Kindle Edition Amazon Category:  Action/Thriller Type: Fiction Pages: 307 Copyright: April 4 2013 Price: $3.99 (eBook) The Blake Mistake....fast moving Thriller/Romance. It is all about insecurities, unconditional love and that desperate run against the flowing sands of time. Ben Blake; British intelligence agent, intellectual genius, striking appearance, impeccable acting skills and a heightened sixth sense, all concealed behind a solid impenetrable mask.  Jake Snell; the rugged eleventh Earl of Yorkley, the extremely bright cardiac surgeon, the loving husband, the devoted father, the enigma whose criminal past gives British intelligence another perspective from the other side of the fence.  The bombing; Ben foresees it, Jake thwarts it and destiny is rewritten, spewing forth a cataclysmic course of events. Snippets of Jake’s violent and forgotten childhood start to surface his conscious mind and his perfect life begins to break apart before his very own eyes. Women he comes in contact with are found dead bearing a particular signature linked with his childhood. He starts to doubt his hidden suppressed half. He has to unlock his memories and search deep within the bowels of his vast ancestral home if he is to ever save his wife and tame the brutal destiny he himself had unleashed.  The Blake Mistake is all about insecurities, unconditional love and that desperate run against the flowing sands of time.  Excerpt PROLOGUE THE SILENT LOVER He sat there on his front porch with his easel and watercolours, capturing the divine beauty around him. He was fortunate to live there, in his lonely farmhouse nestled in the wilderness more than a mile away from Capileira, a remote Moorish village on the mountains of Las Alpujarras in Andalucía, southern Spain. Fate had brought them there more than six years ago, the day he turned twenty. He could never forget that. He looked at his canvas. He was pleased. He leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes. He felt the warm Mediterranean sun beat down on his face as the delicately soft breeze blew strands of hair across his two-day stubble. He heard the buzzing of a bee and the distant bell of a lonesome goat who managed to stray away from its herdsman. Then...he heard the closing of a car door and light footsteps approaching him. His mother’s lover had come home from work with her leather briefcase and her smiles and her gentle empty words. “That’s beautiful, dear. We really should try to submit your work to a gallery,” she said as she stood behind him and admired his work. The picturesque white village of Capileira moulded onto the luscious green mountainside was somehow even more enticing there on canvas. How had he managed that? He stayed still with his eyes firmly shut. She nodded, understanding him. She kissed the back of his head, “You need a haircut, dear.” She ruffled his crop of untidy sandy coloured hair and went inside. He opened his eyes, their vivid blue colour matching the hue of that day’s cloudless summer sky. He didn’t want to be there, no matter how idyllic the scenery was. He wanted to go home...his home. His heart ached. He longed for stability, for security, for that silent darkness. The demon inside him was screaming to emerge. He clasped his head between his hands and tried to keep his sanity. He hadn’t done this in over a year. He had to fight that compelling urge. He crouched down on the ground, rolling in a ball. But his other self eventually triumphed. He stood up and swiped the canvas off its easel, sending it hurtling down the mountainside. He had to finish what he had started planning a year ago. After all, that was why he had befriended her. It was all leading up to this moment in time. He started to jog down the path. He had at least a two-hour brisk walk to that enticing cave dwelling full of scents and candles and red velvet cushions...Leila’s place. **** Leila tied the belt of her satin robe as she saw the three elegantly dressed men to the door. They were rowdy, rude and arrogant enough to think of themselves as respectable men with silk ties, highly paid jobs and a nice family to go to. She was just their dirty rag that inflamed their thoughts week after week. She sighed; she wished that her employer would send decent kind men but she had no choice. She was someone who was officially dead, someone who didn’t exist, someone illegally smuggled into the country. She was lucky to be there, the alternative was war, poverty, hunger and torture. And so she readily accepted this new life and its rules. She never saw the generous pile of money the men paid for her skilled services. Her employer took it all and in return he gave her food, expensive clothes and a luxuriously furnished warm house hewn in the rock face miles away from the village. He made sure that she was comfortable and enticingly dressed but always short for cash lest she thought of running away. But she had met someone, her silent lover. He was not sent by her employer and he paid her generously. Soon she would have enough to break free and start rebuilding her life around decent paths. Perhaps he would accompany her. She smiled as she remembered that day she met him, just over a year ago. He appeared on her doorstep with his painting gear. He beamed at her and fastened a delicate gold bracelet round her wrist. All he wanted that day was to paint a portrait of her with nothing on except that bracelet. She lay there for hours on her red velvet cushions, and then he left, leaving the bracelet behind him. He never spoke a single word. He would return again and again, sneak in on her and hide in the shadows of the adjacent room as he sketched away while she performed with the other unsuspecting men. And he always left expensive goods or cash behind before he silently left her house. Then came that stormy night, some six months ago. He was drenched to the bone and she made him strip down whilst she dried his clothes by the fire. That was the first time she slept with him. He taught her the meaning of making love. It was not just sex for him; he was gentle, kind, considerate, making sure that the experience was good for both of them. It was not just him, him, him. He was so different from the others. Then she fell in love with him. She wanted to know more about him but he never answered her questions and indeed never spoke a single word. She tried different languages, the three she knew, but there was nothing but silence. She loved everything about him, his rugged handsome features, his vivid blue eyes and his wild sandy coloured hair. But most of all she loved his composure, his humility and his kind silence. She walked back to her room, deep in thought. He came out of the shadows. He looked drawn; there was no canvas in his hand that day. “Weren’t you sketching away today?” she asked, expecting no answer. “Why do you do it, Leila?” She sprang back in surprise. “Oh...so you can talk! Have you been understanding what I say all the time?” She smiled, “What’s your name?” “The silent lover,” he giggled as he extracted her small purple diary from his pocket. “Are you really desperately in love with the silent lover?” She blushed, “Those are my private thoughts and you had no right to pinch my diary. Anyway, I didn’t know that you can read.” He laughed, “Oh, I can read....and I can read through you too.” He sauntered towards her and bent down to kiss her..... ........Three hours later the lifeless body of Leila Dobransky lay in the bottom of an unused well. She never got her chance to rebuild her life. **** The house was dark and silent. He crept up the stairs to his room and opened the door. His mother was there, anxiously waiting for him. She saw the scratches across his cheek and she gasped, clasping her mouth in horror. “Not again,” she cried. “I thought you liked her. She was different from the others. She made you happy...” “She was a whore, mother,” he shouted. “She had no choice,” she screamed back. “How could you risk something like this so close to home?” “I took care of everything. They never found the others and no one will find her either. And her pimp...it’s unlikely that he will ever raise the alarm, he’s been illegally selling her body for three years. And her rich clients...they won’t say a word. She will just get replaced in a week or so.” He laughed as he chucked her purple diary in the fireplace. His mother’s lover entered the room. She was shaking with fear. “How can you be so callous? I can’t do this any more...four innocent victims in six years. Every time I think that I’ve finally got through to you, and then...bam...you just snap. Please tell me this, have you been taking the medications I gave you?” “No.” He turned to his mother, “You don’t understand, I don’t need her pills...I just want to go back home....I just want to go back home.” He started to cry. “Mother, please, we can get rid of John Snell...you and I, we have enough skills to outsmart him....” “John Snell is dead,” his mother said. “When?” “Three months ago.” She laughed dryly. “The hunter became the hunted. His own son betrayed him and British intelligence finally caught up with him.” “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” He threw a loathsome look at his mother’s lover. She was the reason. He turned back to his mother and pleaded, “Now that John Snell is dead we can go back. Jake won’t mind. He gave us all these Yorkley treasures,” and he pulled out two big holdalls from underneath his bed. They were crammed with gold, diamonds and rubies. He put his hand in his pocket and dumped the jewellery he had retrieved back from Leila. “Please mother, I know Jake. He’s good. He will never be tied to these worldly goods. He’ll even give us his title if we ask him to. He will let us stay.” “Jake won’t remember a thing.” “JAKE WILL LET US STAY,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, son, I can’t go back there.” “SHE’S the reason why you won’t go back,” he hollered as he pointed at her lover. “She’s been covering up for you from day one. She loves you like a son. Please let her help you. Please listen to her.” He fell to his knees, and he buried his face in his hands and he cried. The two women moved around him, trying to comfort him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll start taking the medications you give me. Forgive me, I’m sorry.” He looked up at his mother’s lover and the pain in his eyes broke her heart. She hugged him close to her. He wound his arms around her....and with one quick movement he snapped her fragile neck in two... TEN YEARS ON … “Oh God, what have I done? Jake, help me, don’t leave me, I’m scared Jake...Jake....JAKE...” Her whimper of pain woke him up. Ben Blake rubbed his eyes and passed his fingers through his jet-black hair. He looked at his sleeping wife. Sam was having one of her nightmares again. She had them at least once a month and they were always the same. She would go back in time to when she was ten. She would relive her harrowing experience in the forest as she writhed in agony and repeatedly called for her childhood sweetheart, Jake; the rogue-turned-saint, the bright and prominent cardiac surgeon, the ruggedly handsome eleventh Earl of Yorkley now very happily married to Ben’s sister Emma. “....What am I going to do, Jake? Help me please....I need you Jake, don’t ever leave me.....I love you Jake...” Now, that was new! Ben scowled...he cannot have his wife declaring her love to his brother-in-law in her sleep. He propped himself on his elbow and shifted the strands of silken black hair away from her tortured face. After ten years of marriage he had become very proficient at stopping short her mounting hysteria. In those early years he made the cardinal mistake of trying to comfort her by holding her sobbing body close to him, but his tight embrace only sent her into fits of mute hysterics as her claustrophobia got the better of her. Hours would elapse before she could contribute any words to a logical conversation. So nowadays he just stroked her tearful cheek and granted her that open space she required, and in that way she would be coherent in mere minutes. “Sam, it’s OK. It’s only a dream. Wake up, Sam,” he whispered again and again. Eventually her dark blue eyes flew wide open and he waited for her rapid shallow breaths to fade away into that regular rhythm. “Ben,” she finally sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Ben, I’m not who you think....” “I’ve told you this before...I don’t want to know what happened in that forest. It’s the past, it’s buried and it’s gone. Please Sam, move away from it. Do it for us.” His weird psychic ability often tried to drag him to her past, to that fateful day deep in that vast English forest, the day that intertwined the lives of the three children, Sam, Jake and Cathy, but he always managed to nip those vivid dreams in their bud. Whatever happened that day should remain buried forever. That was what he strongly believed. If he ever tried to delve, a cataclysmic course of events would follow. He will not provoke destiny...not ever again. He continued to maintain that respectable distance she needed until her sobs slowly subsided. “Are you all right now?” he asked softly. She nodded and slowly wiped her tears away. “You were loving Jake in your dream today,” he teased. “I love you, Jake, I love you, Jake....”he mimicked with an impish grin. She looked at him. Was he annoyed or was he teasing her? She could never read through his mask; his acting skills were still impeccable. He was smiling broadly and yet there was that subtle edge in his voice. “Of course I love Jake, you know that. He’s my brother in everything but name. It’s the same affection you have for your two sisters. The fact that we don’t share any genes doesn’t mean that the love between us has to be sexual or romantic. He’s been there in my life, helping me through unbearable moments and, and....” There was that passion in her voice, she was getting all heated up in the argument. Her blazing blue eyes flared with anger. He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “It’s just like lighting a flame next to a stack of dry hay. You erupt every time. Don’t worry, I know who occupies the largest chunk in your heart. You jilted the Earl and married me ten years ago, remember? But...have I ever told you that you’re irresistibly ravishing when you’re all boiling up in anger? The wilder you get the more I want you.” He touched her crimson cheek and she saw his eyes involuntary trailing down to her heaving chest clad by the delicate black lace he had asked her to wear in bed. There was that naked flame of lust again, something he could never hide. It was like a tiny crack in a solid mask through which she could occasionally glimpse the real man behind the calculated act. This was his vulnerable state. Yes, he was still the same Ben she had met ten years ago, so sex driven and so easily distracted. His intense black eyes reluctantly travelled back to her face. He continued to trace her delicate features with his finger but he didn’t move any closer; drawing her in his arms before all remnants of the nightmare had completely cleared often triggered off her hysterical claustrophobia. He was waiting for her to give him the all clear. She smiled inwardly; she could torture him for another ten minutes, pay him back for sparking off her temper.....or she could just relieve him out of his misery. It took her only a split of a second to decide. She moved closer to him. She raked her fingers through his gorgeous straight hair, dishevelling it, and she drew his head down on her chest. “Make love to me, Ben. I love you, I really do,” she whispered. A smile spread across his perfectly chiselled face. He had another hour of this before their three children stormed inside their room. **** It was an unusually bright August day and the dazzling sun drenched the Earl of Yorkley’s grand estate gardens. The five children were happily playing with their mother. There were three girls, each a year apart, the eldest being nine years of age. They were all physically similar, so much like their mother, with jet-black hair flowing down to their waists, exquisite features and dark eyes fanned with thick black lashes, all complemented with that rich exotic Mediterranean olive complexion. The boys, aged five and two, shared the same complexion but the similarity ended there. They possessed two distinctive traits, sandy coloured hair coupled with that particular hue of blue eyes, characteristics possessed by most Yorkleys including their father Jake, the present eleventh Earl of Yorkley. “Sweetheart, mummy needs to rest for a while,” Emma said to her youngest son as she slowly picked herself up from the ground. She sighed with exhaustion and sank down in one of the garden benches. She was heavily pregnant, her baby overdue by one day but she was used to that feeling by now. Six pregnancies in ten years had kept her on her toes. The stunningly beautiful six-foot-tall Emma had been on her rapid rise to stardom, but her acting career was cut short when her path crossed Jake’s. It was love at first sight and she never once regretted leaving behind her glittering life of fame and glory. She knew that she could never sample both lives together. Occasionally Jake would try to encourage her to pursue her career alongside parenthood but those were just empty words. Her husband was her open book, transparent as he had always been, unable to hide his overwhelming feelings of insecurity and possessive jealousy. Not that he ever voiced his concerns. He just stepped aside and retreated within himself whenever she was surrounded by admiring men. A mere compliment on her appearance was enough to trigger those childhood memories of his mother’s outrageous sexual indiscretions. Emma wished that he would stop thinking that she was just like his mother, vain, shallow and about to run off with every pair of trousers that came her way. Her six pregnancies were his subconscious way of keeping her busy and tied down to him; they were deliberate mistakes performed at regular intervals whenever her beauty and exuding sexuality started to flourish again. She could so easily read through his intentions as could everyone else, her father, her brother and her entire family. Yes, Jake was everyone’s open book, so different to her brother Ben whose life was shielded by one thick impenetrable mask that not even his own wife Sam could ever conquer. But it was that very same transparent honesty and generous warmth that had captured Emma’s heart ten years ago and it continued to do so till that present day. She loved her husband and she would never consciously hurt him, and that was why she had withdrawn from her public life, just to appease his irrational fear and insecurity. She wanted every single one of his children, whatever his motive. He was a fantastic father and a devoted husband. She smiled as she lovingly caressed his little unborn son. “MUMMY,” her five-year-old son screamed. “Beth threw my new ball over the hedge. The goblins will take it.” “Don’t be silly Charlie, there are no goblins there. I’ll get it for you.” “No, mummy, don’t go in there.” Emma smiled as she stood up and walked towards the tall hedge. Beyond was the wild section of the massive estate grounds, the part her husband never wanted to revamp. He liked the feeling of that natural tranquillity of the unruly part of the woods, he had insisted. There he could feel one with nature, but he never ever went within a foot of the place and he never enjoyed its sweet loneliness, despite his forceful claims. It was overgrown, untamed and alien, and her children had nightmares about the place as they conjured up the presence of all kinds of hobgoblins and evil spirits in their highly fertile imagination. She walked along the hedge. There wasn’t even a gap through which she could squeeze. It was obvious that Jake hadn’t even tried to make the place accessible. She knelt down and pushed the leafy branches aside, and she started to crawl through the narrow space she had created. She finally stood up on the other side of the hedge. “Mummy, are you still alive?” she heard her son scream across the shrubs. “Yes sweetheart, I’ll be out in a minute.” She looked around her. The air was heavy and musty, and the interwoven green canopy of the overhanging trees choked out all the sunlight of that bright day. She could see nothing but green, green and more green around her. She was about to give up on the ball when she spied the bright red and blue gleaming on top of the green fern some distance away. She pushed through the ancient plants reaching up to her waist and she stretched out for the ball. As she started to make her way out her foot stepped on an iron plank beneath the fern. She looked down. It was a narrow trapdoor with an iron ring on the side. She cleared the space and pulled on the ring but the door would not budge; it hadn’t been disturbed for years. “Mummy, mummy.” Her son’s crop of sandy coloured hair appeared through the hedge. He was dead scared but he had overcome his fear just to save his mother from those goblins. She smiled at him. “Come on Charlie, I’ve got your ball. You see, there’s nothing here, just as I told you.” She crawled under the hedge behind her son and she came face to face with a pair of black leather shoes. She looked up. Her father smiled down at her. “Emma, aren’t you a bit too...heavy to be crawling beneath hedges,” he said as he helped her to her feet. “Daddy,” she cried. And she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him affectionately. She deeply loved her father, he understood her. The strikingly handsome A-list celebrity, Josh Blake, was over sixty years of age but his tall dark frame and thriving acting career still turned most heads, much to his wife’s annoyance. However, he never let his fame impinge on his family life and he was the cornerstone of every one of his four children’s lives. “Your mother insisted on driving out here when you didn’t answer her calls this morning. I did tell her that the baby will not be born today, but she wanted to see for herself,” he laughed. That was hardly true; no one ever questioned his weird psychic ability which was as acute and sharp as his son’s, Ben. “Oh, mum, I’m fine. We just spent the whole morning outdoors. It’s such a nice sunny day today,” she said as she bent down and kissed her mother. There was none of the warmth she shared with her father. “You can’t blame me for worrying. You’re out here with five young children, always on your own...” “Jake is working, mum,” Emma snapped. “You can’t expect him to stay by my side just because my due date was yesterday. You’re a doctor, you must know what hospital life is all about.” “And he’s a doctor and he should know a thing or two about contraception. Emma, you can’t keep having his kids every one or two years. He locks you in here, you hardly ever go out and socialise. The only men he’s comfortable seeing you with are your brothers and father. Emma, he’s stifling you.” “You can hardly call this a prison,” she retorted as she gestured at the splendour of the acres upon acres of green land that graced the stately mansion. “Besides, I thought that you rather liked the idea of me giving up my acting career.” “Oh no, I don’t want you to go down that route again. Emma, you’re bright, you’re still young and you should start doing something constructive with your life. There are university evening courses aimed for...” “Shut up, mother.” This was nothing new. Her mother had always disapproved of everything she did, her career choice, the way she dressed or walked or talked, and, her choice of husband. Jake was the wild drug dealer, the creative and talented rogue, the criminal, the alcoholic, the rugged womaniser who had slept with hundreds. But that was his past. He changed the day he met Emma. Her mother had welcomed him then in those early days, thinking that the relationship was bound to disintegrate; Emma was notorious for breaking up with boyfriends after mere months. And besides, Jake had been the only one who could save her precious Ben from certain death...which he did at his own peril. And Maria Blake loved him dearly for that. But her gratitude changed considerably when she found out that Emma was pregnant with her first child after only a few sparse encounters with ‘the licentious criminal’. She was livid. Her beautiful daughter deserved better than that; never mind the fact that Jake had now channelled his creativity along medical routes, becoming the youngest cardiac surgeon ever to be appointed as a consultant in one of the most prestigious hospitals in Cambridge; never mind the fact that he was the heir to a grand estate and title; Jake was still a criminal in her mind, a criminal whose insecurity was preventing her daughter from flourishing and achieving her true potential. “Emma, please. This is not right. You hardly ever leave this house unless he’s with you. A healthy relationship has to be based on trust...” “Mum,” Emma interjected, “It’s my choice. He won’t say anything if I decide that I want to be an astronaut and fly to the moon. Jake is a good man, please believe that, mother.” She sat down on the garden bench and looked away, trying to hold back the tears. Her father wrapped his arms around her shoulders, comforting her. He glared at his wife, “Emma is right. Jake is a good man, Maria. Do you think Ben or I would approve of him if it were not so? You might not trust my judgement, but at least try to trust Ben’s.” Ben and Jake were not just friends and brothers. The bond between them was deep, forged years ago when both of them depended on each other for their own survival. And they continued to work together till that present day. Ben, the secretive British intelligence agent would, from time to time, recruit Jake’s help whose sharp criminal mind gave the agency another perspective from the other side of the fence. His input was often that last delicate grain that helped crack the otherwise airtight case. Emma buried her face in her father’s shoulder and wept. She could allow herself to shed some tears in front of her father. “I’m so tired, daddy,” she sobbed. “I know, sweetheart. And that’s why your mother and I are going to take the kids to our place for the weekend. Tomorrow’s Saturday and you can have a good lie in. We’re celebrating your mother’s birthday on Sunday and you can take them home afterwards. How does that sound?” He looked at his wife. She nodded, understanding him, and she started gathering the children around her. “Your mother loves you. I hope that you know that,” he whispered when his wife was out of earshot. “She just doesn’t understand Jake...perhaps she never really understood me either,” he added. His background was so similar to Jake’s. He could not help but feel that empathy towards his son-in-law. **** Thirty minutes later Emma was waving her children off. She turned round and started walking up the stairs to the stately mansion. The place was just too massive even though they had closed down the entire west wing, only opening it to the cleaning crew twice a year. They had revamped the rest of the living quarters, making them feel more homely and liveable but the space was still much too generous. She made her way to the kitchen. It did not take long to prepare dinner. She smiled with relief, catering for two was totally different to catering for seven. Her father had sensed her exhaustion. He always knew when to step in and help without being obtrusive. She looked at her watch. Jake would be home in three hours, perhaps she should go upstairs and rest for a while. She went out into the hallway. The grand ballroom full of ancestral portraits and antiques branched to the right. That room fascinated her. She involuntary found herself stepping inside. Her footsteps reverberated across the marbled floor. The place was so silent, it was almost eerie. She looked up at the portraits of the different countesses that had graced the hall through time and she smiled at her image. Her husband was right, and she was not being vain by saying that she was the best looking of the lot. The Countess of Yorkley, she rather liked the sound of that name. She looked at the portrait of Jake’s grandmother standing next to hers. She wished that she had known her; Jake spoke so highly of her, referring to her as his only beacon in a bleak and dark childhood. Lady Anne Halsbury, an aristocrat in her own right, had married George, the tenth Earl of Yorkley, Jake’s grandfather and his spitting image. From what Emma could gather theirs was a happy marriage, the only tragedy being the birth of their only daughter, Georgina, Jake’s mother whose madness was very difficult to sweep under the carpet. Her parents eventually disinherited her, and upon their tragic death the title passed on to the fourteen-year-old Jake. The young Jake immediately barred down the place. His parents fought hard against this decision and the resulting quarrels were bloody but no amount of violence could ever change his mind. He was the rightful and only heir and he could do whatever he wanted with the place. He just let the mansion and its grounds rot in a state of disrepair for years. And he never used his title either; he was plain Jake Snell, son of John Snell the affluent politician who turned out to be the traitor, the terrorist, the sadistic murderer killed ten years ago in some remote Afghan cave. After the death of his father, Jake started rebuilding his life around Emma. It took him three years and the birth of three children to finally accept his inheritance and ask her hand in marriage. He thought that the crammed bachelor apartment they had been living in was hardly enough to entice his classy Mediterranean goddess into marriage. And so, the couple started revamping the place, moulding it into a home. Jake practically left all the decisions in Emma’s capable hands. He was just not interested in the colour of the bathroom, the display of the various antiques or the orientation of the kitchen. He just wanted a bed to sleep in. And he remained detached from his rich family history too. He hardly knew which Earl he was, ninth, tenth, eleventh or twelfth, they were all the same to him. But he knew that his wife was fascinated with his family tree and he humoured her. He was happy to see her so enthusiastic with the whole project. Emma scowled as a disturbing thought edged its way in. There was one thing he never wanted disturbed, the wild part of the woods, the section beyond the hedge. He had been forcefully adamant about it. Why? He had been disinterested in everything else she had wanted to change. She had never thought about it, the grounds spread across acres and acres and she didn’t want to squabble over a tiny patch. But the presence of that trapdoor sparked her thoughts. There must be a reason why he had originally barred the whole mansion when he had inherited it, and why he had insisted on leaving that area undisturbed after he had finally embraced his heritage. She was positive that Jake did not consciously know the reason; he was too transparent to hide anything from her, or from anyone else for that matter. But she knew that Jake had large chunks of his memory data wiped clean and he was seeing a psychiatrist every other week in the attempt to fill the massive holes in his childhood memories. But the progress in the nine or ten years of intense psychiatric sessions was minimal in the least. Emma was surprised that the elderly psychiatrist hadn’t just given up on him. They had never met but she knew that she was a kindly old lady, the best in her field. Jake respected her greatly. He had come to rely heavily on those sessions. Stopping them would devastate him, and she just hoped that the psychiatrist would hang on for just a little bit longer. That worm of curiosity was eating away at her thoughts. The prospect of uncovering a forgotten part of her husband’s past was too enticing to throw away. She grabbed a torch and purposely strode out into the back gardens and made her way towards the hedge. She had no trouble finding the trapdoor again; the disturbed patch of fern was easy to spot. She cleared as much dirt and roots as she could and heaved on the iron ring again. It took some three repeated attempts before the iron plank finally lifted off the ground. She shone her torch down the steps. It was dark, musty and cold, and she was scared of the rodents that were surely lurking behind the rays of light, but she took a deep breath and made her way down to a long, dark, underground passageway. It weaved and turned but if her orientation was correct, it seemed to be going towards the mansion. An ancient bolted iron door stopped her progress. She laboriously slid the three heavy rusted bolts to the side and pushed on the door. It groaned and creaked but finally gave way. She walked down another long corridor and encountered a second door. This was of a more modern style with a lock and key. She turned the handle. Luckily it was not locked and she continued along the corridor, encountering a third door, similar to the first old-style door with three heavy bolts. She pushed it open and gasped. An immense cellar greeted her eyes. It was as large as the ballroom with ancestral portraits up at the mansion, and she wouldn’t be surprised if that same ballroom was just up above her head. The length and direction of the passage she had just walked through tallied well with that assumption. And it was similarly decorated too, having the same pattern of marbled floor. Tapestries and large paintings, countryside scenes and various portraits, covered the windowless walls. She recognised Jake’s grandmother in some of the portraits; she was much older than the image of the portrait up at the mansion, but her strong features and exuding confidence was just as forcefully portrayed by this artist. Emma looked around her. The small torchlight she carried could not diminish the absolute splendour of the furnishings that adorned this underground hall. The settee, bookcases and chairs were all made out of the finest oak with delicate and intricate carvings. The carpets were red, plush and made out of the finest wool. Emma was no art dealer but she fully acknowledged the priceless value of the delicate pieces of jewelled vases and figurines that embellished the carved furniture. It was obvious that whoever lived here had enjoyed the same luxurious standards as the people living up above in the mansion...with one exception...the absence of windows and bright natural sunlight somehow made the place depressing and ominous. She walked down the length of the hall and saw three passageways sprouting out at the far end. The first led into a kitchen and dining area. Again the furnishings were made out of the stoutest wood. There was a lone fine bone china bowl and a heavy silver spoon on the table. She picked them up. A hardened layer of muck was stuck to the inside. She gasped. Whoever lived here, a very long time ago judging by the generous amount of dust covering all the surfaces, had left in haste, without even putting away their breakfast things. She looked at the kitchen sink. It too contained dirty cups and plates, all haphazardly dumped. She shuddered and quickly retraced her steps back to the main hall. She steeled herself and peeped down the second passageway. It led into a magnificent library lined from floor to ceiling with thousands upon thousands of books. All this was beginning to scare her. She ran out of the room and was about to race out of there. But then she stopped and her curiosity overcame her fear. She just had to sample the third passageway before she returned to the sanity of the mansion. She inhaled sharply as she took in the grandeur of the spacious sleeping area which had a luxurious marbled bathroom branching off at the far end. Six magnificent beds decorated with rich golden canopies lined the west wall. Three beds out of the six were unmade, with their fine satin sheets dangling down on the red carpeted floor. The wardrobe doors stood wide open, with the drawers ajar. Her hands shook as she opened one of the top drawers...woman’s fine silk underwear. She clasped her mouth to prevent herself from being sick. She staggered backwards and leaned heavily against a bed. Her fingers brushed against the hard cover of a notebook hidden beneath the fine satin sheets. She held her breath as she slowly peeled back the cover. To dear Jake Snell, the eleventh Earl of Yokley. May this help to bridge those dark gaps. Only if you remember and embrace your past can you finally rebuild your life. The handwritten dedication on the first page was enough. This was priceless. She alone would read it. She would have the tools to help her husband fill those gaps which were crippling him with insecurity. She clutched the book close to her chest and she did not stop running until she was in the secure haven of her bedroom up at the mansion. She heaved and panted, all drenched in sweat. She had to clean the cellar’s filth off her body...and mind. She placed the book in her bedside table drawer and took a long hot shower. Her back hurt badly. This was not good for her little unborn son. She had at least an hour’s rest before Jake returned home. She slipped on her nightwear and sank in bed, consciously clearing her head from all thoughts. Slowly, her eyelids began to droop. She turned on her side and slept. The car tyres crunched the gravel outside. Emma groaned in her sleep; she was not ready to wake up yet. Her muscles felt flaccid and weak. The front door opened and closed and then there was that characteristic bang as her husband dumped his medical bag by the door, and that clink as he threw his keys on the silver tray on the hallway table. Jake would be stripping off his tie and flinging his jacket on the floor. He was always so careless with his things. At this point the children would usually run out to greet him, jumping around, clinging to his neck. She turned on her bed, unable to prise her eyelids apart. “Emma,” he called. She opened her eyes and tried to lift her head off her pillow. “Emma.” There was unmasked despair in that second call. She sat up, her head swam but she dragged herself out of bed. She flung open the bedroom door and looked down the sweeping stairs. Jake was in the hallway, looking lost as he nervously raked his sandy coloured hair with his fingers. “Jake, I’m here. I was asleep,” she said as she ran down the stairs and into his arms. She could feel his heart thumping hard against her hand. Oh God, why was he so insecure? “Oh, Jake, honey, whatever made you think that I would leave?” She looked at him and ran her hand across his rugged and handsome features. Her open book, she could read all his thoughts and fears behind those vivid blue eyes. “It’s just that the kids always run out of the kitchen and you’re always here when I come back home from work...and I just thought...Forget it, I was being stupid...very, very stupid.” He smiled broadly, “Where are the kids?” “I was exhausted and dad took all five of them to his place for the weekend.” “I’m sorry, Emma. I should have stayed here with you today. This must be tough on you. Tomorrow’s Saturday and I’ll be around all day. I’ll cancel my morning appointment with the psychiatrist. She knows that the birth is imminent and that I might cancel at any minute.” “No, I don’t want you to cancel...unless I’m howling in pain in a hospital bed.” She smiled at him. The sessions were good for him, they somehow kept him going from fortnight to fortnight. Perhaps he would never have asked her to marry him hadn’t the old psychiatrist instilled in him that tiny amount of self-esteem. Yes, Emma really owed that elderly woman who seemed capable of regenerating his confidence with every visit. “Thank you,” he said as he cupped her face and kissed her. “You keep me together, Emma. Without you I’ll just start to break apart. You do know that, don’t you?” “I know.” She took his hand, “Come on. Dinner is ready. It’s just us two today.” “What’s for dinner?” “Chicken and roast potatoes.” He smiled; life was good to him, he had everything he could ever need. HAUNTING PAST Chapter One - Chance Encounter May 1945 He heard the fragile floorboards creaking above him and he could see their feet momentarily blocking out the thin shaft of light squeezing through the multiple cracks in the cellar ceiling. George, the tenth Earl of Yorkley, had been hiding there, in that dark cellar for two days now, ever since his RAF aircraft crashed against the majestic French mountains. He had managed to walk for miles until he stumbled upon a poor mountain farm in the middle of nowhere. Hitler’s suicide had just been announced and he knew that the Allied victory was imminent but the Germans had not withdrawn from France yet. He had to patiently wait and keep a low profile for just a couple of days. And the poor farmer he met understood this and welcomed him, and despite his family’s stark starvation, he offered him a place to hide and all the breadcrumbs he possessed. George turned on his lumpy narrow bed. The wound on his shoulder ached and the hunger pains were gnawing at his insides. But it won’t be long now. The impoverished French farmer would appear like clockwork, accompanied by his two eldest daughters, Yvonne aged seventeen and Monique barely sixteen. The two sisters would feed him and tend to his wound under the watchful eye of their father. From what he could gather, their mother had died giving birth to a sickly infant the week before, leaving the poor father alone with ten emaciated children. And as expected the trapdoor lifted and the three came down the stone steps. Yvonne unbuttoned his shirt and started cleaning his wound. But he could not stop his eyes from devouring the young Monique as she bustled past, a tray of stale bread and soup in her hands. The wealthy Earl with his sandy coloured straight hair, rugged handsome features and piercing blue eyes was at the very top of the list of the most eligible bachelors in his time. But he was spoken for, his fiancée being Lady Anne, the first daughter of Baron Halsbury back in England. And he loved her dearly too. She stimulated his thoughts, her spoken words challenging his mind. They shared plenty of powerful, rich and deep conversations. He could not imagine living a life without her by his side. And yet he could not quench his overwhelming lust for this peasant girl, Monique, ten years his junior. She too stimulated his thoughts, but in a different way. He continued to stare at her delicate fine features, her wild brown eyes and her dark hair tumbling down her back. She turned towards him and placed the tray on the table by his bed. The bright lantern behind her shed its light through her tattered transparent dress. He liked the silhouette beneath that shabby outfit. He knew that her father was watching him closely but he was prepared for this gamble. He smiled and slid his hand high up the inside of her thigh as he looked straight into her father’s eyes. She sprung back in surprise but she could not shake off his invading hand. “Tres bien. Yvonne, Monique, you can leave us now,” the farmer said in his heavily accentuated English. George let her go and gave her a final pat on her backside. He calmly watched the two sisters scramble up the stone cellar steps. The old farmer drew a chair by his bed and offered him a toothless grin. “Ah, you like my Monique. Everybody likes my beautiful Monique. But she is...special...no man has ever touched her.” He gave him a knowing look and eyed the golden engagement ring on the Earl’s finger. George smiled. His instincts had been right. The father would sacrifice one of his daughters to feed his other starving children. He had been urging his girls to closely tend to the nobleman’s wounds from the very start. He had little hopes for his much plainer daughter Yvonne, but Monique was different. The Earl took off his ring and pressed it inside the farmer’s gnarled hand. “I want to take her home with me.” “Non, non...it’s just for one night,” the old man snapped as he sprang to his feet. “I need her to look after the young ones.” “Yvonne can do that.” And he slipped his hand in his pocket and fished out a priceless gold watch studded with twelve diamonds, an old family heirloom. He dangled it close to the father’s face. “There’s plenty more where that came from. I’ll give you my word that as soon as I land back safely in England, I’ll send you enough to last you two lifetimes. You can find yourself a new wife and your other children will not have to whore in the streets of Paris.” The farmer’s eyes widened as he licked his weathered lips. When the money the ring fetched ran out, Monique would have to start working the streets. There was no money in farming his arid land. His daughter would be better off living in some large mansion serving this nobleman. He shrugged and took the jewelled watch in his hand. “Will you be kind to my petite Monique?” he asked as he caressed the priceless heirloom. “She will be my queen and live in luxury for as long as I live. That, I can definitely promise.” “Tres bien, tonight I speak to her, tomorrow she’s yours.” And the resigned farmer grimaced and left. George settled back on his pillow. His knowledge of the French language was frugal but the tone of the heated conversation above him was unmistakeable as was the sound of violent beating followed by soft whimpers of acceptance. He wondered if this would still have happened if the mother had been alive. Probably not. But he didn’t really care. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of his beloved fiancée back home in England, who was by then patiently waiting for his imminent return. The floorboards above him started creaking again. Their daily early morning chores had begun. The Earl rose slowly from his narrow lumpy bed. He crossed the cellar and started to shave his two-day stubble as he looked into the tarnished cracked mirror they had kindly provided for him. He heard them preparing to leave to laboriously till the fields and tend to their mountain goats from dawn till dusk. Yvonne would be strapping the tiny infant to her back now as she placed their meagre lunch in her wicker basket. He listened for the opening and closing of the front door, and then eerie silence, pierced only by hushed soundless sobs. Today Monique was left behind. She no longer belonged to her father. George took off his shirt and threw it on his medalled jacket dumped carelessly on the chair. He stripped down naked and looked at the mirror, admiring his perfect athletic physique. He would not disappoint. He never had. He then slowly sat on the edge of his bed, his legs apart, and waited. She will take her time and the anticipation will inflame him even more. He could hear her pacing across the room. He could almost imagine her wiping her rosy cheeks as the tears flowed down to her chest. She would shrug and take in a deep breath before opening the trapdoor and slowly coming down the stone steps. He saw her freeze in fear as she came face to face with his shameless nudity. He let her stare at him for a very long time, enjoying the terror and intrigue twisting and playing together in her large brown eyes. She had no knowledge of men and she hardly knew what was expected of her. He liked that aura of sweet innocence. He smiled gently as he finally beckoned her forward. She slowly inched her way towards him until she stood still before him. He undid the buttons of her dress and slipped it off her shoulders. He turned her round and round, sliding his hands around the red angry bruises, the result of the beating she had endured the night before. He finally nodded, pleased with his purchase. He pulled her hand, making her kneel before him. He looked down on her. He cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears away as he jerked her closer to him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, letting his imagination run wild whilst she gagged and retched. He will smuggle her back home and she will live in his cellar. No one will ever know. Monique Devoir, the poor second daughter of Monsieur Devoir could have died in the war for all they cared. She will have all the comfort and luxury she will ever need, fine clothes, jewellery and rich food....that much he had promised her father, and he was a man of his word. He will call on her daily and she will learn to entertain him, doing things to him that his learned wife with her noble birth would not. The peasant girl will have his children, his second family, and they will live down there, away from his other family...the family he wanted to have with his fiancée and future wife, Lady Anne. Those children will live upstairs in the Earl’s grand mansion while their half-siblings roamed the cellar below. He shuddered with pleasure but he did not want it to end just yet. He swiftly pulled her up on his narrow bed. He rolled over her and violently robbed her off her sweet innocence..... Emma inhaled sharply and hastily shut the notebook with a bang. For the time being she could not stomach anything more than the horrific first chapter. She glanced at her husband sleeping beside her. He was still snoring away. At least her gasp of horror had not penetrated his deep slumber. Her heartburn had woken her up early in the morning. She just couldn’t go back to sleep as the baby inside her kept moving and kicking. She was just too huge. So rather than winding herself up with anxious thoughts about the birth she decided to tackle the notebook she had found in the cellar. But now she wished that she hadn’t. It was a handwritten narrative story written in English, in the third person and it could almost be a fictional story, a figment of one’s imagination. But Emma didn’t think that it was. She had seen the evidence that a family had lived in the cellar a very long time ago. She had even seen the lady’s fine silk underwear. Was this written by Monique’s hand? She didn’t think so either. Monique was French and a peasant, and the English used in the story was pretty good. Moreover, the handwriting was small, accurate and precise, hardly something you would expect out of a peasant girl just learning to write. She had no doubt that the Earl in the story was her husband’s grandfather, George Yorkley who had married Anne Halsbury in 1946 and they had shared one daughter, Georgina, born in 1952, Jake’s insane mother who had, together with her sadistic husband, heartlessly ripped her son’s childhood apart as they tortured him both mentally and physically. But now it seemed that Jake’s mother was not the only insane one in the Yorkley family tree, his grandfather too had a psychiatrically unbalanced past. Only an insane sick sadist would treat a poor peasant that way and have the heart to raise a second family underground. And all that was just the tip of the iceberg. What other atrocities were hidden in the coming chapters of the book? She gnawed at her lower lip. Did her husband possess this insane Yorkley trait? Jake did have some kind of mental imbalance. Why else would he have those massive holes in his memory, needing psychiatric input? He never talked about his sessions but from the little he allowed himself to tell her, she gathered that it was a laboriously long process with him wiping his memory clean only seconds after he emerged from hypnotherapy. What he revealed to his psychiatrist was more often than not instantly forgotten. And the old experienced doctor never wanted to regurgitate what he had just uncovered. Shoving it onto his unprepared mind would traumatise him even more. At least that was her theory. She wanted him to gradually accept his past, piece by piece, until he was fully prepared to totally embrace it. And there was another thing that was eating away at her thoughts.....Jake’s lurid criminal past. From the time he turned fifteen till the time he met her at the age of twenty, his life had been one large mess as he was blindly led astray by the brutal events going on around him. His five years of drug trafficking, massive alcohol consumption, innumerable rough sexual experiences and extremely lustful wild behaviour would forever haunt him. Emma shook her head; she had to abort her morbid thoughts about her husband. “He is not his grandfather,” Emma hissed to herself. Jake had at least managed to pick himself up and she had never seen even a faint shadow of that doubtful past character ever to emerge in the ten years she had known him. And her psychic father and brother, who had this extraordinary acute sixth sense and were able to dip into the future, had seen him on the rightful, honest and successful path plenty of times. Her future with him was secure and safe. He was the perfect husband and father of her five children and a sixth imminently on the way. His extremely bright and creative mind made him one of the most sought after cardiac surgeons in the country. He drove himself to strive for the best, researching new surgical techniques for cardiac patients. At just thirty he had reached the peak of his career and much more. And to top everything up he also found time to help her brother Ben with otherwise unsolvable British intelligence cases. Yes, Jake was a good man; that was what she had told her mother. And her father had agreed with her too. She would always trust her father’s judgement. She looked at her husband’s restful face beside her, and her heart overflowed with an incredible emotion. Even though ten years had passed from that first day she had met him, her heart still galloped wildly whenever she gazed at him. Ten years and six pregnancies had only strengthened their unbreakable bond. And she knew that he felt the same way too. She could not resist leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on his lips. He was startled; his vivid blue eyes flew wide open in a flash. He vigorously rubbed his face with his hands to shake himself awake. “Have the contractions started? I’ll get the bag,” he croaked as he automatically prepared to jump out of the bed. She pulled him back. “Unfortunately not. The baby is taking his time and he is not ready to meet you yet. I’m sorry Jake, I couldn’t sleep and I felt like kissing you. I never meant to wake you up.” He gave her a wicked smile, “That’s all right. I am always open to your kisses.” He dragged her closer to him, crushing the notebook between them, its corners digging into his chest. He took the book in his hand. “What were you reading in the early hours of the morning? Is it one of your erotic romances? You must have been reading something filthy to want to wake me up at five in the morning. Go on, show me the part you were reading....fuel my imagination...what did the handsome naked hero do to his one true love?” He was laughing as he attempted to open the book and flick through the pages. But she quickly snatched it away, “It’s a book I found in the library. It’s about your ancestors.” That instantly killed his curiosity. “Then it must have been very boring,” And he snatched it back and flung it carelessly across her bedside table as he drew her closer to him and started to kiss her. He had this natural aversion to any kind of information regarding his family tree. He must know something about his grandfather’s second family in the cellar, but, being Jake, he had just buried it deep in his memory gulf like he did to every other unpleasant thing that had happened in his childhood. But Emma could not blame him. The very concept was horrific, and that coupled with the extreme violence he had endured from the hands of his parents was enough to send anyone in denial. She returned his kisses as she ran her hands up his badly scarred back. The rough nodular texture always gripped her heart with profound sorrow. What kind of parents would repeatedly whip their young boy, their own flesh and blood, changing the skin over his back into one large conglomerated mess? She held him tight. His roaming hands were getting more urgent now. She could feel his mounting excitement against her. “Jake, how could you possibly find me attractive looking like this?” “You are kidding me, right? Have you got no insight? You are the Mediterranean goddess. You are the object of every walking man’s desires...pregnant or not pregnant. You must have noticed the stir you cause everywhere you go. Your father and bothers must be the only men on earth not flustered by your presence.” It was true; she had been endowed with incredible beauty and charm, gifts handed down from her equally arresting father. She had that natural ability to capture the limelight wherever she went and whatever she wore. But a part of her deeply despised that perfect outer shell and she hated being the object of every man’s lust. Everyone wanted to bed her. But, would they still like her had she been plainer? She would never know. And Jake, would he still love her when time tarnished that perfect golden surface? “Jake,” she whispered in his ear as he buried his face in her neck, “Will you still love me when I’m all old and wrinkled?” She often asked him that during their passionate lovemaking ....and out came his usual automatic reply. “You are my one and only Mediterranean goddess. I will always love you Emma, wrinkled or not.” He must have learnt that off by heart now. His reply never varied, every single syllable was in its right place...not even the tone varied. But to be fair to him, he was usually distracted and had other things on his mind when he uttered those words. His blinding lust and sexual drive must match that of his grandfather, the late Earl in the book. It was not only his startling blue eyes and physical appearance that he had inherited from him. She could say that they had engaged in some form of sexual activity almost every day in the ten years they were together. He described it as his daily dose of sweet medicine. But she never complained about it because she needed that dose as much as he did. She circled her arms around his neck and returned his passionate embrace as she drank in his sweet warm smell. She was happy, he made her happy. SATURDAY Ben smiled as he put the breakfast bowls in the kitchen sink. He liked Saturdays; late breakfasts, lazy mornings, family life as it should be without that early morning rush to get the children ready before sprinting off to work. He turned the tap on and started washing the dishes, listening to the conversation behind him. He suppressed a giggle. His ten-year-old son Zack was twisting his mother round his little finger again and she seemed to get sucked in his games every time. Zack was the only one of his three children to possess that dreaded Blake curse gene, a fiery combination of incredibly high IQ, psychic ability and good looks; traits that looked so great on paper but could be devastating to the soul, as Ben knew only too well. It was certainly not something to be envious about. “Sam, he’s pulling your leg. Do you really think that he can’t solve that simple equation?” Ben said after ten minutes. Zack laughed heartily as he scribbled down the answer. Solving intricate mathematical problems was definitely one of his many fortes. He bounded off his chair and ran off to find his younger brother and sister. “How the hell did he do that?” Sam frowned at the page. Ten minutes of intense concentration had got her nowhere. Ben walked over and grinned. “You two are simply unbearable,” Sam stormed as she registered his all-knowing smirk. “But you still love us.” And he ran his finger down her crimson cheek. She flicked his hand away, “Don’t you even think about it.” But she smiled and sat back in her chair. “Ben, can you take the kids to their swimming lesson this afternoon. I have to meet up with Cathy. The divorce has been very tough on her. She’s devastated.” Sam sighed sadly. Cathy, her childhood friend, seemed to have no luck with her love life. She was constantly drifting in and out of relationships. Her latest marriage to William, a trainee cardiac surgeon and Jake’s friend and colleague, disintegrated after two years. “Three divorces in ten years...she should have got used to it by now,” Ben murmured beneath his breath. “Ben, how could you?” Sam’s blazing eyes bore into her husband’s. “She wasn’t devastated yesterday at work. She was all nice and cheery. In fact she was a little bit too cheery with Ralph.” “She’s hardly going to tell you about her broken heart, is she?” Ben retreated back and started drying the dishes. Cathy had joined British intelligence some four years ago. Dave, his superior, had supported the application; he was a firm advocate for second chances, having been himself on the criminal end at one point in his life. But Ben, given his past intimate relationship with Cathy, was not too enthusiastic about the idea. However, she seemed to have moved on from the fact that he had brutally used her to crack his first case, killed her terrorist father and rounded off the insult by asking her friend’s hand in marriage. If she had no problem with all that, then neither should he. He sighed, “Yes, I can take the kids swimming this afternoon. I had nothing planned.” He picked up another plate and his head started to spin round and round as he was shoved into that third other dimension, a vivid world sometime in his future..... ....A young nurse bustled inside the hospital room. She smiled at the elderly lady sitting on the bed and placed a plate of hot food in front of her. Why had he been transported here? Where was he? Ben looked out of the window. He could see and hear the majestic Big Ben chiming away, gracing the other side of the river bank. He was in St Thomas’ hospital in London, just opposite parliament. Of course! His brother Nick worked here. He was the newly appointed consultant nephrologist. Ben scowled. He had thought that his reckless brother had grown out of his thoughtless daring escapades having finally found his soul mate three years ago, marrying her and settling down, becoming a responsible father to a six-month-old baby boy. In fact Ben hadn’t had these vivid dreams in years now, the last being over six years ago when his brother had decided to go rock climbing, purposely leaving all safety equipment behind. Nick should have died that day as he should have died on innumerable other previous occasions hadn’t Ben foreseen the reckless danger and changed destiny. “Damn you, Nick,” Ben whispered. Those vivid dreams with their morbid ending always ripped him apart. And the door opened and sure enough Nick came in, followed by his entourage of junior doctors and nurses. Ben shook his head, only his brother could possibly conjure up a deadly situation in the middle of a simple peaceful ward round. What was he going to do...scale up the walls of St Thomas’ to entertain his patients? “Hello Mrs Green. I’m Dr Blake, your nephrology consultant. I’m here to look after your kidneys. How are you feeling today?” Nick shook his patient’s hand and calmly sat down on the side of the bed, listening and nodding to her woes. He finally stood up and started examining the elderly lady’s abdomen. Ben frowned; there was nothing bizarre with his brother’s behaviour. So why was he here? He watched Nick take up the hospital notes and flick through the pages until he came to the last entry. He started jotting down the date and some medical notes...and that was when it happened. The building shook and groaned and rumbled, and it was reduced to rubble in mere seconds. There was not a single trace left of Nick, his young doctors or the patient he was seeing...nothing but dust, smoke and that acrid pungent smell of burning rubber. Ben’s ghost-like figure was the only thing left standing. He looked out at the open space around him. Nothing but devastation. There was no sign of life in that scorching crater which spanned from the hospital to the London Eye and on to Westminster Abbey on the opposite bank of the Thames. Ben clutched his chest in pain.... .... “Ben, please talk to me...Ben...Ben please open your eyes.” He opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed of broken glass. He had collapsed to the floor, bringing down the tower of plates he had just cleaned. “It’s Ok Ben, you’re home now,” Sam was saying. She took his right hand and prised his fingers apart, wedging out the shard of glass he had been clutching in desperation. She wrapped a tea towel round the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. He sat up, leaning his back against the kitchen cupboard, thinking hard. “What did you see, Ben? Is it us? Is it one of our children?” He shook his head. “No...But it’s big, very big.” He picked himself up from the floor. “I’m sorry, Sam, I’ve got to sort this out now. I can’t take the kids swimming this afternoon.” And he turned his back on her and left without another word. He drove straight to his father’s cottage. He banged on the door. His mother opened it and gasped in horror as she saw the naked pain on her son’s face. He pushed past her and went straight to the living room where his father was playing with Emma’s children. “Dad....” “Not here,” Josh said as he stood up and led his son to his office. He closed the door. “Nick knows. I told him this morning. He won’t be going to work that day.” “It’s not about Nick, that’s very easy to change. But, what about the others?” “Ben, we’ve talked about this before...the domino effect. This is huge. We’ll be changing the fate of thousands which in their turn would change that of millions. The ripple effect would be too great to contain. Who knows what we might unleash. We just can’t meddle with something so huge. It’s one thing changing an individual’s fate, like Nick’s; that could be contained, but imagine...” “There are other fathers out there too who wouldn’t want to see their son turned into pulp. This is what my job is all about. I expose hundreds of terrorist threats every year. This is what I do...” “That’s different. You do that without the help of foresight. You’re not rewriting destiny that way, you’re fulfilling it. But this is a totally different ball game. You would never have seen this hadn’t Nick been involved. It is destined to happen and if you stop it...” he paused, “....now that is rewriting destiny. Remember what happened ten years ago, you merely meddled with Sam’s rape and the repercussions were massive. You nearly died.” “What would you have me do then...just sit back and allow it to happen? That’s not me. I can’t do that. I’ll take full responsibility for whatever I unleash. If the next big serial killer, or dictator, or drug dealer survives because I thwarted the attack, then so be it. This is the right thing to do at this point in time.” Josh slowly lowered his tall frame onto an armchair. He felt too old for this. He finally nodded. “You’re right Ben; you’re wiser than your old man. I was just scared of provoking destiny again. I wanted to live the rest of my life just as I see it now, smooth and ripple-free. But...this is the right thing to do. Of course, I’ll support you every step of the way.” Ben sighed with relief. Having his father on board with this decision meant the world to him. It somehow halved that heavy burden. “Thanks dad. Now the work begins. I have to find out who’s behind all this and somehow try to stop it. And I have only two weeks to do so.” And he sprinted out to his car, phoning his superior Dave who was probably still enjoying that lazy Saturday morning. **** Jake smiled at his psychiatrist. His eyelids started to droop and he felt himself drifting further and further afield.... ....He was a four-year-old boy again, happily playing with the matchbox cars and expensive toys his father regularly showered upon him. It was one of his ‘good days’ because his mother had drunk herself senseless within thirty minutes of his father’s departure to work, and there she lay on her bed. But the boy didn’t mind. He preferred her sweet stupor to her vicious state of alertness. It was the latter predictable violent half that he feared the most. He was happy in his room, all alone, all day long. The grandfather clock out in the hallway struck twelve. Those sharp pangs of hunger were wringing his insides again. He tiptoed out of his room and stealthily went down the stairs. He crossed the hall and slid inside the kitchen, heading straight for the larder. But it was completely devoid of any form of sustenance. Oh yes, he had devoured the last packet of crackers a long time ago. They were nourishing despite the fact that they were well beyond their sell-by date. He looked around. The dining table was still littered with the plates and cups they had used the night before. His father must have been late for work and hadn’t cleared them up. Jake smiled, thank God for his father, he always bought more than enough readymade food on his way home because he knew that his highborn wife never cooked. The boy climbed onto a chair and stretched out for the leftover takeaways standing limp and cold on a plate in the centre of the table. His foot slipped. He clutched at the tablecloth as he tumbled down, banging his head on the hard ceramic floor. All the plates and fine china came crashing down on him. He trembled with fear for he knew that he would pay bitterly for his clumsy mistake. But...there was nothing he could do now. He took in a deep breath and extracted the pieces of chicken from the broken shards, stuffing them quickly in his mouth. He could not hope for any dinner that day. He cleared up the mess and put the broken pieces in the bin before trudging back to his bedroom to play with his books and toys. It was past four in the afternoon when his mother finally shuffled down the stairs. He waited and listened carefully. Fifteen long painful minutes passed. Jake started to relax, his mother would not go near the bin, she always left her litter scattered about. And besides, he had carefully hidden everything beneath strips of paper too. Perhaps he would get away with it.....But then she swore in pain. He could not help grinning; serves her right, she must have stepped on a lone shard that had escaped his inspection. But his mirth was quickly stamped out when he heard her limping across the room and sweeping the lid off the bin. Her shrill insane laugh permeated across the silent house and seeped up into his bedroom. This was followed by a bang as she poured the contents back out on the floor. She shuffled back up the stairs. She was smiling broadly as she opened his door. “Your father will be so angry today. Do you do this on purpose, Jake? Do you enjoy it so much?” And she left without another word, no doubt preparing for that evening’s performance. His father was late coming home but that only protracted his trepidation. Jake could smell the curry wafting up to his room at the same time as he heard his mother kissing his father and showing him the mess on the kitchen floor. Jake trembled as the sound of their footsteps got nearer and nearer. He cowered against the wall.... ....He had to get out of there. He struggled and panicked and cried. He desperately tried to swim up to the surface and take a deep breath but the psychiatrist’s voice was keeping him suffocated beneath the surface of the rough seas. “Jake, you know that there is more. You cannot surface just yet. Don’t cry Jake. Tell me what happened next?” “They passed his door and went to their bedroom.” “No, Jake, they didn’t.” She was pushing him down again and he could feel himself slowly sinking to the bottom. He reached out for her hand. He could do this if she held his hand. He felt her shrivelled bony fingers curling around his and he remembered...... ....“Please dad, it was an accident, I was hungry and I tried to get the food on the table, but I slipped. And I did clear everything up again but mum....” John Snell knew that his son was not lying but his wife was waiting by the door, expecting him to act out this little performance. This was her theatre stage and the bigger the drama the greater the applause. She liked it that way. He headed straight for the boy and threw him across the bed, pinning him face down. “Please dad, no. I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me,” Jake screamed as he tried to wriggle away from beneath his father’s knee. His mother had moved closer, calmly smoking a cigarette and smiling, that manic twinkle in her eye. She was visibly excited with the prospect of a show of sadistic violence. Why? Why was her son so worthless to her? The boy’s heart ached. He closed his eyes and stopped struggling. It was inevitable. He was familiar with the drill by now. He let his father rip off his T-shirt and tie his hands and feet to the bedposts. And then he waited as his father left the room. However hard he tried he could not stop that violent trembling of his whole body which was by then physically rattling the bed. The rain of vengeance would start all too soon. He heard the crack of the whip on the floor. His father was back. He grinded his teeth as the first lash sliced through his skin...and again...and again. After such a promising start, the day turned out to be one of his ‘bad days’ after all.... Jake opened his eyes. The psychiatrist had never tried to push him beyond this point. He could stop. He cleared the lump in his throat, “This used to happen once or twice a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. My mother would pick on any excuse to make my father beat me. That day it was the breaking of the dinner set, the next it would be some other petty excuse...but the pattern was always the same.” “Jake, what used to happen next? Can you try to remember?” The psychiatrist had decided to push because he had not completely broken down like he so often did after the recounting of such a gruesome story. He had even surprised himself at how calm and collected he was that day. He stalled, but after some time he turned his powerful blue gaze on her, “You mean to ask, did they ever sexually abuse me?” He shook his head, “No. I guess my mother wouldn’t have cringed at the idea. But that was a line my father never wanted to cross. He always managed to cunningly steer her away after he had beaten the living daylights out of me. The extreme physical violence was enough to sexually arouse her. More often than not, they would leave the room to continue their violent act elsewhere....” “Jake, what happened when they didn’t leave the room?” The elderly psychiatrist had moved closer, wiping the stray tears that escaped his composed facade. “Then...I would witness their sadomasochistic act. My father would strangle her and hit her as he repeatedly......” he stopped. “My insane mother liked it that way and dad was happy to oblige. I used to think that she would surely die during one of their rituals, but she always came out smiling in the end. But otherwise....they never did anything to me other than whip me again and again. At least dad protected me in his own little way.” The psychiatrist sighed with relief. Jake had just accepted another parcel of information that day, what used to happen after the beatings. Up until now, that bit had always been deeply buried because he was usually too distraught to continue his tale after remembering the violent thrashing. Dr Elizabeth Park had started seeing Jake some ten years ago, shortly after the death of his father. She had never before encountered such a complex mind. His case was intriguing. She had known that it would take time but she would never have bet on ten years. It took him three whole years to accept the fact that his father was responsible for the terrible scars on his back. And he only did that because he wanted to show Emma that there was progress. That was the time when he had gathered enough self-esteem to ask her hand in marriage after she had given birth to three of his children. She stalled, leaving his proposal hanging in air, and he panicked...badly. And so he decided to accept that tiny parcel of information. And it worked. Emma saw the progress, said yes to his ring and the couple got married some seven years ago. And it took him a further five years to accept the fact that it was his mother who was behind the sadistic acts. She slowly started appearing in his recollections. It was not only his father who was present in that room. Jake eventually acknowledged her presence at the foot of his bed as she calmly smoked a cigarette and watched his blood stain the white sheets. That much he had accepted. But for the past two years it all seemed to have reached status quo. Dr Park was now over sixty years of age. Jake was the only patient she had continued to listen to. She could never refer him to another psychiatrist; he would never cope with starting all over again. Besides, he had become the son she wished she had, and she had become the mother he never had. She wondered if she would ever live to hear the whole tale and be able to offer closure to his tormented thoughts. Sometimes she achieved large forward leaps which were often followed by even bigger relapses some weeks later as he wiped clean what he had revealed to her. After ten years the process was still painfully slow. But that day he had achieved another milestone. He might not retain the information, but at least he acknowledged that he had witnessed innumerable violent sexual acts between his parents. She had suspected that much. They had often talked about his teenage years, the time before Emma set him on the right path, and he had admitted to taking part in various violent sexual acts with more-than-willing prostitutes, acts that probably mimicked his parents’ behaviour. She had tried to delve into his present relationship with his wife, but it seemed that the couple shared a very healthy sex-life cemented by genuine love. His previous aggression had never once surfaced in the past ten years. She emerged from her reverie which had lasted longer than she had wanted, so much so that he was by then getting agitated. He had obviously concluded that she had somehow been repulsed by his experience. She could see the fear of rejection in his eyes as he tried to gauge her mood. “Are you ashamed of me?” he asked. He was feeling dirty and perverse. “Oh Jake, what you were forced to witness is not your fault. You must realise that your mother was mentally ill, and because she was the daughter of an Earl this madness was swept under the carpet and never addressed. It was left to fester and grow beyond any proportion.” Jake nodded. There were individuals who had been aware of what he was going through but none had the courage to step forward and help him. There were at least three teachers and a doctor who had seen his scars but all of them chose to pocket the handsome bribe his father offered them. And of course, there was also his grandmother who often medicated his open wounds. She had made a feeble attempt to legally adopt him but that collapsed too. His mother had somehow found something to blackmail her with, something that was important enough for the old Countess to allow her only and beloved grandson to go through that insane torture. “What my mother did to me was beyond insanity. I can’t understand why my pain and mental anguish gave her so much pleasure. True, my father wielded the whip but I don’t think he enjoyed it. And I know that he hated being intimate with her in front of me. He only did it for her. He always apologised and showered me with gifts the following day. The physical beatings stopped the day she disappeared and we never talked about his sexual preferences except for that day he died. I’m not saying that my father loved me, he would have killed me hadn’t Ben pulled the trigger first....but yes, my father was definitely not as sick as my mother.” “Please, Jake, try to understand that just because your parents acted that way with you, it doesn’t mean that you’re worthless. You deserve a happy life because you’re a very good man, Jake. Look at it this way; yes, your childhood experiences were horrendous but they also helped to mould you into the man you are today, the only man who managed to capture Emma’s heart a long time ago.” She always mentioned Emma one way or another at the end of every session. That always boosted his self-esteem. She waited for that handsome big smile to spread across his face. And sure enough it came. “I am a lucky man. She’s my world, she keeps me from falling apart, she’s the reason I’m trying so hard.” He bounded off the couch and rummaged through his jacket breast pocket. “I’ve got some pictures to show you,” and he spread a pile of photos across her desk. He beamed down at his family. “Oh, you must be so proud of your children,” the psychiatrist responded with genuine enthusiasm as she poured over the photos. “Look at the boys, they have grown so much. They are as handsome as their father. And the girls, they’re beautiful.” “And here’s the little one,” and he conjured up an ultrasound photo of his unborn child. “It’s a little boy, due any minute now.” His voice caught with emotion. “Would you like to meet my wife and children?” he asked her for what seemed like the millionth time. “Yes, someday I will,” came her usual evasive answer. “Sometimes it really scares me to think that all this very nearly didn’t happen,” he continued as he lovingly caressed one of the many family photos. “This is not how destiny originally intended it to be.” “What do you mean?” “This may sound crazy. Have I ever told you about Ben, Emma’s brother? Well, he’s got this incredibly high IQ which apparently enables him to dip into the future of the people he cares about. Some ten years ago he fell in love with Sam. At that time I was nothing but a lost sheep, a very resentful and bitter lost sheep. I hated Sam because she was unable to love me the way I wanted her to. An evil plan hatched in my mind. I wanted to rape her and that would have triggered a certain sequence of events. I should have died that day and my father should still be alive but behind bars. But Ben foresaw this and chose to rewrite destiny, altering the natural course of events. And here I am, still alive, happily married to a wonderful woman, with five beautiful children and another on the way.” “Amazing...but it’s hard to believe.” “But it’s true. It’s something in Ben’s genes. His son Zack has it too. That’s Zack,” he said as he pointed to a ten-year-old boy in one of the photos. “My kids adore him. The cousins meet every week. There’s a strong family bond between all Blakes. I could say that Ben has become my brother and greatest friend.” He looked at his watch, “Gosh, look at the time. I had better leave. Emma was rather exhausted yesterday. Shall we meet again in two weeks’ time?” “I have to go to London the day before and I might not be back by Saturday.” “Then, can I see you next week instead? Please.” She looked into his eyes. He was begging her to reschedule. He survived on these sessions. “Ok, I’ll see you next week. You’ll have the baby by then. Take some photos, I want to see him.” “Thank you,” and he hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks. “And that’s why I like Saturdays, because I get to meet you, mother.” He smiled and left. She sighed as she closed the door. He had asked her permission to address her as ‘mother’ a very long time ago. She agreed as she recognised his deep need to have a parent who would look on him with pride. She was the first person he called when he got the results of his exams and graduated in medicine, or when he was appointed as a consultant a long time ago, the youngest to ever hold such a position. He always strived for the very best for every one of his patients and his work was always of the highest quality. He would often phone her to tell her of his numerous personal achievements, every tiny triumph, just as he would have told his mother if he had one. “Mum, my research article is being published in next week’s journal.....” or “Mum, I made a really difficult diagnosis today, it eluded most of the other professors for the past year....” or “Mum, I’ve got another baby boy. I wish that you could see him. I’ll show you his photos tomorrow....” It seemed as though he still had a little boy’s heart, desperately seeking approval from a substitute parent. She wondered if she had let him go too far. He did occasionally seem to live in his own world, a perfect world which he created after snipping out the bad bits. And his world was indeed perfect at the moment. What else could he want? No wonder he struggled to accept his painful past which could only mar his beautiful portrait of the present and the future.

Nail Biting
Heart stopping, breath taking, on the edge of your seat sort of story. The Blake series has always been thrilling to read but this story goes that bit further.

I have no intention of giving away the story in the slightest, what I will say is that everything is about to fall apart! Everything that was concluded and all sorted out in The Blake Curse is going to be undone, ripped apart and stamped on viciously.

This is a thriller that had me biting my nails down to a stub; each character goes through a complete change and suffers traumatic events. The descriptive text takes you to the dark places and holds you captive begging for release. I really liked the story within the story as a diary offers us a window into Jakes past and we finally discover what really happened that day in the woods.

I will say no more other than if you are looking for an outstanding and fantastic, exciting read, The Blake Soul, The Blake Curse and The Blake Mistake are the books for you.

The cherry on the cake
This book is brilliant like the other 2 books in the Blake saga! Really like "the cherry on the cake"! Never bored reading about this strange family. I would love to read more books by this author. Her imagination and the way she describes the 6th sense is amazing.

What a Thriller
What a thriller!

This book was a fabulous read and I was gripped from the start . The authors writing and the story captivates you and before you know it it's 2am!

I'm always careful not to give away spoilers but pleased I found out what happened in the woods!

The book is fast passed, powerful,deep with good likeable characters and very well written again. The twists and turns make a very dramatic storyline.

I loved this series of books The Blake soul, The Blake curse and The Blake mistake are all must reads.