horses that might, or might not, become champions. I violently disagreed but I was adrift without my father’s wise voice to guide me.
We fought one night in the stable yard. We’d had to lay off staff and others had left. As Charlie said, they knew which way the wind was blowing. Only the horses watched as we wrestled each other to the ground. I was so angry I could have killed him. My hand closed around an iron bar that one of the grooms had left lying against the stable wall. Lifting it, I knew I’d be prepared to bring it down on my brother’s head. One of the horses whinnied. Thunderbolt, a troubled stallion that my father had turned into a champion. Sensitive to violence or just bored by the antics of humans, I’ll never know why he chose to whinny at that instant but the high-pitched call brought me to my senses. I dropped the bar and staggered away from Laurence.
‘You can’t handle it.’ He wiped blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I told you I’d have Madelaine Boylan first and she was all for it. How about ponying up that money you owe me.’
They say the truth is better out then in. Balderdash.
‘We have to choose.’ My lips were bleeding, my heart broken. ‘Only one of us can remain here.’
‘We’ll toss for it,’ he said. ‘It’s the only way to settle this.’
Why did I agree to such madness? I guess because I was maddened by grief and loss.
‘I call heads,’ Laurence said.
The coin spun, a piece of glinting gold that would decide our future. It landed on heads.
‘You lost the bet,’ said Laurence, as he had said so many times in the past. ‘Hyland Estate belongs to me.’
At daybreak the following morning I rode Thunderbolt across the Gallops. The sun was rising in the east. It touched the leaves of the great chestnut tree, dropped into the stillness of the lake. On and on it flowed, that golden dawn, stirring the birds to song, the horses to stir restlessly in their stables. I captured that moment in the retina of my eyes and knew I could move on physically, but no matter where I travelled in the world, this was what I would see when I closed my eyes.
Part III
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Southern Stream FM
News had just reached us that the emergency call from a young teenager, who claimed she was being held at gunpoint is genuine. Gardai are not releasing details of the incident and the only information I can bring you with any certainty is that the location where this incident is taking place has been traced. We have also been told that the unnamed teenager is not the only hostage. Her mother, who is believed to be a lone parent, is also with her. She has one other daughter whose whereabouts are yet to be established.
The names of the hostages have still not been released, nor has the location. Morning Stream will bring further information to you as soon as this news embargo is lifted. Online speculation as to where the siege is taking place is rife. Once again, journalists and broadcasters must cope with outdated regulations that prevent vital information being shared on mainstream media while it’s widely disseminated online. But that is an issue for another day and, presently, our thoughts and prayers are with the besieged teenager and her mother.
Stay tuned to Morning Stream for continuous coverage of this unfolding siege.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sophy
The gate in the wall had been oiled and opened easily. No shrieking hinges to startle the rooks and scatter them from their roost. Sophy had been able to step without hindrance from one world into another, or so it had seemed, each time she entered Victor’s domain. For those few hours in his company she could forget that she was an angry wife, an anxious mother, a troubled nurse. Victor loved her, desired her, devoured her with his bold, blue stare. Her only responsibility was to love him back. That should not have been difficult but each time she went to him she left a little bit more of herself behind in Hyland Hall.
She was haunted by flashbacks. The image of Julie’s limp body in Luke’s arms. Would it ever fade? She had been doing Victor’s bidding while her daughter almost drowned. The horror of what could have happened clogged her chest. Being loved by him, no matter how passionately and how often he declared it, could