Mr. Devereaux (Taboo Series Book 3)

Prologue

The past

Charlize - Aged 13

I heard the commotion from the classroom; raised voices that were getting louder. Everyone did. And there was no mistaking who it was.

Alistair Devereaux had been a permanent fixture in my life for the last few years, yet, I’d seen him only a handful of times. That was largely due to the fact I was at boarding school for the majority of the years, and subsequently, I saw anyone from back home less and less.

My heart soared when I thought he could be here for me, to take me back to Kent and go to a normal school where I can be home every night. Home? It’s not a word I’m familiar with. If we’re talking about the house my mum shares with Alistair, I’ve spent one Christmas there.

My mum and I aren’t close. She had me when she was fifteen, and a large part of me thinks I ruined her life. She’d always had difficulties in expressing any kind of emotion, and when we do get those rare moments alone together, she takes me shopping as if buying the latest Louis Vuitton will fix everything between us.

We come from a wealthy Australian family, and while that has its perks, the one thing I wanted from my mum is the one thing I’ll never have; closeness. Not in the way that normal people have with their parents.

I heard Alistair’s voice getting louder and louder, and it’s then that I started to panic.

Something’s wrong.

I had to think back to the last time I heard from Mum — it was a few weeks ago. She’d texted me that she was going on a trip to Spain. I’d been angry with her because I’d spent summer break with my grandmother, and I’d prefer to never have to go there ever again. My grandma acts like I’m the one who ruined my mum’s life, and even if I did, it wasn’t like I asked to be born.

My mum, despite her family”s wealth, has never been one to pick herself up and start again like people with means easily can. She’d never really found her feet. I know from the argument that she and Alistair had at Christmas — unbeknown to them I heard everything — she’s using medication again to get high.

My mother’s addiction to prescription drugs has been an issue since as long as I can remember. It’s the basis of all the arguments in our family, and I think shipping me off to boarding school —where I can’t be seen or heard — makes it better on her somehow.

That’s the only reason I keep quiet.

A few moments later, our headmistress was standing in the doorway, searching for me.

I don’t know why, but I wanted to curl up under the desk and hide. I didn’t want this news, whatever it was.

“Charlize Prescott.” My mother never got around to changing either of our names. “Please come with me.”

My heart raced in my chest as the other kids in the class all turned to look at me. I stood, leaving my text book upright on the desk, along with my school bag.

“Bring your things,” she added.

I turned back to do as she said. That’s one thing I was always good at: doing what everyone says and not making a fuss. In fact, I’d say I’m an expert.

When I finally packed up and the entire class watched me leave, I felt more nervous than I’ve ever felt before

“What’s going on?” I asked Headmistress Sinclair.

She turned to look at me and I’ll never forget that look in her eyes as long as I live. Sympathy; but I didn’t know what for. “Your father is here to collect you.”

My father?

I wanted to snort with laughter. One thing Alistair has never been to me is a father. I barely ever saw, or heard from him.

He had my number; he could’ve texted me. What could be so urgent that he shows up at my school?

My heart filled with dread.

By the time we got to the office, I was in full panic mode. Then he turned and I saw his stony face. Yes. Something was definitely wrong. Mrs. Sinclair left us alone in her office.

“Alistair?” I frowned.

He scanned my face. He seemed… angry.

“Charlize.” His voice was low. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

My eyes grew wide. My heart raced in my chest. “What is it?” I whispered, knowing full well it was about my mother.

“You might want to sit down.”

I shook my head. “Tell me.”

“It’s… your mother, Charli. She…” He ran two hands through his hair, the distress on his face abundantly clear. This was bad news. “She’s dead.”

Time stopped.

I could hear my heart pounding rapidly in my chest, the blood rushing to my ears. I sat down to brace myself. I wasn’t ready to hear this.

“H— how?”

He crouched down. His cologne is strong and heady. The one thing I’d always admired, the few times I’d seen him, is how impeccably dressed he was. Everyone knew Alistair Devereaux was insanely rich, and was the most eligible bachelor in England. Until my mum married him. They knew each other from college. I came home one day and Mum introduced me to him, and said they were getting married; something they ended up doing in private. I wasn’t even invited. That made me feel unworthy and a little lost. My mother wasn’t a gushing bride, nor did she act in love with him. It was the strangest thing. Like there was some kind of deal between the two of them that I wasn’t privy to. Their union seemed forced and unnatural.

“An accidental overdose.” His voice was strangely caressing. I don’t know if he added the accidental thing for my benefit, or if he truly believed it himself. But my world was spinning.

My mum was dead.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, Charli. You need to come with me so we can make arrangements. I’m…” He paused. “I’m sorry. I know this must be incredibly difficult for you.”

I looked away, surprised no tears formed.

Was something wrong with me?

I was upset, but also in shock. That must’ve been what it was.

“Charli?” he said, those grey eyes assessing me. The first time I’ve ever seen him concerned, or even pay any attention to me. “Say something.”

“I want to go home.”

He nodded. “Alright, but be warned, your grandmother is on the warpath. She wants you to go live with her.”

“What are the alternatives? To live with you?” My gaze met his.

“If that’s what you want.”

I didn’t really know what I wanted. I was still a child, a motherless child at that.

I wondered why he wasn’t more choked up, or maybe he hid it in private.

“When is the funeral?”

His frown deepened. Maybe he was expecting I’d be a mess. Inside, my stomach was churning and my head pounded. But I’d learned from an early age not to show my emotions.

Little does he know I’ve learned to bottle up my feelings. Pretend I don’t exist. Make myself as small as possible to survive. And that’s what I’ll do now.

“I’m arranging things as we speak.”

My eyes met his. “Did you love her?”

I think I already know the answer.

“In my own way, yes.” His eyes never left mine. “But our relationship was complicated, maybe when you’re older…”

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” I’d looked away. “None of it matters, does it Alistair?”

I’ll never call him my father, because he’s never acted like that.

“If you want anything, I can arrange it.” He actually sounded genuine.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Would you like to live with me when school is over?”

I hugged myself, unable to answer. I shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s too soon to be able to determine those details.”

Details.

That’s all this was for him.

So we sat there in uncomfortable silence until it was time to go.

I attended my mum’s funeral. Saw all her friends, my aunt, my grandmother. I sat through the entire thing, wondering if I were in my own personal hell, because that’s how I felt; cold and alone.

The ceremony went by in a blur. Even now, I can’t recall half the details.

The entire time Alistair sat beside me and never said a word until it was time to leave. He assumed I’d be going with him, back to Kent. But my grandmother had other ideas. In hindsight, I should’ve fought to stay with him. Or anyone except her. I should’ve used my voice to tell her what I wanted, not that anyone would’ve listened.

After that awful Friday afternoon, I never saw Alistair Devereaux ever again. He was like a ghost. A man who existed only in my dreams. A man who disappeared like I meant nothing to him at all.

But that would all change seventeen years later.