"I can't believe you did that!" She seethed, malice dripping from each word,
"I am not a corporate spy! In case it escaped your notice I'm your daughter not an indentured servant!" Clara couldn't believe him, he'd finally snapped.
How could he make her stay with those people?
The father was an atrocious suck up clearly hellbent on a business opportunity which he seemed to believe he would achieve through her, and the son- well she'd read all about him.
It'a well known fact throughout society that John Smith was drenched in scandal, he practically reeked of it when she met him earlier. It seemed clear to her that he thought she'd fall for that pathetic act of his. Well she never had before and she doesn't plan on it now.
He'd flashed her a smile and acted as if he were charm itself oozing sophistication, but that's all it was: an act.
Pure and simple. Clara was certainly not the kind useless tricks could work on, her mother had taught her better than that.
"Oh come now Clara, it's hardly a great task. You are just living in a different mansion for a bit, excuse me if I'm not overcome with pity," Linda, her bitch of a stepmother, piped up from behind a rather large wine glass. Her voice was thick with what was meant to be an aristocratic accent but the undertone was layered with something decidedly not.
"Last time I checked it had nothing to do with you, why don't you go back to spending my dad's money?" Clara snapped, for once not caring how much of a brat she sounded.
She never wanted to see those people again, she agreed to the dinner as an obligation due to her position, not to quality bonding time.
"Clara." He father finally interrupted giving her that look. "Gallifrey Industries is the future, any business man worth his salt can see that my darling, this will just give us the push in the right direction, I'm eager they're eager. I just need you to make sure there isn't any underlying issues whilst you're there." Her father finished before taking a sip of scotch, a signal Clara recognises to mean: unnegotiable.
"How long," Clara sighed before slumping onto the Parisian couch, she had no moves left to fight, he had her beat; like always.
She constantly seemed to cave whenever someone asked something of her. It had been like that since she was 16 around the time she lost her mother, if a favour needed doing Clara was always the one stepping up to the plate even if she didn't intend to.
A therapist had suggested it was a fear or losing people that triggered this intense need to please but Clara often thought should people not be glad of it rather than diagnosing it?
The only one who really suffered was her after all. Everyone else seemed to come out on top.
Even when her father presented her with the extreme, like remodelling her mothers art studio into a den for Linda's equally insufferable chihuahua simply because 'Linda needed a change' she would agree to keep the peace. Funnily, when it suited them no one found cause for complaint over her tendency to please.
That's why now when she was presented with something she really didn't want to do, she immediately gave up her fight and conceded to his control. She never entertained the thought that he did it on purpose, she knew her father loved her but sometimes she wished he would relinquish his hold and let her make her own decisions; or at least recognise the situations he forces her into.
"Let's say a month," Clara's eyes went wide with protest and as she opened her mouth to speak her father simply led up his finger to silence her (something he'd done since she was a child and hadn't realised she grew out of years ago.)
Leaning back further into his chair he swigged the rest of his scotch and said definitively his eyes burning into hers. "One month."
—
People bustled past her from near the crack of dawn that Wednesday morning, everyone had something to do but her.
Well that was always the way as far as Clara was concerned.
She never seemed to do anything for herself. At all.
She'd been molly-coddled her whole life and it only worsened after her mum got sick, just once she'd like the freedom to wear something she's gone and bought in away that she liked without the input of a whole bleeding PR team.
She'd never been particularly adventurous- especially after that emotionally scarring day on Blackpool beach- that was always her mum. Clara seemed to have inherited her dad's level head, well, more accurately it had been drummed into her.
She kept the book her mother treasured '101 places to see'. A part of her yearned to go and fill in the blanks that shouldn't be there. To create lasting memories of her own but somehow she never felt brave enough.
At times her own mind screamed at her to get a grip and just go, see everything and do anything and other times she found herself wishing to be whisked away; to let someone else make the decision about where to go and to bring her along for the ride.
But then logic set in and she would remind herself of her life and what she had to do. The members of the board might not like it but she was inheriting that company and she'd fight for it. At least that's what she told herself in the mirror when she was nervous…it never really went to plan.
A multitude of cases were being packed around her in a whirlwind of speed and efficiency, towering boxes filled with every colour designer shoe and a matching bloody hat.
Clara preferred whatever was comfy but as her stepmother loved to say like a broken record 'We have an image to preserve.'.
Whatever image that gold digger thought she had was truly smudged in Clara's opinion but no one ever seemed to listen to that. Any opinion she had was usually ignored or met with a 'that's nice' in whatever condescending tone the speaker fancied.
She was the future face of a company the board would never trust her to run and that face had to be constantly perfected. Her stylist had suggested something warm for the winter which Clara was grateful for- they never really seemed to take into account the practicality of these ridiculous outfits- and she found herself in a hugging, tartan skirt that looked like it may as well have been sold on the high street- although the price tag may beg to differ.
Begrudgingly, she trudged down the stairs to where her father and stepmother were waiting to greet her by the great, front door.
Whilst they may have thought it was a nice send-off, Clara could only compare it to a funeral march. Where she was the corpse.
"Oh bye bye Clara dear I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time," Linda simpered, with a smile faker than her nose. She topped off her loving stepmother act with a pathetic two fingered wave before strutting back into the house to screech at a poor, unsuspecting member of staff. Probably about the lack of alcohol in her hand.
Her father on the other hand gripped her into a bear hug and whispered into her ear "Please be good my darling, try and get along with these people. It would really help with business deals," he gripped her upper arms and gave her a weak smile that seemed to say it all: business comes first.
It always does.
—
Mr Oswald closed the gigantic doors behind him once Clara was safely in the back of the Rolls Royce and had given him a small wave goodbye. He knew she wasn't pleased but it was for her own good. At least that's what the board of governors had advised.
As he turned back round with a slightly guilty conscience, he was greeted by his new wife with folded arms and an impatiently tapping foot.
"I thought you struck that deal with Gallifrey industries weeks ago," She pouted with a raised eyebrow, pretending not to be amused at Clara's misfortune.
"No no dear, months ago. This is quite a different kind of business." He said wrapping an arm around her shoulders guiding her back through the extensive house.
"Oh? What kind of business is it then?"
"A merger of sorts." He replied coyly.
"An Oswin-Gallifrey merger?" She asked a glint in her eye as she had already anticipated his response. Linda had been and always will be a sucker for any bit of gossip. It's how she found herself living in the lap of luxury and she certainly had an expensive taste, if her Jimmy Choo's were anything to go by.
"No," He responded with a matching glint. "An Oswald-Smith merger."
—
"Hey Mickey," Clara greeted the cockney driver as always.
"Morning Clara, how are you feeling?" Mickey grinned back at her from the mirror. He'd always treated her like a normal person in the short time he'd had the job and in return she had always encouraged his dreams of doing more and being something. He'd often talk about going into defence and Clara was listening out for any possible ins through one of her dad's associates.
He was a strangely comforting presence in a world of glitz and glam which was decidedly fake and Clara was determined to keep that small piece of actual reality close.
"Imagine sea-sickness without the being on the sea," She said reclining back into the leather seat and pulling out the latest book she was devouring to pass the time.
"So…sick then?" Mickey said with a slight laugh not fully understanding her predicament.
"Nail on the head." Clara murmured quietly with a small, toothless smile before falling into a land that wasn't here.
—
He'd been pacing all day. So much so he may have worn a hole into the carpet.
She was coming today.
His father had insisted on yet another suit which John thought was rather pointless since she was going to be here for a whole month (unfortunately) and that means she was going to see him in other clothes besides a suit. Why not start how we mean to carry on?
Sadly, that was not his father's point of view.
Adjusting his bowtie in the hall mirror, again, he couldn't help but wonder why he was so nervous about this particular guest.
Girls had come and gone before- in both senses of the word when it comes to John- but this one seemed to get under his skin; he was always a sucker for a challenge. Whilst he had made the conscious decision to step into the shadows and let the world tick on without him dazzling in the limelight, something about this one girl in particular made him want to fall back into his role and to play up to his extravagant persona gifted to him by the same people who shamed him for it.
She seemed genuinely irritated by him. He assumed she probably read the papers declaring him 'the bad boy bachelor' making his way through every bar, club and country, but those are all extremely exaggerated- he didn't crash the limo he just happened to be very drunk inside the crashing limo. There is a big difference!
Nevertheless this Clara girl was a puzzle, one that he could solve. One that he was determined to solve. He had nothing else to do of course.
Perhaps it was because she couldn't stand him that made it all the more fun like some sort of programming in his brain that couldn't rest until he had her on side. He always seemed to be like that. The harder the puzzle the more he needed to work it out and she was one impossible girl that he could work out.
The screech of tires from a car outside snapped him away from his thoughts and the crunch of gravel underfoot developed that wave of nausea into a tsunami.
Here she comes.
The creak of the door signalled the end of his freedom and the start of this cat and mouse game he himself had unknowingly fabricated. His father beamed towards her, his face twisted into a cheery smile that John could never hope to receive as the resident disappointment.
"Clara! Clara! How wonderful to see you!" His father near as damn sprinted towards her clasping her hand in his and shaking it throughly, "This is great, just so wonderful! I have no other words to describe it," they both laughed that fake societal laugh, when something isn't actually funny at all but it's only polite to laugh and smile- John had perfected his 'society laugh' as he dubbed it years ago after he was told off by his father for asking "What's so funny?" at age seven.
"John, come greet Miss Clara, I'm sure you're both excited to see each other again." Smith Sr turned a gave John a warning look. His father was somehow under the impression that he cared about his warnings or threats at all. No, John found his warnings as a goal post, to see how ridiculous he could play it without getting reprimanded.
"Thrilled." John said with a only a hint of sarcasm, he raised his eyebrow at Clara as he came forward to greet her almost daring her to call him out on it but was shocked when she looked him dead in the eye and retorted with:
"Over the moon." Raising her own eyebrow as if to say 'checkmate'.
John stifled back a chuckle as his father actually believed them- he didn't realise she wasn't such a goodie goodie after all.
"Excellent excellent, I knew you two would get along when you met you just seem right- don't you think they just seem right?" He asked a poor maid, who was unfortunate enough to be passing by at that precise moment and John almost winced in sympathy as she managed to stammer out a brief "Of course sir, just right" before speeding away as far as possible terrified that she hadn't been convincing enough.
"John! Don't just shake her hand, she's a lady." His father gestured towards them and John knew exactly what his father was hinting at. He placed a soft kiss on her knuckles before looking up at her through his lashes, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Clara's eyes had grown wider (if that was possible), and John thought rather smugly he'd definitely thrown her off her game. A little wave of satisfaction came over him before she pulled away from his grip and returned to her usual stony demeanour she saved just for him
"We'll have the staff bring your bags in, I'm sure you have plenty for the whole month."
"Ah yes Sir, I've brought my own department store," his father barked a laugh which John thought was a tad overkill.
"You see son? So charming and witty," Mr Smith linked his arm through hers and guided her through the endless house only turning back to glare at John when he said "Oh yes ever so charming."
John didn't wait for another glare before dutifully following on.
"You have a beautiful home," Clara mused which was possibly the first completely honest thing she'd said since arriving.
The walls were high and decorated with priceless art from beautiful pieces that played on your soul to portraits of the family through time.
The carpeted areas were plush and cream in contrast to the mahogany flooring elsewhere. Flowers adorned each end table in crystal vases in an array of colours that seemed to breathe life into a place otherwise heading for a cold war.
Each sitting room was decadent and colour coordinated and she assumed this was for the purpose of entertaining guests like herself. Usually the guests weren't staying quite as long her mind seemed to hiss to her as of course no one else would care to listen to her thoughts.
Chandeliers hung throughout the rooms until they reached the library which was instead lit cosily with lamps.
Clara turned in awe- this put the Oswald library to shame.
The place was so big it required a ladder to climb each bookshelf, which were carved with a different scene from Greek mythology to Shakespeare's classics.
Each shelf was stuffed and perfectly organised in contrast to her more messy and soulful approach to categorising books.
The fire crackled in the corner and the whole room was filled with a contrasting warmth that felt safe and comforting despite her new surroundings. Clara could have stayed in here forever, content to follow a twisted maze of shelves allowing herself to get lost with no possibility of escape because unlike Blackpool beach- here was like home. Here was like her mother.
There were multiple dark wood tables throughout the room that stood bare and mostly unused, but tucked away in the furtherest corner was one table in particular piled high with books and paper and a computer softly whirring away at the centre of the great mass. It was the only part of the house she'd seen so far that allowed a single atom out of place and she instantly felt a pull toward it as a sense of normality in a Wonderland she was drowning in.
"John, I thought I told you to clear away that bloody desk when we have company." His father hissed as much as he could with said company present.
Clara noted the subtle pink that rose in his cheeks from his father's harsh words and felt a surge of pity that caused her to blurt out,
"No no it's quite alright I have my own table exactly like that at home, every classic I can get my hands on is there or stacked up by my armchair," She smiled softly hoping for whatever bizarre reason that she had saved John. Whilst her own father seemed to use her for his own gain, from the small time she'd known them, it was like John's father didn't want him around at all and to her that was a far worse fate.
"My dear you are just so studious, it's wonderful to see from a young person these days," Clara simply bobbed her head in agreement almost stunned at the difference in opinion when it was anyone but his son. That didn't stop her noticing John's slack jaw at her rescue attempt.
She made a mental note to not make a habit of that.
As Mr Smith and Miss Oswald left the library to continue the tour, John was frozen on the spot, for once consumed by a thought other than simply being the only one who can do wrong in his father's eyes.
But instead by one singular thought:
She helped him.
