In Love with Lori Ch. 07 Pt. 01

"Aunt Sophie, how do you know this stuff?" he asked.

Sophie smiled back.

"David dear, women do talk you know. Louisa and I were close, and she needed someone to know, so she told me. When your grandfather died, she was devastated, so much so that she died a few weeks later. The doctors said it was a heart attack, but I know better: she died of a broken heart, and that's the truth of it, no matter what the medical men say. She was a wonderful lady and terribly, hopelessly fond of your father; she always felt she should have been his mother, if fate had been more kind, or society more forgiving. She felt her whole life that she'd been robbed of her true happiness, and spent her life pining for the man she loved but could never have. Of course, that horrible Grant man knew and he never missed an opportunity to throw it back in her face; I suppose that's why he consoled himself with an endless succession of actresses and housemaids, in between drinking like a bloody fish!"

I was in tears as the tragic story unfolded, but Sophie took my hand, gently patting my tears dry.

"That was in the past, dearest girl; you two will never have to go through anything like that, but I hope it points-up to you that you are not the first, nor I daresay the last, young people to do this in defiance of prejudice and law. What I will say is this: my lips are sealed, I will not reveal this to anyone, and you will not try and deceive me again. Is that clear?"

*

Three days later, we boarded the flight to London, to begin our life proper as a married couple. It was a wrench leaving the land of my birth, but the thought of a new life in a new world filled me with excitement. Mom and Daddy would always be with me, not simply in my mind and heart, but in all their things I was having shipped, warm, loving memories of them wrapped around each and every item. Mom and daddy's ashes had been scattered so there was no gravesite to visit, no headstone or memorial to draw me back, but I would have their continued presence with me for the remainder of my life. Davey had very thoughtfully had a pair of bronze plaques made, and our plan was to have them installed in his family plot so I would have somewhere to lay flowers on remembrance days. There was nothing holding me here in America any longer. My new life beckoned, with a husband I adored, and who adored me, and the baby we had made, and I was happy.

*

Chapter 7 Part 2:

England, Celebrity, and the Great Escape

London was a bang-up time, as Davey likes to say; for a girl from the Midwest, it was almost overwhelming in its sheer Wow! factor; everywhere I looked history and tradition dinned itself into me, from the stately, elegant buildings to the sense of refinement and the constant, background feeling, unstated but almost tangible, that manners mattered more than money, to the politeness of people in general; no jostling and pushing here; the first time someone stood aside to usher me into an elevator, with a soft "after you, please", I looked around to see who he was talking to. All in all, my first impression of the place was "I like, I wanna stay, why are we leaving?"

We originally based ourselves in a beautiful Edwardian hotel at the top of Park Lane, the long elegant drive that leads past Hyde Park to Buckingham Palace, past Apsley House, the home of the Duke of Wellington (the address is No.1, London; how's that for a hyper-exclusive address...?), but our stay was marred by some unpleasantness outside a restaurant, where Davey and our driver had to pulverize an annoying, arrogant little snot who insisted on trying to pick me up, with my husband standing right next to me, no less! I wanted to smash him, but Davey got there first, although he didn't need to; I may look like a girly-girl, but I would have snapped him like a Thanksgiving wishbone.

Anyway, the upshot was, he was a minor TV celeb, so the papers and news-crews got wind of it; they even had a picture of me, labelled 'unknown American Beauty' (which is always good for a few giggles), looking rather hot, I must admit, while our puke-stained new friend sat in the gutter with his balls hanging out of his ears after our huge driver had given him a punch in the nuggets they must have felt in Paris.

The driver who'd helped Davey deconstruct that annoying little turd turned out to be a former Marine named Jimmy; he and Davey got on like a house on fire, and before I knew it, I had a bodyguard; fancy, li'l ole me, with my own entourage; I must start doing things to make one necessary...

Jimmy showed up at the hotel just as Davey was breaking the news that my face was plastered all over the tabloids; HE thought it was funny; HE thought it was an absolute hoot, HE wasn't in the least worried about it, but what the frick about me? How long was this going to last, and what the hell was Sophie going to say about me sharing column inches with this week's celebs and their booze and drug issues? It took me a while to see the funny side, and start a little side plotting of my own; laugh at me, would he?

However it had come about, though, the fact was, the press vultures had somehow tracked us down; the front of the hotel was a mass of paparazzi, news-crews, TV vans, reporters, all jostling and arguing with each other. It was patently obvious we couldn't stay there, not with that mob waiting to pounce on me, so we had no choice but to scram out of there, to Davey's 'ancestral home' deep in rural Oxfordshire. It was an ugly, rambling, spooky place called Denham Hall, built by one of his more rabidly psychotic ancestors, but it was our only real option; any family he could remember off the top of his head made him shudder, so we wouldn't be rocking-up at any of their doors unannounced anytime soon.

Davey hates Denham Hall with a passion, and I could understand that; I'd only seen pictures of the place, and I hated it already, but it was hide there or risk being spotted and hounded in London, so we bugged-out; Davey, Jimmy, and I did a flit through the rear loading bay and ran for Denham Hall and a little anonymity until the press furore died down some.

Denham Hall is a spectacularly ugly place, even by the standards of the only marginally-sane ancestor of Davey's who built it; it's not even ugly in a distinguished, or mellow, or even an endearing way, like a favorite, tattered old sweater or overstuffed armchair; it's just plain, out and out butt-ugly; Davey says looking at the place is like walking through someone else's headache, and I know what he means; even Jimmy, huge, muscular, ex Royal Marine, trained-killer Jimmy, gulped when he first set eyes on that eyesore.

While Davey and I were strolling through the Reception rooms, eyeing the portraits of his less than imposing, outright villainous ancestors hanging everywhere, we were surprised by Davey's cousin, Rosie, who'd guessed he'd run here after seeing him in the papers, so had come up from the nearby village to wait for us; her name was Rosamund, Rosie for short.

Davey had never mentioned her to me before, I think he'd almost forgotten her, as he must have been only about five or six last time he saw her, but the one who was transfixed by her was Jimmy; the two of them locked gazes, and no kidding, I was half-expecting laser beams to shoot from each of their eyes into the other's and ignite the air between them, while they both started gently steaming; I never believed in love at first sight - lust at first sight, yeah, we all do that, but the two of them standing, gazing star-struck at each other like that, it kind of made me revise my opinions a little; if this wasn't love at first sight, it was something really, really close to it.

Jimmy retired in a kind of flustered haze when he caught us staring at him, while poor Rosie, who'd gone scarlet in embarrassment, tried nonchalantly and not at all obviously (ha, yeah, right...) to pump us for information on Jimmy, so of course Davey being Davey, he couldn't resist teasing her, until someone's sharp elbow reminded him to mind his manners and leave the poor girl alone.

One thing though: in among all the bantering I asked Rosie how she'd recognized Davey if she hadn't seen him since they were small children, and so she took me by the hand and led me to Davey's daddy's old study. Hanging over the fireplace was an almost life-size portrait of David Sr., looking incredibly like Davey, with that same thatch of shimmering golden hair, those same green eyes, that same sweet, charming smile, and seated in front of him, with her hand on his hand where it lay on her shoulder, was Mom, young, and fresh, and lovely again, her jet-black hair and blue eyes so like mine, that warm, loving smile I remembered so vividly and dreamed about almost nightly. My eyes were pricking with tears to see her again the way Davey remembered her; a quick glance at him, at his shining eyes and trembling lip told me all I needed to know.

Rosie dashed me back to reality when she stared at me in wonder as she told me I was 'Aunt Jane's' (my mom's) exact double. I could see her hovering right on the edge of putting it all together, the panic in Davey's eyes said it all, so I jumped in with a comment about how the Denham men definitely knew their preferred type, and that I was also the double of Sophie. I don't know if that allayed any suspicions she may have been cooking, but if she was, she kept them to herself, although I could swear she still gave me some odd, almost knowing looks every now and then.

*

Davey showed me around the house a little, none of which made me change my mind in the least; I'd be dipped in shit before I ever lived at Denham Hall, nor would I ever, under any circumstances, let any child of mine within a mile of that gloomy pit; I'd rather live in a Saigon jail cell than call the place home, and certain events that night bore me out; what happened has already been told, so I'll say nothing more on the subject, except that it was the most frightening experience of my entire life. Just believe me when I say the return of Elvis, teaching a dog to tap-dance and sing 'Embraceable You', and me living there are three things that are just not ever gonna happen.

Davey did take time the morning we arrived to show me his father's car collection, which included some of the most beautiful cars I'd ever seen, all in perfect condition; the car his granddaddy gave Mom on her wedding day, a classic 1950's Jaguar C-Type sports car, was there, dark green and sleek, curvaceous, and breathtakingly sexy, a few quirky machines that David Senior had cherished, a pop-eyed little red car that had been Daddy and David Senior's favorite plaything (and it had come as bit of a shock when Davey had first told me that Daddy knew Davey's daddy well, they'd been best friends, closer than brothers, even, from before Davey was born), and, best of all, Daddy's beautiful, gleaming Harley Davidson motorcycle, untouched and un-ridden since the day Davey's poor daddy had passed away.

As soon as I laid my hands on those swooping, up-swept handlebars I felt his hands in mine, I saw him bowling down a country lane on that red, ivory-white, and sparkling chrome work of art, the motor making that distinctive, throbbing 'potato, potato' Harley-sound, with that huge, happy grin of his, his hair whipping in the breeze as he rode, and the look of perfect happiness he'd get whenever he looked at Mom. It was just a moment, but I felt all those things, I felt him all around me again, and suddenly I felt completely at home; Daddy was here, this was a part of him, I had my hands in his hands again, and now I knew, deep down and all the way through me, that he hadn't gone at all; he'd been here waiting for me all along. Some tears came, but they were sweet and wistful, a remembrance of what he'd been to both of us, and Davey had smiled as he wiped them away, giving me a look that told me he knew exactly what had passed through my mind. Once again that thought crossed my mind, the realization that my daddy was also his daddy; he'd been Davey's daddy before he was ever my daddy, and I knew that Davey had felt those self-same things every time he'd laid hands on this thing he'd kept so pristine in memory of both his daddies.

Davey showing me those cars, silent, waiting, perfect as the day they were made, things his daddy and mine had loved, cherished, lavished their time and attention on, and left, perfect, for us to remember them by, but most of all, giving me something that had been so much a part of my daddy, had cemented in no other way that I was, indeed, home, that this truly was my home now, and that the people I held most dear were really not that far away after all.

*

Davey's family

We had a quick jaunt into the village to visit with Davey's Aunt Sybil, Rosie's mom, then, after lunch when we went back to Denham Hall, where another of Davey's aunts, Rosie's grandmother Bella, was waiting for us; I could tell that when Davey compared her to Sybil, he considered her a horse of a different color, a very dark black indeed. They had words, and I saw a side of Davey I never knew existed; he was borderline rude, abrupt, stern even, and that kind of put my back up; obnoxious as he obviously considered the woman, she was still an old lady, a member of his family, and courtesy counts in these situations; hadn't Daddy drilled into him, from as far back as I could remember, to always be the bigger man, that manners maketh the man?

OK, once he explained what had happened, I forgave him, but I made sure he knew I never wanted to see a display like that again. He had the grace to look sheepish, which told me he knew how rude, almost boorish, he'd been. Rosie, on the other hand, was almost cheering him on; obviously there was no love lost between her and her grandmother...

*

After the night of horror detailed elsewhere, Davey, Rosie, Jimmy and I made a dash for the village and the safety of Sybil's house. While the others chatted, Sybil insisted I get some sleep, because I looked exhausted; I didn't argue; I really wanted to be near Davey, but to sleep somewhere warm and safe? No contest, so I let myself be persuaded. Sybil showed me to our room and helped me settle in, chatting comfortably, but one or two penetrating glances came my way too; clearly, she knew something was up; she was obviously a smart, razor-sharp intellect, and I think Davey's hurried glossing-over of how we'd met had set bells ringing. Eventually she asked me the question.

"Loretta, dear, if I ask you a straight question, will you give me an honest answer?"

Of course I nodded. What else could I do, say "no, I'd rather lie through my teeth and hope you buy it, if it's all the same to you..."?

Sybil sat on the bed and took my hand.

"Loretta, I've known David all his life; he was almost like Jerry and my little boy, the way he was so close to Rosie, and I know his moods, his tempers...and when he's being untruthful. When I asked him how you two had met, I saw all the shutters go up, so I knew he had something to hide. Consider this also: Jane, his mother, was my good friend. I spent a lot of time in her company, and I probably knew her best of all out of the entire family. So there's something I need to ask you. Why do you look and act so much like her? I know David's story about how you met is a complete farrago. I saw how you both jumped when I asked the question. So am I right in thinking you and he are more than just husband and wife?"

We were cold-busted, caught-out, and out in the open, and she knew it, so I had no option but to tell her the whole story, my planning and scheming, and how Davey had fallen for it, had fallen for me, and dismissed all my plotting and deviousness. I fully expected her to explode in outraged anger at what we'd done, what we'd allowed to happen, and especially my part in it, but she'd held me, rocking me gently like Mom had done when I was a little girl, while the guilt and the shame ebbed away until there was only me left.

"What do we do now?" I asked her, and she smiled gently at me.

"We do nothing, that's what we're going to do. David is his father's son, and, like his father, when he decides he's going to do something, that's what he does, and damn the consequences. You, however, you are my closest friend's daughter. I loved Jane dearly, and you and David are all I have left of her; do you really think I'd do anything to jeopardize either of you?"

She smiled wistfully, her eyes distant.

"Let me tell you a little about David Senior and Jane, and how they were with each other. When David lost out on Sophie to Richard he was heartbroken; he'd set his heart and mind on marrying her, but she only had eyes for Richard, and poor David was so despondent that she hadn't chosen him, even though he was also pleased and happy for his best friend. He threw himself into his work, and tried to pretend he was doing well, but he was so down, so unhappy, so not himself for so long, that we, all of us, really began to fear for his health."

She paused, gathering her thoughts, smiling at something I couldn't see.

"Then he met Jane. We'd gone down to Paignton, in Devon, to a weekend shooting party at a friend's home, Jerry, David, and I; we'd just arrived when another party arrived, and, among all the meeting and greeting, in walked Jane, the living image of Sophie, of you too, dear. David was thunderstruck; here was the girl of his dreams, this time unattached, and fair game, if he could hook her!"

She grinned at the memory.

"Of course, he made a beeline for her; she was unaccompanied and David pretty much monopolized her the entire weekend; he wasn't going to let any of our single friends anywhere near her, not now that he'd found her, and I couldn't blame him, nor fault his taste! Dear David, it was so wonderful to see him happy again, and Jane, she was obviously just as struck by him as well, because she pretty much followed him with her eyes and stayed by his side the entire weekend. "

Sybil pulled the bedclothes up around me and patted and plumped my pillows.

"David, your David, is the image of his father at the same age; they're both more handsome and charming than any man has a right to be; there were whole bevies of eligible society girls looking for a way to snag him, but David's father only wanted one girl, and it was mutual. They were married a year later. The point I'm trying to make is that the Denham men have strong likes and dislikes, and they seem to find only one particular type and personality attractive; both David Senior and Richard with Sophie, then David with Jane, and now young David and you; that you are who you are is hardly your fault, and I suppose him falling for you was inevitable; it's a family trait."

Now she was motherly and concerned, tucking me in even as she smoothed my hair and stroked my cheek.

"Don't worry dear, I won't say a thing; this is your secret to keep or tell. Just a word of advice. Be careful who you share it with, this is not something Bella or Maude should know, under any circumstances, or get wind of. Keep it safe."

She was so warm, so kindly, so forgiving, I couldn't help the tear that trickled down my cheek; there was one thing I hadn't told her, and I couldn't bring myself to keep it back, not after she'd been so understanding. Sybil caught-on right away that there was more, and cocked her head enquiringly.

"There's one thing I didn't tell you..." I whispered, unsure how she was going to take this one, not now that she knew who I really was, but she smiled encouragingly, so I plowed on regardless.

"Aunt Sybil, I'm pregnant...a month, maybe more, I only just found out..." I stopped, my throat too dry to continue, but she was smiling, not frowning, not lecturing me about how foolhardy I was being, how young I was, didn't I know how risky it could be, blah, blah blah.