Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 25

'Unless you get rid of that girl and sort yourself out, there is no future for you at Ash Corp.,' said Robert. 'And there will be no further money from our coffers. I mean it, Miles.'

The two men's eyes locked.

'Good,' said Miles, his voice shaking. 'I don't need your pathetic little company.'

'It's my pathetic little company that has given you this house, your education-'

'I don't want any any of it!' screamed Miles. 'Don't you understand that? I don't want anything you can give me, Father of it!' screamed Miles. 'Don't you understand that? I don't want anything you can give me, Father nothing nothing!'

Robert Ashford was already by the door. 'You have until New Year to think about it,' he said, and walked out of the room without turning back.'Miles, wait-'

Connie could see that her son was in a rage, out of control. There was no telling what he would do if he caught up with his father, so she stepped out, blocking the door.

'Mum, don't,' Miles growled, his cheeks flushed, but Connie shook her head firmly.

Robert had never understood Miles or the anger, the violence he kept inside him, but Connie had known about it from the moment he was born, when he took one look at the world and let out a terrible scream. Miles had an energy, a dark urge she hadn't felt with Grace or anyone else for that matter. He had huge untapped talents, hidden depths that were capable of great things, she was sure of it, but neither of his parents and none of his teachers had been able to do anything about it. Connie realised that a line had been crossed tonight and she also knew this might be her last chance to reach her son.

'Miles, sit down,' she said, closing the door.

'I've got to go to Chrissy,' insisted Miles.

'Chrissy is fine, darling.'

'But you heard what Dad said.'

'Yes. And I think your father is wrong.'

Although Connie Ashford came from money considerably more money than her husband if truth be told she was not a sn.o.b. She did not judge Chrissy just because of her accent, the way she looked or how she made a living. She remembered only too well the way her own family had looked down their noses when she had first introduced them to Robert Ashford. Poor Robert had come from nothing and had clawed his way up but not very far. He was destined for great things, but by then all he had was a five-bedroom guesthouse in Notting Hill and an estuary accent that hinted at his working-cla.s.s roots. Over the course of their year-long courts.h.i.+p, Connie's father, Sir Reginald King, had refused to acknowledge Robert, even when he was in the same room.

'I've never told you this, but I had the same thing with my father.'

Miles frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'When I told him we wanted to get married, he threatened to cut me off from my inheritance. He called your father all sorts of names and said he was after my money. Your dad is only doing what he thinks is best. The problem with him is that he's spent so long trying to be something he never was, he forgets where he came from. He doesn't mean to do it, but he's been acting in a role for so long, he doesn't know how to stop.'

Connie examined her son carefully and wondered what it was about Chrissy that had bewitched him. It was true she wasn't the sort of woman they had expected him to choose in fact, they had rather expected that nice girl Sasha to tie him down but then love wasn't logical or easy to understand. The heart wants what it wants The heart wants what it wants, that was the phrase, wasn't it?

'I do what Dad says now, I'm going to carry on doing what he wants for the rest of my life,' said Miles more quietly.

Connie looked at him. Her baby was so grown up. It only seemed like two minutes since she was pus.h.i.+ng him around Holland Park in his stroller. Her birthday today had only served to remind her how quickly time was pa.s.sing.

'Do you love her?' she asked.

'Chrissy? She's my wife.'

'I know that. I asked if you loved her.'

'Yes, I do,' said Miles softly. 'But this isn't about her, it's about me. You know that.'

His mother nodded slowly. 'So what are you going to do?'

'My own thing.'

She smiled. That had always been his way. Miles was her complicated child. Charming, manipulative and in many ways brilliant, he had the raw tools to succeed at whatever he wanted to be. But he could be lazy, expectant, the polar opposite of Grace, who saw her family's personal wealth as a reason to prove herself, not an excuse for coasting through life. Connie felt a stab of guilt. Had she failed as a mother? Why were they both so distant from her? Physically and emotionally, they had both ended up on the opposite side of the world. Now was the time to narrow the gap. She walked across to Miles and cupped his face.

'You're my son, Miles. You're clever enough to succeed at anything. You can do whatever you want to do in life. But most of all I want you to be happy, so you take your girl and you go off and do whatever it is that makes you feel whole. I'll always be there for you. No matter what.'

There were tears in Miles' eyes when he looked up at her.'Thanks, Mum,' he said simply. Then he hugged her and stood up. 'Now I think I'd better go and find Chrissy. We've got to look after each other now.'

I hope it works out for you, my darling, Connie thought as she watched him go. It didn't for me. It didn't for me.

26

It was the biggest Christmas tree Grace had ever seen. Standing outside Palumbo Cathedral, the huge bushy ombu tree glistened and glittered in the warm night air, its branches and leaves tied with thousands of silver ribbons and streamers. For Grace, walking towards the cathedral for midnight ma.s.s carrying a lit candle, this Parador Christmas scene was strange and familiar at the same time. The small differences she noticed, such as the way people put nativity scenes on their front step, or how all the children wore white to symbolise 'El Nino Dios', the Child of G.o.d, made Christmas in Parador special, but also served to remind her how far from home she was.

Gabriel linked his arm through Grace's and pulled her close. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Caro carrying Olivia, with Gabe's uncle Hugo just behind, Joseph sleeping on his shoulder. Grace smiled softly and for once she felt at peace.

The following morning, there was a rowdy, good-natured breakfast and as everyone unwrapped their presents, the whole house was full of life and noise. Feeling full after an excellent late lunch, Grace retired to the conservatory, her favourite room in the house, with a gla.s.s of brandy. Gabriel had gone into Palumbo for a short visit to a mission and for once, Olivia and Joseph were asleep at the same time.

She sat in a wicker chair and watched as the view beyond the window slowly changed. Light was falling from the sky, and the jungle started to blacken against the ribbons of pink and lavender clouds. She sipped the brandy and thought about the phone call she had just had with her mother. Miles was married married! She still couldn't take it in. She supposed the shock might have been less had his new wife been Sasha Sinclair. She remembered how withdrawn the younger girl had been on that flight back from Na.s.sau after their holiday in Angel Cay, how devastated she had seemed. Grace had almost been moved by her plight. Then again, she recognised Sasha as an operator, so she had often wondered whether she would reunite with Miles after all, she certainly had leverage because of that night. That secret. But no, Miles had met someone travelling and had fallen in love, just as Grace had done in Australia. Had her brother changed? she wondered. Had he softened? She smiled at the thought. Not Miles. Not Miles.

'Knock, knock.'

Grace turned to see Caro standing at the door of the conservatory. 'I come bearing gifts,' she said, producing a s.h.i.+ny red parcel from behind her back.

'Ooh!' said Grace excitedly, tearing off the paper to find a fancy-looking camera inside.

Both women burst out laughing.

'I couldn't let your photographic skills die once we left the Highlander Highlander, could I?'

Grace gave Caro a reproachful glance.

'Tell me this is point and shoot.'

'Nope. It's got loads of expensive twiddly bits. You can be David Bailey with this piece of kit. You can take pictures of the kids, a photo diary of the election maybe, I don't know.'

'Wow. It's fantastic. Thank you,' she said, pointing it towards the horizon. It felt good in her hands. It felt like she had a purpose.

'So where's Gabe?' asked Caro, sitting in the chair opposite her friend.

'In Palumbo, at the mission.'

'He never stops, does he? You have to hand it to him, campaigning on Christmas Day.'

'It's just a goodwill visit.'

'It's Christmas! He should be with you.'

Grace smiled to disguise her frustration. Caro had a point. These days she felt completely sidelined in Gabriel's pursuit of votes. The election was still over a year away and yet he was away from El Esperanza six nights out of seven. Not once had she ever suspected him of unfaithfulness, but what she felt was worse: she felt abandoned. At least with another woman, she would have something tangible to fight against. But how did you compete with a whole country?

'Join me for a drink?' she asked, waving her gla.s.s in the air.

Caro shook her head. 'Better not. I'm supposed to call my folks.'

'In that case, I'm going to start snapping,' said Grace excitedly. 'I think Gabe's got a box of film in a drawer in his study.'

'Watch out for the p.o.r.n.' Caro laughed as she went.

Grace knew Caro was being ironic; it was a running joke of hers that Gabriel at least, Gabriel the politician was the most strait-laced man she had ever met. He'd certainly lost a lot of his breezy charm over the past two years. It was understandable, of course: with the pressure to win, the seriousness of Parador's situation and the constant reminders of the living conditions many of the population were forced to endure, anyone would find it hard to smile. But it didn't stop Grace from wanting the old Gabriel, the charming, happy, spontaneous man she had met on a street in Australia, to come back.

At the top of the stairs, she paused. Even now, she hesitated before entering Gabriel's study. It wasn't officially out of bounds, of course, but her husband liked to see it as his man-cave, his own private s.p.a.ce. It's my house too, after all, she told herself, pus.h.i.+ng the door open. She walked across the room and sat at his desk, smiling as she looked at the photograph of them both in front of her.

Putting her camera on the desktop, she opened the bottom drawer. Reaching inside, something familiar caught her eye, hidden between sheafs of paper: Gabriel's old notebook.

Glancing around, she pulled it out, running her fingers over the leather cover. Gabriel had carried this battered old book around with him all the time in Australia. Just ideas, Just ideas, he'd told her at the time. he'd told her at the time. Maybe something will turn into a novel, who knows? Maybe something will turn into a novel, who knows? She flicked through the pages and her heart leapt: it was clearly more than 'just ideas'; it looked like at least a dozen chapters, written in longhand. Moving across to the sofa, she curled her feet under a cus.h.i.+on and began reading. It was a love story set in wartime Australia, and from the first sentence, she was transfixed. It was good, very, very good, one of those raw books that touched your life and made you want to share it with people you cared about. She flicked through the pages and her heart leapt: it was clearly more than 'just ideas'; it looked like at least a dozen chapters, written in longhand. Moving across to the sofa, she curled her feet under a cus.h.i.+on and began reading. It was a love story set in wartime Australia, and from the first sentence, she was transfixed. It was good, very, very good, one of those raw books that touched your life and made you want to share it with people you cared about.

'What are you doing?'

She hadn't even noticed the study door open. Gabriel walked slowly into the room and sat in the chair opposite her. She held up the notebook.

'I found this when I was looking for film,' she said.

He frowned and shook his head. 'Put it away. Please.'

She sat up, clutching the notebook to her chest as if it might be s.n.a.t.c.hed away, as if she did not want to let go of the life they could have had together.

'But Gabe, this is incredible. Has your agent or editor seen it?' She knew Gabriel had barely been in contact with his New York-based publisher since he had arrived back in Parador, and despite repeated phone calls from his agent, he seemed content to let that part of his life melt into the past. He waved a dismissive hand.

'Grace, I haven't got time for writing.'

'But it's such a waste!'

'It's not a waste,' he snapped. 'I'm trying to achieve something bigger, better here than mere words.'

Frustration boiled inside her. 'What's happened to you, Gabriel?' she said.

'What do you mean, what's happened to me? Nothing has happened to me.'

She had avoided this conversation before now because she knew how important politics had become to him, but lately she had been wondering if it was all worth it. They had arrived in Parador with a romantic ideal: Gabriel was going to avenge his brother's death; he was going to save his country. But over the last year, she had begun to wonder if it was actually possible to save Parador. Corruption seemed to be eating the country from the inside. Gabriel and his mother seemed blind to it they were too close to the issues but Grace was able to see the situation from a different angle. Corruption in Parador had become so entrenched, so much a part of everyday life, she doubted that any new government would be able to wash it clean again. And the sad truth was that Gabriel's CARP party was so stridently anti-corruption, so against playing Parador's unique little games, it actually stood little chance of success in the 1994 election. The reality was that politics was a dirty game and anyone who tried to play it whiter than white was going to get crushed. Grace had seen it happen in her father's empire; she'd heard the conversations behind closed doors. Success always came at a price. Deals had to be done, people paid off, the powerful made promises. It was the way the game was played, and if Gabriel wasn't prepared to get his hands dirty, he was doomed to fail.

'Do you think you can win, Gabe?' she asked simply.

'Yes. If only we can reach more people, work harder, do more.'

'How much more?' said Grace, balling her hands into fists.'You're missing your children grow up. We don't have a life together. You've even abandoned your talent, your one-in-a-million gift for writing.'

'I think it's worth it.'

'Nothing is worth this!' she cried.

He came off his chair and knelt down in front of her, taking the notebook from her hands.

'Help me, Grace. Help me win. We need one big push, and you can make a difference. You need to get on the campaign trail, be there by my side. Twelve months of your time. That's all I'm asking.'

She pushed his arms off. 'Have you been listening to a word of what I have been saying?' she said. 'I can't stand it any more. I don't want this political life.'

'But I promise you, once we are in power, then we can have more time together.'

He wrapped his arms around her and for a second she pulled away. He didn't even smell familiar these days.

'Listen to me, I can do the presidency for two terms. That's just ten years, Grace. It's nothing; you'll be thirty-three, I'll be in my mid-forties and then we'll have the rest of our lives to write, talk, just be together. But life will be better, sweeter, because of the difference we've made.'

He looked at her intently. 'Have you ever done anything bad, Grace?'

The question startled her and she flinched. Anything bad? Anything bad? Her heart was thumping and she could hear the ticking of the study clock getting louder and louder. She had never told him about that night. She had always meant to. He was her husband. They shared everything: a bed, a family, a life, secrets. Her heart was thumping and she could hear the ticking of the study clock getting louder and louder. She had never told him about that night. She had always meant to. He was her husband. They shared everything: a bed, a family, a life, secrets.

'Yes,' she said quietly and a look of complicity darted between them.

'We all have,' he nodded, taking her hands. 'I left my family, I moved to New York. I was selfish and pursued my own dreams and ambitions and didn't once think of the bigger picture. Everybody has regrets, things they wish they could change. But it's never too late to put things right.'

She looked at him, and a surge of hope filled her. Was that the answer? Since Angel Cay, she had felt as if she had been running, constantly on the move, never once daring to stop and look back. She was weighed down by the guilt of what she had done what she had failed to do that night. She had never believed that the boy on the beach had got up and walked away, much less stolen a boat and run off to a nearby island. It was all too convenient. No, that whole terrible mess had her father's filthy fingerprints all over it; it was a glittering ill.u.s.tration of the corruption Gabriel was fighting against, a horrible example of all the deals done to make things go away and to keep things the same. Perhaps Gabriel was right, perhaps this was a way to atone for that one mistake. Maybe it would lift the weight that was pus.h.i.+ng her down, bending her double. She looked into his eyes and nodded.

'OK, I'll help you,' she said finally. 'I'll do whatever you want me to do.'

'Thank you,' he said, kissing her forehead. 'Thank you, my love.'

She held up one finger. 'But on one condition.'

'Name it,' he said.

'Promise me that when we're done and all this is over, you'll get that s.e.xy a.s.s back on that chair and finish your novel.'

He threw his head back and laughed, and as he did so, he looked younger, more like the man she had seen that balmy night on Macrossan Street.

'You've got a deal,' he said. 'Now come on downstairs and let's grab some champagne.'