Page 95 of Electric Kiss

Cynthia bored holes into the back of Jonathan’s head until he turned. Then she brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Bailey,” she said, loud enough for Jonathan to hear. “Yes, I understand … okay … I’ll be back tomorrow … yes … goodbye.”

By the time Cynthia had ended the call, Jonathan was out of the pool, rubbing himself down with a towel.

“Has he gone?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said and looked at her lap. “Last night in his sleep. Heart attack, Bailey says.”

“Who will tell the children?”

“Bailey. He let me know on that call he would get in touch with Archer. They’re all together on the rig, so they’ll hear the news together.”

“So that’s the end of us out here then,” Jonathan said it like a statement, not a question.

“Absolutely not. I’ll go home to bury him, and then I’ll be right back. He didn’t think I was good enough to run the island while he was alive. I’ll be buggered if I let him rule my life now he’s dead.”

Jonathan gave her a slow grin. “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. I’m assuming you don’t want to come with me?”

“If you want me there, I will be, but if you’re just going for formalities, then I’ll stay here.”

“I don’t want to be there, so I won’t make you go. I’m sure there will be a will reading, although that’s a foregone conclusion. As soon as everything is in order. I’ll be back.”

“Great. When will you leave?”

“Not until tomorrow. We have plans for dinner. No need to change them.”

“Even better.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cynthia insisted her father’s funeral was in the private Turner Chapel and family only. She wouldn’t sit through the same spectacle that befitted her brother. There wasn’t a seat free at Freddie’s funeral. They’d lined the aisles and stood outside. She felt embarrassed at the outpouring of grief. Why couldn’t these people act with dignity? She’d asked Jennifer when she was changing after the service. Jennifer didn’t answer her.

“Are you sure you want to have the service as family only? That will be you and Freddie’s children. There have been a lot of messages from the islanders that have requested to come to the service. Your father was well-liked,” Bailey said.

Cynthia was in the morning room and continued to spray her lilies with her glass mister. The short pump and hiss punctuated the air as she contemplated her reply.

“I’m quite sure the only people who want to come and attend his funeral are the people he bullied to make sure he’s dead and the people he paid to do his dirty work to make sure they’re still going to get their money.”

“Indeed,” Bailey replied. “I shall make arrangements.”

Cynthia didn’t reply and vaguely heard the door click closed to the morning room. She briefly glanced around the conservatory at the plants she’d accumulated over the years. The past year, she had the gardener come in and take care of them. He’d done a fine job.

Shooting the mist at the flower petals was more therapy than anything else. It helped Cynthia think about her plan for what to do next. She knew Jonathan and Benny would never step foot on Copper Island. Cynthia had spent too many years trying to convince them. But the past twelve months had shown her living away from Copper Island was the best year of her life. The stranglehold her father had on her was lifted. By the end of the year, they could still live comfortably in the villa. Benny had made it his home, but the place was big enough they had their own floors, so they could, if they wanted, have privacy. Cynthia didn’t think Benny would ever marry, running through women like the character James Bond. Whenever she brought up the subject of marriage, he would refer to Cynthia and Jonathan’s long-lasting relationship as an example that marriage doesn’t need to take place to live a long and happy life with a partner.

Cynthia couldn’t remember the last time she brought up the subject of marriage with Jonathan. It didn’t matter anymore. Even if they married, Jonathan and Benny wouldn’t be recognised as legal Turners. So there was little point. They were happy. They were together. Slowly she was shaking off the Turner protocol, but muscle memory ran deep in her body. It was as if it all snapped into place as soon as she returned. Cynthia shrank into the daughter of a tyrant as soon as she stepped over the threshold of Turner Hall.

She had a simple mission.

Bury her father, get the will reading done, and then she would head back to Como. She would turn her back on Copper Island and run the empire from Italy. She was scared if she spent any longer on the island, she would never leave.

Four days later, she was dressed and down in the foyer early. Now that everything was hers, she wanted to get into her father’s study. It wasn’t a place of joy, and too many reminders of the evilness that had seeped into the bricks of the building. A place where she was beaten, a place where she was almost forced into a loveless marriage with a man twice her age. A place where she was forbidden to marry Jonathan.

It was also her father’s and her grandfather’s secret sanctuary, which no one was allowed to enter unless invited. She wanted to know what the fuss was about. Her fanciful ideas had her thinking there was a secret passage or at least a secret room with all the Turner secrets. She strode to the study and turned the door handle, but it wouldn’t open. Still, with her hand on the knob, she pivoted her upper body to look at the door that led below stairs. She rattled the doorknob a second time, waiting.

Less than a minute later, the door opened, and Bailey came out into the foyer.

---