He became the love of her life.
Roxie had loved Andrew deeply and passionately, but her mother was determined to destroy her happiness. Deeming Andrew unworthy and a gold digger, Alexia ruthlessly drove him away. Teddy, loving but weak in the face of his wife's determination, had failed to stand up to her. When Andrew returned to Australia, Roxie's heart shattered. In despair, she jumped from her bedroom window at Kingsmere, a sixty-foot drop that ought to have killed her. Instead, with bitter irony, Roxie survived the fall, only to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, doomed to remain her parents' dependent. She would never escape her mother, but would live out the remainder of her days a cripple under Alexia's roof.
There was nothing left for her mother to envy now. Alexia De Vere was once again the fairest of them all.
Roxie's accident was never referred to openly at Kingsmere, mostly because Teddy couldn't bear it. Of a different, older generation, Teddy De Vere buried his grief deep, preferring denial to the harsh light of truth.
Roxie could live with that. She loved her father. What she couldn't live with was the fact that her mother had never been punished for what happened. Never suffered, as she should have. Alexia De Vere was still happily married, still professionally successful, still famed for her beauty as well as her brains and, since Roxie's fall, for her resilience in the face of adversity. Actions should have consequences. But instead of suffering, Alexia De Vere sat back while yet more laurels were heaped upon her head. Her surprise appointment as home secretary was just the latest in a long line of unearned glories. It made Roxie sick.
"Cheers." She clinked her glass grimly against Teddy's.
"And to you, my darling. I know you're not looking forward to this evening. But try to keep things civil, for my sake, if not for your mother's. Being asked to be home secretary is a big deal, you know."
"Of course it is, Daddy."
Mummy's triumphs always are.
Gilbert Drake fell to his knees in the front pew of the tiny country church and made the sign of the cross.
He was frightened, despite the righteousness of his cause. How could he, one man, a lowly, insignificant taxi driver, deliver just retribution to the most powerful woman in England?
He prayed for courage, and a verse from Deuteronomy came to him, a gift from the Lord.
"Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or tremble, for the LORD your God is the one who goes with you. He will not fail you or forsake you."
Sanjay Patel had been failed and forsaken. By his friends, by the courts, but most of all by that evil she-devil Alexia De Vere.
Gilbert Drake stayed in the church, praying, until darkness fell. Then he zipped up his hooded jacket and walked into the night.
"For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."
Alexia De Vere listened silently as her husband said grace.
When they had first married, Teddy's insistence on this arcane ritual used to irritate Alexia intensely. Neither of them was particularly religious, so why the pompous, public show of piety? But over time Alexia, like Roxie, had come to take comfort in Teddy's unchanging eccentricities. When the storms of her own life had raged, Alexia De Vere's husband had proved to be the rock she needed, the one, true, solid thing she could cling to. Very few politicians were so lucky.
"Well." Alexia smiled magnanimously around the table. "This all looks lovely. Anna has surpassed herself as usual."
"As have you, my darling." Leaning across the mouthwatering spread of roast beef, fresh tomato-and-basil salad, and home-baked bread, Teddy De Vere kissed his wife proudly on the cheek. "Home secretary! My goodness. I expect this means we'll see even less of you."
"Hopefully," Roxie muttered under her breath.
"You know, brown's really not your shade, darling," Alexia shot back, looking at Roxie's drab Next dress. No one was going to ruin this triumph for her, especially not her spoiled, self-centered daughter. "It makes you look like even more of a wet weekend than you usually do. Try a spot of color, next time. It might brighten you up. God knows you could use it."
Roxie flushed with anger and embarrassment but said nothing.
Eager to avoid further confrontation, Michael De Vere raised his glass.
"Congratulations, Home Secretary!"
Leaning forward, Michael helped himself to a mountain of beef. Bad news should never be broken on an empty stomach.
"Thank you, darling." Alexia beamed at her son. "You are sweet."
"Were you surprised they appointed you? I mean, it did come rather out of the blue."
"Nonsense," Teddy said loyally. "Your mother was the obvious choice for the job. After all her sterling work with the prison reforms."
"You're sweet, darling, but Michael's quite right. It was a complete shock. I mean, the PM and I do get along well on a personal level . . ."
"Yes, yes. As you've told us a thousand times," sniped Roxie, earning herself twin pleading looks from Teddy and Michael.
"But I never expected a promotion on this scale," Alexia went on regardless. "I don't think anybody else did either. It's ruffled quite a few feathers in the party, I can tell you. But then why be boring and play things by the book? You've got to take life's opportunities where you find them. Grab the bull by the horns and all that. And of course, if I can be of service to the country, then so much the better."
This was too much for Roxie. She knew she'd promised her father, but really. Service?
"Oh, please, Mother. At least have the decency to admit that this isn't about service. It's ambition that got you the job. Personal ambition. We're not journalists, we're your family. You don't have to lie to us, just because you lie to everybody else."
Teddy said reprovingly, "Roxie, love, steady on."
Alexia's chest tightened into a familiar ball of anger. Steady on? Was that all Teddy had to say? Why did he never stick up for her properly? Why did he kowtow to Roxie's victim complex by treading on eggshells all the damn time? The girl used that damn wheelchair like a weapon, and Alexia for one was sick of it.
"Speaking of taking opportunities and grabbing bulls and . . . things," Michael began uncertainly. "I, er . . . I have some news."
"Don't tell us you've finally found a nice girl and are going to get married?" Teddy teased. "I thought we'd agreed. No weddings until you've finished Oxford."
"Don't worry," said Michael. "No weddings. At least none where I'm the groom. But I, er . . . well, that's the news. Part of it, anyway. I have finished Oxford."
Complete silence. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.
Alexia spoke first.
"What do you mean you've finished, Michael? You've only just started."
Michael looked at his mother plaintively. "Uni's not for me, Mum. Really."
"Not for you? Why on earth not?"
"Honestly? I'm bored."
"Bored?" Teddy erupted. "At Balliol? Don't be ridiculous."
Michael plowed on. "You remember Kingsmere Events, the company I started last year with Tommy?"
Tommy Lyon was Michael's oldest friend. The two boys had met at prep school and always remained close.
"Not really."
"Yes, you do. We threw a thirtieth birthday party for that Russian chap on a yacht in Saint-Tropez last summer?"
"Vaguely." Alexia looked at Teddy, whose usually jovial features were set like thunder.
"Well, anyway, we made twenty-grand profit from that, just the two of us," Michael said proudly. "And we've had loads of inquiries since then, for corporate events, Bar mitzvahs."
"Bar mitzvahs!" Teddy De Vere could take no more. "You're a De Vere, for God's sake, and you're halfway through a law degree at Oxford. You can't seriously expect your mother and I to agree to you throwing all that away to book clowns and balloons for thirteen-year-old Jewish boys from Golders bloody Green!"
"Their parents are the clients," said Michael reasonably. "And don't knock Golders Green. Some of these Jewish mothers are dropping half a million on little Samuel's big day."
"Half a million? Pounds?" Even Teddy was brought up short by this number.
"Think of the opportunity, Dad." Michael's merry gray eyes lit up. "Tommy and I can net eighty, a hundred grand in a night."
"Yes, and with a first from Balliol and my and your mother's contacts, you could be making tens of millions a year in the City a few years from now. I'm sorry, Michael, but it's just not on."
"Well, I'm sorry, Dad, but it's not up to you. I formally left college this morning. Gave in my keys and everything."
"You WHAAAAAAT?" Teddy's screams could be heard all the way to the Kingsmere gatehouse. Roxie tried to intervene and soon the three of them were shouting over one another like rowdy MPs at Prime Minister's Question Time.
Alexia De Vere closed her eyes. First bloody Roxie, getting out her violin again and scratching out the same, bitter old tune. And then Michael, dropping this bombshell. So much for my celebration dinner.
It was a relief when Bailey, the butler, tapped her on the shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt your meal, ma'am. But there's someone at the gates wanting to see you."
Alexia looked at her Cartier watch, an anniversary present from Teddy last year. It was past nine o'clock. "It's rather late for house calls. Who is it?"
"That's the thing. They wouldn't give a name and they were acting, you know, erratically. Jennings wasn't sure what to do."
Alexia put down her napkin. "All right. I'll come."
Alfred Jennings had been the gatekeeper at Kingsmere for almost forty years. At seventy years old, partially deaf, and with a weak heart, he was not much of a security guard. Michael had once described Jennings as being "as fierce as a newborn kitten," a phrase that Alexia had always thought summed up old Alfred perfectly. Unfortunately, because she was now home secretary, her security was no longer a laughing matter. Her controversial work as prisons minister had earned her a number of enemies, some of them potentially dangerous, others frankly deranged. Sanjay Patel, an Indian man who had taken his own life in Wormwood Scrubs when his sentence was extended, had a particularly vociferous and unpleasant group of supporters. Alexia De Vere didn't scare easily, but neither could she afford to be cavalier about unexpected "visitors."
The Kingsmere gatehouse consisted of an office-cum-sitting-room downstairs and a single bedroom and bathroom above. Jennings had made it cozy, his plug-in fake coal fire constantly burning.
"I'm so sorry to have bothered you, ma'am," he warbled feebly as Alexia came in. "Especially in the middle of dinner. Fella's gone now."
"That's quite all right, Alfred, better safe than sorry. Were the cameras on, by chance?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am." The old man wheezed, pleased to have gotten something right. "They's always on nowadays. Mr. De Vere, he's quite insistent about it. 'You switch them cameras on now, Mr. Jennings,' 'e says. They was on all right."
"Marvelous. Perhaps I could have a look at the tape?"
Dinner was over. Teddy had stormed off in a huff and Michael and Roxie were alone in the kitchen, making tea.
"Well," Michael quipped, "that went well, I thought. Dad was his usual calm, rational self."
"What did you expect?" Roxie said reprovingly. She loved her brother dearly. Everybody loved Michael, with his naughty-little-boy charm, his warmth, his humor. It was impossible not to. But it pained her to see their father so upset. "You know how much Balliol means to Daddy."
"Yes, but it's not 'Daddy' who has to be there, is it? It's me."
"It's only two more years."
"I know, Rox, but I'm bored out of my mind. I'm not really a lectures-and-libraries sort of bloke." Michael slumped down on the table with his head in his hands.
"Really? You don't say." Roxie raised a sarcastic eyebrow "Ha ha. I'm serious. This business with Tommy, I honestly think I can make a go of it. Dad's an entrepreneur."
"Hardly."
"All right, well, he's a businessman at least. Surely there must be part of him that understands?"
"It's not that he doesn't understand. He doesn't want you to make a mistake, that's all."
"Yeah, well, I'm not. Mum gets it. Even though the press are bound to give her stick about it, she knows I have to find my own way."
"Alexia thinks the sun shines out of your arse and always has," Roxie said coldly. "She'd support you if you said you were off to join a Muslim Brotherhood training camp in the Kashmir mountains."
Michael frowned. He hated it when his sister called their mother by her first name. The rift between mother and daughter was obvious enough, but somehow that little verbal tic seemed to underscore it.
"She loves us both, Rox."
Roxie rolled her eyes.
"She does."
"Well, she has a funny way of showing it."
Teddy found Alexia in her study. Sitting at the desk, an empty water glass in front of her, she was staring into space, twisting her wedding ring around and around on her finger.
"Are you all right?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Fine."
She forced a smile. Beneath the perfectly coiffed, politician exterior, Teddy could see how tired she looked. Alexia had been in her midtwenties when they met and her late twenties when they married, in a small Catholic chapel off Cadogan Street. Back in those days she was a raving beauty in the classic seventies mold. Very slender, with long, coltish legs and a mane of straggly blond hair that streamed behind her like the tail of a comet when she moved. But she was ambitious even then, and she'd changed very quickly, cutting her hair and adopting a more sober, suit-and-heels dress sense when she ran for her first London constituency seat. Mrs. Thatcher had been elected leader a few years before Alexia De Vere became an MP, but the British Conservative Party remained a hostile place for a woman, especially one from a lower-middle-class background. Marriage to a British aristocrat had certainly helped Alexia's chances. Teddy had relinquished his peerage so that his young wife could have a shot at the Commons, but Alexia remained a De Vere, and De Veres had been part of the Tory establishment since time immemorial.
Teddy wasn't stupid. He was well aware that his name and his money and his family connections were a big part of the attraction for his brilliant, beautiful, pushy young bride. But he admired Alexia, and he loved her, and he was more than willing to offer up all that he had on the altar of her career. Before they met, Teddy De Vere's life had been grand, privileged, and deathly dull. Marriage to Alexia Parker had made it an adventure.
Sitting at her desk tonight, Alexia looked every inch the powerful, competent, wildly successful woman that she had become. From her subtle Daniel Galvin highlights, to her immaculately cut couture suit, to the diamonds glinting discreetly at her fingers, ears, and neck, Teddy De Vere's wife was a woman to be reckoned with. Watching her, Teddy could have burst with pride.
Home secretary. That was quite something.
We did it, my darling. We proved them all wrong.
Of course, the De Veres had had their fair share of trial and of tragedy, both as a couple and as a family. Teddy was intelligent enough to realize that the relationship between Alexia and Roxie would probably never recover, any more than his darling daughter's shattered legs. It had started so long ago, almost as soon as Roxie entered her teens, but of course that awful business with the Beesley boy had made it a thousand times worse. And Alexia had never been the touchy-feely type, the sort of mother who could give her daughter a hug and say "there, there." Teddy also knew that Alexia spoiled Michael rotten, partly in compensation for all that she'd lost with Roxanne. It drove him mad sometimes, but he understood. Teddy De Vere prided himself on the fact that he had always understood his wife. They were two sides of the same coin, he and Alexia. He loved her deeply.
"We missed you at dinner."
"Did you? I couldn't tell for all the yelling."
Walking up behind her, Teddy rubbed her shoulders. "I'm sorry things got so heated. Where did you disappear to?"