Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
TOBIAS
On the drive to Cornwall, Isla falls asleep with her head on my shoulder. I didn’t think it was possible to love her anymore, but she’s proved me wrong.
Rebecca’s been quiet since we left Oakleigh, shooting me the occasional shy smile before burying her head in the book she brought from the library.
This time an absorbing thriller rather than a book about a long-dead politician.
I leave her to it. Her head must be spinning with how different her life has become in a few short weeks.
I’ve been so busy tying up loose ends this week, we’ve hardly seen each other. I wonder if she’s had time to think about a career path. If I sense the time is right, I’ll ask her during our trip. I want her to feel at home, as a true De Vil, and a part of my life. An important part.
The gates to Braxton Hall open and, Caleb, my driver, steers the car through and drives up to the house. I’m not sure what Rebecca expected, but her wide-eyed stare as she gazes at the six-bedroom, seven-bathroom, thatched-roof house tells me this wasn’t it.
“You said it was a cottage.”
“It is.” I get out, motioning to my bodyguard Benton to leave Rebecca’s door to me. She’s my wife. I should be the one to open her door.
My wife. That’ll take some getting used to, though I relish it. We’re from completely different worlds, and I’ve only scratched the surface of the circumstances she grew up in, yet I feel more kinship toward her than to many who may be considered “my own kind”.
“Tobias, this isn’t a cottage. It’s a mansion.”
Rebecca ducks back into the car and unfastens Isla’s safety harness, then lifts her out. She immediately reaches for me, and my heart explodes. I hoist her into my arms and kiss her soft cheek.
“Ready to go exploring?”
She nods, wide awake now we’re here. I take them both on a whirlwind tour of the cottage, then we change into comfy shoes, warm coats and hats, and head down to the beach. I lift Isla up onto my shoulders, hanging onto her legs to keep her steady.
“Is it odd being followed everywhere you go?”
I glance behind me. Benton’s a short distance away yet close enough to intervene if there’s any trouble, even though the beach is virtually empty.
“It’s all I know. My family will always be a target and, as such, we take precautions. You’ll have a bodyguard now you’re a De Vil.”
“I will?”
“Yes. Don’t be scared. It’s not like there are bad people waiting for the opportunity to snatch you, but when you’re as rich and powerful as we are, there’s always a slight risk something untoward could happen. We take steps to mitigate the risks.”
“Because of what happened to your sister?” She sounds tentative, unsure of my reaction.
“Partly, yes. My father ramped up security massively after Annabel and Xan were taken, although I was too young to understand what was happening. I doubt an attempt like that would succeed these days. It wouldn’t have succeeded then if George weren’t the one responsible.
” I heave a sigh. “It’s hard to guard against a fox in the henhouse. ”
“I had tea with Alice a few weeks ago. I don’t think I told you.”
I glance at her without interrupting my stride. “No, you didn’t. Nor do you have to.”
“She’s lonely, I think, and sad. I promised I’d visit her again. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay.” I’m quiet for a moment, staring at the waves crashing onto the shore. “I feel for her. It can’t be easy to admit you married a monster.”
“Is he still, you know, in the basement?” She lowers her voice, probably so Isla can’t hear, although I doubt she’d understand even if she could.
“Yes.”
She pulls her coat a little tighter around her. “What will happen, do you think?”
“The more time that passes, the more I’m unsure. Xan’s hesitating, and I guess he will until he gets the answers he thinks George has but is withholding.”
“It must be hard on all of you.”
“It is. More so on Xan and Dad. And Alice, I guess.”
“Do you think she knew anything about what he’d done?”
“She says she didn’t, and I’m inclined to believe her.
” Isla fidgets and points at the ground.
I slide her off my shoulders, and she runs ahead, hair caught by the breeze.
“Alice was always under George’s control.
She’s spoken more since we put him in the basement than she has in the entire time I’ve known her. ”
“I know what that feels like,” she murmurs, crouching to pick up a pebble and toss it into the sea.
We walk on in silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It never does with her.
The wind picks up, the waves topped with froth, and Rebecca burrows further into her coat, tucking her chin behind the collar.
“Want to head back?”
“Yes, please.” She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “This wind is vicious.”
“It’s exposed here. Even in summer, there’s a chill in the air.”
Once we arrive back at the cottage, I make the three of us hot chocolate, and we hunker down in front of the fire.
The TV drones in the background with some film or other, but no one seems particularly interested.
Isla plays with her dolls, feeding them imaginary blocks of cheese and holding tiny cups to their lips.
Rebecca falls asleep, her head resting on my shoulder.
I can’t remember a time in my life when I felt this content. I don’t feel the need to interject with a quip every five minutes. It’s an odd yet comfortable feeling.
Later that evening, when I’ve carried Isla upstairs to her room, and Rebecca’s shuffled off to bed with a sleepy murmur of goodnight, I sit by the fire, staring into the dying embers. The house settles around me, creaking under the strength of the wind.
At Oakleigh, I’d be restless by now, searching for the next distraction, the next thing to keep me busy, the next joke to keep my place in the family hierarchy. Coming here was a good idea for Rebecca and for me.
I put the guard in front of the fire and head up to bed.
The next morning, I walk downstairs to the smell of burnt toast and Isla’s unmistakable giggle. She’s unrecognizable from the shy little girl who visited my hospital room. Her therapist is something of a miracle worker. One day, I’m certain she’ll speak, and I hope I’m there to witness it.
“Uh-oh.” I enter the kitchen and theatrically sniff the air. “Am I going hungry this morning, Miss Isla?” She shakes her head and points at Rebecca. “Oh, I see. It’s Mama’s fault. Is that what you’re saying?”
She nods vigorously. Rebecca ruffles her hair. “You weren’t supposed to tell.”
“Too late. She’s already on my side.” I hold out my hand for a high-five. Isla obliges. Rebecca groans.
“Two against one. I don’t stand a chance.
” There’s a smile in her voice that tells me she’s not offended by what I said.
We’re still relative strangers. Sometimes it’s hard to know where to draw the line, and as much as I don’t feel the need to joke every five minutes with her, it’s difficult to scale back a habit I’ve had for years.
“How about we go out for breakfast? The wind has dropped, and there’s a nice place not too far from here.”
“Since it appears I’m not to be trusted with a toaster, that works for me.”
We head out, with Benton trailing a few feet behind us. The sea is calm today—a stark contrast from when we arrived yesterday—the waves gently lapping the shore. Isla skips along in front of us, stopping to pick up the odd seashell and put it in her pocket.
Wrenley Tea Rooms comes into view. Vanessa Wrenley has owned this quaint little café for as long as I can remember.
“Wrenley.” Rebecca chuckles. “I might have a claim on this business.”
I cant my head. “Why would you have a claim?”
“Because my maiden name was Wrenley.”
“Is that so?” I study her. “Well, my sweet little Wren, if you think you can take on Vanessa, the owner, who is pretty fierce by the way, have at it. I’ll be over here with popcorn to watch the showdown.”
Her eyes flare at the nickname that came out of nowhere, but she doesn’t correct me. In fact, she smiles. I make a mental note. It suits her. Wrens, despite their size, are a resilient breed, just like Rebecca.
The little bell over the door jingles as we enter. Benton stands by the entrance, hands behind his back. Rebecca leans a little closer to me.
“Should we ask him to join us? I feel terrible having him stand there while we eat.”
I shake my head. “He’d hate that. He’s doing his job, and he’s good at it.”
She doesn’t look convinced by my explanation, but if I asked Benton to join us, he’d be mortified. It’s just not done.
It’s the off season, so the place is quiet. I gesture to a table for four by the bay window with a view of the beach.
“I can recommend the sausage sandwich. Vanessa makes the sausages herself, and they are some of the best you’ll ever taste.”
“Some of the best.” Vanessa appears from behind the counter and clips me around the back of the head. “Cheeky so-and-so.”
I laugh. Vanessa’s known me since I was a kid, and I’ve had my fair share of clips around the ear from her.
“Okay, the best. Rebecca, this is the owner, Vanessa, a possible distant relative of yours. Vanessa, this is my wife, Rebecca De Vil, formerly Rebecca Wrenley, and this is her gorgeous daughter, Isla.”
I purposely leave out La Salle. When the time is right, I’ll suggest Rebecca change Isla’s surname and put that family out of her mind for good.
It doesn’t have to be my name if she’d rather not.
Isla Wrenley has a nice ring to it, although no one would be prouder than me if Rebecca allowed me to adopt Isla and have her take my name.
One step at a time.
We order food and mugs of hot chocolate, and Vanessa brings Isla a coloring book and some crayons to play with. I thank her, and Isla sticks her thumb up in thanks, too. Rebecca’s gaze rests on her daughter, soft and tinged with hope.
“It’ll happen.” In a move very unlike me, I reach across the table and squeeze her hand briefly before drawing back.