| Call Me Daddy
© Xeen PART 12 Eventually she might come to terms with the last couple of weeks but it will take an awful long time. She could not believe that she had repeated the same mistakes all over again. She waved goodbye at the Bristol and watched it disappear round the corner of her block. That was it. Back to square one. Less than square one actually given that her memory was AWOL. Why couldn’t she be one of these flamboyant Hollywood heroines who can turn instantly her future into a brilliant life of happiness and riches because she gets stranded in an airport or injured in a car accident or has checked in at the wrong hotel? She would not know how to begin with, she shrugged, she remembered that much. She would like to fast-forward until today and yet to gather enough information in the process. She did not need to get everything back to move on with her life for heaven’s sake; she would happily forget her brother dying, her father dying, her being back to wearing a uniform or on a lighter note, every single time she had made a fool of herself with Tommy. Oddly enough, when pieces of her previous life popped to the surface, it was in Technicolor and in slow motion and they were the worst parts of her life. Ok, don’t you play the sensitive damsel in distress, you’re going to turn all whiny and sullen. She immediately pictured herself as a cartoon dwarf. The eighth Earl and the eighth dwarf. What a joke… When her secret Prince Charming kisses her, she’ll have all of her memory back. Nope. Tried that, been there. The kissing part that is, she added with a scowl. It probably didn’t work because he was only an Earl, she thought with a grin. She walked back to her apartment, waited a bit in front of the building, entered with a sigh and closed gently the door behind her, leaning idly against it. She took a deep breath and for a moment thought of going upstairs to Azhar’s to indulge herself in a little crying on his shoulder but pondered it was much too soon. She barely remembered what it was like to be around her neighbour though she had quite a vivid memory of his daughter Haddiyah. Simply it was about time to put an end to this tears and sobbing business once and for all. All right then. Back to her apartment and back to her life. What was left of it anyway. She could recall way too much of her stay at Lynley’s and not enough of her previous life as Barbara Havers, born loser and DS at the Metropolitan Police, on temporary leave. To make matters even worse, everything in this place was alien to her. Horrid fawn walls, sagging coach, five chairs that did not match and a crippled IKEA table. Lots of cardboard cases were lined up against the walls. This time, Lynley had not bothered to help her with refurbishing, she smiled, all the better. At least, she could see what she was up against. She walked round the kitchen counter, pinched the dying Sansevieria, placed it in the sink under the running tap and put the kettle on. A nice cuppa, she thought with a smirk. That was all she had left except that she was stuck with JB. She bit her lip. Being in New York for several months and not a glint of it left was a set back obviously. She knew that Jack Buchanan was indeed very sweet and probably her best shot at a real friend but every time she looked at him, she just blanked. Nothing was coming to mind except maybe a bond she could not quite relate to despite having been through lots of photographs and discussed extensively her stay in the US and all the cases on which they had worked together when she was over there. She was very fond of him and even sought for his help at one point. She knew she did, not because he was Jack, but because he was not Tommy. Nonetheless, he was staying at her place, piles of files and Chinese takeouts stacked everywhere were proof enough, unless she managed to make new arrangements. She might convince Lynley to welcome a stranger he had nothing in common with to stay at his new place. There was certainly no harm in asking. She could achieve anything; after all, she was the new improved Barbara, wasn’t she? They would be a nice pair, the aristocrat and the gumshoe, a refreshing take at ‘The Persuaders’. She remembered she was quite infatuated with Lord Sinclair when she was 9 or 10. Maybe she always had a soft spot for the upper stiff lip. Well, she’d do that, ring him later… or whatever. She was whatevering a lot lately. With no job to go to in the morning and only damage control sessions to attend with the resident shrink in order to assess if she was still fit for duty, she was feeling useless and quite lonely. Of course, she missed her job but above all she missed Lafferty and his peculiar humour, Winston’s laugh, working with her former boss and everything that had made Scotland Yard her home for all these years. Still, she was not ready to share a flat with Jack to fill that void. She punched the noisy kettle, retrieved a bag of Ceylon tea from an ugly yellow duck shaped ceramic jar, poured hot water, added a few spoonfuls of sugar and took her tea to her bedroom, leaving her unopened suitcase in the middle of the trashed living room. She turned the lights off, sat down on the bed, and absently gazed at the LED clock. 6:12pm almost dark outside but still too early to go to sleep. She put her teacup on her bedside table near some old stained copies of free dailies and lay down without bothering to take her shoes off. She closed her eyes and dreamt she went to Howenstow again. -o- “Hiyah!! Who are you?” she screamed, finally freeing herself from his hold. Strong feelings welling to the surface, she stared at the stranger who’d been kissing her, amazed she knew so perfectly every line and dimple on his face. Meeting in the flesh the man with no name she had fantasised on in her dreams was exhilarating and weird at the same time. Not to mention that he was all over her and that she actually liked it. “What are you doing!” she protested, hitting him blindly. “You got some nerves!” “Hey, I didn't mean anything, good heavens, and certainly no harm,” complained Lynley. He went back to his feet and left her alone on the ground. His horse was idling five or six feet away. “I wanted to make sure you were not injured,” he added, dusting his pants. “Please, calm down, I won’t come near you if it’s what you want.” Was it? She hesitated, ran her fingers through her hair. Now he was standing before her, with his fists on his hips, and he was smiling evenly. He was wearing riding clothes, green tweed hunting jacket with leather elbow patches and matching buttons, chestnut brown jodhpurs, half chaps and low boots and looking quite handsome with his dishevelled hair and his boyish grin. Was she staring? “Can you help me up, please?” she said after the longest pause. She wiped her stained cheek with her sleeve and locked her bright green eyes to his when he willingly took her hand. “You are all right then?” He seemed amused. “Yes, I am!” she stood up, bruised and angry. “Hey, you got yourself a nice feel there, didn't you, fancy pants!” Why couldn’t she recall his name? “That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure you were unharmed and…” “You’re a damn liar,” she said icily. “What were your intentions then?” “To hold you,” Lynley delivered bluntly. “To hold me? You’re something else you know!” “Havers, can’t you see it is I, Tommy?” Havers… she was Havers. Who the hell was Helen Lynley then? “Tommy, huh, ain’t it a kid name?” she quipped. “You look terribly grown up for a kid!” At this moment, they both turned over to the sound of footsteps coming from the meadow above their heads. The tall blonde man with the fancy car careered down next to her, gravels and dirt cascading. Contrary to the man with the horse, his face was not familiar. “Lynley what the heck are you doing, shouldn’t she be lying still after such a fall? Barb, you ok?” he finally echoed in a harsh voice. He bent to his legs, his hands on his thighs panting from the sprint. She went pale and fell her legs going numb, revelation sinking in. Barb? Was she a Barbara? Barbara Havers, so much for being a Helen, she thought. Moreover, her memory was crystal clear: her dream man was Thomas Lynley, eighth Earl of Asherton. -o- She looked through the window. The landscape and surrounding gardens definitely rang a bell. She’d been here. Absently wiping her hair with a soft white towel, she examined the reflection of the embroidered monogram in the mirror before examining her own. God, did she look pale and weary. Lynley had told her that she was at home here in Howenstow. Three days ago, when he learned she was missing, he had her things brought back to his family mansion from the hotel she was staying at before her ‘accident’. Though she was more than eager to learn every details of it, Lynley insisted that she was not ready -- yet. At least she was relieved not to be a runaway from a nearby mental institution. She feared she could be at one point after Morrow’s detached report. Now that she was craving for his arms, Lynley was distant in an odd kind of way, careful to avoid body contact and watching her when he thought she would not notice. He was concealing something and it was not out of concern for her memory loss. He had been very nice at the Penhaligons though. In a childish way, she was still utterly disappointed he had not taken her back to the mansion on his horse. In the car, all the way from the cottage, she had tried her best to avoid Buchanan’s scrutiny. She most certainly failed to hide her tears and the fact she was a wreck. She did not feel with him anything remotely close to the degree of intimacy and comfort she felt around Tommy. She decided to let him do all the talking and he was absurdly chatty and light-hearted on purpose. Once at the mansion, Lynley did not show. Probably too busy with his horse, she scoffed. Jack refused that a domestic called Denton could take care of her and led her directly to her room. If the house was a huge English property, likes the ones in fancy glossy magazines or in period pieces at the Beeb, she was not prepared to have a bedroom so ridiculously vast and ornate. As expected, someone had neatly folded up the content of her small suitcase. It was now stored in a beautiful elm chest of drawers with an inlaid cherry and lemon tree design. Compared to the lavish interior, her clothes were plain and colourless apart from some strange blouses either pale with small flowers or hopelessly flashy. If cheap clothes were not the issue, their gaudiness certainly was. To her dismay, in the upper drawer was stowed the most appalling underwear she had ever cast a look upon. She unpacked the brown bag, secretly hoping to discover a ball dress and a pair of glass slippers but its findings were even worst than the rest. She sat on the bed, her wet towel on her lap and toyed with the idea of turning her guest bathrobe into an evening gown and the plush slippers into extravagant golden stilettos. Short of a wand, she finally decided on black slacks and a turtleneck charcoal sweater to go with a pair of worn out pumps. “What a knock out,” she said in a low voice, contemplating herself in the mirror. She was only missing the rope to hang herself; maybe that Denton fellow could give her a hand, now that he had seen her clothes he will be more than happy to assist her, she thought with a smirk, or maybe help her to find the way to the kitchen first. She was positively starving. -o- “Oh, you’re downstairs? You hungry?” “Famished,” she said ruefully. She looked around. Tommy was not back from his ride yet. The kitchen was twice as big as her room and roller shoes could have proven handy to produce simple toasts and a pot of hot tea. “Let me fix you a plate. Why don't you grab some coffee and relax?” said the blonde man. Jack Buchanan. He seemed as easygoing and carefree as Tommy was broody and stiff. Different upbringings more than different natures, she pondered. She sat obediently. “Lynley will be back any second now,” said Jack, mirroring her concern. “He’s been directly to the station to handle personally Penhaligon’s testimony. More milk?” “No thanks. More sugar, please, I’m on a diet,” she winced. “What testimony? Am I in some kind of trouble? Why Lord Asherton would mind to interfere with local police business on my behalf?” “Man,” he said with a wheezing sound, “you have no idea really, have you?” “Nope, no nothing, totally blank here, sorry, I’m a mess, thank you very much.” She happily sank her teeth into the best sandwich she’s ever tasted, the best that she could remember, that is. “Ok, ok, I get your point,” he grinned. “His lordship is a police officer, Detective Inspector, if you may, you happen to work with. Well, at least you used to work with Lynley before you went to New York…” “Stop, time out! First of all, let’s do this properly.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Havers. Barbara Havers. Right? That’s what you and Lynley told me this afternoon. But who are you? I can hear you’re not from East London…” Less than half an hour later, she was fed but lost. She could accept that she was with the police and just back from a five months training with the New York Police Department. She would easily reconcile with the idea that she was here to solve a case with the Devon and Cornwall CID but her working along with an Earl, it was a bit of a stretch. Why on Earth an eccentric aristocrat would want to be an investigator in the first place and haphazardly find a perfect partner in her? Surely enough, she felt more part of the below-stairs world than of the royal family. How could he put up to work with her on a daily basis apart from the possible masochistic trait? Above all, she was aware that her feelings were quite different from the ones she ought to have for a superior officer. She blinked and pushed away crude images of Tommy kissing her. That was certainly not the doing of a colleague. Suddenly it struck her. Was she…? Were they…? “Et voilà,” said Jack. “You sure?” “Five hundred percent!” Jack said with a smile and a light pat on her hand. “Any of those left?” Jack immediately let go of her hand. Startling them both, Lynley walked in briskly. He reached out for a beer and sat between Jack and her, his arm accidentally brushing her thigh and arm. Her heart fluttered and her face turned pale. She could have bet he was here for a while, spying on them from the doorway. Tommy was in a very bad mood and now he was openly staring at her. She watched him slouch down on the chair and cross his legs. He was acting totally out of character, supping his beer daintily, apparently enjoying her current uneasiness. She felt awkward for no reason, her self-esteem hitting instantly rock bottom. She wished she had not looked forward to meeting him again; she was turning into jelly just at the sight of him. What’s wrong with me? Am I sixteen or what, for crying out loud, she raged. Instead of confronting him with his previous attitude in the woods, she even found herself apologizing profusely and to her surprise, she could not bring herself to call him Tommy as did Jack. She had not the first clue of how she was supposed to address him. Your Grace? Maybe not she was not a servant. Your Lordship? My Lord? Oh lord, she thought, Sir will have to do, besides, and it only felt right. Nevertheless, Lynley seemed to have lost interest in her and he was grilling Jack. The American was restraining himself from jumping at him. Right now she was not a fan of her former boss but she could not help liking the sound of his voice even if his accent sounded too posh to be honest. Seriously, one minute he was kissing her, the next he was abusive, standoffish and bossy. Her mind might have drifted and Lynley startled her again. A forced smile plastered on his face, he was trying to make it up to her. Why would cucumber sandwiches be a riot though? She could feel her anger building up but managed to remain quiet and made a show of looking at her hands. If he ever intended to make her laugh with one of his upper class remarks he could have spared himself the trouble, she scoffed. Nonetheless, a grin began to reach her eyes. It evaporated the minute she realised that a well-known felon had kidnapped her on her way to see his mother. Well, she was safe, so that felon must have been taken care of, she pondered. The idea of going to Howenstow to meet with Lady Asherton on a private business was quite disturbing but at least it meant that she was right about the place. She had been here before. Was her visit something she did not intend to share with Tommy? He was pressing her now, getting impatient again. It certainly seemed to mean a lot to him that she spilled the bean. Then it hit her. He did not know how to handle the situation and was far more disturbed by her kidnapping and her being back from the dead than she was. “When you are back to duty, I will personally recommend you for a promotion.” She had not seen that one coming and snapped right back without meaning to. She bit her lip with irritation. Instantly, he gave her a mouthful. That was mean, she thought, tears welling up in her eyes. He stopped, his mouth a thin line, ingrained in his train of thoughts. Before she had the chance to tell him she was not upset, he was gone. Lynley was officially temperamental. At that precise moment, she could not have cared less. She seemed unable to stop sobbing every five minutes THAT was a real issue. -o- Some were Jack’s but mostly there were Tommy’s. They had been through the photographs several times already. At best, she recognized a street or a building in the background; they were pictures taken at the end of investigations before heading back to London. She was tired of playing ‘Where’s Wally’. Her guess was she had picked them because she was either blurry or with her eyes half closed or hidden behind a huge bag which had seen better days, not because of the people in the background. On one of them though, Tommy and she were smiling, laughing actually, facing each other, and his arm was casually crossing her shoulders. “And you don’t remember why?” he was insistent but calm. It was getting old. She shook her head absently. These last days had seemed like an eternity. She could not stop asking herself again and again the same questions. Why would she go to Howenstow? How close was she to his mother? She could not even picture Lady Asherton’s looks before Tommy showed her the painting in the reading room. But most importantly how close was she to him? He had made a rule at avoiding her and Jack for the best part of the day, locked in his study lording the estate or gone on his horse, when he was not on the phone with someone from the Met. It was an achievement to have the three of them at the same table for breakfast and she was beginning to think it would be best for her to go back to her flat with or without her memory back. She was able to live on her own and Jack will be there to hold her hand should she need it. Lynley was more likely upset to have them snooping around the house with his mother away on vacation. She would not want to intrude any longer on his privacy. “I’m sorry, sir. Jack told me I was in New York and only back on the job over here a few weeks ago,” she said matter-of-factly, her eyes diverting from the photos displayed on the coffee table. “It’s hard enough that I can’t remember my own mum. Maybe it was a social call, nothing special, you know, just because I happened to be in the neighbourhood. I don’t remember for god’s sake! So please, can you stop now? Jack will be gone tomorrow and I’d like to enjoy our last evening together.” She noticed the immediate change on his face. The corner of his mouth twitched. He bent to retrieve his glass and collected the photographs in a neat stack. “I agree,” said Jack. He was facing her across the table in a comfortable armchair near the fireplace. “Tommy can’t you give it a rest just for tonight, for my own sanity?” “I told you that I remember I was here in Howenstow at some point, because of the view from my bedroom window,” she added. “Well, that was a start,” said Lynley. His voice was warm and his composure poised and friendly again. The man was a mystery wrapped inside a surprise package but you never knew whether you were going to find firecrackers or chocolate truffles inside. “You were in the same room in the east wing actually. That’s the guest wing. Was it last Christmas?” Lynley pondered. “I must confess I’m set aback that you can’t recall we worked together, but eventually I’m confident you will remember me,” he added playfully. “Can I interest you in another brandy?” Tommy’s engagement party, the thought blurted out with clarity in her mind. She had bought a black evening dress for the occasion but for some reason, she could not remember that any party had taken place in the mansion. Was it cancelled in the end? “I think it was your engagement party, sir, with Lady Helen. You invited me, didn’t you? Your brother was in some kind of trouble…” Lynley’s expression changed again but she could not read it. “Do you remember Helen?” She shrugged. “No sir. I even thought I was her when I turned up lost in the woods.” She was glad that she was not Helen and that she was alive. “May I ask you something?” He nodded and sat on the sofa. She inhaled deeply and took a sip of her glass. “Morveren… you know Morveren Penhaligon? Well, she told me I might be your wife because of the scar… you know?” She put her hand to her stomach. “She said Lady Helen was injured in the line of duty...” A log shattered in the hearth and she watched the flames glowing and reflecting on the mantelpiece, utterly embarrassed. She blushed, happy that the light was too dim to reveal her trouble. Lynley was silent, his brow furrowed. He kept fidgeting with his glass when he spoke. “YOU were injured in the line of duty Havers. Actually, I cannot picture anyone any braver that you are. Hence the scar.” She stopped breathing. That was it. He would say no more tonight. Time to cheer up the atmosphere she thought. “I’d like another brandy sir. Anyway, you wouldn’t let me embarrass myself, would you sir?” He smiled, relieved by the change of subject, “I would not dare Havers!” and poured the brandy. “Not for me, I’m done,” said Jack. “If you will excuse me, I’m a bit tipsy myself and I’m gonna hit the sack. Night, Barb. Good night, Tommy. See you both tomorrow.” They had been over the special relationship that she was supposed to have with Lynley. At the time, she though it was a lame excuse to leave her alone with Lynley, but when he stood up, she realised he really was a bit drunk. She gave him a light peck on the cheek and Tommy shook his hand. Had she told Buchanan everything about her and Lynley? How much has she confided in him? It was one thing to be attracted to one other as Jack repeatedly told her Lynley was as much as she, and quite another to confess she had become an easy shag. A quick nookie after work. She was not sure she would have told Jack if she was part of the aristocratic DI’s hidden agenda. They stood in front of the fireplace in silence. Lynley rested his elbow against the mantelpiece and she sat on the side of the armchair. They got lost straight away into their thoughts. “Can I ask you a favour?” she finally said in a low voice. Lynley turned to her. He had a faint smile on his face and his eyes were glistening. He must still mourn his wife, she thought. She took his arm and made him sit beside her on the sofa. “Can I hold on to you?” “Hold on to me?” he repeated with a tilt of the head and a real smile this time. “I would like to… just lean against you. I’d like to feel somebody next to me. Please?” She snuggled in his arms and sighed. “Can I ask you another favour?” “Absolutely. Anything!” “Tommy, relax, please.” That was the first time she used his name and it felt good. -o- Judith was taller than she was but she will manage. Tommy had asked his sister if she could borrow some of her clothes and Judith insisted on talking to her. Apparently, she seemed very fond of me when I spoke to her on the phone, thought Barbara. Now that she was wearing proper clothes, she could bear to be seen with Lynley outside of his swanky mansion. Their relation changed the minute Jack left the building. Lynley arranged for an open leave of absence with the Met and from that moment on, merely devoted all his time to her. He took her shopping for extra clothes and insisted on paying for them with the promise that she will eventually pay him back once in London. They went to bookshops and galleries. She discovered that she was an avid reader and a sucker for art. Though she pictured herself as the ultimate city girl with a London background, she was really enjoying the countryside and Cornwall was stunning at this time of the year. They took their time exploring coastlines, ancient mines and standing stones in the shiny Bristol and it had a decadent flair to it when they eventually stopped at the local pub for pasties and seafood. They browsed through numerous antiques shops for his mother’s birthday perfect gift and he found a small medallion, a blue cameo actually, that he sat on her pillow one evening with a ‘get well’ note. Her other life as DS for the Met was starting to come back in ample tides of impressions and voices and she discovered it was the first time that Lynley was so completely hers and it felt exhilarating. She was having trouble to conceal her growing attraction but he never tried to abuse her trust, being the perfect gentleman every single hour of the day – and of the night, she thought ruefully. Far from warding off his condescending and sleek upper-class pronunciation, she gleefully accepted it and even welcomed his snippets of classical education, finding them quite endearing. She knew that she was really falling for him and wondered if her feelings had ever been so strong before. They were facing the sea over a hot chocolate when she finally knew she had to put an end to her interim fairy tale. “Tommy, it’s been an over-the-top fortnight but I’m afraid I have to go back to London.” “If you must,” he simply said, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on the inside of her wrist. She shivered, surprised by his gesture and his lack of protest against her decision. “You will have some packing to do, let’s head back home. Shall we?” Disappointed he gave her up without a fight, she wished she had not said a word and waited instead until dinnertime. Or longer. -o- “Here’s to answers and unveiled mysteries!” She raised her glass to the full-length portrait of a long gone Lady Asherton. Her evening gown danced around her ankles and a small gold bracelet sparkled on her wrist. She blew away a lock of hair and turned back to Lynley. “Havers? Barbara? Are you ok? We had way too much to drink. It is my fault, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I have no right to ask you that.” Lynley rose and held a tentative hand to catch her. “Please, let me help you. I shall accompany you to your room, you need to lie down,” he said gently trying to take her glass from her. She slipped away from his grasp. “I don’t mind telling you… well, do you want the complicated answer or the truth?” she asked all inhibitions down. “I remember everything!” Her eyes flashing defiantly, she swirled from the coach to the window, spilling dry martini onto the wooden floor. “‘tis funny, cause I never had that many friends on the job or elsewhere,” she stated bluntly. She put her hand on her stomach and staggered. “I didn't have any close friends except for your sorry arse,” she said a bit too loud. “And it was all right, ‘cause Helen was the right choice for you, I told you myself she was, sir, and I knew I couldn’t be more than your partner, could I?” she paused. “But it was alright… sort of… and then she left. I was there, but you could not see I was. And now she’s dead. Still you can’t see me. Now I have another friend, right, F.R.I.E.N.D. Jack.” She zigzagged back to him. “And now I’m betting you’re only trying to get into my pants because you found some competition. So how dare you ask me that question? You know what, sir, arrogant aristocratic golden boys who think they can get in my pants using lame romantic clichés make me want to puke,” she added in a harsh voice before dropping down to the floor like a stone. The glass flew up in a circular motion, spilling the rest of the cocktail along with olives and ice cubes. It shattered when it crashed on the marble mantelpiece. -o- Ain’t life outstanding and full of twists? Just when things seem dull or totally hopeless, along comes one unexpected opportunity to start fresh, the chance of a lifetime you might actually say… and you blow it, she sighed. What has come into you Barbara Havers? Kindness and crying on one’s shoulder is clearly NOT what you needed. Electric shock therapy would have been more likely to do the trick. Everyone could use a few thousand volts from time to time to clear the mind and put things back into perspective. Last night was a blur but she knew she had lost it with Lynley. Badly. Her outburst had made quite an impression. It took them the most part of the day to drive back to London but they did not exchange more than a few sentences, including “now I will stop the car and have some coffee” and “the sandwiches were lovely, thank you” and of course “we are having a fine weather for this time of the year don’t you think?”. “I believe It is you.” Lynley stopped the Bristol in front of the brick project and killed the ignition. She did not move her hands from her lap, staring ahead, still mortified. He opened the car door, the trunk, retrieved her brown shabby suitcase now full of all the posh clothes he had bought for her during their Cornish retreat. “Let me help you with it,” he said, putting a light hand on her arm. She followed him to her building and to her door, opened it and let him in. “Here you are,” he said, placing the suitcase before the sofa. “I love what Jack has done with the place… Well, I guess this is goodbye then Havers. I will ring you some time next week to see how you’re settling back in,” he said plainly after his early sneering ad-lib. Resisting the impulse to kiss him goodbye, she simply nodded without a word and followed him back to his car. Silence was deafening. She awkwardly shook his hand. He slammed the door and started the engine. She waved at the Bristol and went back to her flat. -o- Note – I have to thank Daphne du Maurier and Charlotte Brontë for their help... Please tell me what you think ;) To Be Continued Part 13 |
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