Page 30 of The Second Ending
Bloody hell!
CHAPTER 17
CRUMBLING
Ashleigh had spentall Sunday bowing and scraping before her parents. Her father had left a message while she was at her concert, summoning her to attend an event he was hosting the following afternoon, and insisting that she arrive bright and early to help with the arrangements. As happened every time, they didn’t really need her. Her mother had everything well under control, as she always did, and besides, they had almost certainly hired whatever people they needed to do the heavy lifting. But they needed to feel they were still pulling all the strings, that they were still in control of her life.
Ashleigh resented these imperious orders, and was tempted every time one arrived to tell her family, once and for all, that the answer was no. But she relied on her father’s wealthy friends and their connections to keep her music program in Chile going, and all the more so now that the orchestra and band were working on their recordings. One of these years, she’d have to widen her net of donors, but for now, she’d suck up and play nice. For now.
The event was, as she expected, awful.
“Ashleigh, you’re here at last,” her mother breathed wearily as she let herself in just after breakfast. “I don’t know what took you so long. I can’t do this without your help.”
“Mom, I only got the message at eleven last night. If it were so important, you’d have let me know when you planned this. When was that? Last week? Last month?”
“You always find reasons not to come,” her mother breathed. “I can’t possibly manage this. I just had my nails done, after all. You need to go to the kitchen to make sure the caterers have enough space to work, and then can you bring me some coffee, dear? I can’t work the machine with my nails. And then your father has some documents he needs you to look at.”
“Why me?”
“You’re a lawyer, dear. You’ll do this for your family. We don’t need to hire someone and pay them when you can just do it for us. He’d like some coffee too, I’m sure. Maybe make him some toast as well, but make sure it’s not too dark. You know how much he hates burnt toast.”
And so, the day went on. With every breath, someone or other had her doing useless tasks to keep her busy, never giving her a moment to sit and relax. It was, as she knew it would be, meaningless busywork, its real purpose being to reinforce the power structure in the family. The parents were the monarchs, Ashleigh, the peon. Her sister, somehow, was never required to attend thus. But then, Penelope was the favourite child, whose loyalty was never in doubt.
The function itself was an afternoon affair, the sort that should have gone out of fashion about 80 years ago. It was just tea and cocktails, with enough nosh to keep people content without suggesting that there might be more food later. Ashleigh’s mother had hired a pianist—a music student from the university, she discovered upon talking to the young man—to entertain the guests, and when he packed up his goodies at half-past-five, most of the crowd milling about the finely-appointed space got the message and did likewise.
It was not a complete waste of time. As she had expected, several of the people who donated to her music project were in attendance, and she was able to rave to them about the fabulous success of the initiative, and update them on recent developments. Of course, they were all sent formal newsletters on a regular basis, but they wanted Ashleigh’s personal attention and the latest bits and pieces she’d picked up in her frequent communications with the music director there.
“You remember Jorge, that young violinist I was telling you about,” she said to one diamond-encrusted woman. “He’s amazing. Martin mentioned him to the concertmaster of the symphony orchestra in the city, and now he’s going there to study at the academy. People are whispering that he might be the next big name, and it’s all because of your generosity.”
This sort of conversation all but ensured that the funds kept filtering in, and that the kids would have the instruments and books they needed, and she was happy to sacrifice an afternoon for the cause. She only wished it was on her terms, and not on her parents’.
Eventually the guests performed their air-kisses and made half-insincere promises to do lunch soon, and by the time the sun was caressing the horizon, only the family remained in the house.
“Well, that was another success,” Ashleigh’s father opined. “Expected, of course, but gratifying. One must do these things to keep one’s place in society.”
“Honestly, Dad, this is the twenty-first century. That’s rather old-fashioned.” Ashleigh tried, but failed, to keep the scorn from her voice.
“In your circles, dear, but not in mine. You should understand that. It’s who you know, and who they know. Now, let’s get back to those documents. You hardly glanced at them earlier.”
Ashleigh let out a sigh. “There was too much to look at in the twenty minutes you’d set aside. And I need to get home. I’ve got some prep I need to do for work tomorrow.”
“Ashleigh! This is family. Surely, you owe this to your family. How hard can it be, anyway? They’re just a few letters and a couple of contracts. You can even have dinner here.”
This was an inducement?
“Dad, if I’m going to have anything of value to say, it could take me hours to go through those papers. Can’t you let your own lawyer take care of them?”
He glared at her.
“I’ll look at one. Then I have to go. Really.”
It was always the same. The usual pile of nonsense that didn’t need legal eyes. There was a letter agreeing to come to a board meeting, some reports from his financial advisor on a new investment, a query about necessary repairs on the roof, something about his membership dues at the Yacht Club, and the like. All rather boring, and none needing Ashleigh’s attention.
Still, she did her familial duty, as she always did, refused the half-hearted suggestion she stay for dinner, and caught the bus back home so she could work far too late into the night on the files she had intended to go through during the day.
It was only late, long after every sane person was in bed and asleep, that she realised she hadn’t been in touch with Marcus. She wanted to thank him for coming to the concert last night, inform him that she had no idea Sebastian would be there, reassure him that she’d much rather have gone out with him.
But it was too late now. She’d send him a message in the morning. Tomorrow would do just fine.
