Beneath The Lies Read online

  “Then why did you return?”

  “Apparently, I returned to London for my their funeral and because the title and everything else it entails fell on me. And then I met with an accident and lost my memory. However, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my father, brother and I met with similar accidents. Something is going on.”

  She ponders on that for a moment, chewing her lower lip. “Do you have any clue?”

  I shrug. “My father and brother were terrible humans, they were involved in the illegal trade of diamonds.” I tell Aaliya all about my predecessors’ nefarious activities and her eyes grow rounder and rounder as she listens.

  Aaliya clasps my hand tightly when I’m done. “Oh my God! And now it’s all fallen on you, isn’t it? You have to sort it all out. Shit! Do you think it’s one of these people who could be after you?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Mike is investigating. Besides, I’m just touching the tip of the iceberg. First thing I’m doing is putting a stop to all the illegal trade they were into. I’m almost afraid to delve deeper into their lives. I fear what else I’ll uncover.”

  “You have no clues, no leads? Anything to help you find who did this?”

  “Two weeks ago, I received a threat. It came in a bouquet of flowers. And then the shooting took place. That man who died…I can’t forget his face, Aaliya!”

  Visuals of that horrific incident clog my mind and I shake my head to clear those gruesome images.

  “I attended his funeral you know,” I murmur.

  Aaliya’s arms envelope my chest and without thinking I hold her close.

  “His name was Timothy Rivers. He was so happy that day. He was buying a ring for his wife. It was going to be their fiftieth anniversary and it was devastating and so heart wrenching to see that family’s grief. I…I met…” My voice breaks and I clear my throat.

  “I met his wife and daughters,” I tell her. “I gave her the gift he’d bought for her. She broke down on seeing it. I promised them that if they ever needed anything, I’d be there for them. I’m going to discreetly keep an eye on them just to ensure they’re all right. That’s all I can do, in any case.” I huff out a breath. “That man, he died because of me. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it wasn’t for me then…”

  Aaliya slams her hand on my lips. “Stop it. It wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. Please, don’t blame yourself for it. What happened was awful and you cannot change it no matter how much you wish it.”

  “That day, when I rejected you, we’d received another note. It said that the next time I wouldn’t be so lucky.”

  She stiffens in my arms and pulls back to search my face. “Is that why you pushed me away?”

  “Yes. I’d decided in Scotland itself I couldn’t continue with you like this. I couldn’t risk making you a part of my life knowing that you may become a target as well. And then that note came in as a sign and I knew I had to let you go. But I can’t stay away from you. I need you, Aaliya. And I’m scared. I fear I’m being selfish and endangering your life.”

  “Oh, Damien! I want to be with you no matter what.”

  “I have to protect you. I have to keep you safe. I’ve already instructed Mike to get someone to be with you at all times. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, it’s fine.”

  “Being with me is not going to be easy, Aaliya. The media’s always dogged my footsteps and now, after I’ve inherited this title and lost my memory, they’re all the more fascinated. The fact that you are an Indian will create a huge uproar. The nobility is quite a closed group and although Americans and Europeans and some others are generally accepted, I’m not certain of how they will receive you. The media will tear your life apart bit by bit. They’ll follow us and hound us ruthlessly. You need to know all this before you decide to be with me.”

  She blinks and then raises her chin. “I don’t care, Damien. It may be hard but it definitely isn’t going to be impossible. We can keep our relationship away from the media for a while. We have something special between us. It’s rare and I don’t want to lose it—I don’t want to lose you.”

  She sniffs as a tear rolls down her cheek.

  “Hey, sweetheart! Don’t cry. I want to be with you as well. Being with you makes me feel complete for the first time in months. You are truly special, Aaliya. I was so afraid to bring you into my life. But now that you’re here with me, I don’t think I can let you go.”

  I push her down on the sofa and climb on top of her, kissing the tears from her face before I capture her lips. She gives in to me easily and naturally like she always does. I truly am fortunate I found her.

  A door closes loudly and both of us sit up.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Aaliya and head towards the sound.

  Mike is waiting patiently for me outside the living room in the foyer, facing away from me, an iPad in his hand. He turns when I near him.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but you need to see this.” He hands me the iPad.

  “What am I looking at?” I scan the various camera pictures that are displayed in a grid.

  He points to a picture. “These were taken right now, Sir. There’s an intruder in Heaven’s Gate and none of the security alarms tripped anywhere.”

  He shows me pictures from various parts of Heaven’s Gate. Sure enough, there is someone. I can’t see who it is until the last picture.

  “Enlarge this one please.” I point on the screen and he does so at once.

  I squint to get a better look at the image. There is only a hazy profile of the person visible, but I recognize him. “This looks like Peter Dighby. Can you zoom on his face, so I can be certain?”

  Mike clicks a few times on the screen and hands the iPad back to me.

  “Yes, that is him,” I confirm.

  An uneasy expression crosses Mike’s face. “Sir, I’ve installed security and cameras at all the entry and exit points to the property that we discussed and surveyed. How did he enter without tripping any alarms? Why does he have free access?”

  I rub my temple and then splay a hand out. “Heaven’s Gate is huge and Peter always had access to the place. He’s visited there since years. As far as I recall, he always had to take permission from my father to visit. Perhaps that’s changed in the last five years.” I lift one shoulder. “I don’t know, Mike. Peter’s just survived a shooting. Cut him some slack, please.”

  Mike’s lips flatten. “Sir, we need to find out how he got inside. And if I may request, can we ask him to seek permission once again before visiting? I’m not comfortable with people moving in and out of the property without prior intimation.”

  “Fine, talk to him. It’s only Peter, after all. I’m certain it won’t amount to anything. But we will do what you say.”

  I take a few steps to return to Aaliya when I pause and turn to Mike. “Let’s return to Heaven’s Gate. If Peter’s there then you can talk to him directly. Call him and ask him to meet us in the afternoon.”

  Mike lets out a huge breath. “Absolutely!” he agrees.

  “We’ll leave within the hour.”

  I return to Aaliya, excited at the prospect of taking her home to Heaven’s Gate.

  She’s standing at the terrace doors, once again taking in the view. I put my arms around her waist and settle my chin on her head.

  “Everything okay?” she asks, leaning back into me.

  I hold her closer, breathing her fresh scent. “How would you fancy a trip to the countryside?”

  She turns fully in my arms. “Where? Heaven’s Gate?”

  “Yes!”

  A crease mars her forehead. “Why? Is everything okay?”

  I tuck her head back under my chin. “I just have to take care of something. It’s nothing serious.”

  Aaliya twists back to look at me. “And work? We have to continue on Jonathan’s project and I have to keep in touch with my own offices.”

  “We have enough space in Heaven’s Gate for both of us to
work, individually and together.”

  She gives me a beatific smile. “Well then, yes, of course. I’d love to go to Heaven’s Gate.”

  Aaliya

  We’ve been driving for miles in a private forestland until Damien stops his Jaguar at a slope and I take in the view before me. I step outside the car, unable to believe my eyes. There, at the base of the slope, surrounded by acres of tended gardens and miles of forest, resting like a sleeping monster is Damien’s country house, Heaven’s Gate. I had expected a rambling old country manor, not something that is freaking Downton Abbey! No, this is probably even bigger than that.

  The afternoon sun’s rays burst through some clouds and shine on the house, making the yellow sandstone shimmer. Good God in heaven! I’ve stepped onto the set of a TV show, because who lives like this? My breath rushes out in a whoosh as I take in the surreal reality of Damien’s magnificent country home.

  Damien puts an arm around my shoulder as he comes to stand beside me. “It’s just a house, Aaliya.”

  I turn to him, my mouth opening and closing several times before I can speak. “Are you crazy? It’s not just a house. It’s…it’s” I splay my hands in front of me, unable to complete the sentence.

  “Just a house,” he chuckles. “Bigger, but a house nonetheless. Come on, let’s go.”

  Damien takes off as soon as we are seated. We descend down the slope, Mike following behind in another car.

  “So, this is all yours now?” I ask Damien, my eyes darting from my window to the windscreen, trying to take in everything at once.

  “Yes, as far as your eyes can see. It’s all mine!”

  The pride in his voice is unmistakable and the love shining on his face is clear as day to me.

  He cocks a brow and grins mischievously. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? It was never supposed to be mine but fate determined it to be otherwise.” He drives a bit further before saying, “I’ve always loved this land. It calls out to me in a way I cannot explain. This place is home. It is home, a home like no other.”

  The car stops under a grand, pillared portico and another graying old man comes to greet us. He bows on seeing Damien.

  “Welcome to Heaven’s Gate, Your Grace,” he says.

  Damien acknowledges him with a nod. “Gellar, this is Miss Singh. She’s my guest. Please put her things in my suite.”

  Gellar’s head snaps to mine, his eyes widening. But he immediately masks his surprise and walks inside the house leading us forward.

  “Come on,” Damien says with a beaming smile. He takes my hand. “Let me show you around. If you liked the view outside, then prepare to be suitably impressed by the interiors.”

  Grinning at his enthusiasm, I allow him to drag me inside. Our feet click and echo against the flooring. I look down and see pearlescent mosaic tiles threaded with silver and gold spreading across the floor of the monstrous foyer and into the house. A large circular mahogany wood table is placed right at the center. Arranged on top of it is a huge bouquet of fresh flowers overflowing from a gigantic Ming vase. Sunlight filters from the stained glass domed ceiling, painting the table in vivid shades of red, yellow and blue. I stare slack jawed at the beauty surrounding me and I haven’t even fully entered the house yet.

  Damien tugs my hand and draws me further inside. As we cross a huge staircase, he turns to me, “I’ll show you the upper floors later.”

  He’s buzzing with excitement as he guides me through to several salons, each decorated in different color schemes and used for various occasions. There’s a morning room, a retiring parlor, a modern TV den, a games room, an informal dining room, a formal dining room that seats thirty-six, I know because I counted, several guestrooms, a study and a massive ballroom that could fit three hundred people or more perhaps.

  We venture from one room to the other, my eyes sparkling at the visual treat of witnessing firsthand the interiors of such an old and magnificent home. It is a designer’s delight. Everything I’ve seen is grand and larger than life. Several walls are adorned with paintings of world famous painters of the past. I recognized a Monet and a Van Gogh on my tour and I definitely saw a Rembrandt as well. As we cross the ballroom, a painting on the wall to my right catches my attention.

  I move closer to it and my mouth drops open. “Oh my God! That’s a Titian!”

  “Incredible,” I rasp looking at Damien with wide eyes.

  He smiles. “You do know your art.”

  I turn back to the beautiful portrait of a woman in front of me. “Of course, I studied art, especially the renaissance period.”

  We stand side by side staring at the painting.

  “You have a lot of rare pieces of art here,” I comment, unable to believe that this house is filled with such expensive and exceptional art.

  “Heaven’s Gate is filled with art work collected over the years,” he admits. “In fact, several times a year, the art collection from Heaven’s Gate is on display at the National Gallery.”

  “Amazing,” I whisper in awe.

  My mind boggles considering this life he has lived in. This life he was brought up in. And after living such a life, filled with this amount of wealth and privilege, how did he survive the last five years with me in my simple and casual existence? Our life in India was that of a regular couple living in a metropolitan city. Of course, we were doing well in business and we lived comfortably, but that was nothing compared to this.

  Damien leads me through the kitchens and introduces the old housekeeper, Mrs. Wells, and the French chef, Michel, to me. Although they greet me politely, I don’t miss the curious glances they exchange with one another.

  “Miss Singh doesn’t eat beef. So please ensure the menus accommodate her preferences while we’re here,” Damien tells the two of them.

  My heart warms and I crush his hand that is already entwined with mine.

  “Thank you, you remembered,” I tell him. “I hope it won’t be a problem for the staff.”

  “Of course not!”

  We leave the kitchens and tour another wing of the house.

  “I’m sure there’s an army of staff working all around the house during the day! So where do they stay?” I ask.

  “Most of them live either in the village close by or in the attics on the top floors.”

  We come to stand in front of a set of double doors and Damien hesitates slightly before opening them. But before I can ponder on that, my eyes land inside the spacious room.

  “Wow,” I breathe out, taking in the beautiful Grand Piano in the center of the room, surrounded by several chairs.

  “This is the music room,” he tells me.

  A flicker of sadness crosses his eyes but he blinks it away. I walk towards the piano and lift the lid, running my hands over the keys.

  “Do you play?” I ask him because at this point, I’m positive that what I’ve known and learnt about him in the last five years was only the tip of the iceberg.

  Damien shakes his head in refusal and I thank my stars. At least he hadn’t kept that bit from me.

  A throat clears in the background and we both swivel to see Gellar and Mrs. Wells standing at the door.

  “Forgive our intrusion, Your Grace, but we wanted to give you this,” Gellar says with a sheepish smile directed at Damien.

  Mrs. Wells comes forward with a long rectangular box and places it on a side table. “We wanted to give you this the last time you came, but it wasn’t ready then. Now it’s fixed and tuned for you Your Grace, if you ever want to play again.”

  I frown at her words, unable to follow what she’s saying. My eyes drift to Damien standing beside the table. He opens the box and gapes at it. A strange expression crosses his face, one I cannot decipher. I stroll up to him and see him lovingly caress the sides of a gleaming violin.

  He swallows before facing his old butler and housekeeper. “Thank you, both of you. I’m honored. But I haven’t played in years.”

  Mrs. Wells gives him a gentle smile. “I’m sure it will come
back to you, Sir. You only need to try.”

  Shutters fall on his face and he closes the box with a loud click.

  I gaze at him in surprise. What just happened here?

  My suspicion is confirmed when Damien pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and scrolls through it. He addresses his housekeeper, “Mrs. Wells, please give Miss Singh a tour of the rest of the house. I have something I need to take care of.”

  And without a second glance at me, he strides out of the music room.

  Damien

  Mike’s message could not have come at a more opportune moment. Seeing the music room and that violin brought about a rush of unwanted and unpleasant memories to my mind. My right hand twitches as a reminder of them. I deliberately tune all of these thoughts away as I enter the study, which is also my office space here at Heaven’s Gate.

  Peter Dighby stands as he sees me. Mike bows his head from his position behind Peter.

  “You summoned me, Your Grace.” Peter’s tone is laced with sarcasm.

  I take my time to reply, making my way behind the desk. Once seated, I stare at Peter across the vast expanse of the desk.

  “Yes, I did,” I point at the chair in front of me. “How are you, Peter? Your arm?”

  He rolls his left shoulder and rubs the arm before seating himself. “It still pains from time to time, but it is much better. Thank you.”

  I lower my chin. “That’s good to hear. So, coming to the point. Mike’s increased the security measures around the estate and we caught you on one of the camera feeds. However, none of the alarms Mike has put in place announced your entry.”

  A flash of anger crosses his face, but he schools his expression. “I didn’t know my comings and goings are monitored, Your Grace. The previous Duke, your father, allowed me free access.”

  I have no clue whether what he says is true or not, but I do believe him because he is one of our oldest employees at Annette & Co. I also don’t want to antagonize him. He’s been a huge help to me as I slowly take over the jewelry business.