Page 38 of Zenith
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I’d never lingeredin Edward’s study before.
I sat on the couch in front of the fireplace with his laptop on my knee and warmed my bare feet in a shaft of sunlight that was filtering through the window.
I felt I could be idle now, my position beginning to grow on me. I had nothing and nowhere to be, and I was finally able to see it for what it was. A chance to discover things about this life and myself that I had been forced to overlook.
I stared at the balance on my bank accounts for a long time, waiting for the screen to refresh and tell me it had all been an elaborate ruse, but it did not. This was my existence now.
“What are you looking at?”
I turned at the sound of Edward’s voice and smiled. It was a curious turn of events, which now saw us fully at ease with one another. The house had calmed, all thoughts of its crazy ghost were quelled, and my happiness seemed impenetrable.
“My bank account,” I said.
Leaning over the back of the couch, he snapped the laptop closed and replaced it with a folder of papers. “Perhaps this may be of more interest than numbers,” he declared.
“What is it?” I inquired, picking it up.
“After I met with your lawyer, Mr. Briggs, I looked into your uncle’s background.”
I sat up straight and scowled. “Edward!”
“Merely as a precaution,” he said in his defense. “I did not want to see you hoodwinked considering the circumstances you were in at the time.”
“And have I been?” I asked, glancing at the folder in my hands. “Hoodwinked?”
“Not at all,” was his reply. “I think you might find a rather telling story in there about a certain textile mill you now own. Curious, isn’t it?”
“How so?”
“From what I could gather from Mr. Briggs, your wealth consists mainly of investments and shares, all of them in emerging technologies and safety net items such as oil and gold. A textile mill doesn’t quite fit, does it?”
I shook my head as he came to sit beside me, placing my legs across his lap. As if he sensed I was too afraid to look inside the folder, he took it from my fingers and opened it.
“It so turns out that your uncle and your father worked together at the mill when they were boys. James was older by three years, and they both worked the same production line, both being employed from the age of sixteen. When the economy turned in the late seventies, business went sour, and production was scaled back considerably. It caused mass unemployment for the area, and many were forced into poverty because of it. Some years later, after your father had passed, your uncle was fortunate enough to have built himself a fine business. He returned to Leeds, purchased the run-down mill, and revitalized it, bringing all those jobs back to the region once more. It seemed he never forgot where he came from even after earning his wealth.” He handed me a piece of paper. “See here? The mill now supplies the finest materials. They have a Royal Warrant, which means they are approved to supply the royal family with goods for the Queen herself.” He then picked up a photo and pointed out the two men in it. “This is your uncle James, and I believe this is your father.”
Forgetting myself, I snatched the picture from his hands and stared at it, desperate to see the face I had never known.
There was Uncle James, tall, handsome, and with a kind face. I glossed over the man who had left me his entire life’s work and found myself quite overcome by the sight of my father.
Aunt Sarah was right. I did look like him.
“Do you understand what you have just given me?” I whispered, tracing the lines of my father’s face with my fingertips. “I have never seen a picture of him before. I never knew…”
“Then my meddling has come to something,” Edward replied, placing his hand on my thigh. “I knew how you longed to know of your family…”
His mobile phone began to ring shrilly, breaking the moment, and he scowled, moving my legs from his lap. Retrieving it from the desk, he looked at the screen and scowled. With a sharp sigh, he answered.
“Blanche,” he said, his lips thinning. His brow began to darken considerably, his temper rising so fast I knew he was struggling to contain it.
I rose from the couch, the photograph of my father forgotten. I opened my mouth, but Edward held up his hand to silence me, then retreated out of the room leaving me to wonder at the conversation.
I knew he was trying to protect me from further harm, but had he learned nothing? I was more than capable of fighting by his side, helping him shoulder the burden. I could help!
I paced back and forth, knowing I’d only anger him if I followed. My toes sank into the carpet as I walked, my body trembling with a chill at the thought of the vitriol Blanche was submitting Edward to. What was she getting out of this torment? Did revenge over a broken heart mean that much to her? I wasn’t entirely sure she had loved Edward at all, not honestly. I felt she was more slighted by the fact he chose me over her. It was her pride she wanted to avenge! It was all frightfully shallow.
Finally, Edward returned, and he did not look pleased.
