Masters And Lovers 1-4 novel Chapter 24

James

I try not to be obvious about it; try to treat her completely normally, but Mitch has just had her world turned over yet again. I see her sometimes, watching me; watching me with Charlotte.

What’s going on in her head?

She’s happy she has her daughter…

… but still walking on eggshells…

Not convinced she’s safe?

How much crap can get thrown into a single life?

Her brother… control freak…

Klempner… psycho…

Conners… wife-beater…

And now she walks into this… her long-lost daughter shacked up with two men…

And pregnant…

Is she coping?

?

She’s stronger than she looks…

Charlotte’s mother…

In my armchair by the fire, my bad leg stretched out to bathe the ache away with the heat, I sip a finger of brandy, losing myself in the dancing flames and the reflected amber glimmer in my glass.

Mitch… Strong enough to survive but still vulnerable…

Klempner… Ruthless… Vengeful…

Intelligent?

He headed a world-wide organisation…

No one ever accused him of stupidity…

Obsessive…

Insane?

?

Does he know right from wrong?

?

I think he does…

Was he always like that?

Or did his father make him that way?

?

He wouldn’t talk about his mother…

What happened to her?

Perhaps Mitch knows…

Should I ask her?

?

Let her settle more…

Mitch and Klempner…

Between them, they produced Charlotte…

No… Jenny…

And Jenny remade herself into Charlotte….

“Master? Are you alright?”

I jolt out of my reverie. My Jade-Eyes stands at the door, brow wrinkling. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“What about? You were lost to the world. I spoke twice, and you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh, this and that…” Her eyes narrow…

Not fooled…

“… Listen, I was thinking. Why don't you take your mother out for the afternoon? Somewhere nice. Give her a treat….” I scrub my memory for my limited knowledge of what women do during ‘girl-time’. “Perhaps tea and cakes at Francesca’s…”

The eyes un-narrow but wheels are turning behind the emerald eyes. She moves to sit by me on the couch.

I slip my credit card from my jacket pocket, offer it up to her. “Buy her a present. Something pretty to wear. Perhaps a new dress.” Charlotte looks at the card but doesn’t take it. “She can't keep living out of a suitcase or wearing your clothes can she?”

“If you want to give her something, why don’t you do it yourself, Master?”

“Because I don’t want her to feel as if she’s living on handouts. And regardless of what she says, I don’t think she’s gotten used to the idea of having a daughter with two husbands yet… One of them older than she is. Still less of you being pregnant.”

Charlotte still doesn’t take the card. I push it into her hand and curl her fingers around it. “Just do it.” Another thought occurs. “You might take Kirstie too. She could stand some cheering up and she usually has something to say that brings a smile to everyone's faces. Why don’t you give her a call and invite her along?”

Her smile finally blooms. “That’s a good idea, Master. It will feel a bit less staged if Kirstie’s there too.”

*****

Richard

My phone rings. Not the general office phone, but my direct line. Only a very limited number of people have that number. I glance at the display: my old friend, Will Stanton, Police Commissioner.

I pick up the handset. “Hello, Will. Good to hear from you. What can I…?

Thirty seconds later, I’m slamming the receiver down, yelling through the office. “Francis! Get James on the phone. Right now! And keep him on the phone. I’m calling Ross.”

I redial and am rattling down the phone to Ross; my driver, but also Elizabeth’s bodyguard.

Francis, phone in hand, eyes wide with distress, steps into my office mouthing at me as I speak. No James. No reply…

“Get Michael then. As fast as you can. And Charlotte.”

As Francis tries to call Michael, I try again for James.

No reply. Nor for Charlotte.

Francis marches in, brandishing her handset. “I have Michael on. He’s driving.”

“Richard?” He sounds startled. “What’s the emergency? Has there been an accident? Charlotte’s not hurt is she…”

There’s no time for good manners. “Michael. Shut up and listen…”

*****

James

Humming to myself, I spoon hot oil over hissing, spitting potatoes and parsnips, then open the oven door to slide the dish back in. A towel around each hand I ease the dish in above the roast resting on the bottom shelf.

Somewhere in the background, a phone rings.

Damn…

The heat is already penetrating the towels and I slap the door closed then blow on glowing fingers.

The phone is still ringing…

Mobile?

No, landline…