Page 58 of Vow of Revenge
We travelled north of Dublin, across the Irish border that separates the south from the north of Ireland. Brett’s family owned an estate surrounded by lakes and acres of mountainous land. It was a magnificent beast of a home - a wide stone building with a large portico slap bang in the middle of the main building. To the left, it grew in size, no doubt doubling the square footage. It was a shrine to historic architecture with grey block work and lead lined window frames. Intricate stained glass windows surrounded an imposing white door.
Brett drove, so I could rest in the back without having to endure their suggestive glances. I was squeezed into the back of a matte black Aston Martin which was meant to be a two-seater but had the option to pack in an extra passenger – if I cut off my legs. Its powerful engine roared along the drive, bringing us closer to the home Kaleb lived in as a teenager. Our unison was formed without the knowledge of our pasts, living only in the present, with no promise of the future.
It was late afternoon and already darkness was creeping into the sky like black dye clouding into water, welcoming back the bright moon. The wind bit my face, spiking my flesh as we exited the car and marched past manicured box hedges.
“Welcome home, sir,” spoke an eloquent elderly gentleman in a three-piece suit. “Mr. and Mrs. De Courcy are out for the evening. Would you care for supper?”
Brett strolled through the bright reception hall. “Not just yet, Bryson. Perhaps a little later. Would you show, Freya, to her room so she can freshen up,” he said casually.
The man nodded as I stepped forward. “Of course, sir.”
With my laptop bag over my shoulder, I followed Bryson up the carpet walkway on the staircase that spiralled along the wall towards the second floor. I imagined a car could drive down it, given its sheer width and gentle incline. My room for the weekend was south facing with spectacular views over the nearby mountain. The décor was old fashion with chintzy wallpaper and a pale green carpet. It was immaculately maintained, containing everything I could possibly need, including my own coffee maker.
Bryson left my small suitcase on the stand and backed away. Syrah and Brett were making up for lost lust time, so I decided to pull out my old friend and sit on the wide windowsill.
The countryside was perfectly peaceful. A breath of fresh air from the polluted city. This house was filled with history, the walls had ears and all the paintings had watchful gazes. My mind wandered to Kaleb as a boy, playing hide and seek with his cousin in this huge monolithic property. My heart shivered with the memory of his touch. I wished he was here, playing his cruel game of cat and mouse. Pain was better than the feeling of desolation that I’d become lost in.
I fired up my emails, momentarily kidding myself and hoping that he had reached out to me. As my pitiful heart suspected, there was nothing. I wanted nothing more than to initiate some sort of communication. I know it was an act of desperation, and I hated myself for it, but I had to reach out to him.
Email: Freya Beaumont
Heading: Hanley Hall
Kaleb,
If this thing with my sister and your cousin is the real deal, then we should at least try to be friends? It would make it easier at family functions…
I’m enjoying the south facing view.
Freya
My inbox stilled. The last few opened messages taunted me with his name – I’d kept every single email he’d sent me. A collection of hopes that held no consequence. One minute of impatience soon rolled into five minutes of wishful thinking, ten minutes of distant hope and thirty minutes of defeated acceptance.
Waiting for Kaleb to reply was like waiting for the moon to drop into the lake outside my window. It was never going to happen. Being in this massive house that held memories of him was probably the worst place I could have been. The walls held his secrets, and the many rooms contained his essence. The truth of the matter was all too real - I was consumed by thoughts of him, wondering why he wanted to get to know me only to push me away. My heart was torn between anger at his rejection and hurt that he didn’t really care.
“Freebie? Can I come in?” Syrah knocked a few times. The brass doorknob turned, and she peered in at me from the hall. “Dinner’s ready.”
Closing my laptop, I left the rolling hills and my rejection behind. “This place is pretty awesome, isn’t it?” I managed to sound jovial, for her sake. The weekend wasn’t going to spoil because of that asshole.
“Yeah, a bit creepy though. I’m glad I have Brett to protect me from all the ghosts that haunt the corridors.” Her face reddened. “Ummmm, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“Ya think?” My mouth curved to a smirk. I had my own ghosts to deal with before I entertained the ancestors of Hanley Hall. Having my mother taken from me was a crueller pain than finding a scary monster under my bed. Well, that was until I welcomed a monster into my soul to devour my heart and crush any thoughts of finding a happy ending to my scarred story.
“Let’s go, I’ll lead us back down to the dining room, so we don’t get lost. I left a trail of breadcrumbs.” Her cute giggle brightened my heart.
Dinner was served in the grand dining hall. The super-sized mahogany table was set for three with no one positioned at the head. I sat beside Syrah, marvelling at the silverware and delicate bone China.
The Beaumonts were wealthy, arguably more so than the De Courcys, but our wealth was spread among mansions and land in Europe and America. We had homes amongst our vineyards and the vast countryside of France, Spain and California, as well as our home in Northern Ireland where my father originated from. Collectively, Calvin was worth a fortune in his own right and commanded authority wherever he went, but this place was like wealth and aristocracy rolled up in history.
“So, this is where you and what’s his name grew up?” I asked with false nonchalance.
Brett smiled; his dark eyes narrowed. “Yes, this is where Kaleb grew up as a teen,” he replied, hinting towards my question as a probe for information about ‘what’s his name.’
“Nice place, although it seems a bit big and lonely.” I popped a piece of tender steak into my mouth and let it melt like butter.
Brett nodded. “Yeah, it was until he arrived. I hate coming back here without him.”
“Why isn’t he with you this time?” The question left my mouth before my mind could flick the switch to red for stop.
