Trust: Betrayed (35 page)

7.29 a.m.

Sophia tiptoed out of the room dressed in her work out clothes. Alistair had dozed off immediately after she had feigned sleep.

As she headed downstairs to the gym, on the same floor as the Spa, she ran into Paola and Ethan on her way to breakfast, already in fitness clothes.

They had breakfast together, Sophia and Paola chatting like old friends about fashion and the new trends.

When they entered the work out room, Tavish was already there lifting weights, wearing a black T-shirt and black shorts, his muscles bulging with the effort. He didn’t notice them as he was looking at his own reflection in the mirror.

Paola winked conspiratorially at Sophia, discretely jutting her chin at the sight of his back and Sophia couldn’t stop the broad smile that appeared on her lips. From the front or from the back, Tavish was a hunk.

“Good morning, Tavish Uilleam,” Sophia said.

He turned and smiled at them, lifting one weight as a greeting, “Hey. Morning.”

A uniformed trainer walked up to them and introduced himself as Niall, asking if they needed assistance. Paola coquettishly asked for help to program the treadmill while Sophia politely refused.

Sophia went to an area where she could stretch, before starting her usual sequence of weight lifting while Ethan joined Tavish.

8.13 a.m.

Sophia chose the treadmill that faced the extensive lawn outside, instead of one facing the TVs, where Paola and Tavish were having a nice chat, while they walked at a leisurely pace, and Ethan ran at a fast speed.

The view of the lawn was soothing. Exactly what she needed. Her mind was still frayed from the nightmare and the images that persisted in the dark corners of her memory.

She played her running list on her iPod and set the treadmill to a fast pace, but slower than she was used to. She didn’t want Alistair arriving and surprising her in one of her sprints.

Her mind started to drift away, lulled by the music and the comfortable jogging pace she had set. To escape the memories, she would run to the end of the world, if necessary.

A clear flash startled her and a shimmering image took form in front of her. Sophia shook her head hard but the image didn’t disappear. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel Leibowitz was dressed in a tailored navy suit with a light-pink silk tie. He cocked his head to the side in his charming, beguiling way and smiled at her.

She held out her hand and called again, louder this time, “Gabriel?”

His blue eyes sparkled and he extended his hand to hold hers, asking, “Do you want to dance?”

The speed on the treadmill was suddenly too much. Her breath was squeezed out of her lungs by a searing pain as she tripped and fell.

8.19 a.m.

“Come on, Sophia. Wake up,” Tavish coached, his voice chasing away the images that had shocked her. “Everything is okay. You’re safe.”

She blinked and looked up to stare into his concerned green eyes.

“Are you feeling better?”

Still trembling, she exhaled a shuddering breath and nodded, looking around. He was kneeling next to the treadmill she had been using, with a wide-eyed Paola and a frowning, worried Ethan hovering behind him.

She closed her eyes embarrassed and whispered, “I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

She tried to move, but as she put her hand on the floor to stand up, pain spread through her arm.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. “You hurt yourself. I couldn’t catch you before you fell.”

Sophia gingerly moved her arm and saw that her palms, one of her forearms and both knees were scraped and that she had lost one of her sneakers.
Oh, great! Just great, Sophia! Now you are having daylight hallucinations while running on the treadmill. Just wait until Alistair hears about this!

“You cut your chin,” Tavish said, gesturing to the underside of her face. “Is it hurting too much?”

Niall arrived with a first-aid kit and knelt on her other side.

“No,” she whispered.
Fantastic. More stitches. I’m going to end up like Frankenstein’s monster.

“Open and close your mouth. Does that hurt?” She shook her head and Tavish turned her face gently to better look at the small cut. “You won’t need stitches. Just a small patch. Are you feeling dizzy?”

“No. I’m okay. Really,” she whispered, feeling mortified.
They must think I’m mad. Talking to a dead man! For God’s sake, Sophia.

Tavish slowly raised from his kneeling position carrying her in his arms. He was not able to stifle a wince of pain when his leg complained from the movement.

“Put me down. I can-”

“Give this irritating and stubborn woman to me, Tavish Uilleam.” Alistair’s aggravated voice was heard from behind.

Oh, yeah! Here it comes.
Sophia sighed and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the anger on his face.
Maybe he will leave me alone if I pretend to be asleep or dizzy.

“Jesus Christ, Sophia!” Alistair thundered as Tavish passed her to his arms. “I can’t close my eyes for a second and you run away looking for trouble?”

Some greeting, Lord Caveman!
Unbidden, Sophia’s lips curled and she opened one eye to look at him and completely melted at the sight of that rugged man already half-dressed for work in a crisp white Egyptian cotton shirt and his Hèrmes blue tie with small green fish hanging loosely around his heck.

For Christ’s sake, Sophia.
Alistair shook his head at her and his frown deepened. “Do you want to drive me mad, lass?” he asked as he squeezed her gently in his arms. “What do I have to do? Lock the door and hide the key? Chain you to my bed?”

Oh, yeah, please do!
Sophia giggled, amazed by the idea, but he didn’t smile back.

Alistair had climbed down the stairs three at a time, worried out of his mind when Niall called him saying that Sophia had fallen on the treadmill.

“Niall, Mrs. Leibowitz is forbidden from exercising here alone,” Alistair instructed the trainer. “If she comes down alone, call me instantly.”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Niall bobbed his head assertively as Sophia rolled her eyes heavenward and huffed.

Paola smiled at Ethan, but he didn’t notice it. He was observing, with narrowed eyes, the loving and concerned way Alistair was holding Sophia.

“Alistair Connor, Sophia wasn’t doing anything wrong. There’s no need to-” Tavish started to say in a pacifying voice to be brusquely interrupted.

“Don’t tell me how to deal with her,” Alistair hissed at his brother. “I’m taking her upstairs. I expect you in my room to take care of her as soon as you’ve had a shower.” He didn’t wait for Tavish’s assent and turned his back on the group and marched to the lifts, giving a subsided but grinning Sophia an earful, as if she were a tomboy of Gabriela’s age.

10 a.m.

“Father, Sophia is your responsibility today,” Alistair said before he bent to kiss her lips lightly. “And you, Sophia, you’d better behave. I have too much to do today and Inverness is not as close as my bedroom is to the gym.”

“Yes, sire,” she mocked and winked at him. At his scold, she kissed her crossed fingers, “I will. I promise.”

He looked at her, not really convinced, and almost gave up going to work to stay with her. He crouched to stare seriously into Gabriela’s blue eyes. “Fairy, she’s your responsibility too. Promise to call me if she misbehaves?”

His lips curled as Sophia huffed and Gabriela, very seriously, nodded. “I will, Alistair. I promise.”

“Good. I’m counting on you.” Alistair ruffled Gabriela’s blonde hair and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Sophia into his arms in a fierce embrace before kissing her again. “I’ll be back for dinner. Anything - anything - you call me. Promise?”

Sophia smiled, enchanted with his concern and whispered, “I promise.”

“Come on, Alistair Connor,” Tavish called from the door of Alistair’s bedroom, “Munro’s ready and waiting.”

Fuck. I wish I didn’t need to work today.
Reluctantly, he orse from the bed and left the room.

Alistair ducked into the Rolls-Royce Phantom, closed the door and turned to watch the house as the car drove to Craigdale’s heliport.

Tavish chuckled and Alistair turned to look at his brother. “The mighty Alistair Connor concerned for a woman.”

Alistair rolled his eyes heavenward and changed the subject, “So, did your shrink get a name for me yet?”

“Aye. He suggested two psychotherapists. A man and a woman. Both are very well regarded and they work at the same place. Which do you prefer?”

“The man,” was Alistair’s immediate response.

“Very well.” Tavish forwarded the contact from his cell phone. “Andrew Volk. Graduated from Cambridge and now teaches there in the psychology department. His office is near the bank, just across the river, on Colombo Street. Dr. Volk’s approach is very-”

“Tavish Uilleam. Do you really think I need counseling?”

“Is this a serious question?” Tavish asked, incredulous. “Let me explain something to you. Counseling tends to look at current problems, while psychotherapy tends to go deeper into past experiences. You should have been doing psychotherapy since before Nathalie died. Psychoanalysis or analytic psychotherapy are not only for people who have mental disorders, but also for those who have mental distress. It’s more than clear to me that you need it. And it seems that Sophia shares my opinion.”

“I don’t know...” Alistair shook his head slowly. He didn’t relish the idea of reliving Heather’s betrayal or Nathalie’s death. He didn’t want to talk about his debauchery or about the hundreds of women he’d bedded and gladly punished. He just wanted to focus on a new future with Sophia and Gabriela.

“It’ll help you. I assure you, Brother. We have impulses, perceptions and thoughts, which we aren’t consciously aware of. There are conflicts in these aspects of our minds. Heather triggered many unconscious aspects of your own personality that I’m sure even you didn’t know you had. You came in contact with a darker side that has poisoned you. That gave rise to disturbances and symptoms which now need treatment.”

Alistair opened the door and walked to his helicopter thinking about his brother’s words. He greeted Munro and sat on the seat, brooding.

“Alistair Connor, believe me. It will be very good for you. Psychoanalysis isn’t a superficial thing or just at the level of intellectual problem solving. It helps a person to think about what is going on in their life, not only at a time of difficulty. In some cases, patient and therapist meet three or four times a week-”

“I don’t have that kind of time.” Alistair frowned. “This is bullshit.”

“You can do fewer sessions, but no less than twice a week.” When Alistair opened his mouth to say something, Tavish interrupted him, “Try it. For six months, at least. Then, only after this period, you tell me what you think about it.”

London, Colombo Street. Dr. Andrew Volk’s Office.

Thursday, April 1
^st
, 2010.

9.37 a.m.

“It’s worth remembering that most people behave self-destructively at times, even if they don’t realize it or think that they are hurting only other people around them.” Dr. Volk settled himself more comfortably in his armchair. “Sometimes, Alistair, this is done just to numb or distract and avoid being alone with their thoughts and feelings. It’s already an enormous step that you can admit that what you have done was because you felt guilty over your daughter’s death.”

“I’ve never tried to fool myself. I’m an intelligent man.”

“I’m not disputing it. But, perhaps, you don’t have the full notion of the importance of happened to you. The worst damages were caused by things you are not conscious. You’re very much in control and there are many things that escape our control and reason. The world is also made of irrational things. Stop behaving so rationally. I want you to realize is that these feelings are not very well worked out. That your responses were a way to cope with feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. You lost your wife and daughter on the same day.”

“Feelings,” Alistair snorted. “I didn’t have any feelings for Heather, Andrew. I hate her with all my being.”

Dr. Volk almost smiled. “Unfortunately, I have to contradict you. You
had
feelings for Heather, yes. You hated her and painful emotions, such as rage, hate, self-hatred and guilt are included in these feelings I’m talking about. Also, sadness, grief, emptiness, loneliness and many others show themselves through the body, where they can develop somatic reactions and need to be dealt with. You were abused-”

“Abused?”

“Have you ever stopped to think about this? All the time you keep saying that you understand and that you know what happened, but you don’t. You don’t want to hear and you don’t even let me approach you. You keep rationalizing what happened. Stop looking at things so coldly, Alistair. Yes, you were abused.”

“Andrew, I wasn’t a child anymore. I was twenty-six years old. I was not forced. I entered the relationship of my own free will.” Alistair tilted his head to the side and finished, “And I liked it.”
Up to a certain point.

“Very well. Let me just clarify that there are many different forms of abuse, sometimes we are not able to see it. Your marriage was a relationship which must be named for what it was: a psychologically damaging relationship.”

Niarchos Angepopoulos’s house, in the gazebo.

Sunday, June 18
^th
, 1989.

12.12 p.m.

Ethan touched the letter for the thousandth time, tracing the swirls and contours of Eve’s handwriting. He could almost feel the softness of her skin under his fingertips and a tear stained the paper. He didn’t wipe his face as more tears fell.

He couldn’t understand what had happened. Everything was going so well. During the past months they had settled into an enchanting routine: they went to school, they did their homework, they played tennis, they travelled at the weekends and they made love every single night.