Son of Secrets Read online

  Poem “The Keeper Can’t Reach” by Robert George Dew. Used with permission. All rights reserved.

  Quotations from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, “Ephemera” by William Butler Yeats, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, and Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte are all Public Domain.

  Editor: Rebecca Rue

  Proofreader: Jamie Rich

  Son of Secrets

  Copyright © 2020 N.J. Simmonds

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by BHC Press

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019945394

  ISBN: 978-1-64397-043-1 (Hardcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-64397-044-8 (Softcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-64397-045-5 (Ebook)

  For information, write:

  BHC Press

  885 Penniman #5505

  Plymouth, MI 48170

  Visit the publisher:

  www.bhcpress.com

  For Pete, Isabelle and Olivia

  Forever

  Disappear and stay right here

  Along all shores, withdraw from fear.

  Erase the face—the low profile

  Replenish the beauty, go rest for a while.

  Go to the deep, where the Keeper can’t reach

  Where mystic lovers endeavour.

  Play at the gate, where it’s never too late

  A child, once again. Forever.

  Belong with the stars, visit Pluto and Mars

  Chariots of golden hay.

  Tenderly caress the womb of the nest,

  The Keeper can’t reach you today.

  —Robert George Dew, 1977—

  I AM ARABELLA and this is the beginning. The very beginning.

  My first life was one of shadows, filled with men that ruled and women who hid.

  A land of forgotten children and spent lives. A waste.

  But I returned. Over and over again, I returned. For him.

  When you love for the first time, that love resides deep within your soul. It doesn’t vanish or fade away; it grows in size and strength. Like the sun, it gets larger, brighter, warmer, and more powerful. It’s bigger than the lives it touches. Like the sun, it can never be extinguished, even when you can no longer see it.

  Our souls are nothing but light and love, but they have memories. Our minds may forget from lifetime to lifetime, but our souls do not. I carried a burning fire inside of me for over two thousand years, hoping that one day it would cast away the shadows and help me find the one I’d been searching for.

  Then one day it did…

  HE HAD COMPLETED her once, but now she was empty, staring down into a deep, dark chasm of her own making. Every night Ella fell asleep fearing the next day would be the day she would finally fall into the terrifying abyss and never see light again.

  Why had she allowed it to go this far? A habit. A distraction. Like a quick stop in a fast food drive-through, she would slow down and take what she wanted. Devour it. Desperate to feel full and whole again. Then she’d be sick to her stomach. Sick with what, though? Guilt? Loss? Misery? Anger? Or maybe it was nothing. Just deep black nothing.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, his lips brushing her earlobe. She didn’t like it when he did that, but she let him. ‘You’re like a peach. So juicy.’

  His dark hair reached his shoulders, and his eyes were black in the half-light of her room. Every guy was beginning to look the same. She turned away and let him caress her breasts, wincing at the roughness of his fingertips against her soft skin. He entered her from behind, quickly, like it didn’t matter. She didn’t care; she preferred it that way. It was better when she couldn’t see their faces and she could replace them with the face of another.

  Bringing them home always seemed like a good idea at the time. Then, just as quickly, it didn’t. This one was nice enough, and if she closed her eyes and thought back to the big old bed in the tiny shepherd’s hut, hidden deep within that rain-soaked Spanish mountain, she’d be fine. If she thought of blue eyes and white feathers and last words, she would climax. After all, that was the only reason she let it get this far—to remember him and to forget him.

  ‘Are you OK, Ella?’ the man asked, their bodies now nothing but a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs. He brushed her hair off her shoulder and planted a kiss in its place. ‘We make love and you’re happy,’ he said, pronouncing his aitches like he was clearing his throat. ‘But now you look sad, like you want to be somewhere not here.’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Maybe I go, yes?’

  Ella turned around and faced the man—more of a boy really. Too young to understand.

  ‘Sorry, it’s not you, Pablo.’

  ‘My name is Paulo.’

  She rolled away from him again and sighed. Sliding out of her bed, he put on his shirt and trousers, stuffing his underwear and tie into his pocket. It was still dark outside, but through the window she could just make out a thin sliver of gold on the horizon.

  ‘I go. It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.’

  Ella couldn’t be bothered to walk him to her front door. She could already feel self-disgust drip drip dripping into her veins. Just like the last time with her last conquest. These boys helped for a small moment in time, but as soon as it was over, their presence multiplied her pain.

  ‘Ella, one more thing,’ Paulo called over his shoulder. ‘Did I get the job?’

  She must have looked confused because his cheeks coloured slightly.

  ‘The interview the other day. You needed a chef? I got it, yes?’

  With another sigh she got out of bed and walked naked to her front door, opening it for him wordlessly. The boy looked at the tiled floor, his eyes following his own footsteps out of her apartment and along the hotel corridor. Slamming the door behind him, she let out a low moan as she flung herself back on the bed, still warm from their bodies. Her pillow muffled her scream.

  ‘Where are you, Zac? Look what I’ve become!’

  ELLA’S PHONE WAS ringing, drilling a hole through her already pounding head. She considered ignoring it until she realised the sun was streaming through her bedroom curtains and it wasn’t the weekend. Shit! She jumped up and then sat back down again. Too much wine last night and probably tequila. Fucking tequila! Why did it always seem like such a good idea in the moment?

  She rubbed her hands over her face and groaned. Had she sung karaoke last night? Well, that was a given, of course she had; she always did when she went to Bar Fortuna. It was such a dive, but it was fun and the barman never let her pay for drinks. She glanced around the room and was relieved to see she was alone and Paulo or Pablo, whatever his name was, wasn’t there this time. Their one-night stand last week had been more than enough. She’d promised herself no more meaningless sex after that encounter, and she’d lasted five days so far. Tarifa was a small town, and she was sick of bumping into past mistakes.

  The phone was still ringing. She picked it up and saw the time on the clock by her bed.

  ‘Mierda!’

  ‘And good morning to you, too, Ella,’ the girl’s voice at the other end of the line said, laughing. ‘Your ten o’clock appointment has arrived ea
rly. Don’t worry, I told him you were in a very important conference call and would be down shortly.’

  Ten o’clock. Ten o’clock. Who the hell was her ten o’clock?

  ‘Location director from Planet Pictures. LA big shot,’ the woman added, responding to her silence.

  Paloma, her new assistant, had only started working for the hotel the previous month and already had the uncanny ability to read her mind. She was ridiculously beautiful too, and Ella would have been lost without her—even though the girl was completely averse to technology and insisted on doing all admin with pen and paper. Ella mumbled her thanks and went to hang up, but she could still hear Paloma’s tinny voice talking at the other end.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I said he’s brought someone along with him. A really handsome man. Muy guapo! I recognise him. I think he’s famous.’

  Ella rolled her eyes. Like she cared about guys right now? She thanked her again, and then remembered something.

  ‘Oh, Paloma, have we had any more applications for the chef position?’

  ‘No, but a man named Paulo keeps calling. Said you interviewed him last week and…’

  ‘No. Keep searching. I’ll be down in ten minutes.’

  Ella hung up quickly and sat on the side of the bed with a thump. Surely there was more than one chef in Tarifa? She felt bad about ignoring poor Paulo, but the last thing she needed at work was a constant reminder of how fucked up her life was and how low she had sunk.

  Every man she’d met since she lost Zac had been a mere distraction to keep her busy until he returned again. She always chose the ones with long dark hair, blue eyes or that serious intensity Zac had. But who was she kidding? These men didn’t even come close. Ella was fooling herself that she was getting on with life when she wasn’t. In fact, she was doing a very bad job of waiting for someone who may never return. He’d promised that if he survived he’d come back for her, but when? It had been three years since she’d lost him, and in that time, she’d heard nothing—not from him or his kind.

  At first, she’d waited. Pining like a dog that’d lost its master, confused and lost, Ella had visited every place they’d ever been together. She’d become dangerously thin until her father insisted she move in with him until she regained her strength, both physically and mentally. The memory of her first year without Zac was now nothing but a misty blur of life in a transparent husk of a body. She’d floated through each day barely breathing. She may as well have been dead. Then her mother had bought the hotel, a distraction while she sorted out her own marriage crisis, and Ella threw herself into their joint project. Getting back on her path had been her one aim, it was what Zac had begged her to do as he’d lain dying at her feet, but she was deluding herself. Whether moping about or shagging about, Ella wasn’t dealing with anything. She wasn’t admitting to herself what every day brought her closer to realising—Zac wasn’t coming back. He either wouldn’t make it back within her lifetime, or he was dead forever. Either way, she had to put thoughts of her soulmate aside and sort out her life. That meant no more men and no more tequila.

  The bathroom mirror was not being kind this morning. There was just ten minutes until her meeting and she looked like shit. All she could think about was going for a swim, jumping straight into her own private pool and washing away the self-disgust like she always did when she woke up with a thumping head full of regret. But she was running late and didn’t even have time to bathe. She brushed her teeth and then splashed her face with cold water. With no energy for a shower, she ran a flannel over herself quickly and sprayed her body with deodorant. The strong scent made her dizzy and more nauseous.

  Last night’s eye make-up still clung forlornly to her lashes. Yesterday, she’d been sporting a sexy smoky-eyed look; this morning her face simply screamed ‘hangover.’ She licked her finger and ran it under her eyes before applying a bit of blusher and a swipe of lip gloss. It was too late to wash her hair, so she ran her fingers through it instead, shaking them through the long chestnut curls and leaving it hanging loosely over her shoulders. That would have to do. She didn’t care if she was meeting a hotshot Hollywood exec or the guy who delivered the bread on a Friday morning—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d made any real effort with her appearance anyway.

  Her assistant had sounded breathless with excitement on the phone, but Ella couldn’t muster an ounce of excitement. When her mother had married Richard Fantz, with his dozens of hotels around the world and mansions in Marbella and London, Ella had been thrown into a dazzling world of riches and sycophantic hangers-on. She’d met directors and actors, pop stars and billionaires, and she’d hated them all. They were all the same—vacuous, vain, and insanely insecure; it was why the idea of taking over the running of a small hotel near the windswept town of Tarifa had appealed so much. She was back in Spain where she’d grown up—where she belonged. Nobody there knew who she was or where she had come from, and that was just how she liked it.

  She ran up the stairs from her ground-floor apartment and slowed down as she neared the hotel foyer, catching her breath and scrolling through the emails on her phone to check the name of the person waiting for her. As she passed the large gilt mirror in the hallway, she noticed a small toothpaste stain on the collar of her shirt. Bollocks! Covering it with her hair she stepped into reception, a large smile plastered on her face. Head still throbbing, and cheek now twitching, she hoped whoever was waiting for her wouldn’t notice just how hungover and tired she was.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Patterson. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’

  A tall man wearing a light suit and shiny shoes raised his hand to her. His mobile phone was pressed against his ear, and he was deep in conversation. Ella stopped talking and picked at the corner of her thumbnail. What a surprise, another rude bastard. She didn’t have time for this; she hadn’t even gone through the emails from the day before or had her morning team meeting. God, she needed a coffee!

  Paloma walked over to her with a small glass of espresso, which Ella drank in one go and handed back to her with a grateful smile.

  ‘I’m going to promote you,’ she whispered to her assistant with a wink.

  Paloma elbowed her lightly and twitched her head to the side, raising her eyebrows at someone standing by the main entrance. Ella followed her gaze and her stomach lurched violently.

  No way. What the hell was he doing in her hotel?

  A man was leaning against the back wall reading an English newspaper, oblivious to the two women watching him. He hadn’t changed much since she’d last seen him three years ago in London. He still had sandy-coloured hair, although now it was a little longer and swept back off his face. He’d grown broader over the years. His crisp white shirt clung to his arms and shoulders, nipping in at his small waist. The look was complete with perfectly fitted jeans and a pair of Ray-Bans firmly in place. Every inch of him screamed expensive.

  Josh de Silva. Josh bloody de Silva. The hottest, yet the vainest guy she’d known at university and the last person she expected to see in her hotel. Well, she wasn’t going to talk to him—not after the way he’d treated her the last time she’d seen him.

  Ella tucked her hair behind her ear and straightened her shirt. Seeing him was like being hurled back in time, back before she knew what she knew and life had seemed straightforward. She’d thought about Josh quite a bit lately, about how strange it had been that every girl on campus had adored him, yet he’d instantly made a beeline for her—the only person not interested in him. Men like him liked the challenge, but Ella didn’t play games. Her friends had tried setting them up, but she’d fallen for Zac instead. As if there’d been any contest. The last time she’d seen Josh she’d left him cold, rain-soaked, and bleeding on the side of the road, humiliation and anger painted all over his wet face. Zac had hit him that day for what he’d said to her, and then back at her house Zac and Ella had made love for the first time. It seemed like a different lifetime ago.

  Josh was st
ill reading the newspaper, still immune to her stares. What was he doing at her hotel?

  ‘William Patterson, location director.’ The man with the light suit and shiny shoes was holding his hand out for Ella to shake. ‘You. Speak. The. English? I. No. Speak. Español.’ He mouthed each word slowly and very loudly.

  Ella turned her back on Josh and shook the man’s hand, biting the inside of her lip to stop herself from laughing at him. ‘Yes, Mr Patterson. My mother is English, so I speak it fluently.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t even have an accent. Extraordinary! Please, call me Billy. Right then, young lady, before we start you should know that it would be best if you and your staff didn’t approach Mister de Silva.’ He dropped his voice so it was just above a whisper. ‘I saw you staring. He’s had a long flight and has a packed schedule this week. I’m sure he’ll give you an autograph or photo later. He doesn’t normally accompany me to these location-scouting trips, so I don’t want him pestered. OK then, I have forty-three minutes to assess this place before heading back to our hotel and moving on to the next appointment. Did you receive the brief from my office? Let’s start with the chapel.’

  Ella nodded and filed her short thumbnail against her teeth.

  ‘Josh!’ the location manager shouted out, causing the sandy-haired man to look up. Ella turned her head, hoping he wouldn’t spot her. ‘I won’t be long. Why don’t you wait with the driver? I’m sure you won’t want to hang around this dreary place for too long.’

  Billy was already marching down the corridor in the opposite direction to the chapel, and Ella had to jog to catch up with him. Was Josh working in films now? She quickly glanced over her shoulder and saw him being approached by two hotel guests in bikini tops and denim shorts. They were asking him to be in a photo with them, and he grinned into their mobile phone attached to a selfie stick, lapping up the attention. He’d been quite well-known back at uni, what with his dad being a top film director, but this was something else! Was he really that famous now? Josh had always been so full of himself. He did have a lovely smile, though. She’d forgotten about the dimple on his left cheek.