Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 42

Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 42

Her mother told her what they had managed to piece together: Robert's Aston Martin had swerved off the road and ploughed into a tree. The crash alerted a farmer who called the ambulance and fire brigade, who had to cut both the pa.s.sengers from the wreckage. Robert's injuries were extensive: a punctured lung and ruptured spleen plus spinal damage, the severity of which was unknown; various specialists were being flown in to treat him.

'Who was the pa.s.senger?' asked Grace, sitting down.

'That woman ...' said Connie, her voice cracking as she spoke. 'It was Sasha Sinclair.'

'Sasha?' Grace whispered incredulously.

Connie could barely manage a nod. 'I can't believe he took me to her party last night,' she said, her brow creased in confusion. 'I knew he was having an affair, of course. I always did. But I never thought for one moment it would be with her her. She was Miles' girlfriend, for G.o.d's sake!'




Grace was amazed. She had always known Sasha was an operator and had therefore been surprised when she had let Miles slip through her fingers, but maybe that was because she had her eye on the bigger prize. Could she have been seeing Robert for that long?

'Is she here?'

'Not any more. She was admitted for a few hours but she's been discharged.' Connie let out another sob.

'Are you sure?' asked Grace gently. 'I mean are you sure that they were together? Dad had invested in her business, maybe they were going to a meeting ... ?'

Connie shook her head sadly. 'There was a diamond bracelet for her in his jacket pocket. A birthday present.'

Grace squeezed her mother's hand sympathetically. 'Well, none of that matters now. All that matters is that he gets better.'

Connie nodded slowly, looking at her husband with red-ringed eyes. 'I need a walk,' she said, standing. 'I doubt the canteen is open but I'm sure there's a vending machine somewhere.'

She closed the door behind her and Grace listened as her mother's heels retreated down the corridor. She turned back to her father, so still and small. Robert had always been an imposing man, someone to look up to, someone to fear. She couldn't actually remember ever doing normal father daughter things with him like outings to the park or playing hide and seek. It was just accepted that Daddy had important work to do, that he was too busy to play and that birthdays and school prize days were difficult to schedule. In her early years at boarding school, Grace had kept a sc.r.a.pbook of cuttings she had collected from the business and society pages of the newspapers: Daddy shaking hands with another man, Daddy going to a party, Daddy opening a new hotel. It was her version of a family photo alb.u.m; Robert Ashford was never home long enough to have any photos with his children. In fact, now Grace thought about it, the only other time she could remember being alone with her father like this was when he had summoned her to his study to discuss her school report when it was anything other than a string of A's.

'I want the twins to know you, Dad,' said Grace. 'I don't want them to be strangers to you, like I was.'

She brushed at her face and was surprised to find a tear running down her cheek.

'It's never too late to start making amends, that's something I've only just learnt,' she said. 'If you can just stick around for a while longer, we can make a little time to be together, can't we? Nothing's more important than that.'

She reached out to touch his hand, lying there on top of the covers. It was so warm, so alive, but his face was so still and deathly.

'Did you hide the body?' she whispered, searching his face for a trace of movement, the slightest sign. 'I've always wanted to believe what you said about the boy leaving the island. But I never did.'

Grace had always clung to the idea that Robert had moved the body, hidden it, covered the whole thing up. She had never bought the story of the missing boy and the stolen boat. That boat boy had been dead. Her father was a powerful man why wouldn't he make it all go away if he could? So for all these years she had directed her anger towards him, hiding her own shame at leaving the body by focusing on her father's corruption and arrogance. But sitting here, next to his frail body, she finally realised why he had done it: because he had been protecting his son. Miles had killed that boy and Robert had helped him. And Grace couldn't honestly say she wouldn't have done the same thing had it been Joseph or Olivia.

'Come back to us, Daddy,' she said through the tears. 'I understand now. I don't want you to be the bogeyman any more.'

She heard movement behind her and turned. Connie Ashford was standing there with two cups of coffee. Grace swallowed; how long had she been there? What had she heard? She quickly rubbed her face, embarra.s.sed at her tears.

'Don't, darling,' said her mother. 'Don't be ashamed of loving your father.'

She put the coffee down and sat next to Grace, holding her hand. 'G.o.d knows, there are times when he didn't deserve it. I'll admit there are times when I hated him. Sasha is not the first by any means, even if she thinks she is.'

'Mum, I ...'

Connie put a finger to her lips. 'You're a grown woman, Grace, and I'm so proud of how you've made a life for yourself. I don't know what we did to make you need to leave, but things are different now you're you're different. I know it's a selfish thing to ask, but I want you to come home.' different. I know it's a selfish thing to ask, but I want you to come home.'

Grace had been thinking about it, weighing up the options, knowing it would be good for the kids, maybe even good for her. But still she hesitated.

'I ... I'm not sure, Mum,' she said. 'I'm not sure I'm ready.'

Connie looked into her eyes. 'If we waited until we were ready for everything, we would never leave the nest. Nothing's perfect in this life, Grace,' she said, looking at her husband's p.r.o.ne figure. 'But you have to take a chance and hope you're doing the right thing.'

Grace nodded, knowing she was right.

'Come back to us, Grace,' said her mother, holding her hand tight. 'We need you.'

45

Robert Ashford's funeral was held in the church in Sweeton village, just a couple of miles from the family estate. Mourners were ferried in by helicopter or blacked-out limousines and the pews were filled with celebrities, captains of industry, even members of the Cabinet. A military-trained security company had to be employed to keep the press and rubberneckers from invading the area. At the request of the family, the service was kept short and solemn.

Connie quietly wept on Grace's shoulder in the church, but dried her eyes and held her head aloft as they walked out into the quiet graveyard. She was dignifed and elegant as she accepted the hushed words of condolence at the wake in the red drawing room of Ashford Park. Grace was impressed by how well she held herself together, considering the bottom had fallen out of her world. Grief was hard enough to deal with on its own Grace knew that well enough but her mother had an extra burden to shoulder: the pain and humiliation of the way in which Robert had died.

'Can I get you anything, Mum?' she asked, as the last of the mourners left. Connie looked tired and drawn, her eyes ringed with dark circles no make-up could hide.

'No thank you, darling,' her mother said, patting her hand. 'Everyone has been so kind. The trouble is everyone thinks they should talk to me, but no one knows what to say.'

Grace smiled. 'Well you let me know. I'm just going to speak to Miles.'

Her brother and his wife were standing by the long French windows leading to the terrace, each with a gla.s.s of white wine. Grace immediately sensed an atmosphere, as if they'd just been arguing.

'How's it going, sis?' said Miles, raising his gla.s.s.

'I've had better days, Miles,' said Grace.

Miles nodded and looked away. 'Mum seems to be bearing up pretty well, considering.'

'At least Sasha Sinclair had the decency to stay away,' said Chrissy. She was wearing a demure Chanel shift dress with a Hermes scarf round her neck. No one would have suspected that this woman had ever been out of the Home Counties, let alone spent years as an exotic dancer. Money and success had rubbed away her history like footprints on the beach.

'I don't think even Sasha would want that sort of publicity,' said Grace. Miles looked as if he was about to say something, then took a long drink of his wine instead.

'I see Alex Doyle sent flowers,' said Chrissy, trying to fill the awkward silence.

'That was kind of him,' said Grace.

'Mum says you're moving back to Britain?' said Miles abruptly.

'Yes, for the winter anyway. I'll see how it goes after that. How long are you staying?'

Miles scowled. 'I'm getting out of here as soon as humanly possible,' he said. 'Coming back here ...' He trailed off and stared out of the window.

'The family lawyer is going to read the will after the wake, I hear,' said Chrissy with a little too much enthusiasm.

'Really?' said Grace. 'I hadn't heard.'

She caught Miles flashing her a warning look.

'Sod this,' he said, draining his gla.s.s. 'I'm going for a ride.'

'Ooh, that sounds good,' said Chrissy.

'On my own,' he said pointedly and stalked out of the room.Miles rode the mare hard, her hooves sending clods of earth flying behind them. He followed the line of the river, jumping fences and fallen logs, then pushed her up the hill to the wood right on the edge of the estate, glorious in the bleak colour palette of winter. Having been based in New York for the last two years to oversee the American Globe clubs, he was glad to be back in England.

'Good girl,' he said, patting the horse's neck as he dismounted, tying her to a tree and letting her graze while he lit a cigarette and gazed out on to the vastness of the estate, a carpet of green, grey and heather. All mine All mine, he thought with a twisted smile. Well, maybe if I'd played it differently Well, maybe if I'd played it differently.

Miles had thought about this day many times, the day his father would pa.s.s on. He had imagined he would feel triumphant and elated that he had just succeeded his father to the throne. Even though Robert had disinherited Miles, his father's death still made him head of the Ashford dynasty. The money would go to Connie, he supposed, but for Miles, Robert's death meant one thing: freedom. No one ever looked down on a reigning monarch and scoffed, 'Oh, well his father gave gave him that t.i.tle.' Now the king was dead, Miles could finally escape his long shadow. him that t.i.tle.' Now the king was dead, Miles could finally escape his long shadow.

But Miles felt no note of victory, just an aching sadness that he had seen so little of his father over the last decade, that Robert had never acknowledged his success, never patted him on the head and said 'Well done'. Because Miles had never hated Robert Ashford, he had just wanted his recognition. All of his drive, all of his achievements had come from a desire to please his father. In fact now Miles could see that without his father's ultimatum over Chrissy that Christmas, he would probably have frittered his trust funds away like Piers Jackson and all his other friends in London, earning a low-six-figure salary and living in a semi-detached house in Putney or Fulham.

He threw his cigarette away and snorted at the irony. Of all the things his father had done for him, his rejection had been his greatest gift.

'Thanks, Pops,' he said quietly.

He narrowed his gaze and saw another horse approaching from the house. He shook his head. It was just like Chrissy to go against his express wishes. But as the animal drew nearer, he could see that the rider was an expert: Connie Ashford.

'Mum?' he said, taking her horse's reins as she dismounted.'What are you doing out?'

She pulled off her helmet and swept her ash-blond hair back from her face. She looked strangely calm and controlled.

'The other option is to stay wallowing in the house. I thought blasting the cobwebs out might help.'

'Are you OK?' he asked as he tied her horse up.

'Why shouldn't I be?'

Miles smiled. 'No reason,' he said.

Connie sat down on a fallen log and Miles joined her.

'So why are you out here?' she said after a while. 'Not another argument with Chrissy?'

Miles looked away. He hated how his mother seemed to be able to tap straight into his moods and thoughts. Some sort of maternal voodoo, he supposed.

'Do you know how much I hate Sasha Sinclair?' he whispered.

'Miles, let it go. It's not worth it.'

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, sweeping his gaze across the stunning rural vista. 'Do you think Dad ever came up here and looked at everything he had?' he said finally.

'Your father was very proud of you, you know,' said Connie.

Miles looked at his mother cynically. 'I think he made it perfectly clear how he felt about me at your birthday party, Mum.'

'That was a long time ago, darling. A lot of things have changed since then.'

'You're not telling me he mellowed in his old age?'

'Not him, Miles. You You. He watched you grow up and become a man. He would read about you in the papers and talk about how you should talk to this person about planning, or that bank about funding. He always knew where you were and what you were doing.'

Miles felt his heart lurch. Could it be true? Had his father really cared about his business? Had he really watched him make his way in the world? Miles felt a gnawing in his stomach and he looked away from Connie, turning his face to the sky. There was a pink cast to the clouds and it would be dark in less than an hour.

'You know our lawyer is coming to the house this evening?' said Connie.

'Ah yes, the will.'

'It's a big responsibility, Miles,' she said, looking at him sideways. 'The a.s.sets are considerable.'

'What's that got to do with me?'

'A great deal. I already know the contents of the will and I wanted to speak to you first.'

Miles laughed. 'Wanted to soften the blow, eh? Not even left me a pair of cufflinks?'

'No, Miles, he left you the business.'

Miles jerked backwards, almost losing his balance on the log. 'You ... you're serious?' he stuttered.'But we haven't spoken in over nine years.'

'That didn't mean he didn't love you, Miles. You were always his son. Ever since that first club, he's believed you were the best person to move the company on. He was just too proud to pick up the phone.'

Miles could barely take it in. It was an enormous undertaking. Ash Corp. was owned by a complex series of limited companies and trusts, but Robert Ashford had ultimately had control of all of them. The a.s.sets would run into billions.

He rubbed his chin nervously. 'I'm not sure I ...' he began, but trailed off. 'It's so big a job,' was the best he could manage.

'Well, your father's shareholding has gone to you, but it doesn't mean you have to be CEO,' said Connie. 'Pete Stone could step up.'

Miles gave a short laugh. 'After the way he handled the PecOil merger last spring? I wouldn't trust his judgement.'

Connie smiled, obviously pleased that Miles had also been following Robert's fortunes in the business pages.

'I can't tell you what to do, Miles,' she said. 'I'm so proud of you, what you have done and if the Globe and your own business interests in America are your life now, then so be it. But I'd like you to come back to Ash Corp. Forget New York. I'd like you to come back to England.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Both me and Grace, eh?'

'I'm not trying to use your father's death to emotionally blackmail you both, if that's what you're implying,' she said tartly.

'I didn't mean that,' he said, putting a hand out to touch her knee. 'I just ... oh, I don't know what I meant. But I can't make a decision now, Mum.'

'I don't expect you to,' she said carefully. 'But this is what your father wanted, Miles. Come back and fulfil your promise.'