Absolutely Crazy (Chapter Three)
Written by I. Fire Queen
Disclaimer: I deny having ever owned RW.
Rowan put down his pen, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair and gazed out through the window of his study at the trees and parkland surrounding Hashiba Hall.
It was now three months since he'd returned from abroad. A hard, frantically busy three months, dealing with the burdensome legacy of his inheritance: a dilapidated 'stately home' and an estate, which had been badly neglected for many years.
With so much work to do – including many long, drawn-out meetings with the family trustees – he'd had no alternative but to resign from his position as senior partner of the large firm of lawyers in London. However, while he'd originally thought that he might miss the cut and thrust of City business, Rowan had been surprised to discover that he'd gained a considerable bonus. Despite now being forced by circumstances to live in the country, he'd found himself actively enjoying the slower pace of quiet, rural life. But that was just about the only silver lining to the dark clouds, which still loomed over his unexpected inheritance.
His young daughter, Suzunagi, appeared to find the whole situation highly amusing. But Rowan wasn't particularly thrilled about the fact that following so many close relatives' deaths, he'd now inherited a title first granted to his family by Henry VIII. As he had told one of his oldest friends the other day, "Quite frankly, to be now known and addressed as Lord Hashiba has to be a complete anachronism in this day and age. Of course, it's quite useful if I want to book a table in a restaurant," he'd added with a wry smile. "But in all other respects it seems a bit pointless."
Rowan was, in fact, far more concerned with the many important, vital decisions he would have to take concerning the large estate, amounting to some ten thousand acres.
After calling in agricultural experts, he had learned that, while the land itself was in good heart, the various farmhouses, farm buildings, machinery and livestock had been badly neglected. Unlike his uncle Hector, who'd successfully managed to ignore the problem for so many years, Rowan felt it was both his duty and responsibility to do everything he could on behalf of the people and the families living on his estate. Unfortunately, there was also the serious problem of exactly what he was going to do about Hashiba Hall.
Pushing back his chair and rising to his feet, he began to prowl restlessly around the large room.
Having made enquiries, he was now in no doubt that, as matters stood at present, it was useless to even think of trying to sell the huge old mansion. No one with any sense would dream of taking on such a massive house. Especially one which needed a great deal of money to be spent on its restoration.
And that was proving to be a real problem. It wasn't that he couldn't afford to pay for the repairs – having worked so hard in the City for the last ten years, he was now very wealthy in his own right – but, as his own financial advisers had pointed out, why would a divorced man, with no intention of remarrying in the foreseeable future, want to spend a fortune restoring such a huge building which was clearly designed for a large family?
In fact, the whole problem of what to do about Hashiba Hall had proved to be nothing but a major headache. Until he'd heard about the needs of film and television companies, who were continually searching for large old houses in which to film their various productions. Which was why, after he'd swiftly contacted several agencies, he'd been pleased to have a TV crew here last month, filming the exterior of the Hall for an Edwardian-style version of Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors.
It wasn't the complete answer, of course. Although the fee which he'd received for the use of the place was almost indecently large, it was a mere drop in the ocean as far as paying for any serious repairs was concerned. Still, it was a start. And with the arrival yesterday of an American-financed film company, prepared to take over and use the whole of the mansion for at least a month, it now looked as though he could stop worrying about the house. For the time being, at least.
He'd also been successful in persuading the tax authorities to take, in part-settlement of death duties, two huge Old Master paintings. While they had been all that was left of a once large, well-known collection, he wasn't prepared to spend too long regretting their departure. Especially since the dark, gloomy scenes of religious life had been highly depressing.
So, all in all, he hadn't done too badly over these last three months, Rowan assured himself. In fact…
His thoughts interrupted by the shrill, ringing tones of the telephone, he strode back to his desk and lifted the receiver.
Grimacing at the all too familiar sounds of his ex-wife's breathless, child-like voice, he waited with grim patience to discover what she wanted. Because, of course, Martina wouldn't dream of ringing him up – not unless she needed something. He could only hope that there was no problem with his daughter, Suzunagi.
Looking back, it seemed to Rowan as if their marriage had been doomed from the start. Originally captivated by the tall, exquisitely beautiful model, whose face had adorned so many magazine covers, it hadn't been long before he'd discovered that there was very little in that lovely blonde head. And, to be fair, she had obviously been disappointed to find that she'd married a man who not only took his work seriously, but whom she clearly regarded as a boring workaholic.
Missing the world of the media and show business, it hadn't been long before Martina had run away from home to live with a cockney pop star. She had also taken their small young daughter with her. Despite desperately missing his little girl, and being prepared to do just about anything to ensure his daughter's happiness, Rowan had bent over backwards to ensure that he remained on good, friendly terms with both his ex-wife and the new man in her life, Joe Tucker.
Surprisingly, it hadn't proved to be too hard a task. The pop star had turned out to be a basically kind and thoroughly decent man. And Rowan could only admire the fact that Joe – professionally known as Frank N. Stein, and lead singer of the Raving Monsters – had turned out to be far to shrewd and down-to-earth to make the mistake of marrying Martina.
Unfortunately, as time had gone by, it began to seem that neither the pop star or Rowan's ex-wife had any idea of how to cope with Suzunagi, by now a thoroughly difficult four-year-old toddler. And Rowan himself was also becoming increasingly worried about the young girl – not only going through a typically 'temper-tantrum throwing' phase of life, but also receiving little discipline from her butterfly-minded mother.
"OK…OK…" he sighed, cutting across his ex-wife's ramblings. "I've got the picture. And you can tell Suzunagi that I'm thoroughly ashamed of her behavior. What on earth possessed her to throw mud at another child? There's no excuse for such bad manners. She's lucky to have gotten off easily." He added grimly. "Yes…yes, of course…if you're having to go abroad for a few days she's more than welcome to stay here with me. In fact, she can probably make herself useful by keeping the film company off my back."
And that last remark, he told himself ruefully, putting down the phone some minutes later, had been a bad mistake. Because as soon as his ex-wife had heard the magic words 'film company' he'd had the greatest difficulty persuading her that while Suzunagi was more than welcome Martina definitely was not.
On top of which, there had been a decidedly unwelcome over-friendly tone in his ex-wife's voice. In fact, he told himself with a frown, it if didn't sound too ridiculous, it had almost seemed as if she'd been seeking some form of reconciliation…
However, he had absolutely no intention of going back down that road. His daughter, Suzunagi, might be badly in need of a stable home environment, but there was absolutely no way he could ever face remarrying her neurotic, shallow and empty-headed mother.
He'd had several glamorous girlfriends since his wife had walked out all those years ago. But either he'd grown quickly tired of their company or the, too, had become fed up with always coming a bad second to his working life. In fact, Rowan had never seen any reason to get married again – basically on the principle of 'once bitten…twice shy'. Not until his heart had been totally captured following that brief, quite extraordinary meeting with the bewitchingly lovely Maillaine.
It was three long months since their passionate encounter, but he could still recall his delight at the miraculous way their two figures had seemed to fit so perfectly together, and the excitement of gently caressing her quivering, trembling flesh, which had almost seemed to melt beneath his fingers. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the intoxicating, sweetly perfumed scent of her body, still hear her soft moans and breathless gasps of pleasure as their lovemaking had become more intense, both inciting and increasing his own fast-mounting desire.
Although he had tried to keep himself well under control, the thrillingly erotic, sensual touch of her hands and mouth on his body had overcome all restraint. Helplessly gripped by the fierce power of a deep primeval force, the like of which he'd never known before, he'd finally possessed her with a raging, thrusting urgency, the loud pounding of her heart beating in rapid unison with his own as they'd both climaxed together in wave upon wave of ecstasy, before spiraling dizzily back down to earth.
Afterwards, as they'd lain entwined together in languorous warmth and tenderness, with Rowan gently brushing tendrils of that wonderful fiery red hair from her damp brow, he'd known with absolute certainty that he had never, until that moment, experienced such overwhelming joy and happiness.
Try as he might, he'd been quite unable to forget the impact of that utterly astounding, spellbinding experience. Unfortunately, however much as he might have loathed the idea, Rowan had know that he had no choice but to return to his new, heavy responsibilities in England. It was also clear that with the width of the Atlantic Ocean as a permanent barrier between himself and Maillaine, there could be no 'happy ever after' ending to their brief night of passion.
Besides, he was old enough to know that the sooner he did his best to put Maillaine out of his mind, the better. There was obviously no way that they would ever meet again. And to be continually recalling the wondrous, soft quality of her skin, the truly dazzling heights which they'd attained their lovemaking, could only make his present-day life even harder than it was already.
Mia gazed out of the window of the limousine as it sped along the motorway. The countryside was so different from that in the United States; it was taking her some time to get used to the very small scale of local geography here in England.
London, of course, had been great. When she'd first arrived in the country, some three weeks ago, she'd managed to find the time – amidst costume fittings, voice coaching sessions and learning her script – to see the usual tourist sights of Buckingham Palace, the Tower and Westminster Abbey. But, this week, which had been spent filming location shots outside various old houses all over the country, had been something else! In fact…
"You're going to love this house. It's far grander than the others we've used so far."
"Hmm…?" Mia turned back to look at her personal assistant, Kayura Shinto, who was leafing through a large file on her lap.
"Now…this is what I call a real stately home." The English girl said, handing Mia a large black and white photograph.
"It certainly looks impressive," Mia agreed, gazing at the picture of a classical Georgian-style Palladian mansion, whose entrance was dominated by huge stone pillars above a broad, sweeping expanse of wide stone steps. "What's the interior like?"
"Absolutely frightful!" the other girl laughed. "In fact, the main rooms are in a terrible state. But, as the producer says, that's all to the good. It's meant that we've had a completely free hand in the decoration."
"Are we really staying there?" Mia frowned. "It looks pretty uncomfortable to me. What's wrong with a nice quiet local hotel?"
Kayura shrugged. "I understand the film company negotiated a really good deal package deal with the owner. Which means that we can use practically the whole house – including all twenty-five bedrooms! – and the catering company will have masses of room in the enormous kitchens. In fact," the small raven-haired girl added with a grin, "I think it's going to be a lot of fun,"
"In your dreams!" Mia told her assistant gloomily. "I'll lay you any odds that the plumbing will be practically non-existent. And I don't suppose that anyone will be too familiar with those important words 'constant hot water', either!"
"Well, you may have a point." Kayura admitted. "But with the schedules having to be altered at the last minute…" she shrugged. "I suppose this is the best that the production team could come up with under the circumstances."
"I guess you're right." Mia sighed, well aware that it was solely her fault that there had been such frantically hurried necessary changed in the film's shooting schedule.
Unfortunately, her appointment to see an eminent doctor in Harley Street, two weeks ago, had been fairly traumatic. Not being entirely a fool, she'd had a very good idea that he would confirm her suspicions. But, all the same…the whole scenario was definitely an earth-shattering one.
However, she was going to have to pull herself together pretty damn fast. Especially since the American backers of this new film had made it abundantly clear that the whole show was now riding on her slim shoulders.
"We know that you'll do us proud," Sol Weiser had said, when she'd signed the contract some months ago, his wide beaming smile not reflected in those cold, small piggy eyes. "But, let's face it, darling – without your name on the credits, we wouldn't have dreamed of putting up the money for this arty type of film. So, we're all going to make sure it's a success, right?"
"I'll certainly do my best. It won't be my fault if this film bombs at the box office," she'd told him with a confident smile.
However, after leaving his office, Mia had known that she wouldn't be human if she hadn't been plagued by doubts. Which had made it all the more nerve-racking when she'd had to phone Sol last week and tell him the news: she'd just discovered she was expecting a baby.
Author's Notes: This story is sort of boring but things will start happening. I wanted to explain some parts first before going on ahead. Next part will be coming out as soon as I find the time to type it up. I've got lots of inspiration for this story so hopefully, I'll be able to update regularly.