Chapter 53

Terry drove Marion to the Good Samaritans centre after their lunch at the park. Needless to say she was in the bestest of moods. She even suggested whether Terry would want to come in and say hi to the ladies, to which proposal Terry politely refused.

Give an inch, she takes a mile...

Not to mention that Candy could be in there too. To her thought, for a moment he became preoccupied with the fact that Marion would definitely talk. How would she react when she would hear from her friend that he kissed her?

He felt Marion's peck on his cheek and was brought back to the car. He smiled. He wouldn't be able to see her till Saturday, he told her. Theatre all day Friday, travelling to Stratford on Saturday with Sir Flower. She was mildly disappointed but when he told her he'd escort her as promised to the 'Angels and Demons' party, her usual cheerful look settled back on her face.

He left. Checked the time on his watch. Two o'clock. He could head over to his father. The question that had reared its ugly head after his unexpected visit once the play had finished the night before, was still burning a hole in his brain. He'd hate to send the director of the Shakespeare estate to hell on Saturday so he had to find out. Even if that meant another difficult, most probably confrontational discussion with his father. Robert was right though, he had to admit it. He had pulled the breaks on his temper before he entered the theatre bar, ready to create havoc and most probably generate the scandal of the summer. Thankfully it hadn't happened.

His lunch with Marion and the kiss that had sort of happened

How the fuck did I do that?

Had managed to take a lot of heat from the mood he would most certainly have otherwise. He hadn't helped him back then with Candy even when Terry had dropped his tough bastard son persona and had implored him. He doubted whether if ever they could see eye to eye. For Terry, his father was everything he tried all his life to stay clear of. That stuffed up, old World mentality, dry and inflexible, like the wooden ruler he was beaten up with.

But for now, while his car ate the miles, one after the other, getting him closer to the place he lived while growing up, all he could think of was Candy and Marion. A few hours back he felt determined. His chances with Candy burned to a crisp. Damn it, he wasn't going to become a monk just because he couldn't have a girl he had loved ten years ago. But having done that step, didn't make him feel better. On the contrary, his mind was filled gradually with a haze of regret.

Stupid man, can't take a decision

He pressed his foot to the pedal. The air whizzed in his ears. As soon as he could finish with this visit, the better. He could then return to his dark corner at the bowels of the theatre where he felt he had learned to leave everything that bothered him, behind.

Both Terry's and Christian's lives were unfolding at the same time. Two seemingly parallel lives which under other circumstances would never cross each other. One woman had changed their direction.

Christian had left Rose behind having agreed to give her a few days to work out what she felt. He managed to be gentleman enough about it, despite his initial reaction. His anger hadn't disappeared though. It had only changed direction. How could he be angry with Rose? For her, it was only natural to feel confused, the way this other man had come into her life as if he had dropped from the sky on a cloudless day.

No, the anger he felt spreading like blood sipping out an open wound, was directed to Terry. He who, the moment he made himself acquainted, had become almost like a permanent fixture in their lives since.

He had headed towards the gallery with a head full of thoughts, sketched by angry hands, heavy dark strokes each one was carrying. He met with Sir Witt who was very pleased with how well Christian's paintings were received. They were on the last day of the exhibition. The paintings which were sold, had to be packaged and send to their new owners. The press was going to be there that evening to cover the closing by having an interview with Christian.

He overlooked everything while he was there but his mind was absent. Usually an easy-to-get-by man, a solid friend, a bonheur type, one that for those who knew him, he looked as if problems were sliding off his back, nothing really stick for him, he could very well describe his life like a feather tossed around by the summer evening breeze.

He didn't know why this bothered him so. It could be that he and Terry under other circumstance could have been the best of friends, he could be a brother he never had, that much same he felt they were. Even if Terry was much more a recluse than he was and a man enjoying his own company more than anyone else's, the similar childhoods of families that were dysfunctional, his parents being not his own real ones and Terry's mother being not his real one but a stepmother he didn't seem to care for...

Yes the two men had exchanged bits of their lives to each other when the alcohol had made the tongue loose. Even if they hadn't gone to details, Christian had felt for Terry. Till the moment his identity had become clear. Christian felt he had been robbed. Robbed of a trust he had felt he had given to this man who initially, despite his quirky nature, seemed a straight laced fella. It was of course ironic to think Christian, a man who led two lives, one full of light and colours and the other, a life of darkness and shadows, hated the fact that Terry had befriended them with the hidden single scope of getting Rose warmed up to getting back with him. All that flirting with Marion...

Simply a ruse, a ploy, ashes to their eyes...

Christian thought. Everything that passed through his mind was like an individual flame, burning inside his head. He looked at his pocket watch. It was time to head over to the Duke's residence. He'd have to make some excuse for Rose, not being with him. He let the Gallery officer know he was leaving and made his way towards the entrance, the thoughts in his mind leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Soon enough he was on his way to Hampstead Heath.

By the time he reached the imposing Grandchester estate, he had managed somehow to put all that had happened behind him. The fact that he rode his bike all the way to Hampstead Heath, having the fresh wind lashing against his face was most welcoming to cool his temper down. He stepped down and he thought he looked worse for wear when he approached the entrance - but then again, he fitted the image of the eccentric painter just fine as he was.

A servant appeared, having opened the heavy doors of the mansion, before even he had touched the door knocker. The look on his face as Christian came closer, confirmed his thoughts about his appearance. Heck, he was there now. He may had looked like he hadn't slept a wink for days, pale with eyes so dry that closing his eyelids felt like he was rubbing sandpaper on them but he had passed caring at this point.

"Good afternoon Sir..."

Christian introduced himself. He had an appointment with the Duke of Grandchester to which information the servant asked him to follow him as they entered the impressive marble hallway.

Christian marvelled at the architecture as he walked behind the servant, with only the sound of their footsteps echoing within the walls of the room. The servant opened one of the doors which lead to a long gallery, exhibiting a series of paintings. Famous painters nonetheless, Christian noticed as they walked down the corridor. The sun filtered through the windows.

It looked like the Duke of Grandchester was an admirer of mythology. Christian recognised scenes such as the rape of Europa, a couple of paintings by Locatelli depicting various nymphs and satyrs and a drunken Silenus riding an ass. The Queen of Carthage with Cupid on her feet by Amigoni. A couple of paintings depicting Venice. Definitely a refined man of European tastes, leaning towards Italy, its beautiful places and myths, most borrowed from Greek mythology. He also wasn't shying away from risqué themes as far as Christian could see. They revealed a man of passion. At the end of the corridor, the servant stopped and knocked at the door in front of them.

They entered what Christian would guess was one of the drawing rooms of the Grandchester House, an ostentatiously rich and equally impressive room with greenish gold damask tapestry covering the walls and an exquisitely painted and heavily carved ceiling. The Grandchester family was one of the oldest in the country and everything inside this magnificent house, despite their beauty, felt heavy to the point of being stifling by the weight of history. The walls were decorated by big sized paintings of some of the family ancestors. The servant introduced Christian to the Duke who stood up from seating at the sofa, next to the cold fireplace. His smile was warm and his handshake firm when he welcomed Christian. The Duke has finished having lunch. He asked Christian whether he wanted something to drink. Himself, was a coffee man. Tea would be fine, Christian replied. Should I bring any tea assortment? The servant asked. Christian shook his head. No, he didn't want any fuss made. Nonsense, the Duke answered. He turned to the servant, asking him to bring a full tea service. It's no use, functioning on just gas fumes. Christian smiled back. He sat down at one of the armchairs closer to the sofa, once prompted to take a seat.

Christian noticed the pile of the newspapers on the coffee table. Most had been folded on the page mentioning the Hamlet play from the evening before. "Anything worthy news wise?" He asked the Duke.

"Oh, nothing worth mentioning." He replied. Took his gold cigarette case from the table, opened it and offered a cigarette to Christian, who took him up on his offer and pulled a cigarette. Both men lit their cigarettes. "It's a bad habit to read the newspapers according to my wife..." He says and smiles, "I risk giving myself a stomach ulcer."

"I don't think Hamlet was that bad yesterday." Christian said, making a joke based on his observation about the newspapers.

Richard looked at him for a moment as he took a drag from his cigarette and laughed out loud. "No, no, no, Hamlet certainly was not bad and isn't even remotely a cause of a stomach ulcer." He said laughing. He passed his hand over his mouth, smoothing his thick grey moustache. "You are very observant Mr. Blake." He added, pointing to the newspaper articles.

"My work is to observe, Sir." Christian said back to him. Both men turned to the door opening by the servant bringing the tea service, complete with sandwiches and sweets. "Please, call me Christian." He turned and said to the Duke when the servant left. Richard looked at him with a quiet smile while Christian was adding a cube of sugar to his tea.

"I noticed your charming lady friend did not come with you..." He said after he stubbed his cigarette out.

"Yes...unfortunately Rose had another engagement that she had to attend." Christian just threw a quick excuse, keeping a calm face. He took a sip from his tea.

"She's American, I realised."

"Yes, she is."

"You know...when I met you both at the theatre yesterday, I have to say, you reminded me of my youth." The Duke noted. He got up, having both hands inside the pockets of his dark blue velvet robe-de-chambre jacket, walked towards the windows overlooking the grounds of the Grandchester estate. Christian didn't know what to make of this statement of his. He let just a moment pass in silence, letting the man to experience the memories he seemed to have in front of his eyes as he looked outside.

"How so?" Christian asked while he put his teacup back on the coffee table.

"Miss White reminded me of an American lady I was dating long time ago." He said with a nostalgic smile, his eyes still fixed back in the past, despite having turned back. Facing the room again, he walked back to the sofa where he was sitting before. He took the papers and stacked them into a neat pile. "Same green eyes, blond hair."

"Eleanor Baker..."

The Duke stopped and turned his blue eyes on Christian's face. He looked surprised. "You know?"

Christian's eyes smiled. "I've heard the gossip a few weeks back at a party."

"Well, as I said, it was a long long time ago." The Duke said and sat down again.

"It may be but you're still thinking of her." Christian said back and immediately wanted to hit himself, realising he let his tongue loose. The look on the old man's face was one of reprimand. "I am sorry, that was too forward of me, I apologise Sir." He fixed his eyes on the Duke's face.

Just like a shadow leaving a summer sky, his stern face softened.

"It is fine, Christian. I forget how in youth, the tongue runs ahead of the mind."

Christian lowered his face for a brief moment, in apology, "Do you have children yourself, Sir? he then asked, feeling relieved of the Duke surpassing his indiscretion, while steering the conversation in safer grounds.

"Yes. Two. Slightly younger than you." He replied. His tense stance was giving way to a more relaxed Richard. He leaned back on the sofa while he put one leg over the other. "Do you have any other siblings yourself?"

Christian washed down the last bite from the cheese sandwich with tea. "No, my parents had just me."

"An only son...and child...your parents must have had you quite spoilt!"

Christian half smiled and had one more gulp from his tea. "Both of them, rest their souls, were fair but strict."

"Yes, I remember, I had heard of their loss. I am very sorry you lost them early." He said while lighting up one more cigarette.

"Well, it has been several years now for my mother and my father I lost even younger..." Christian pointed out, with a face as blank as his canvasses.

"Still, very unfortunate. I had met them both and I knew your father more due to his profession. They were good people with good values." The Duke said, blowing the smoke out, looking at Christian with interest who didn't seem particularly into talking about his parents. He lit a cigarette instead.

He decided to change the subject and asked him about his drawing. Where did he study, what interested him and became a painter. The arts may be a commendable occupation for a man but it is not shall we say, a secure means of providing for a family. You do want to have a family at some point, he presumed when he asked Christian.

"To be honest Sir Richard, I haven't given it a thought up until recently." Christian said back to him, looking more into the conversation.

"Hi James."

James O' Brian had been in the service of the Grandchesters since a young lad of just fifteen years old when he had moved from County Mayo in the West of Ireland to London. At the time his parents sent him to his aunt who was already working as a maid at the Grandchesters, the last of the Irish famines had set in and the conditions the O'Brian family was living under were dire. To have James move to London to start working in one of the most prestigious addresses in Britain was a gift sent by God for the family.

Young James was the same age with Richard Grandchester. Life moved on for both the young boys. James grew up downstairs, in the servant quarters while young Richard grow up upstairs, in the luxury of the Grandchester House, slowly groomed in order one day to take the title and become the head of his powerful family. There was a friendship struck between the two boys, James liking the mischievous Richard who wasn't particularly fond of the rules of the house as they were laid by his parents. Richard also appreciated James not behaving towards him like royalty but just as a friend. That friend, once Richard took the title became the head butler of the Grandchester House.

If there was a person who knew everything in the Duke's life, that someone was James, who, once he opened the front door and came face to face with Terrence Grandchester, the eldest son of Richard Grantchester - he hadn't seen since young Terrence was seventeen, so that was ten years ago - in very rare occasions, he felt genuine shock to the point of freezing on his feet - perhaps when he heard from his wife he was to become a father, that was one - and that moment, especially when he heard his voice greeting him, that was the second. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't. He managed only to utter some incoherent sounds, words but with no meaning.

"Happy to see you too James." Terry said with a wicked glimmer in his eyes. James may had been very happy to see Master Terrence but instinct told him, this wasn't a good visit. "Is my father here?" He asked but didn't take him long to actually waltz right in, not waiting for James to bring himself back to the present.

"Your American Rose...your Muse, as you had put it." Richard commended with a smile. It was clear the young man opposite him had been smitten. "And does she want to stay here forever? Is she working?" He asked. "American women are much more modern than the English ones."

"Master Terrence, please wait." James hurried behind him, trying to keep up with Terry's wide strides. He knew his father's habits. Reading the newspapers after lunch.

"It's fine James. " He said without looking back, "I still remember my way around here."

"But your father is - "

He flunked the door open.

"Yes, she is a nur -"

Both men's stares turned to the door simultaneously and locked at the face of Terry who stopped on his tracks.

"Master Terrence, Sir." The breathless, anxious voice of James was heard next to Terry who didn't know who to look at first, his father or Christian.

Years of practise of keeping everything under cover, feelings, problems, his whole life's ups and downs, could be found on the control the Duke had over situations like this. His eyes even if they never left Terry who still stood at the door, having lost temporarily his ability to speak, were revealing absolutely nothing of the surprise that had jolted his heartbeat to race inside the veins of his neck as he stood up and closed the distance towards his son.

"Please excuse me for a moment, Mr. Blake." He said to Christian without turning to look at him. Terry saw the flash of anger in his father's eyes when the distance had been zeroed between them and for a moment he felt he was fifteen again, when he had run away from home, and had taken a boat across the ocean to visit his mother against his father's orders.

What the fuck was Christian doing there?

Terry didn't have the time to consider the question in his mind further since his father led him out and closed the door behind him.

When they did distance themselves from the drawing room where they had left Christian, without stopping his marching, Terry heard his father, "I don't suppose this visit of yours to be due to suddenly affection towards your father."

"You guessed correctly" Terry gave him a measured reply before his father leading him inside the library. He felt his body temperature rising and his heart missing a beat when he entered the room he had loved and hated at the same time. The books on the shelves held his escape, and the frequent caning he endured on his open palms as punishment over his disobedience to his stepmother inside the same room was part of his prison.

"So, what is it then?" He turned and looked at Terry who hovered between the past and the present. The anger inside the blue eyes of his father reminded him why he was there.

"Last night." Terry said with closed fists and a body as tense as a tightly wound wire, "Did you have anything to do with me playing Hamlet?"

The two men kept their eyes fixed on each other. They were the two sides of the same coin, never having been able to face and really understand one another. They searched inside each other's eyes. The Duke first broke their standoff with a laugh that became louder by the moment. Terry's temper was reaching red when his father stopped and nailed his son with a puzzled yet amused stare verging to mocking.

"By the name of the good Lord, you really thought that I have the time and the will to do such a thing? To the son that left me more than ten years ago?"

Terry followed with his eyes the continuous pacing of his father around him, till the Duke stopped. "You really must think quite high of yourself Terence."

"Yes - Or - No?" The features on Terry's face hardened.

The Duke didn't answer straight away what it seemed was given to him in an ultimatum fashion. Instead he looked as if he had decided to test Terry's limits a little bit more. He raised one brow. "And what if I did?"

"Tell me you are lying...you destroyed my life once. Don't do it again." Terry felt his throat closing and his eyes stinging. He wasn't a boy anymore. He had passed the point of fearing his father a very long time ago. But he held himself with everything he had, to not lash out and hurt the man. He wasn't going to give him the pleasure to confirm his suspicions.

"I - destroyed your life? By the looks of your career it seems that I did you a favour." Richard protested, raising his voice. He knew he had played his son, where he could just give him an answer from the start but he had been curious. Had his son matured, held his temper like a man of honour would do, or had remained a weakling, a boy still who surrendered to his vices with the drop of a hat...

"I don't have time for this - you never understood and you'll never will." With great care, Terry reigned in his anger. He also wasn't to be pushed to a discussion he hadn't the wish to start. Not to mention, he hadn't forgotten Christian - though his father seemed he had. " A yes or no to my question will suffice."

"No. I had no hand in yesterday's play if you must know." He finally replied to Terry's question. He saw him letting a deep breath out "You should learn to own up to your successes Terry."

"...I'm sick and tired of you telling me what to do. You don't know me, you never bothered to know me, so please shut up."

"I know you are like me..." He said to Terry who had turned his back to him with the intention to leave, "Even when you denied it so vehemently to me, you are a Grandchester."

Terry stopped for a brief moment, but he didn't turn to see his father. "I am nothing like you."

"Really?" The Duke asked him. "And what do you call waiting till your fiancé died, to get back with the girl you loved..."

Terry turned. Fixed his eyes on his father's face. "Miss Rose White...I don't forget a face son." He explained to him. "I find it astonishing that all of a sudden, you followed your troupe back to the place you escaped from, just to hang about as an understudy...especially after your accident."

Once more, Terry's father had gained the upper hand over his son. Everything with him were layers of truth having been kept under the extremely polished surface of the powerful Duke of Grandchester. That is how he kept control over his life and the life of the family. Only he could and would decide how deep he would let someone reach towards finding about him, Richard, the man. "You see, I do keep in touch, I have my sources."

"Sources...Sources?!" Terry may had been temporarily thrown off balance by the revelation from his father but he was also familiar with his mind games. "So you keep reading on your own, locked in that room, every afternoon, the bloody newspapers to find what's happening to me and Eleanor? Is that how you keep touch? And at the same time you keep your title and that hag for a wife you married. Pathetic!" A lot of pend up bitter feelings were pushing to get out from his chest and the control he had exerted so far just, was fast disappearing. "And you have the nerve to tell me we are alike...you don't know how I decided, what I decided, how I led my life till now...you know nothing!" He felt like a piece of dynamite, at the point of having its lit wick spent. "You didn't even bother to pick up the phone, or even show your sorry figure of a father to New York, even once...having denied me that one thing I had asked you at the college."

The Duke had remained silent. He was an intelligent man. He knew he was the cause of his son's outburst. He actually had been impressed Terry had kept the control for so long. So he let him pour all his anger out. After all having been said, he didn't expect building a relationship with him - this possibility had only the thinnest of chances if any at that point, he was aware of that - but perhaps to be able to face each other and have a near to normal conversation... For now, that was all his father wished. All the rest, he had his fair share to think and think he did a lot. He was a proud man, so proud in fact he had let this pride kill a lot of good things that had come into his life. In part, pushing Eleanor away, pushing his son too.

"If everything is so easy for you Terry, tell me, did you ever contact the girl of your dreams all those years?" He asked him. Terry had nothing to answer him.

"A quick visit? No?"

Silence still.

"A phone call?"

Terry stared at his father for a moment, wanting to know where those last questions were leading at, but at the same time the subject was becoming more and more uncomfortable for him. He broke his stare. "I'm leaving. Your guest will be waiting." He said and walked towards the door.

"A letter even?" The Duke didn't look he had the intention to stop.

"It wasn't that easy..." Terry said with a low voice the moment he touched the doorknob.

"I can't hear you Terrence." His father insisted.

He stood behind Terrence staring at his son's back.

"Wasn't that easy!" Terry raised his voice, turned his face only sideways. He felt the pain warm inside his veins. Time lost, so much of it.

"For you, the man that rebels against everything and everyone - it wasn't easy to contact the love of your life in how long...is it seven, eight years? What is it?" His father pushed further, the veins on his neck filling up under his skin.

"Wasn't that easy I tell you!" Terry straightened his body, having removed his hand from the door. His arms ended in tight fists.

"Wasn't easy to find a solution to bring her back to you?" His father's voice became more frustrated and strained. Like fists on Terry's chest, his questions were. The turn this meeting had taken was so unexpected but Richard Grandchester was a master of steering conversations in such ways in order to pass his point across.

"Really, what wasn't that easy I ask?!"

The last drop fell heavy in the glass.

Terry turned as sudden as a lightning in a clear sky. The Scottish lochs stirred inside his eyes. His voice strained under the weight of his admission.

"Because if I got in touch with her, I wouldn't be able to let her go again!"

A moment of silence followed while Terry's last words were sinking on both men's minds. They stared at each other and for the first time, they seem to understand each other.

"Now you know why I stayed away too Terrence." His father confessed. His face was calm, was also absolutely serious, meaning every word he said. He took a breath. Terry's eyes followed him. Nothing more was to be said. "Please excuse me now, Christian, who I'm sure you are acquainted with, is waiting."

Christian was left on his own with James while the Duke of Grandchester left in a hurry together with master Terrence...He looked around him without saying anything, his gaze taking in his surroundings which he hadn't noticed much on his way in, though its wealth was so clear, it screamed - there was nothing understated about this room.

There was something deafening within this dominating silence. The mystery that was surrounding Terry Graham was slowly lifting like the darkness of the night dissipating to give way to the light of the dawn.

Master Terrence...

Under the discreet look of James he walked about the room, looking at the portraits of the Grandchester ancestors.

Terry Graham is in fact Terrence Grandchester.

If that was true, which Christian wasn't doubting much at that stage, then -

The night at the gentlemen's club came to mind. The whole talk about Terry being a student at St. Paul's. Rose...The words kept playing around in his head.

"I do remember Grandchester, now..." Terry said and opened his cards. Three aces...

"I had a thing about that girl...Candy." Terry said, while he still smiled with the strong hand he had revealed.

"So what happened with Candy, then Terry...?" Steward asked him as he got his first card thrown towards him.

"She didn't look at me much, Stew. She loved Grandchester." He said and lit up a cigarette.

Rose...Candy...Graham...Grandchester.

Christian took a deep breath in. Both of them seemed to had taken other identities. Whatever had happened on both Rose's and Terry's lives, it had pushed them to even reject the past at the same time with their names. Full of thoughts his mind was, while throwing swift glances to the butler who stood by the door.

"May I ask your name?" He asked him. "I find difficult to ignore you as if you're not here..." Christian added with a smile.

"My name is James, Sir."

"Please call me Christian." Christian said again while walking at the same time, dividing his attention between observing the paintings and looking at James. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, James."

"Sir." James said and lowered his head to reciprocate the greeting, while keeping it formal.

"James...if you permit me a question." Christian asked slowly, keeping a relaxed tone in his voice. "Master Terrence..."

Christian stopped walking and turned his full attention to the butler who didn't move from his post at the door. "Is the son of the Duke of Grandchester...?"

"This is something you can ask the Duke of Grandchester himself, sir." James said with measured words.

"Oh yes, do not get me wrong, I'm only doing small talk." Christian explained. "Fact is, that I am also quite a busy man, James, and if Terry - whom I already know - is the Duke's son, I know that they'll probably haven't seen each other for quite some time...so I don't want to spoil their surprise meeting."

Christian was putting James in a tight corner. He started walking again. Reached the fireplace. For a moment he admired how exquisite it looked, the carvings were done my master carvers hands. His gaze stopped at the painting done in the middle of the fireplace.

A crowned swan, with its wings open as if he was ready to fly.

He felt hot under the collar. This...he already knew. By heart he did, so many times he had stared at the handkerchief he kept inside the box. That handkerchief was with him since he was put in Mrs Blake's arms.

"I am certain that the Duke and his son are aware that they left you waiting." James said but for Christian, the voice reached his ears as if he had been at the bottom of a well. He turned, while he felt his face as hot as it could have been if he faced a roaring fire burning inside the fireplace.

"May I ask, this is an intriguing painting at the top of the fireplace, James." Christian commented, having completely brushed off the fact that Terry was indeed the Duke's son.

James' eyes fell on the painting, Christian was pointing to. "It is the Grandchester family crest sir. The crown on the flying swan."

Christian did not speak. He could only hear his breathing. This visit to the Grandchester House had proven revelatory in more ways than one. Only apart from the mystery of Terry identity, finding he had something of his own, in common with the Grandchesters, made the hair at the back of his neck stand. A thought was forming in his head, as if an animal takes shape from within the fog but Christian really did not want to rush to conclusions. He feared what would the truth be, because he knew if that thought that in his mind was to be true...

The box he had, it was his most valuable possession from his mother. She had left it for him upon her death. In a letter he had kept inside she explained a lot but not everything. How he wasn't really the son of Philip and Irene Blake. They had bought him off from some poor woman who couldn't afford to have any more children. But when the baby boy arrived, a handkerchief of the finest linen was with him. Then the scandal with Dr. Gardner broke and the London society was abuzz. They had been contacted by police. He had been just fifteen at the time, his father already sick with his heart. He died when he turned sixteen.

Inside her letter, his mother mentioned the woman who had brought him to their home, Abigail Fowler. If Christian wanted to know more, she had prompted him to go find her. But the anger was too much to bear for a young man just barely over nineteen. Especially when he was the one to find the dead body of his mother. Looking peaceful as if she was sleeping. Instead she was dead, having taken her own life by overdosing on laudanum. He never contacted Abigail Fowler.

The Duke came in the room, interrupting whatever journey Christian's mind had taken. He apologised for leaving him for that length of time. Whatever might had happened between him and Terry, remained pretty much a dark box for Christian. The man who came back was exactly the same as the man that had left with Terry. No signs of any domestic drama. The Duke of Grandchester was looking pretty much collected and calm. In comparison with Christian who came to find it almost impossible to focus back to a conversation that did not hold much of an interest for him anymore. The only interesting thing now was to stare at Richard Grandchester. He begun studying his face, his voice, his features, his mannerisms. Rose had said she thought that they looked alike. The thought peered through once again. Christian's jaw tensed. There were things to do and urgently. In fact, it was time for him to find Abigail Fowler. Once he left the Grandchester estate, after spending not more than an hour, talking about the family portrait that the Duke wanted to commission him to draw, his only wish was that Abigail, the woman who held the answer he wanted to hear, was still alive.

He rode his motorbike and sped away from the Grandchester House. Little did he know that Terry' s car was on his tail.

Christian reached his flat in Chelsea as quick as he could. He went up them stairs, two at a time. Even if it didn't make much difference whether he moved at a normal pace, or with the urgency he came into his house, he could help it. From the moment, he laid eyes on the Grandchester crest at the fireplace, the need to check the embroidering at the old handkerchief was close to the feeling of having fire under his feet. He took his jacket off and threw it at the chair. He was sweating with anticipation. He pulled his sleeves up and he walked towards his bedroom. He opened the drawer when he heard a knock on the front door.

He thought to not answer it, but then again, the knock was loud, urgent. After a flicker of hesitation, and with the swearing ready in his mouth for whoever fucker was outside the door knocking in such a way, he shut the drawer and went to answer the door.

Without having a second to react to the site of Terry in front of him, Terry entered Christian's house with his fists grabbing onto his shirt and pushed him all the way to the wall of the living room where he pinned his back with a thud. Christian wrapped his hands around Terry's fists that rested on his chest. The anger shimmered inside his eyes. "You are fucking insane, Graham..." He managed to say, steadying his breath. "Or should I say Grandchester...?"

"What the fuck where you doing there?" Terry asked him and knocked Christian's body on the wall once more.

"What do you care? Afraid I'm going to steal your daddy too?" Christian had enough. Didn't wait for Terry's answer. The air felt hot when he pushed it out of his nostrils. He landed his fist on Terry's side in a perfect right hook. Pushed all the wind right out his chest. Made him release Christian and fold his body in two. He lifted his head up. Nailed Christian's face with his stare. Fire was blazing inside it.

"You asked for it, pal. But I don't have time for you now." Christian smiled hard. He pulled Terry up and pushed him towards the door with the intent to kick him out of his house through the open door.

Terry stopped at his tracks. Grabbed Christian's hand, twisted it behind his back. Wrapped his free hand around his neck. They turned towards the door and he slammed Christian to the wall. His grip around his neck tightened. Kicked the door closed. Christian could hear Terry's breath on his ear. "I'll leave when I want to leave, pal." He said between his teeth. The muscles on his arm tensed, making it harder for Christian to breath. He fought against his grip. He stomped on Terry's foot with his. Christian was all for fighting with everything he got, kick, bite and pull, he had learned to use every single dirty trick in the book.

The moment he sensed even the smallest release from Terry, he turned, with his punch landing on Terry's stomach. He groaned and grabbed Christian's head. Their bodies intertwined, they held each other, punches were thrown from both men in quick succession. Crockery was smashing on the floor, furniture were pushed away, you could hear their hard breathing and see the rage glimmering inside their eyes. Suppressed emotions erupting, releasing out in the open. But both men were in their fighting skills almost equal.

They distanced themselves, measuring their next move against each other. Sweat was glistening on their faces, mixed with blood from open noses and cut lips. Christian's shirt was tore open. "What the hell do you want from me Grandchester? Can't stand me fucking your ex?"

"I'll kill you I swear." The words left Terry's lips, hard, coming from his gut. He rushed towards Christian, like the bull going against the bullfighter. They both fell on the floor. You couldn't tell who was who, the way they tossed and turned over and against each other. Terry found himself on top of Christian and managed to keep him from moving having his left arm over his neck.

"I know also who you are Blake..." He said having rendered Christian completely still. "You're a criminal, I know everything." He added.

"You're bluffing again." Christian said.

"We had you followed, you prick." Terry said. He saw the surprise inside Christian's eyes. He decided to get up. Blood was dripping from his nose. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it on his nostrils for a moment.

"We?" Christian asked and he felt like choking with anger while he too was getting up. Pushed his hair back. Passed his hand over his bloodied lips. . He lowered his head, trying to contain himself. "You and who else?"

"What does it matter?" Terry said, pushing his shirt inside his trousers. "I know of your dealings with MacDonald." His stare was on Christian.

He lifted his head up. He squinted his eyes, bringing his brows together. "I could kill you here Grandchester and no one would know of what happened to you."

"You wouldn't do it Blake." Terry said. "You'd know...and you love her too much."

Christian didn't talk. Terry was right in any case. Even if his relationship with Rose was holding from a thread. And right now, he felt sinking so fast into the sandpit he had found himself into, for the first time he had serious doubts he'd be able to get out.

"I came to tell you this, Christian. Either you give yourself in at the police, or I do it for you."

Christian clenched his jaw. "Threatening me also...You are too brave...or a complete lunatic and I'm thinking it's the second."

"Think whatever you may." Terry said. "I'm sorry I'm ruining your plans but I love her too and I want her safe."

"Don't you think I want the same?" Christian asked. He patted his pockets for some tobacco. Terry took out his case and passed him a cigarette. He lit it and took a deep drag. Stared at Terry. He wasn't to stay.

"If you do then, you'll surrender..." He said. Pressed the handkerchief once more on his nose. He didn't want to stay more than he should. He was certain he had made his point clear. Even if Candy was in love with Christian and Terry was just a footnote in her life, he wanted her happiness. He wasn't going to leave her, without knowing she was safe too.

"I'm sorry it came to this..." He added as he opened the door. Both men stared at each other, each having their own thoughts on their minds, till Terry lowered his head and exited Christian's flat leaving him not only with his body bruised but his feelings too.