CORAL (A Romance Trilogy, Book 1) (13 page)

“Coral, as my future P.A, I may
need you to travel, and the location could be at any of the other offices.” I
feel a panic attack coming on.

How do I tell him that I won’t
leave my comfort zone - and that zone is Brighton!

“Tristan, if you require me to
accompany you, then I will use the train.” I say, hoping he is just testing me.

“You’d rather use public
transport than drive in a luxurious car?” He says incredulously.

I turn in my seat to face him. “I’d
rather not leave Brighton, full stop.” I snap.

“Ah, I see.” He says.

“I don’t think you do.” I mumble.

Tristan’s face contorts. “I don’t
want to upset you Coral, if you don’t want a car that’s fine.” He sighs.

“No, I don’t.” I snap back,
wondering if I am pushing him too far, and he’s about to sack my ass.

Tristan turns towards me, he
looks like he’s about to say something momentous, but he changes his mind and
stares out of the window instead.

I cross my arms in a huff and
stare out the window too.

We continue southeast on Eastern
Road and as we reach the end of the road, Stuart turns left onto Arundel Road.

“Where are we going?” I mumble.

“First house viewing.” He quietly
answers, still staring out the window.

“How many are there?” I ask.

“That depends.”
Why is he
being so cryptic?

“On what?” I question glaring at
him, but he keeps his eyes focused on the outside world. “You’re not going to
tell me, are you?” I question. Tristan slowly shakes his head. Oh that is so
annoying! “Great.” I mumble, turning to stare out the window.

We sit in complete silence. I
feel moody and withdrawn that we are arguing.
Why can't this just feel like
a normal, straightforward, boss and employee relationship?

As we reach the roundabout,
Stuart takes the third exit and we cruise along Roedean Road. Then he makes a
right turn and we cruise onto Cliff Approach, followed by a left turn onto The
Cliff. We are high up, and ironically, the Marina is right below us, although
you can't see it. I start to feel fidgety that I’m so close to my place, and
that Tristan will be so close to me; that’s if he buys anything up here?

Suddenly the big trees to my
right clear...I gasp aloud and stare, transfixed by the scene unfolding before
me – Wow! The views from up here are incredible. All you can see is a
wonderful, panoramic view of the sea. There’s no Marina, no houses, it’s
breathtaking...I bet the sunsets and sunrises are awesome...

We continue to cruise along The
Cliff, it’s a long straight road with huge houses set back away from the road,
concealed by high walls, wrought iron gates, and big trees. The people that
live up here are rich, really, really, rich – which makes me feel very small
and insignificant.

“I’m sorry.” Tristan whispers so
only I can hear. I turn and look at him only to see he’s staring straight past
me, transfixed as I was at the view.

“Me too.” I offer. I feel myself
calm a little and the atmosphere in the car lightens.

Stuart stops outside a pair of
large wrought iron gates. I notice a plaque on the wall that reads Seascape – I
guess that’s the name of the house? I instantly like it, although, I can't
actually see the house, because it’s surrounded by large oak trees, giving it
maximum privacy.

“Well, I guess we have a few
minutes,” Tristan says. “Appointments not till half past.” He adds.

“Oh...ok.” I look at my watch and
see it’s only five past. I bite my lip wondering what we’re going to do for the
next twenty minutes or so?

“Sir.” Stuart pipes up. Tristan
nods and Stuart gets out of the car, leaving the engine running so the
air-conditioning stays on.

I instantly panic. “Where’s he
going?” I blurt.

“Ciggie break.” Tristan answers.

I relax. “Oh...”
So he doesn’t
mind smokers?
“Do you smoke?” I ask.

“Cigars, occasionally. You?” He
asks.

I shake my head. “I used to as a
teen...” I drift off remembering trying to quit, took a while, still feel the
need now and again.

“Why did you start? Just wanted
to try it?” He asks.
Damn it!

“Um...I...” I turn in my seat and
look up at him, he might aswell know. “I had a lot of issues when I was...” I
break off, shaking my head at myself –
Who am I kidding? I still do.
“When I smoked, it helped calm me down.” I add half smiling.

“Issues?” He questions. I look up
at him and nod, but I can't look away – those soft, round, milk chocolate eyes
of his are pulling me in...“What kind of issues?” He asks, his head cocked to
the side, his eyebrows pulled together.

His question instantly pulls me
out of it. I blink rapidly, trying to get some of my equilibrium back and stare
out of the window.

“Tristan, I’m very private, I’d
rather not....’ – “Sorry that was un-called for. I guess I just want to know
you’re ok.” He softly says.

I shrug my shoulders in reply. What
does he expect me to say to that? Because I am far from ok...

“So what’s with the name Coral?”
Jesus,
what is this, twenty questions?

“What’s with the name Tristan?” I
ask avoiding his question.

“You first.” He smiles.

I shake my head at him.

“Coral?” He’s gazing at me
quizzically again.

“What?” I snap.

“What, you can't answer a simple
question?” He snaps back.
We’re arguing again?
I can't take this – I’m
too hung-over.

“Fine!” I snap. “My asshole
father gave me that name because he said my eyes were like the coral blue sea.”
I hiss, my breathing erratic, my heart hammering against my chest. I hate
thinking about him, about the past.

“Hey.” Tristan reaches for my
hand but I’m feeling trapped, I need to get out of the car. I pull on the door
handle, but it doesn’t open.

My eyes widen in horror as I turn
to Tristan. “Let me out.” I whisper trying to calm the full scale, anger/panic
attack that’s trying to break through. His face pales at my reaction. Then he
silently reaches forward and presses a button on the centre console. I hear a
loud click and launch myself out of the car, taking in a huge lung full of air.

I hear Tristan approach. “Jesus
Coral, I...” He runs his hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” I say taking several
deep breaths, I squint up at him. “I don’t like talking about my past.” I
whimper, and lean my hands on my knees; I feel faint again.

I feel Tristan rub his hand up and
down my back trying to soothe me, but I feel even worse, the car was so cool
and relaxing; out here feels so hot – and there’s still no air.

“I think I need to get back in
the car,” I tell him.

Reaching out to me, he takes my
hand and grips it tightly, then he places his other arm around my waist and
gently steers me back to the car. He opens the door for me, helps me inside
then quietly closes it. I lay my head back against the leather upholstery and
close my eyes, I hear Tristan get back inside and shut his door.

I instantly feel better; the cool
air is helping to calm me down. “I’m really sorry,” I squeak. “No-one’s ever
asked me that before, beside Gladys and well, she knows my past.”
Well, some
of it!

“No, I’m sorry,” he answers
huskily. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I should have seen you didn’t want to
answer,” he adds.

“You don’t know me Tristan, so
how could you have seen?”

“By being more observant,” he
answers back. I open my eyes and look across at him. He’s deep in thought
staring out the window again.

“So, your name?” I ask. “Tristan
and Isolde is my favourite romantic story you know,” I add, smiling softly at
him.

He raises his eyebrows in
surprise and turns to me, a gentle smile playing across his lips. “Really?”
He
doesn’t believe me?

“I don’t lie,” I tell him
sternly. “Well, except that white lie I told to Joe, but I didn’t really have a
choice,” I add.

“No you didn’t.” His smile
widens.

“Your name sir?” I ask sweetly.

“My mother, it was her favourite
romance too, or so I was told.” He tells me.

“Was?” I whisper and swallow
hard, feeling all the colour drain out of my face.

“Don’t look so worried,” he tells
me, then leaning towards me he reaches up and softly strokes my cheek. “I never
knew her, she died giving birth to me.” I gasp.
How awful!

“Tristan, I’m so sorry.” I clasp
my hand in his and squeeze it tight. Tristan smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach
his eyes, then he leans back and stares out the window. “And your father?” I
whisper.

“He worked on the oil rigs, I
never saw him.” He says.
No Dad, just like me.

“Do you see him now?” I ask
hesitantly.

“No, he died in an accident...Oh,
twenty years ago now.” He says, glancing down at me. It doesn’t seem to have
had any effect on him, but then I think if he didn’t know him, then how could it?

“So who raised you?” I whisper.

“My maternal grandparents,” he
says, a sorrowful look appears across his face. I frown back at him. Why is he
looking like that?
Hmm, I wonder...
I quickly do the maths in my head. Tristan’s
gotta be in his thirties, maybe forties, so they must be in there eighties, nineties
by now?

“Do you have any siblings?” I
ask.

Tristan shakes his head. “You?”

“I had a sister, she was a lot
older than me; we had different fathers. She went raving one night, took an
Ecstasy tab. I never saw her again.”

Tristan squeezes my hand. “Sorry,”
he whispers – and even though I know I should not say it, I do.

“I’m not,” I spit. His eyebrows
pull together. “She was vile to me,” I add.

“How?” He questions.

I close my eyes and lean my head
back against the leather seat. “She hated me, used to bully me, no torture me
more like. I was just a kid, I couldn’t defend myself.” I tell him, opening my
eyes I glance across at him.

Tristan is silently contemplating
something. Maybe he thinks I’m an evil bitch for saying that? I sigh inwardly.
Maybe I am?

“Ok, that was harsh,” I sigh. “Of
course I didn’t want her dead, I just’ – “Wanted her to leave you alone.” He
interrupts, finishing my sentence for me.

I nod in agreement. Tristan
smiles weakly at me then kisses the back of my hand again. And for some reason,
I feel like it’s ok to keep talking, to tell him more; which I’ve never done
with anyone other than George.

“They kept leaving me with her,
she didn’t want to have to look after me all the time, which is understandable
I guess, she was a teenager, she wanted to be with girls her own age. And I
didn’t want her with me either, if she wasn’t going to be nice to me.” Tristan
nods in agreement, still deep in thought.

But it’s no good I really want to
know about his parenting, so I decide to ask him anyway.

“Your Grandparents?” I ask
keeping my eyes to the floor. “They must be what...in their eighties, nineties
by now?” I ask.

Tristan’s cheeks flush red, his
eyes darkening as they do. He glances across at me then stares back out off the
window, seemingly embarrassed. Then he closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep
breath then turns to stare down at me; analysing whether he should tell me.

“I buried them both, last year,”
he whispers, his voice cracking slightly.
Shit! Me and my big mouth!

I squeeze my eyes shut, then
squeeze his hand tightly.

“Tristan...I’m so sorry. I didn’t
mean’ – “No harm, no foul,” he interrupts.
Jesus! I'm shocked.
I didn’t
expect him to say that at all. I can feel his pain emanating from him; he must
miss them so much. I open my eyes and look up at him.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again,
frowning deeply. Then I think if he has no siblings, who does he have – Aunties
and Uncles, surely?

“Don’t be,” he tells me. Then he
leans forward and with his thumb, he strokes between my eyebrows, causing my
frown to melt away. “They were the best parents I could have ever wished for, I
feel blessed to have been raised by them,” he tells me. I feel better for
hearing that, less guilty for blurting out about their age. I smile back at
him.

“Guess that explains the
ingrained good manners,” I whisper.

Tristan leans back in his seat
and stares out the window. “Yes, I suppose they were from a different era....”
He turns and smiles at me, then drifts off again. “They would have loved you,”
he says after a moment.

I gaze back at him in wonder. I
don't know why he’s telling me this, and I don’t see how he’s come to the
conclusion that they would have loved me. I am not lovable, no, I’m far from
it. But I feel like I should say something?