sure I’ll be okay to film tomorrow,” she assured him.

“That’s good news, Rebecca. And I’m sure the stress of the past few days hasn’t exactly helped you recover either.”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca feigned innocence.

“Darling, this is a film set. None of us were blind to Jack’s little problem. He asked me if I had any stuff the first time I met him.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Don’t be, it’s hardly your fault. I saw him a few hours ago when he asked me to get a driver for him to take him to London. I’m not going to ask the state of play, but I gathered from the look on his face that all is not well on Planet Jack and Rebecca.”

“No,” Rebecca agreed, deciding the best thing was to come clean
immediately. “I told him it was curtains for us if he didn’t stop using. But I’d prefer not to make it common knowledge.”

“Sadly, they’ve already guessed,” said Steve. “You know how fast news travels on set. Anyway, Rebecca, the most important thing is you and your health. Hopefully, now Jack’s gone, you can focus on getting better.”