The Death That Wasn't

Chapter 4-1

Chapter 4

Working gave me a purpose, a reason to get up each morning, and it mainly banished Denning to nights, where he merged with the depression into long hours of sleeplessness. My final sight of him was burned into my memory, and into my psyche too. If ever a solitary eye could beg and plead, then his did. And I ignored it, and just ran away. It scared the hell out of me that some day he would return, bent on revenge. I knew that whatever fate he chose for me, I deserved it.

Like a dark shadow, he faded in the daylight as I became enmeshed in the requirements of my new driving position. And, for the first time since my discharge, I acknowledged that I had a future, and decided to start saving some of my wages. Progress, my army therapist would have said.

My Dad was a baker, and growing up, I spent many an hour fascinated by the sound of clanging baking trays as they were thrust into the oven, or washed, cleaned and stacked. I remembered the scrumptious smells, and the warm soft taste of freshly baked bread. As a youngster, I had wanted to follow in his footsteps. Now, my new job could make owning a Doughking speciality baking franchise, a goal.

Working for the Seebolds, or perhaps I should say for Thornton, started off well. I loved the car that I would be driving, the Mercedes G63, or as it is more commonly known, a G Wagon. To some it was a monstrosity, a shoebox on wheels. A retro looking vehicle. To others, me included, it was an engineering masterpiece. A brute of a car, that was completely wasted on me. But it did my limited ego good to know that I was trusted driving such a pricey car. And such a safe car.

I arrived early the first day, and Thornton gave me the rundown. Where to leave my bike. My own access key card to operate those imposing gates and the garage door. He showed me the staff room where I could leave my bike gear, get coffee and spend any free time. He introduced me to the other permanent members of the household. Ben, the gardener, and Abbey, the cleaner who also did most of the cooking. And he gave me the children’s schedule for the week. I had already biked the route to the two schools and had checked how to find the various after school activities, so I should have been fairly relaxed. But I wasn’t. I knew that I could handle the mechanics of getting around, but what about the children? Ridiculous that two youngsters should have caused me anxiety, and I steeled myself for our meeting. As instructed, I was wearing a long sleeve white shirt and a pair of slacks. No jeans.

Mrs Seebold was a dream. Perhaps a bit younger than myself, though it was impossible to accurately guess her age. Money well spent can conceal ageing, and her youthful glow might have been a result of this. Fairly tall, there was a fluidity in the way she walked, and in her casual hand gestures, that showed off elongated fingers. There was an air about her that announced authority, and she carried herself with confidence and style that was accentuated by her designer jeans, her sandals and her silk blouse. Everything about her shouted money. The house, the six car garage, the large grounds, the suburb where she lived, the children’s private schools, her coiffured hair, Thornton, none of these came cheap. She was stunning, and would have been stunning without the expensive clothes. A tracksuit or daggy jeans with an old tee shirt would have done just as well. I noted all this, as I would evaluate a shop window model. If I had met her a few years ago, I might have thought of her as a potential conquest, and mentally undressed her. But today . . nothing.

Her voice, gentle and soft, yet full of authority. “Good morning. Thank you for joining us. Bill provided some background, and Terry added to that.”

Terry? Of course, that was Thornton. I only used surnames, as a servant should.

Mrs Seebold continued in her musical voice. “My children will be down shortly. They are usually well mannered and well behaved. If you find them to be otherwise, I would like to know. Just tell Terry who will message me and I will come and find you.”

“Yes, Mrs Seebold.”

“And please, call me Shirley.”

Here we go again. “Yes, Mrs Seebold.”

She just smiled at that, then turning to greet the two youngsters who had arrived with a good deal of giggling, she hugged each one in turn. She draped her arm over the shoulder of the eldest, still a girl, but on the verge of becoming a young woman. Definitely a chip off the old block. She stood and carried herself well with a youthful poise, and it was already apparent that she was going to be a beauty. Blond hair tied up with a purple ribbon, she had her school pack casually slung over her shoulder, and the formless tunic did little to hide her budding maturity.

“This is Anne,” she then repositioned her arm over the boy, drawing him closer, “and this is my son, Steve.”

He was slightly built, almost frail, as though he had grown too fast without a chance to bulk up the thin legs and arms. I wondered if he had been ill. He just had that look about him. He switched his gaze between me, his Mum and Anne, seeming a bit shy. But he was still young.

Mrs Seebold kissed the top of his head, and introduced both of them to me.

“I want you to meet your new driver. He has your schedule for the week and knows the times, so everything will run smoothly.”

They politely came forward to shake my hand, showing good manners at their young age. I suggested that we get started.

With a quick kiss from their Mum, they slung their school packs into the boot area, and climbed up into the car. The G Wagon was high off the ground and had a small step to assist the climb. I waited for them to strap themselves in, and eased the car down the driveway, feeling the wasted power of 550 horses under the bonnet.

The two kids were no trouble. I soon settled into their schedule, and was left with a considerable amount of free time that I didn’t always enjoy. I preferred to be kept busy. I seldom saw Mrs Seebold. Thornton I saw several times a day, and occasionally he would invite me into his office when I was at a loose end, offering tea or coffee. He was a good sort, and we were becoming reasonably friendly.

I had been there several weeks when he said that Mrs Seebold wanted to have a chat. I wondered what I had done wrong with the children. She found me after I had collected them from their various activities. As usual, she was a work of art.

“I want to say how happy we all are with your work.”

All? I had yet to meet, or even see Mr Seebold. But I accepted the compliment gratefully.

Her voice dropped a tone, as if she was imparting something confidential. “You haven’t met my mother, Gina. She has returned after a short break away and is at a loose end tomorrow. After you return from dropping the children at school, you are free until after lunch. Would you mind running her out to the beach house for the morning?”

Mind? Did I have an option? “It would be a pleasure Mrs Seebold.”

And then she added rather mysteriously, “she sometimes has unusual ideas, but however strange it might seem, I would like you to accommodate her in her requests, to keep her happy.”

Whoa. What was I agreeing to?

As soon as she had left I cornered Thornton in his office. “What was that all about?”

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. I could tell that he was embarrassed. “Gina, that is her mother, has a . . how can I put it, um . . she has been known to have a behavioural issue, but you will find that she is a lovely lady.”

“What type of behaviour problem? Is she controllable? Does she attack? What am I meant to do with her? What is going to happen at the beach house? I don’t want any trouble. Please, Thornton.”

He gave a small smile and shook his head, trying to put me at ease. “Look, there really is no need to worry. She will never do anything that would cause you any embarrassment or discomfort. You just need to humour her. And play along with her. Shirley will be very appreciative.”

This didn’t placate me in the slightest, but I had little option. It was beyond my control, and while I enjoyed the work, I did wonder whether everything could suddenly go pear shaped.

The following day I met the mysterious mother, Gina. One look at her and you could see where her daughter’s good looks came from. Gina was ageless, in the sense that she could be anywhere between 50 and 65. Her face was relatively unlined, except for some charming crinkle lines when she smiled. She had a wide mouth, like her daughter, and a straight line of enviably white teeth. But it was when she dipped her head that the hint of a double chin showed, and her kindly granny face took over. She could have held her own amongst many younger women, as long as her hands were ignored. The ultra thin fingers and scattering of age spots were a giveaway that she was no spring chicken.

She was waiting after I returned from dropping the children at school, and introduced herself with a cheery “hello, I’m Gina, and you must be my chaperone for the day.” She gave me an embarrassing up and down look, before adding, “We will take my car. I love the wind in my hair.”

There were several cars in the Seebold garage. The Ferrari belonged to Mr Seebold; Mrs Seebold drove the BMW; I had the ugly Mercedes and Thornton drove an older model Mercedes. That left the Audi A3 convertible. They had more cars than I had toy cars as a kid.

“Here, you drive.” She casually tossed me the keys, and expertly slid herself into the low slung car, bottom first, then swung her legs around and closed the door before I could do it for her. Slipping into a sports car can be awkward for some, but Gina did it with practised elegance and made it look easy. She smiled at me in a way that reminded me of my dear Mum, who had been killed in a climbing accident when I was only 13. And was probably old enough to be my mother.

As soon as we were through the gates, she started talking. “You are probably wondering why you are coming with me. What did my darling daughter say to you?”

I kept my eyes fixed on the road, but out of the corner I could see that she had turned to look at me, waiting for my answer.

“I was just asked to accompany you. I assumed that you would want me to drive.”

“Rubbish!” She was emphatic, “what did she really say to you?”

My hands subconsciously tightened on the steering wheel. I knew what I had been told, but I still had no idea what it meant. I mumbled a response. “Something about keeping an eye on you.”

Gina gave a short chuckle, “Whatever you may have heard, there is nothing to worry about. I don’t bite.” And then she added, “You look tense. It is a glorious day so relax and enjoy the drive. Isn’t the view outstanding?”

We were on the coastal route, skirting the ocean. With the top down, the wind carried the distinctive sea smell and the air was already warm from the early sun. It was a good feeling steering the little sports car through the curves, and I tried not to show the strain that had taken a silent hold on me. Gina was enjoying the drive too. Her head rested against the headrest; her eyes closed, appearing as if she were asleep.

After a while she stirred, took stock of where we were and smiled at me. “I am a very perceptive person, quite spiritual actually, and have been thinking about the vibes that I am picking up from you. Your soul is troubled. Not now, but later perhaps you will tell me.”

My discomfort multiplied. I forced a smile, that I hoped showed in my voice.

“I am fine, Gina. Please don’t worry about me.”

Gina directed me to the turnoff where I negotiated a steep driveway down to a splendid Mediterranean style house. A short distance beyond I saw, and heard, the continuous roar of the breakers. Pure music. Nature’s symphony to life.