Fiction

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The Prayer Book Chapter 3.

By P.M.I Charlotte.

Damian.

I was sitting in the dining room of my house in Berkeley Square, having a light breakfast of cake and tea.

The cake was lemon cheese cake, laced with nutmeg and cinnamon. Last night's special at Peaches and Cherry, Maria Moses' restaurant, where I always had my staff order my take out dinners and desserts. Not like my cook was a terrible one. She actually prepared exquisite meals. But ever since that restaurant opened up, a few years ago, I haven't deterred in getting my dinners and desserts from there.
Even elaborate events hosted by me, are catered by Peaches and Cherry.

Tangy, sweet and nutty. Those were the tastes that busted in my mouth as I ate every piece. Although I had had a generous amount of the cake last night, after dinner, long before Maria's call to meet up had come in, I still had it this morning. I couldn't help it. I loved the cake. It was delicious and beautiful, just like Maria.

A knot formed in my throat, just thinking of her, as I took the last bite of the cake, sipping some tea to let the cake down my throat. She was beautiful and spirited, highly opinionated and I liked all that about her. But above all, she was still hurt. Hurt from a marriage that had consumed her years ago. The memory of my question to her last night came back to me and I mentally kicked myself for putting the question to her last night. What had I been thinking? Harold was a forbidden topic for Maria. A fact which I had been well aware of by her grandmother, while she had been alive. But a small part of me had wanted to hear it from her mouth. I needed to know what she had seen in Harold Ridge, which she hadn't seen in any other person. In me.

I had first seen Maria Moses, on the photos of her brother, Charles, while we were at our lodgings at Oxford. I and Charles had been in the same business school, back then and we had been inseparable. A couple years later and Jeremiah joined in Oxford as a medical student and together we had spent our youthful years as friends and school mates. Combing the entire cities of England, while we battled with our education. Vigorous young men, who were ready to take over the corporate world.

In her photos, Maria with her dark eyes, her tanned skin, had had freckles then. With her curly, silky, black hair, braided in two, in all those photos. I had found her willowy and boyish. And had been impressed by the amount of love and protectiveness her brothers had had over her then. Actually I had been envious at the time, knowing that I had been an only child of my late parents. Short of that, I hadn't seen the feisty girl again, until we had met at Charles' wedding.

I was 29 at the time. It was on a cold raining, Friday evening, when I arrived the hotel where Charles' wedding was to be held. A hotel by the seaside. The wind had picked up, along with the rain and I had found myself greatly displeased by the atmosphere. It was so that I was being checked into the hotel with a grumbling heart that I turned my eyes and caught the sight of the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her back was turned to me at the time. However, I had been unable to take my eyes off her.

Tall, slender, with her curves in all the right places. I had been enthralled. She had rolled her hair up in a high bun, with her slender, tanned neck exposed and I had been unable to look away. Although she had a plain wool sweater on, I couldn't help but take my eyes off her. And when she had eventually turned her gaze to my direction, my heart had stopped. Literally. A beauty. I had tried to hurry the receptionist, so that I could go meet the young woman. Unfortunately, she had continued on her way with a couple of her giggling peers and I had lost her. I had been unable to take my mind off her in that moment. Thinking she had been a guest, I had enquired about her incessantly from the receptionist, but to no avail.
Eventually, I had carried my disappointment and gone on to find Charles.

There in the chapel, where the wedding rehearsal was taking place, I found the gorgeous beauty. And it was in that moment that I found out her identity. Maria Moses. The sister to my friends. The little girl that I had seen on the photos of Charles. That little girl had finally grown into a 19-year-old young woman. She had been so distracted that she hadn't paid attention to her brother during the introductions. But I had instantly recalled everything about her, a smile never leaving my face.

Captured, I had found myself stealing glances at her, throughout the rehearsal. At some point during the dinner, I had drawn closer to her, just to talk. Just to hear her sweet voice, which I found thrilling. Unfortunately, a man had walked into the restaurant at that moment and she had excitedly fallen into his arms. The sight had confused me, only to hear her introduce him to everyone as her boyfriend. Harold Ridge. A man a few years younger than I was at the time. I had been caught off guard by it, but I had regained my senses and had indulged the sight of Maria been in the man's arms. All cuddly and romantic.

Eventually when I returned to my suite that night, I had tried to suppress the thought of hurt I felt, seeing Maria in the arms of the man. And I hadn't been able to. I had tossed and turned all night, but had failed.

During the wedding, I had found myself frequently tearing my eyes off the couple. Pretending that seeing them all cozy didn't singe my eyes. But I had been unable to tear my eyes off her. Because Maria was the most beautiful girl during the ceremony.
Dressed in a beautiful, blue satin bridesmaid gown, she had looked like a cobalt fairy. But she had been too in love with Harold Ridge to even give me any eye.
I had left the wedding the following day, nursing my hurt in seeing Maria in the arms of another. A feeling which I couldn't understand by the way. And I had chosen to block my mind to all thoughts of Maria Moses.

A few months later, I received the invitation from Charles for his sister's wedding. I didn't attend the wedding. And I never allowed my heart think of her again.
Or I tried to tell myself that.

I let my heart ignore the feelings I had felt for her. Like a twist of luck, Stephanie came along and I found my feelings for Maria, a distant memory. Until...

Stephanie had been a burst of the sun in my life. A life which had been dulled by the presence of my grandfather, Brandon Hutchinson. A man that had been brought up in a loveless home, who had sired my father that had sired me. My dad, Braxton Hutchinson, had been married to the most beautiful woman. My mother, Rita. But I had been told by my late grandmother that my dad had drained all her color by his loveless spirit, instilled in him by my grandfather.
Gradually, my mum had died inside, before they had both left me. For the both of them had died when I was all but a 3-year-old. An unfortunate death which had occurred after they had dropped me off, one night, at my grandparent's place. They had proceeded to go on a luxury ship cruise to Greece, with a few of their friends.
Unfortunately, there had been a storm on their trip and the luxury ship capsized. The news had reported that by the time the coastal guards had arrived to the rescue of the passengers, after the storm had died, they had all drowned. I still had newspaper clippings of that unfortunate ship wreck that had claimed all those lives. The lives of my parents.

When my parents left, my grandmother had continuously urged me not to turn into the man my grandfather had made my late father turn into. The man that his own father had turned him into. I had tried to listen to my sweet grandma, Alicia Hutchinson. But try as I may, it was like I was never to break free from Brandon's clutches.
My grandfather had constantly blamed my late mother for turning my father against him, towards the end of their lives. He had equally blamed my grandmother, in spite of her loss, for causing my father to soften on life, which had made my father to go on that cruise with my mother. A cruise which my grandpa had vehemently gone against, when my father had argued with him on it. When my father had gone against my grandfather's norms to go on a leisure cruise with his wife. A cruise which my dad had confessed to my grandma was needed to fix things with my mother. To bring back the spark in her eyes. Sadly, it never got to be. Or we never got to see if he succeeded, because of their demise.
And now, I would never know if my father had been capable of love.

But for me, Stephanie Crane had been a bright smile to my dim life. She had been the picture of an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. And after I had accepted that Maria had married, I had grasped Stephanie's presence without any hesitation. Not wanting to lose her like I had lost Maria, I had gone all out for her.

You see, Stephanie Crane and I had met in the winter of the same year at the end of year gala for book publishing companies in the Wicklow Mountains, Ireland. Well Ireland had been hosting the gala for that year and we had all convened at a medieval castle turned hotel, which had served as the venue for the convention.

I had attended the convention on behalf of my grandfather, who was at the time preparing my taking over of the company. And in truth I had been thrilled to attend without him for the first time, knowing that I had always attended the conventions with him as his under study. This time I had been attending as the boss along with two staff and I had been honored.

Just as I walked in through the castle gates, I was bumped by a woman, who was in such a haste. Almost landing the both of us on the snow covered floor, if I hadn't deftly caught her. After we had righted ourselves, retrieved our fallen suitcases, and apologized to each other, I had taken my time to look at the lady that had almost knocked me down and I must confess that the view had taken my breath away. Her hair, golden as the last bursts of the sun rays that fell upon her hair, was beautiful. Her fair skin was made upon a beautiful face that had the most beautiful pink lips that I had ever seen. When she had reached her hand to shake me, I had grabbed the most elegant fingers, with freshly manicured red nails.

In no time, I had fallen in behind her and we had tagged along so well. As we got to know each other, I got to know that Stephanie had been an editor for Steak House Publishers, one of our major competitors. I had been hesitant to get closer to her, due to that detail. However, I had only needed to stare into her icy blue eyes and I had keeled over, Steak House and Hut Publishers be damned.

The convention had lasted for four days. Four memorable days, which had anchored as a date opportunity for I and Stephanie. We had attended sessions together. And I had realized that she wasn't only beautiful, but intelligent. We strolled around county Wicklow, seeing all the wonderful and exotic sights of the place. Tasting all the foods that the locals had to offer. It had been magical for us. A deep connection that had materialized into something very tangible. And on the eve of our departure, we had made sweet tender love. And in truth, something had clicked then and there for us. I didn't want to let her go. Afraid that if I did, my world would tip on its scales. So we had slept in, together.

The following morning as we had all prepared to depart the castle, I had been unable to let her go and had instantly asked her to become more than one night with me. She had stared at me dazed. Unable to come up with words. The others around us had watched the both of us with intrigue, while Stephanie struggled with her emotions.
Eventually, she had felt the same way I did, uncertain but intrigued and had lunged into my arms, giving me the most passionate kiss. And we had hit it off from there. A beautiful, unforgettable romance had formed. One that had melted the most frozen hearts.
But my love wasn't to be, I guess. Just like Maria's love hadn't been meant to be.
For while she had inadvertently lost her love to infidelity and a subsequent divorce, I had lost mine to the cold hands of death.

On April 6th, two years after our meeting. A very cold and wet April night, Stephanie and I were just coming out of a restaurant, where we had just gone to celebrate our engagement, with friends. We had been elated all day, after I had engaged her with a stunning, expensive diamond ring that had followed an intimate love moment, early that same morning.
Our friends had all congratulated us inside and were following in on our heels, as we stepped out of the restaurant, our hands all over each other.

Just after I had promised my undying love to Stephanie, my eyes filled with love and adoration for her, I walked around to the passenger door, to open it for her, while she talked with one of her friends, Mildred. Then there were loud, thunderous sounds. Loud, resonating sounds that suddenly erupted in the air and sent chills to every soul that heard them.
Gunshots! Everyone impulsively docked for cover, including me. Each person trying to save him or herself. I crawled on the cold, wet floor to go and reach for Stephanie, when I heard a shriek. My heart skipped. Fear gripping me in the tails.

Recognizing the sound as the voice of Mildred, I closed the distance between us and there in a pool of her own blood, with Mildred clutching her tight was Stephanie, gasping for life. I froze, staring at the awful sight. My eye caught the glint of something and my gaze fell to her newly engaged finger soaked in her own blood. She had her finger pressed over the gaping wound in her cream colored cashmere coat.

I fell to her side, my gaze hovering over her, my hands pressing over the wounds, trying to stop the profuse bleeding. But nothing could. Someone called the Paramedics and they arrived sometime later. But it was too late, she had slipped away.

That night, Stephanie Crane had died. And she had left, along with my baby and my heart.

The coroner had named the cause of death to be three shots to her torso, which had damaged her internal organs. Even if she had made it in time to the ER, she might not have survived, because of the internal wounds. I had mourned her loss, ignoring my grandfather's taunts about my weakness over the death of my girlfriend. But try as I could to explain to him the connection that I had had with Stephanie, my grandfather had been unable to comprehend.
And so I had listened to my grandma and ignored him. Burying myself in work.

A few weeks later, the police apprehended a suspect, who had drunkenly boasted in a bar in Liverpool about causing me immense pain. I had been called in to Liverpool to identify the suspect and had been clueless. It so turned out the suspect had been a former employee of Hut Publications. A man, who had been aggrieved by the loss of his contract at Hut Publications, when I had made drastic changes to the company, after I had taken over as CEO. He had been a senior editor for Murder and Mystery Novels, who had been causing a significant loss in the production of good and compelling stories. Choosing to promote scrappy stories that didn't pull crowd. And I had taken him out, along with other similar editors that had caused such losses. And the man had been wounded.
So he had gone for the kill. Only that he hadn't intended to kill Stephanie, as he had confessed for a plea bargain. He had intended to kill me. A personal vendetta. The man had been tucked away. The judge had refused to give him that plea bargain and had put him away for life.

Now, exactly six years later, my heart, which I had thought got lost in the throes of anguish, fluttered ever so lightly at the sight of Maria standing before me on the day of her grandmother's funeral.

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