Forever Yours
Tomas Chevalier
Copyright 2011 Circlehouse Publishing
CHAPTER ONE
July 1979
The summer breeze rippled past their ears as they sat looking out over Lake Haleron. It was a beautiful summer's day in Hampshire and for James and Erika the world had come to a standstill as they sat, hands entwined at the edge of the riverbank basking in the golden sun. Life had been kind to James and Erika. When they were together nothing else mattered and as long as they had each other they had life.
Erika ran her fingers through James' wavy, wispy hair. You weren't allowed to call it ginger; it was 'strawberry blonde'. James was a well-built man, but certainly not overweight. James was not any product of 1970s Britain, however. James Horton, Marquess of Upham, and first issue of the Duke of Winchester was firmly entrenched in the British aristocracy and this matter was never far from the forefront of Erika's mind. James was like any 19-year-old man – that's what most attracted her to him. For all the peerages and country estates, James was down-to-earth and genuine. His father, as a second-cousin of the Queen was not quite so progressive of thought.
James cursed the views of his parents as he felt Erika Wall's fingers run through his strawberry blonde hair. He admired her stunning figure and long, blonde hair. Her hair had natural lowlights – something many girls of her age strived to achieve artificially but which Erika had in natural abundance. This was the case with so many of her admirable attributes. He loved her sullen doe eyes and attractive smile which caused dimples to form in her cheeks whenever he made her laugh or smile. He wasn't the down-to-earth joke-teller she perhaps thought he was – he just loved to see her smile and laugh.
“Isn't it amazing how peaceful life is sat beside a lake? It's as though the water absorbs every sound and distraction while reflecting an air of calm and tranquillity to everyone around it.”
Erika chuckled to herself as James smiled at those gorgeous dimples. She supposed that sometimes, perhaps, James did tend to give himself away as a man who was extraordinarily educated in the arts and of a completely different world to most. Every now and again he would come out with the most peculiar analogies and turns of phrase which left Erika both in awe of his style and slightly uncomfortable at the enormous social gulf which stood between them like the elephant in the room.
Erika, far from being of landed gentry, was a second-year art student at Winchester College of Art – the same institution attended by James and where they had met the previous September. Erika had been seconded to the prestigious college by her school in America after achieving outstanding academic results. Her background was a far cry from the world which James inhabited but her academic achievements had afforded her a certain comfort from those who had a vested interest in seeing her succeed.
“Everything is peaceful and calm when I'm with you – you know that.”
James smiled and reclined to lay on his back, his hands clasped across his stomach and his right knee pointing skyward. At times like this, he honestly wondered whether life could get any better. Deep down, he knew it could. His parents had reacted badly to the announcement of his relationship with Erika. To them, their son was destined for greater things than to be married to a middle-class American art student. One day, James would be the Duke and the thought of him marrying outside of his social circle was not a thought to be entertained. The British aristocracy was still careful about such matters since the small matter of the scandal that surrounded King Edward VIII and the American socialite Wallis Simpson forty-three years earlier. The social and liberal reformation of the Western world in the 1960s and 1970s had not reached some parts of Britain.
“James, it's five o'clock. I need to get back to the halls.”
Erika's halls of residence were located in the centre of Winchester – gratuitously provided by the college for overseas students whose home countries had provided academic bursaries to exceptional students who wished to study there. God knows, her parents alone could not afford the fees involved with studying at Winchester.
“Do you want me to walk you back?”
Erika smiled as she picked up on James' train of thought. She only had to be back in the hall by five o'clock. There was technically no rule against her signing in at the main desk and heading to her ground-floor room before letting James in through the window.
As they got back to the university halls, James skirted round the outside edge of the building and waited patiently between the wysteria outside Erika's window. A couple of minutes later, he heard the window catch click across and the rumble of the shutter opening. Grinning, he launched himself up and through the window where Erika was waiting for him.
His feet had barely touched the ground before Erika had thrust her hand into his trousers and had him flinching and convulsing with pleasure. They made love for almost three hours that night – time irrespective – their warm bodies intermingled in a writhing bundle of passion. Shortly after eight o'clock, they lay side-by-side, their sweat-speckled chests heaving to catch the first glorious breaths. James chuckled quietly and rolled back over.
He could smell the lamb cooking as he entered the dining hall. The smell of cooking lamb was one which James had always hated. He loved eating lamb but hated to have to smell it being cooked. His father shot him a knowing glance.
“Been out and about?”
“Yes, just down to the lake. The weather's lovely.”
“With that American girl, I suppose?”
“Her name's Erika, dad.”
“I don't give a damn what her name is. You know what we think of her; we've made our feelings perfectly clear.”
“And I've made mine clear, father.”
The Duke's face turned beetroot red with rage as James' mother tried to diffuse the situation.
“James, don't talk back to your father. He's uncomfortable with you seeing that girl and you know it, yet you continue to defy his wishes and see her behind his back.”
“I'm not doing anything behind anyone's back, mother. I told you were I was and I'm being open and honest. I love Erika and I want to carry on seeing her.”
Before his mother could respond, his father re-entered the conversation.
“Love? You don't know what love is, boy! When you're a part of this family, you have a certain number of responsibilities. One day, when I'm six feet underground, you will become the Duke and this will all be yours. Your wife, whoever that may be – God forbid – will be Duchess. This family has a long and distinguished history and lines that permeate through the very heart of the British monarchy and aristocracy and I will not see that scuppered with your involvement with a ten-a-penny foreign art student!”
The rhetoric was familiar to James – he could almost recite it word for word.
“She's not foreign, father, she's American. The two cultures are practically identical.”
“Practically isn't good enough. She's from a lower class family and she doesn't respect the same moral and social values as do we. It is my responsibility to ensure that this distinguished bloodline continues as it should and that it is preserved for future generations – not infected with inferior genes. I only wish you had the same sense of respect and responsibility.”
Inside, James was infuriated with his father's statement that Erika's genes were somehow inferior and likely to infect his family's bloodline. He also resented the insinuation that he did not feel the utmost respect for his background and future. The responsibility had never been lost on James. He had always deeply understood the background to his family and social standing and respected the comfort which he had been afforded as a result. To have the opportunity to be a link in this extraordinary chain was something he relished. He just wished that the aristocracy could be somewhat mor
e modern. To refuse to bless a loving relationship purely on the basis that his choice of girlfriend came from a different social class was, to him, absurd. It had taken six months to convince his father to even meet Erika before dismissing her out of hand. It had made very little difference.
Erika admired James' father. Many of her friends in Britain found it strange that she should have such a profound sense of admiration for the man who was denying her the right to see her own boyfriend and who seemed so entrenched in ancient rituals. To Erika, as a product of the American federal system, this was exactly what made him so fascinating and admirable. The pomp and circumstance was truly awesome and the tradition and gravitas with which the members of the family carried out their everyday lives was a world apart from what Erika knew and she was awestruck by the venom with which many of her British contemporaries treated the landed gentry. To her, coming from a country without this wondrous social history, she saw it as a great shame that the British people were beginning to shun their world-admired traditions. Deep down, she knew that the Duke would never sanction the marriage of her and James and that, for that reason, it could never happen. The immense pain of this realisation was eased only – and only very slightly so – by her understanding and respect for his family and their values. Sometimes she wondered whether her understanding and acceptance in the face of such flagrant disregard said more about her upbringing than it did of James' family.
“Father, you know I have a sense of respect and responsibility and you know that I would do nothing to bring shame on this family and its history and traditions, but...”
“But nothing. You are not to see that girl if you want to remain a part of the family which you so admirably claim to respect.”
“What are you trying to say?
“I'm trying to say that if you continue to see that girl, you will be no son of mine.”
The revelation hit James like a bullet between the eyes. He knew he was facing an uphill battle to get his father to respect Erika and that one day the ultimatum would be given but he had not expected it so suddenly and so bluntly.
“You have a decision to make, James. You're nineteen years old and you need to decide what's more important to you: a pair of legs and a skirt – of which you'll no doubt see many – or your place in a rich and vibrant dynasty which spans hundreds of years of glorious British history.”
In that moment, James knew what he had to do.
CHAPTER TWO
James and Erika met again the next morning by the bank of Lake Haleron. Erika had noticed that James was unusually quiet and had guessed why but had not wanted to admit it to herself. They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the clouds; Erika waiting for James to tell her what was on his mind and James willing Erika to ask him what was wrong. It was Erika who broke the silence.
“James, what's wrong, honey?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Idiot. Why the hell had he said that? He knew damn well that plenty was wrong.
“Are you sure? You don't seem yourself today.”
It's now or never.
“It's just... My father said something last night which I've been thinking about.”
Erika knew exactly what the Duke must have said but she pleaded innocence and waited for James to tell her himself.
“What did he say?”
“You don't want to hear it.”
“Try me.”
“He said if I carried on seeing you he'd cut me out of the family and the bloodline.”
James looked at Erika as he said this and she could see the tears welling up in his eyes. As much as she dearly loved James, she knew how much his class and family history meant to him and felt no anger towards him as a result of this. She knew he had an incredibly tough decision to make and loved him more than enough to not want to put any additional pressure on him.
“What will you do?”
“I don't know. You know how much I love you, Erika, but I can't afford to upset my family. I have rights and responsibilities that I need to respect. I'm so sorry.”
As soon as he had said it, James felt a deep loathing for his father and the undue pressure he had piled on him.
Later that night, Erika and James made love for the last time.
CHAPTER THREE
February 2009
The ping of the toaster snapped Mrs Fernandes back to planet Earth. As she stood in her kitchen in the Oxford suburbs, she had been daydreaming of a lost love; a love of which she often dreamed. Her husband planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Wakey wakey, love. I far prefer toast to charcoal!”
Mrs Fernandes smiled at her husband's joke. He loved her smile. His dark, flowing hair danced gently over the olive skin of his forehead. For a man of fifty who was beginning to grey at the temples, Miguel Fernandes was still an incredibly attractive man with the look of a well-worn matador. For all the love she had for Miguel, and for all his talents and virtues, he could never compare to the passionate, vibrant love she had once felt. Miguel was a safe pair of hands; a husband. He was not the fiery passion that had once burned inside her as a young woman.
She watched her husband pick up his brief case and head towards the front door.
“Oh, and Erika? Can you pick the kids up from school tonight please?”
She nodded and smiled.
Having plucked the toast from the toaster and settled at the dining room table with a hot mug of coffee, Erika picked up her copy of The Times and began to read. Her adopted English style led her to admire The Times, not for its right-leaning political slant but for its reputation as the newspaper of record. Its listings of the Royal Family's daily engagements and official record of births and deaths was a constant source of fascination for Erika. She supposed it offered regular reminders of what once might have been. As she leafed through today's edition her eyes glanced over the familiar headlines involving Iraq, politics and global warming. She spent a few minutes reading an article about a Belgian scientist who had discovered a link between grapefruit juice and a reduced risk of Alzheimer's disease. Despondent, she flicked to the safety of the Records pages.
Her eyes glazed over as she read the words for the fourth time – still unable to comprehend their meaning. The words glared at her from the page, devoid of any comprehension.
DEATHS
Philip HORTON, 14th Duke of WINCHESTER, aged 79 and Elizabeth, Duchess of WINCHESTER, aged 77, February 3rd [see page 14]. Both survived by son, James, formerly Marquess of Upham, now 15th Duke of Winchester. Funeral and memorial service at Winchester Cathedral, February 19th.
Her jaw dropped and her eyes filled with tears as she read the words over and over. How could both of James' parents have died so suddenly? It was incomprehensible. Noting the parentheses, Erika hastily turned to page fourteen. There, in the margin as some kind of late addition or mention in passing was the headline:
QUEEN'S COUSIN KILLED IN LIGHT AIRCRAFT ACCIDENT
It has been revealed that the Queen's second-cousin, the Duke of Winchester and his wife have been killed in a light aircraft accident near Southampton. Further details are not known at this point. Buckingham Palace has confirmed the deaths.
Her overriding memories of the Duke were that of a principled and honour-driven man who never shirked his responsibilities as a member of the aristocracy. The fact that he had taken from her her one true love was water under the bridge. Read the article for the fourth time, she sat and cried.
CHAPTER FOUR
James buried his head in Melissa's shoulder as his pained sobs echoed through the drawing room at Winchester Manor. Her hair tickled his face as the pain of losing both his parents in such tragic circumstances seared through his heart like a dagger. He had his parents had had their differences but when all was said and done they had enjoyed a good relationship and he had marvelled in seeing them enjoy old age as happy and healthy people. Now, one tragic moment had taken them both away from him.
“They say it was very sudden, sweetheart. Th
ey won't have felt any pain.”
What did it matter? He certainly felt plenty of pain right now. He had not felt this sort of pain since he had been forced to abandon Erika all those years ago in order to retain the love and respect of his parents. Now, though, they were gone too.
A thousand thoughts went racing through his head. His parents had both died and he was the Duke of Winchester. Melissa was his Duchess. Somewhere deep inside he wished it had been Erika. Erika and he had enjoyed a passionate, deep relationship. The first fruits of young love which had been unavoidably and horribly cut short by the very people he was now mourning. Make no mistake – James loved Melissa. She was warm, loving and caring. She was safety. Her middle-aged, pear-shaped figure showed that childbirth had not been forgiving and he assumed that old age would be less forgiving still but James knew he was not nineteen any more.
James had told Melissa about Erika and the love they had shared. He had also told her about his parents and the way in which they had forbidden him to see her. Melissa knew, deep down, that James still carried a flame for Erika. She did, however, revel in the safety that the aristocracy afforded marriage and loved James no less for it. They had shared two beautiful children together and they were both happy. She sobbed now as she realised that she would have to tell her children that their grandparents had both died very suddenly and in the most horrible way.
CHAPTER FIVE
The snow fell delicately outside Winchester Cathedral as James and Melissa stood solemnly next to the frozen fountain as various friends and family offered their respects. The large, looming Gothic cathedral stood over them as the snowflakes landed gently on the ground. The service had been a beautiful one: James had read a fitting tribute to his parents and his son had read a poem entitled To My Grandparents. The hymns had been beautifully song by the choir with Ave Maria bringing most of the congregation to floods of tears as the bodies of the Duke and Duchess were carried out of the cathedral and into the waiting hearses.