October 1990 – Southampton, Grayson Manor
The captivating jazz anthem of I Put A Spell On You by Nina Simone reverberated around Grayson Manor. From the indoor balcony, that adjoined the stairway and overlooked the central floor, Victoria observed her guests. She simultaneously dreaded and relished events like the annual Halloween celebration. Though she rarely celebrated the holiday herself, she had been raised with the notion that Halloween was purely for children but Conrad slyly exploited the occasion to increase the status of Grayson Global. It had been exactly that, which had been the very source of her frustration. Without any kind of explanation, Conrad had remained notably absent from the festivities and Victoria had been forced to endure the incessant small-talk in his stead.
Deciding she could no longer withdraw from her guests, Victoria started her descent back into the madness but paused at the sound of the front door opening and closing shut. Friends nearby greeted Conrad, as he snaked between them and reached the foot of the stairs. "My dear..." Enchanted by her appearance, Conrad canvassed his wife with absolute approval.
She defiantly glared back, righteous in her wrath, until Bill Harmon interrupted the conversation Conrad and Victoria shared solely by the look in one another's nudged Conrad's arm, "If you didn't know any better, you'd swear she were the real thing, wouldn't you?"
"I didn't realise you dressed up as the green-eyed monster this year, Bill?" Conrad quizzically responded, a quip at the envy Bill didn't bother to suppress and the two men burst into laughter. The amusement quickly faded, once both caught a glimpse of Victoria's dead-pan expression and Bill silently excused himself, fearful of the storm that Victoria had been brewing in Conrad's absence. "He's right, you know?" Conrad started up the stairs, meeting his wife at the halfway point. Her thick, ebony locks were perfectly straightened into position and a golden headpiece crowned her head; her decision to dress as Cleopatra seemed almost prophetic. She entered every room with the same dominance Cleopatra possessed when she entered Rome. Her outfit, like that of a Greek goddess, accentuated the figure that had only improved with motherhood. "Elizabeth Taylor may be the most beautiful woman in the world but she's got nothing on you, sweetheart."
Beneath the emerald shade of eyeshadow, her eyes danced, "Oh... you are going to have to do much better than that, Conrad." She patted his shoulder, a hellish laugh escaping her lips, as she waltzed past him.
The hours passed, the alcohol flowed and the tension between Conrad and Victoria increased. Whatever attempt he made to explain his late arrival, she scorned. She publicly rebuffed his request to dance with her and, instead, indulged in the endless refills of alcoholic refreshments that hired waiters paraded back and forth.
When Victoria voluntarily allowed herself to become the focus of Jason Prosser's carnal attention, Conrad finally reached his limit. He advanced toward the secluded table Jason and Victoria occupied. Neither Jason or Victoria made little effort to acknowledge Conrad's arrival. In particular, Victoria did her best to disregard her husband's presence. "Victoria, may I speak with you in private?" She snatched her arm from his tender touch and, from across the room, a collection of Grayson Global employees covertly spied the showdown. "Victoria." His voice became stern, replacing his hand on her arm. The hostile atmosphere between husband and wife dismantled Jason's composure and he stifled a laugh, as his long-time adversary struggled to contain the scene that threatened minor embarrassment in front of investors. Once again, Victoria snatched her arm from Conrad's grasp but rose to her feet, as instructed, and made a beeline for the master bedroom. Safely out of earshot of their guests, Conrad slammed the door shut. "Alright, what the hell is matter with you?"
Feigning confusion, Victoria shook her head, "Nothing."
"I understand you're upset but you have refused to even give me the chance to explain myself," Conrad lectured. He had become exasperated by her immature nature; it was reminiscent of Steph's stubbornness, the drinking was all too familiar as well. It caused him to wonder if, perhaps, his behaviour had been the root of her problems. After all, it had been Conrad's devotion to Grayson Global that had induced the critical cracks in their marriage. By his own admission, he had concentrated the majority of his efforts into the company as the economy endured a turbulent, if minor, recession. However, he had made genuine assurances that Victoria and Daniel would both become his sole focus, as soon as investors' fears were quelled.
"Because I don't care for your explanations, Conrad." She replied, in a carefree sing-song tone. She had voiced her concerns of Conrad's emotional distance from herself, and their son, to no avail. She refused to repeat herself. Whether Conrad made the adequate changes to his behaviour was entirely his prerogative.
"Victoria, I have apologised to you, over and over." He droned, frantic for a resolution. "I had a business call with an overseas investor that couldn't be avoided."
The arrogance of her husband never failed to irate Victoria. He addressed her as if she had little perspective of the world he wheeled-and-dealed in. "Conrad, this house is swarming with investors. Do you mean to tell me that not one of those investors downstairs could have been just as beneficial to whatever crisis you have going at the office this week?" She had admired him, once upon a time, for his dedication to Grayson Global but, as the company threatened his level of involvement as a father, and a husband, Victoria had grown disheartened and downright concerned. "For three hours, I was forced to engage in trivial chit-chat about which new college Mrs Huber's niece has decided to transfer to and endure Bill Harmon's trite puns of how Cleopatra had been involved with Julius Caesar long before she met Marc Anthony." Although Conrad had failed to dress for the occasion, in the outfit he and Victoria had co-ordinated before the event, Bill's costume provided him ample ammunition to adorn Victoria with the kind of innuendos that bordered on sexual harassment.
The source of her anger was understandable and Conrad raised his hands, defensively. "Alright, I'm sorry." He internally reminded himself to informally review Bill's behaviour with his employee at a more appropriate time. "His behaviour is unacceptable but yours isn't much of an improvement," he scolded, in addition. Her belligerent mood had dampened the occasion, guests were visibly torn between being amused and terrorised by her.
"You know, Conrad, I'm beginning to understand how Stevie must have felt being married to you." It was the most antagonistic comment that would undoubtedly rile him, and Victoria knew it. As if to add to the effect, she swirled the contents of her Champagne flute and absorbed the golden fizz.
"You know, it's funny you should mention that, Victoria. I'm having a distinct sense of déjà vu." In spite of their rather calm delivery, the sour words were evidence of Conrad's temper imploding. The seriousness of their bitter exchanges could always be measured by whether or not his ex-wife was inadvertently dragged into the confrontation. "Steph may have had her faults but your level of petulance wasn't one of them." Enraged, Victoria flung the empty flute in Conrad's direction. Had he not ducked from the blow, allowing the crystal to shatter against the bedroom wall, he would have witnessed Victoria struggle to steady her own two feet. In the near-three years that Victoria had become a mother to Daniel, barely a drop of alcohol had passed her lips and she thoroughly regretted the impulsive resolution to drown her sorrows as she became startlingly light-headed. Recovering from the abrupt attack, Conrad regained his height and dusted the remnants of liquid that had splattered onto his suit. "Any other evening, I would be happy to wrestle with the hellcat I married but those people downstairs are guests in our home. They didn't come here to be subjected to this kind of humiliation." The size of Grayson Manor would have made little difference to how public their supposedly private spat was. No doubt, the gossips would exaggerate the evening into one of scandalous nature and whispers of divorce would be on the horizon, for the majority of their guests would relish their downfall. Many of the socialite wives had been fond of Steph – if friendship was, in fact, one of their inherent capabilities – and Conrad surveyed how eagerly they had scrutinized Victoria, and her excessive consumption of alcohol. "I suggest you stay up here until you've cooled off."
Her husband whirled from the room, his stride as composed as ever, and Victoria rolled her eyes, mentally bemoaning how he reprimanded her. If she had been consulted, her opinion so much as considered, she would have refused the grand celebration and opted to celebrate the holiday with their son but it was Conrad's law by default. Instead, Edward and Elizabeth had been the ones fortunate enough to dress Daniel in the hand-made pumpkin outfit Elizabeth had stitched, and recite the child-friendly ghost stories of Halloween. It didn't matter to Victoria that Daniel was barely two years old, a bubbly toddler with zero concept of what the season was about. It was his absence that grieved her. Furious, with herself as much as Conrad, she shook her head.
The early hours of the morning arrived and Conrad had soon run out of excuses not to retire to the master bedroom he shared with Victoria. While the party had wound down, and the hired staff began the tremendous clean-up in the aftermath, Conrad had excused himself to his home office. In the hours after their argument, Victoria had remained isolated from their guests and Conrad dreaded what lay in wait for him.
"Goodnight, Mr Grayson." The head house-keeper gathered her belongings from the allocated cloakroom and hurried out the door, thankful that the elaborate celebration had reached its inevitable end.
"Goodnight." Brandy in hand, Conrad closed the doors to the office and flashed an appreciative smile at the older woman. She had been hired shortly after Grayson Manor had been built and, therefore, witness to the four years he and Victoria had been married; he wondered what she must have thought of them. Did she envy their wealth and endless fortune, or did she consider such material things the source of misery? His questions were more than likely an attempt to delay the inevitable and Conrad slowly started up the stairs. Bracing himself, Conrad paused outside the bedroom and deliberated whether the shut door was a signal that he should sleep elsewhere for the night. He thought better of it. "Victoria?" The room was shrouded in darkness but for the moonlight that streamed in from the open doors to the cupola and Conrad viewed Victoria's sleeping form entangled in the sheets. In stark contrast to her earlier appearance, her face had been stripped of the make-up and she wore a far more peaceful expression. The brush of his hand upon her arm failed to stir Victoria from her intoxicated slumber but the coolness of her skin caused Conrad to wrap an additional blanket around her shoulders and firmly shut the doors to the cupola. His rage had long subsided, he could only hope hers had too.
Discretely, Conrad dove into the en-suite and re-emerged after five minutes. The hushed movement had roused Victoria into a lighter sleep, semi-aware of her husband, as he climbed underneath the sheets beside her but established enough distance between them to avoid any physical contact. "Conrad?"
Reluctant to engage in further malice, Conrad faintly whispered, "I'm here." She didn't respond and he said a silent prayer that Victoria had restrained herself from rousing any more bad blood between them. Instead, she arched her body and curled into him from behind, her arm draping over his waist and her legs rubbing softly against his own. "Is that an apology I'm sensing?" A drunken wail was stifled, as Victoria buried her face into his back, and Conrad chuckled half-heartedly, "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We'll talk about it in the morning."