Part Two: Family Secrets Revealed
The next two days passed me by in a blur. I got fitted for my rental tuxedo and paid to have it dry-cleaned and pressed. I attended the rest of my classes but barely paid any attention to the lecturers. My mind was replaying our encounter in a minute, exquisite detail. We didn’t see each other until the Saturday of the party, as we only had Professor Wynn on Mondays and Tuesdays. I thought about her constantly.
Savouring every second of the encounter we’d shared, replaying it over and over in my mind. We chatted via text constantly. Rebecca sent me a stream of messages with her in seductive poses. All as tasteful as that first picture, fresh out of the shower; hinting at just enough of whatever was the focus of the image to make the mind run rampant with possibilities. I noticed in all the images, that she seemed to have a penchant for hold-up stockings of varying types. My favourites were the black fishnet-style ones.
The time had come. I showered and dressed in the tuxedo. Suddenly, I felt very restricted and longed for the freedom of movement that was offered by a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. Once again, I called an Uber to take me to Rebecca’s house. I really should call it a palace, for it is appointed as such. The same Uber guy picked me up and was just as talkative as before.
That suited me fine. I preferred being alone with Rebecca in my thoughts anyway. Carter welcomed me to the house once more, as he was standing watch over the open double door, to save any inconvenience caused by people having to knock and wait for admission.
There was a table in the entry foyer, stacked with a pyramid of glasses filled with champagne. I took one for politeness and started to mingle with the crowd. As I walked around the room, hoping to find Rebecca quickly, I was pleasantly surprised at how polite everyone was being.
I fielded many ‘hellos,’ and nods from couples and groups that I passed by. Occasionally, a group would invite me to join their discussions, and I would join in briefly, before excusing myself and continuing my search for Rebecca. I found her sitting on the same sofa that we had talked on for hours earlier in the week.
Her flaming red hair was again tied up in an elegant bun, locked into place by chopstick hairpins. She was wearing a vivid green evening gown that matched her jade eyes perfectly. The dress was a style similar to the one that she’d worn previously, but the split up the thigh was much less provocative. I managed to catch her eye, having been standing open-mouthed and staring like a fool for some length of time. She raised a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a small chuckle and then rose to greet me.
I regained my senses, and I took the offered hand gently, raising it towards my face and kissed the knuckle delicately. Rebecca seemed surprised at my level of sophistication. Truth be told, I’d seen James Bond make the move in countless movies that portrayed similar settings, so I just copied it and hoped I got it right.
“I’m so glad you came,” Rebecca said, the words hid the double meaning that I could see lurking just behind her glinting jade eyes. “Come! Let me introduce you to some people.”
Rebecca clasped my hand tightly and led me about the place. Stopping here and there to introduce me to various lecturers and Professors from the university and their respective partners. There were many and varied friends of the family in the mix too.
We made pleasant small talk for an hour or so with many fascinating people, when a gong sounded loudly over the drone of many conversations happening all at once. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the sound, and I could see Carter placing the fabric-covered mallet onto the gongs cradle.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, almost ceremoniously. “Presenting Mr and Mrs Smythe-Johnson.”
Muted applause rang out as a couple appeared at the top of the stairs.
They elegantly descended the serpentine curves of the staircase. I could only see the woman from the angle I had, she seemed to be considerably taller than Rebecca’s father.
“That’s my stepmother,” Rebecca hissed from between clenched teeth. Her voice was dripping with disdain.
The target of Rebecca’s ire looked to be barely two or three years older than us I thought to myself.
“Venomous bitch,” Rebecca spat under her breath. The viciousness of the statement shocked me. I’d not heard her speak ill of anyone before now. I made a mental note to ask more about this later. Now wasn’t the right time to engage in family drama. One thing was plain to me. Rebecca had no love for her stepmother.
My eyes were drawn back to Mrs Smythe-Johnson. She was pretty, I guess, in a strange kind of way. The closest I could describe her would be to say she bore more than a passing resemblance to Cate Blanchett. Thin, cruel-looking lips were coupled with sharp and angular, almost elfin-looking features. I couldn’t tell if that was a trick of lighting and overly applied makeup or just exceptionally sharp cheekbones. She was skinny too, to the point of looking anorexic, which may also explain the pointedness of her features. Casting my gaze down, barely-there breasts were trying and failing to jiggle in the ill-fitting bustier part of her ballgown.
Certainly, she was nowhere near as attractive as Rebecca. The sequinned white ball gown had lacy shoulder pads that would have been quite at home in an Eighties TV soap opera and slicked back, jet black hair that was cut just to the neckline. For some reason, an unbidden memory of the music video for ‘Addicted to Love’ popped into my head. I forget the name of the artiste. “No, certainly not as attractive as Rebecca,” I said to myself.
It was as if Rebecca were sensing my brief appraisal of her stepmother. I heard her huff slightly and, as she grabbed my hand, she muttered “Come on,” We navigated our way around the crowd, so we were front and centre with the couple descending the stairs, taking in their surroundings, and luxuriating in the applause they were receiving. I looked up and my heart stopped.
I felt my body go rigid and my hand clasped Rebecca’s so tightly that she winced. “What’s the matter?” she queried. I couldn’t answer her. My eyes were locked forward. I knew I had to get out of this place. Right now! I suddenly felt very claustrophobic and sick to my stomach. My breath had caught in my chest. “Would you please tell me what’s wrong,” Rebecca demanded.
Regaining my senses for long enough, I managed to splutter out through clenched teeth. “I need to be outside,” Rebecca looked shocked by my outburst, and it gained curious glances from a few of the couples around us, but she agreed to my request. We managed to escape the throng of people and appeared out the front door straight to the perfectly manicured rose beds.
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” Rebecca demanded. Hand on hips. I was bent over, hands on my knees and breathing heavily. I was feeling so nauseous. My mind was racing. I hadn’t thought anything about her surname the other day when Carter had used it. I just dismissed it as the usually pretentious double-barrelled surname that most kids who were not on a full scholarship to Yale had.
“Smythe-Johnson,” I said, weakly, still desperately trying to not vomit.
“Yes, what about it? That’s my name,” Rebecca exclaimed testily.
“I know,” I responded… “And you know my surname is Johnson too, right?” I paused. “Smythe-JOHNSON,” I overly emphasised the second barrel of the name. “I hadn’t thought anything of it until I saw your father,” I exclaimed.
“What are you talking about?” Rebecca asked sounding increasingly incredulous.
“Here, LOOK,” I exclaimed. I reached into my back pocket and retrieved my wallet from which I took a battered old picture. The photo of me and my father was heavily faded and creased, but still clear enough to see that the countenance on the adult face was mirrored here in person. Twenty years or so of age added, of course, but undeniably, it was Rebecca’s father’s face. “No, our father,” I thought.
I saw the look of disbelief cross her face. A look that then turned to horror. I knew that she’d figured out what I was thinking too. Her pallor took on a decidedly greenish hue. I thought that Rebecca was my half-sister. The daughter that my, no; our father had left my mother and me to raise with his lover.
—
“That’s impossible,” Rebecca stated, defiantly. “And, what’s more, I’m going to prove it to you,” she stormed off. Stalking our father for answers. I hurried after her through the rose beds. Truth be told, a morbid curiosity had suddenly overwhelmed me. I wanted answers too.
I wanted to know why my father hadn’t been in touch for the last nineteen years of my life. Why he’d not fought to save his marriage to my mother all those years ago? I had caught up to Rebecca by the doors to the house. Sounds of conversation and music were floating on the evening air.
I laid my hand on her shoulder, partly to get her to slow down, but mostly to ask that she consider what she was about to do. Surely this was a matter that would be best managed in private, not at this… this party or whatever it was. Rebecca considered me for a moment. Her beautiful green eyes searched mine for understanding and validation.
I could see the frustration on her face. Her cheeks were burning fiercely; so much so that I thought I could feel the heat emanating from her delicate countenance.
“So, that part is true about redheads too,” I noted to myself. Short fuses and volcanic tempers. I made a mental note to not piss her off if it could be avoided.
“OK. But,” she breathed in temporary surrender to the situation, with a caveat, “As soon as this night is done, we both get some answers!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I stated. My head was spinning. I made a mental note to call my mom and ask her if she’d known about my father’s whereabouts when I had won the scholarship to Yale. That was a conversation I was most certainly not looking forward to having. I didn’t talk about my father with her, and she rarely offered any information or insights into him to me.
All I knew for sure about him was what he looked like, his face on a faded picture of him holding me as a newborn, and that soon after that photo was taken, he’d confessed everything to my mom; illegitimate daughter, and all.
That’s when she packed up the family station wagon with everything that we needed and drove us to some no-tell motel somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Idaho. Shortly afterwards apparently, my mother filed for divorce from my father. Citing adultery and irreconcilable differences as the main reason for the petition. A petition which, according to my mother, had never been contested.
We mingled and danced the evening away. We each were trying to distract ourselves from the dreadful truth that had been uncovered completely by accident. The champagne flowed freely, and although I stuck to soft drinks, Rebecca showed no such self-control and drained flute after flute. She was quite tipsy, although not once did she lose her sense of decorum. I was silently impressed by her fortitude. Also, by a small miracle, I had somehow managed to corral us both away from making a scene with our father and stepmother.
I became aware that Rebecca was quite a good dancer, not a one-foot shuffler like me. I tried and failed to match her steps. It was getting late in the evening, and she had dropped her head onto my shoulder, and we were now just swaying to the soft music playing. Immediate considerations aside, she seemed to be having a good time. I was pleased about that. I wanted her to be happy, always. An unbidden thought raced through my mind, that this may be the last time I’ll ever be this close to her.
How could we possibly continue as siblings who were once lovers? My heart sank. I was filled with despair once again.
“Yep… butt of some massive cosmic joke.” The thought came unbidden and was unwelcome but couldn’t be dismissed either. Perhaps the cruellest aspect of all this was that this joke was wholly unscripted and there were no naughty schoolboys to berate after the fact. The Gods, I had no doubt, were sitting on high somewhere and having a grand old time laughing at my misery at this moment.
I became aware that the crowd was thinning considerably.
“What time was it?” I wondered to myself, absently. I retrieved my phone out of my pocket and glanced at the lock screen. 00:04 the screen cheerfully displayed; the time superimposed over the first picture that Rebecca had sent me.
“Looks like the party is breaking up,” I commented. Rebecca raised her head off my shoulder and looked around.
“Hmmm. I think you might be right,” She agreed.
“What was all this in aid of, anyway?” I asked. Painfully aware that I was way out of my depth socially and in unfamiliar territory, and I was dressed like a penguin to boot.
“It’s both to celebrate Daddy being awarded the Chris Argyris Professor of Psychology position at the University and their return from a month in Europe.”
“I see.” That was all I could manage. I knew that this was a big deal. It was akin to celebrated physicists gaining the Lucasian Chair at Cambridge University in Britain, the most notable holder of that position in recent memory was Professor Stephen Hawking. I felt so bitterly disappointed with my life suddenly. My father, who had made a success of his life having left my mother and me, was still even at this stage in his life, climbing the social and professional ladders. Leaving my mother and me forgotten.
A wave of anger washed over me, and I became aware that my hands were tightly balled into fists. Rebecca sensed how angry I was feeling. It was now her turn to place a steadying hand on my shoulder and whisper to me, “Wait! The time will come, soon!”
—
We loitered by the door to the room where we had our first meeting. Watching as our father and his trophy wife bade farewell to their guests. Eventually, there were just the four of us in the mansion. During our wait, we strategised on how best to approach this thorny matter.
We agreed that initially, Rebecca should do all the talking about what a lovely evening it had been, and then introduce me as her plus-one. I would then go on to give a little information about myself, my hometown, age; that sort of information that parents normally pay no attention to when meeting a boyfriend for the first time. We were trying to trip our father up… to see if there was any recognition of me on his face or if my hometown made him betray his knowledge.
“Daddy,” Rebecca exclaimed brightly as she walked over from our position by the door to the lounge. Her high stiletto heels clicked on the marble floor. I stayed back, as instructed, enabling Rebecca to make a proper introduction for me.
“She sounds genuinely happy to see him,” I thought.
“Simone,” Rebecca said with barely hidden distaste, looking her stepmother up and down in an instant and managing to look wholly disapproving of the barely out of her teenage years woman she so obviously vehemently despised, didn’t much care if it showed. Our father reached out with both arms palms up as she approached. Rebecca took his hands delicately and they leaned towards each other and kissed the air by the cheeks as they do in European movies.
“Rebecca, my darling girl,” our father said, joyfully. “I hope you had a good evening, and that your old Pa didn’t embarrass you too much?” he continued.
“Not at all, Daddy!” Rebecca exclaimed, going on to say that this had been the best party of the year so far.
“So far?” I wondered. There was that pang of jealousy again. Why had I been denied a life with all the trappings of money?
“Daddy, there is someone that I would like you to meet.”
That was my cue to approach. I walked up and as confidently as I could manage, thrust out my hand in greeting.
“Daddy, Simone, I’d like to introduce you to Oliver Johnson, my… friend.” I chuckled to myself at her hesitation in describing our relationship. I had to admit, I didn’t know how to describe us either after the evening’s revelations. “Oliver, may I introduce you to my father, Professor Smythe-Johnson and his wife, Simone.”
Whether or not Rebecca’s… our father heard the word wife catch in Rebecca’s mouth, as if it had the foulest of tastes, he didn’t let on. I watched our father’s face intently as we shook hands firmly. Watching carefully for any spark of recognition of either my name or face. I was surprised and more than a little dismayed that there was none.
“I hope you and my daughter are being careful and using protection. I know what university students get up to.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“DADDY,” Rebecca shrieked. “There is no need to be like that! Oliver and I have only recently met, and it’s very early days,” She sounded very indignant, and it was so utterly adorable. Unbidden, my mind went back to the bedroom a few days earlier and just how “careful” we’d been.
“Still, the advice is sound,” our father retorted. Almost clinical in his observations of the courtship rituals of twenty-somethings at university campuses the world over. “So, do you prefer Oliver or Oli?” he asked. I hadn’t thought about it much. Only my mother had ever called me Oli and I was in no mood to welcome my absentee father with open arms by allowing a contraction of my name.
“Oliver is fine, Professor,” I replied, respectfully.
“That’s grand,” he smiled warmly. “Then I must insist that you call me Hamish and not Professor.”
I was just about to shake Simone’s hand in greeting when I realised what he had said his name was. I was so caught up in how I was going to trap him with the knowledge that I was his long-lost son and had intimate knowledge of his precious little girl, that I was thrown for a complete curve.
“Hamish? That can’t be right,” I thought to myself. “Hamish?! But my fathers’ name is Angus!” I was suddenly horribly confused.
I’m guessing that I lost all colour in my face from shock, as the next thing I remember clearly was a loud voice shouting for Carter to fetch some cognac and being guided by Rebecca and her… our… oh hell! Hamish to the sitting room.
—
My mind was reeling. Hamish? The implications of this revelation were very slowly starting to dawn on me. The primary of which was the realisation that Rebecca wasn’t my half-sister after all. I felt a huge wave of relief wash over me, and I began to relax. Assuming, of course, that what Hamish was saying was correct I thought, suddenly suspicious once more. Just another wrinkle in the cosmically epic joke that was unfolding in front of me this evening.
“How the hell do I broach such a subject with this man?” I thought. I would have to be very careful, of that I had no doubt. Rebecca’s gaze was fixed on me. Trying to interpret the myriad emotions that were no doubt playing across my face. She reached out and placed a hand gently upon my knee. I was surprised to suddenly become aware that I was shaking. I gave her a thankful glance and covered her hand with mine, in gratitude.
Carter chose that moment to arrive with the cognac on his omnipresent silver platter, and four glasses, neatly arranged.
“Thank you, Carter. That will be all for this evening,” The dismissal came from Simone, and I caught Rebecca firing a venomous glare in her direction. Once again, my mind made a mental note to avoid crossing her at any cost. Hamish picked up the bottle and studied its label.
“Oh, excellent,” he exclaimed with apparent joy. “Carter brought the nineteen sixty-two Courvoisier.”
He poured four equal measures into the cognac glasses and offered them around the group, ladies first, of course. He swilled the cognac around his glass a few times and took a deep inhalation of the bouquet. Then retrieving a lighter from his pocket, lit the device and held the flame to the glass for a moment, to warm the alcohol inside. Approving, he let the smallest of drops pass his lips.
“Fine cognac is best savoured!” he observed as if knowing that the nearest I’d ever come to fine cognac was watching an episode or two of Downton Abbey. “Now then. What seems to be the matter that has your young… friend so rattled?” He was addressing Rebecca but was looking at me with the curiosity of a scholar that has discovered a particularly challenging problem, which has to be solved.
“I think it may be best if Oliver explains to you, Daddy.” That was all Rebecca said. I cleared my throat and took a sip of the cognac. Its warming burn was both welcomed and served to reassure me that I was, in fact, still awake and this wasn’t some horridly vivid nightmare. It also reminded me that I loathe the taste of alcohol.
“Where to begin?” I wondered out loud. “I suppose it’s best if I tell you an abridged history of me. Then perhaps, you may understand my earlier confusion.” I could think of no better descriptor for my state of mind. I told Hamish and Simone about my childhood, having been abandoned by my father at just eight months old and the struggles that my mother and I had as a single-parent family with no alimony or child support paid by my father.
I went on to detail how I’d won the full scholarship to Yale through sheer hard work and was majoring in ancient history.
“But what you’re all no doubt wondering, is why I reacted the way I did when you told me your first name.”
I reached into my back pocket once again and withdrew the wallet that contained the faded picture of my father and me. I passed it to Rebecca so she could show Hamish. The photo was old and faded, creased heavily but still clear enough to see that the countenance on the adult face was mirrored here in person. Twenty years or so of age added, of course, but undeniably, it was Hamish’s face.
“Ah… I see,” was all Hamish said. His face was suddenly sad, and a look of understanding crossed his face. “I knew that this day may eventually come,” he began. “But I wasn’t quite expecting it in these circumstances,” Rebecca and I exchanged quizzical glances simultaneously. Hamish went on to tell us that his parents had immigrated to the U.S. from the Highlands of Scotland in the late nineteen sixties and promptly settled into life with their new family.
“My twin brother and I were born in nineteen seventy,” Hamish continued. “When my brother and I were eight, our parents were on their way to pick us up from school during a very heavy thunderstorm,” His eyes took on a glazed look, recounting a painful past for his immediate family and me. A past that he had long since been reconciled with.
“Their car had skidded out and rolled down an embankment about a mile away from the school, neither of them survived the accident,” Hamish, tears in his eyes now almost whispering as if showing reverence to his long-departed parents. “Angus and I became wards of the state, but Angus had a difficult time accepting our new reality and acted out at every opportunity he could.” Hamish took another sip of cognac. It was as if he was steeling himself for what was to come next.
“Eventually, after two years in various foster homes, I was adopted by a wealthy family from here in New Haven. However, because of Angus’ behavioural problems, the state had refused to allow us to be adopted together,” I glanced over to Rebecca. Tears were welling up in her eyes, catching the muted lights overhead and making her beautiful green eyes glisten. I surmised that this was the first time that she’d heard about this also. My attention returned to Hamish.
“Angus and I stayed in touch for a few years, by letter, as the internet was just a pipedream back then, but he rarely responded to me,” He took another sip of his cognac and continued his monologue. “Eventually, the letters and phone calls stopped until fall two thousand two. A full twenty-four years since I’d last heard from my bother.” He paused as if weighing how next to phrase this coming chapter of the story.
“I received a collect call from some small town in Idaho. Naturally, I was curious and accepted the charge.” He licked his lips, almost nervously. “It was Angus, and he was distraught. It was all I could do to get him to calm down and give me a reasonably coherent conversation.” Another sip of cognac. “He was frantic. Telling me that he’d gotten married after finding out he’d got his girlfriend pregnant, typical shotgun-type affair, you know? And that he now had a son of his own.”
I did know, all too common in the past I thought. That style of thinking had long since passed for the majority of people I thought.
“Angus had been playing the field it turned out.” Hamish looked me square in the eye. “Not only had he gotten your poor mother pregnant, but It also turned out that he’d been having an affair with a young lady from the next town over and gotten her pregnant at about the same time as well,” This time, Hamish drained the remaining cognac from his glass and rose to pour himself another.
“I know about the philandering of my father,” I exclaimed, not needing a reminder of his infidelity and abandonment of my mother and me. “All I know is that the bastard cut us off and we didn’t get one red cent from his deadbeat ass.” My outburst was fuelled by anger and resentment. “I don’t need to be reminded of it,” I said, far too harshly than was needed.
Hamish looked at me with understanding and kindness in his eyes and raised a hand to halt my tirade. “Be that as it may, Oliver. You are not yet in possession of all the facts,” Hamish said gently. “Your father; my brother was trying to reconcile with your mother, but Helena wanted nothing to do with him.” Hamish considered the cognac in his glass briefly, as if he were searching for the right words to deliver the next part of his story. “Which, I suppose is understandable given the circumstances.” Hamish was making a reasoned argument. “Angus knew that he’d erred gravely and wanted to do right by both of his children. Your mother, however, would not entertain his overtures of reconciliation.” Another contemplative pause followed, longer this time.
“Angus started living with his lover and started to raise his new daughter with her.” He sized me up, taking a long deep breath. “But he never forgot about you,” he said, pointedly. “I received a letter from him in two thousand three. It had contact information for him and pictures of his family.”
“So what?” I spat. “He shared his new family with you, big deal.” Hamish reached into his inside jacket pocket and retrieved his wallet and took out two photographs. One was of my father, with his daughter and girlfriend. The other was a duplicate of the photograph I carried with me of my father and me. I was struck dumb. I at once moved to apologise for my outburst, but once again Hamish stayed me with a raised hand.
“About a month after I received these photos, I received a phone call from the Valley County Sheriff’s Department. Your father, his girlfriend and their daughter had been killed in a home invasion that had gone wrong.” Rebecca placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to offer support. “I tried to contact your mother to tell her, but she’d moved from the last address I had for you and had left no forwarding details.”
“Oh Oli, how awful for you.” Rebecca was now crying shamelessly. Tears were running down her face. I turned to her. Taking in each facet of her lovely countenance. Then, I did the most irrational thing I could do, given the news I had just heard. I laughed. Not a little chuckle, no. This was a big laugh.
The only takeaway that I had from this dreadful news, which I had no doubt I would start to process in the fullness of time, was the fact that Rebecca and I weren’t directly related. I reached out with both hands and cupped Rebecca’s cheeks, pulling her towards me. I kissed her deeply. Hours of pent-up nervous energy were released into this one kiss which, to me, felt like an atomic explosion going off on my lips.
—
I retrieved my glass of brandy and downed it in one, suddenly remembering that I don’t normally drink as I can’t stand the taste of beer, let alone spirits. I shuddered involuntarily and chuckled to myself.
“What is so funny, young man?” Simone asked pointedly. There was a picture of abject disgust on her face. It was the first time she’d spoken to me all evening.
“What is so funny is that A, you’re calling me young when in fact, we are probably the same age, give or take a year,” I said, honestly. Not liking being belittled by someone so similar in age to me. I surprised myself with this statement, but that didn’t detract from its veracity. “And B, it means that this beautiful woman and I are not Brother and Sister.” Simone gave a small shrug and regarded both Rebecca and me with beady, cold eyes.
“Be that as it may,” she said, almost drooling at the thought of what she was about to say next. “You’re still first cousins, and that is if you will pardon the modern vernacular, nasty.” Simone looked very pleased with herself. It was becoming clear to me that she was one of those women that slept her way to wherever she wanted to be.
I was beginning to understand why Rebecca had such distaste for this objectionable woman. Hamish placed a hand to his brow and sighed, then started to step forward, to break up the impending argument that both he and I were certain was about to break out. It was now Rebecca that held out a hand and stopped Hamish in his tracks.
“It’s alright, Daddy,” Rebecca said, standing. There was a strength in her voice I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m going to enjoy this. It’s about time someone took you down a peg or two, Simone.”
I stood alongside Rebecca. If nothing else to be moral support. “It’s time that you knew all the family’s secrets, as this seems to be the evening for sharing new information,” Rebecca began. “I was born in two thousand one as you know. What you don’t know is that my mother died in childbirth,” before Rebecca could continue, Simone rudely interrupted her.
“Yes, I know your mother died. Silly girl.”
I have to give credit to Rebecca, she held her breath for a three-count, before continuing.
“No, actually, you don’t,” was Rebecca’s vehement reply. “I was born as my mother died and was immediately sent to an orphanage, as I had no family to claim me.” I took Rebecca’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Just as Daddy had been adopted, so he and mommy, his first wife had adopted me.” Rebecca let that hang in the air for a couple of beats, waiting for the information to be absorbed and then continued, sounding both triumphant and defiant simultaneously.
“Unfortunately, Daddy’s first wife was unable to bear him any children.”
While Rebecca shot her father an apologetic glance, wondering if she had overstepped with full disclosure of the facts, she pressed on.
“So, you see, not only are we not cousins, but we also aren’t even remotely related by biology,” Rebecca pulled herself up to full height, which in her heels was a shade over six feet. “Now you can wipe that stupid, smug little grin off your face. You can also apologise to both my father and my guest for your disgraceful behaviour!”
I stared at Rebecca. Hamish stared at his daughter. Hamish and I then looked at one another, dumbfounded. “Don’t piss her off,” I thought again. Simone looked decidedly embarrassed.
“My apologies.” That was all she said. She lifted herself off the sofa, made her excuses and wished everyone a good night and glided out of the room. The three of us remaining in the room just looked at each other. I’d heard of the atmosphere is thick enough to cut with a knife but had never experienced the phenomena, until now. Hamish was the first to speak.
“I’ll speak to Simone tomorrow, my girl. That was a wholly inappropriate statement to make,” he said, soothing his daughter’s ire. “I’m proud of the way you stood your ground.” It was evident in the look on Hamish’s face that he loved Rebecca deeply. “However, the hour is late.” Hamish turned to me and spoke. “Oliver, the guest room is made up if you would be willing to stay with us this evening. After all, it’s not every day that one discovers a long-lost nephew; and we have so very much lost time to make up for.” Hamish regarded me, almost hopefully.
I just wanted to go somewhere quiet to decompress. I was tired both physically and now emotionally, dazed by all the new information that I was processing. Suddenly, I felt exceedingly weary, and I agreed to stay.
“It’s alright, Daddy,” Rebecca said softly. “Oliver can stay with me tonight.”
Hamish pursed his lips slightly. He was weighing the merits of her request. Of one thing I was now certain, Hamish loved Rebecca very much and wanted to protect her while at the same time, wrestling with her needs to develop as a woman in her own right.
“Very well, let it be so,” Hamish eventually decreed, apparently the merits outweighed the deficits. Rebecca looked over at me and winked once more. I was indescribably happy at that one small gesture. A simple little thing that I thought I was about to lose forever a few short moments ago. We retired to Rebecca’s room and got undressed.
Neither of us was in the mood for love play. Neither of us spoke. It was quite magical finding someone that just “gets” you. To the extent that feelings and emotions are all that are needed for effective communication. I slept in my boxers as we lay on her bed under the expensive and sinfully soft Egyptian cotton sheets. I was the little spoon and Rebecca held me close, all night.
—
I awoke with a start, as one sometimes does when waking in unfamiliar surroundings. Presently, as my senses returned to me, I realised that it wasn’t the surroundings that had woken me. Rather, it was the slow, sensual feeling of Rebecca’s mouth once again giving pleasure to my throbbing cock.
“Ummmm. That’s heaven,” I moaned. Rebecca pulled the covers from over us and raised her head, replying cheerfully.
“Hello, sunshine! I’m sorry to wake you this way, but you were so soundly asleep, and it was just standing out from your boxers looking lonely and, well, I just couldn’t resist it.” Playfully, she grabbed my cock and gave it a little shake. “That’s all, for now. It’s almost time for lunch,” she concluded.
“As alarm cocks go, that wasn’t too bad,” I commented, not realising that I had misspoken. I couldn’t get Rebecca to stop laughing for long enough to tell me what I had said that was so funny. I was still a little groggy and suddenly panicked – all I had to wear was the tuxedo from yesterday’s party. I hadn’t planned on staying over and so had not packed an overnight bag. As if sensing my thoughts, Rebecca retrieved a pile of neatly folded clothing from the chair of her vanity.
“Carter is usually a good judge of size, so he picked these out for you.” Rebecca handed me the clothes. I caught her scent again and inhaled deeply. I was grateful that Carter had selected some Levi 501s and a plain tee shirt, paired with a zip-up hoodie and a new pair of Nike Airs and all necessary hosiery. I hurriedly dressed and made a mental note to thank Carter for both his keen eye in detecting a preferred style of dress and for getting the sizes spot on.
“Are these all new?” I asked.
“Yes, I sent Carter out to get some things for you earlier this morning. There are also some toiletries ready for you in the ensuite.” My mind was still a little foggy from sleep ‘earlier this morning’, I thought. At that moment, the same gong from last night sounded in the distance. “Lunch is ready,” Rebecca stated, smiling broadly. I quickly ducked into the ensuite and brushed my teeth and squirted some deodorant under my arms, then joined Rebecca and her parents for lunch.
It was a surprisingly relaxed affair. We were seated around a large dining table, large enough for twelve easily. Hamish was at the head of the table, with Simone to his immediate right. I was offered the place to his left and Rebecca sat to my left. Hamish went on to describe the meal for the benefit of those that were unfamiliar with the tradition of a Sunday Roast, namely, me. It was a standard Thanksgiving dinner, but it happened in every house in the UK on a Sunday. Hamish’s parents had continued the tradition when they had immigrated, and although he was young when they had passed, he remembered fondly the feeling of family and togetherness of his early youth, so had re-introduced it to his own family. I thought it rather touching.
The food was delicious. Carter was a master chef also. He was omnipresent in the household I learned and catered to the family’s every need as if they were his own. Pleasant small talk ensued about places I’d visited and experiences my mother and I had as I was growing up in Idaho.
Considering that Hamish was accustomed to being the focus of attention in any room he occupied, he was also an exceptionally adept listener. He was listening avidly to my every word and asked questions in appropriate places. Unbidden, a thought raced through my mind. Given the right circumstances, I could see myself getting along very well with this man, “hell… he could be my father.” I thought, somewhat cynically. The only stumbling block for me was the fact he was the doppelgänger of my father to whom I bore so much ill feeling. Would I be able to get past that, I wondered.
Simone, on the other hand, couldn’t have looked more disinterested in the conversation had she tried to. I was beginning to understand why Rebecca felt the way that she did towards her stepmother. I was recounting a particularly funny anecdote of a trip to Yellowstone National Park when I was Fourteen.
I’d gotten a little too close to Old Faithful and got scared when the geyser sprayed boiling water into the air, enveloping me in a cloud of steam. As Hamish and Rebecca were laughing politely, I became aware of something rubbing up and down my leg. I thought it was sweet that Rebecca was playing footsie with me under the table.
I then paused, realising that Rebecca was sitting to my left. She couldn’t possibly be rubbing my leg in the manner I was experiencing. My blood froze as the realisation that it was Simone dawned on me. “What the hell was wrong with her?” I wondered, incredulous.
Unfortunately, I spluttered as I realised what was happening and managed to recover by claiming that a sip of water must have gone down the wrong pipe. For her part in this, Simone continued to look utterly disaffected with her surroundings, as if she would rather be anywhere else than in this room with us. Still coughing, I asked both to be excused from the table and where the washroom was located.
Directions obtained, I made my exit and a beeline to the washroom so I could both compose myself and calm down a little. I suppose a little under five minutes had passed when there was a knock on the washroom door. After checking myself in the mirror, I reached for the door to open it. As the door started to move, it was pushed in, knocking me off balance. I regained my feet and looked up, straight into Simone’s sharp elfin features. She forced her way into the washroom and pinned me against the wall.
“You have NO idea how boring that old fart is! He never wants to fuck me,” Simone breathed heavily. “I’m so horny all the time and all he wants to do is ‘talk’,” she complained, rubbing both hands over my chest, kneading the flesh of my pectoral muscles. “It’s so nice to be close to someone closer to my age. Someone young. Someone virile.” While Simone was saying this, she was nibbling on one of her nails, trying to tease and look sexy. I must admit that she was succeeding. Much to my disappointment in myself. Had I not been so into Rebecca, things may well have taken a different turn at that point. “I need someone to fuck me.” Simone’s face was about an inch away from mine – cruel, pencil-thin lips almost touching mine. “Would you like to fuck me?” she growled, suggestively.
“Oh fuck, NO,” I thought to myself. Giving in to this type of temptation was exactly what had destroyed my parents’ marriage, and I had vowed from a very early age that I wasn’t going to be that guy that ups and leaves his responsibilities for a hot piece of tail.
While it was true that Rebecca and I were in the very early stages, for me the principle was sound, and I was going to be true to my beliefs. I couldn’t believe it. Simone was blatantly coming on to me. Raw lust was burning in her deep brown eyes. I felt as if she were a lioness that was about to take down an unsuspecting gazelle for her pride’s lunch.
I was shocked beyond the capacity to speak for a moment. I was about to tell her that I was flattered by her attentions but was wholly uninterested in making out with my new girlfriends’ stepmother. Without warning, she pressed her face towards mine kissing me with her tongue filling my mouth forcefully. Simultaneously, she had reached down for my crotch and was rubbing her hand over my cock urgently.
Unfortunately, I felt my cock begin to swell, responding to the unwelcome touch of Simone’s hand. I managed to push her away just long enough to wriggle out from being pinned to the wall. I straightened my clothing and composed myself before managing to talk.
“Simone,” I began to speak, trying to be reasonable with her and issue a sensitive yet resolute NO to the unwanted advances. “This is not appropriate. You’re my girlfriends’ stepmother.” I put out a hand to ward off further advances and to keep her just beyond groping distance. That was my second mistake. My first was rejecting her advances in the first place.
“Playing hard to get?” Simone said, wolfishly. “Oh good! I like a challenge.”
I felt like I was being appraised by a cattle rancher looking over a bull before selecting it to breed his herd of heifers with. I was just about to state that any further advances would be met with the same refusal but before I could speak, Simone grinned at me, wickedly then turned on her heel and made her exit from the restroom. Her parting statement was “See you later, lover!”
I blanched, praying to all manner of deities that Rebecca or her father had heard that last statement. Simone had the power to ruin everything with Rebecca if I didn’t control this situation, fast. My mind was in turmoil over how to manage this. I’d never been in this situation before, and I had no clue how to deal with it. This was the type of behaviour that destroyed marriages.
While I knew I was innocent of any wrongdoing, all it would take was a few words to sow the seeds of suspicion and kill both my relationship with Rebecca before it had started and Simone’s marriage. I felt confident that Hamish was a forthright kind of fellow, who would tolerate no nonsense from his wife, or his daughter’s boyfriend.
—
I returned to the lunch table and reclaimed my seat. Rebecca immediately knew that there was something different about my demeanour, although I was trying mightily to act normally. The conversation was a little more strained now, or was that just my mind playing tricks on me? Presently, we had all finished eating and returned to the lounge area. The ever-present Carter ferried drinks in as required. I noticed that it was mostly Simone that was tugging on the call-bell cord the most.
The subliminal suggestion I did recognise. Again, my resolve was being tested, and I passed the tests of the fates once again. If Simone was frustrated with her lack of progress in seducing me, she never showed it. I managed to relax a little and once more began to enjoy the easy conversation that had restarted; for which I was thankful.
For the little part that Simone engaged in, she didn’t betray a single thing about our earlier interactions in the bathroom. During our conversations, I cogitated on how to deal with my immediate dilemma and discuss it with Rebecca, without either losing her affection or starting World War Three in the Smythe-Johnson household.
A couple of hours had passed by with no further incidents when Rebecca asked if I would like to take a walk around the gardens with her. I readily agreed, needing to walk off that massive lunch and having formulated the framework of what I was going to say to Rebecca. We exited the lounge, giving the obligatory farewells that one does and passed through the marble foyer towards the back of the house.
I hadn’t thought much about the house as a whole and was very surprised to learn that there were nearly two acres of land to the rear of the property. Rebecca talked me through the details. “Two tennis courts and a pool closer to the house, then further up a reasonably sized vegetable garden with all manner of produce and fruits.” She was deservedly proud of the setting.
“Carter tends the gardens and grows most of our fruits and vegetables,” she stated. Beyond the vegetable patch, I could see the garden properly. A large open expanse of grass with a croquet lawn and an ornate summer house that was, to be fair, large enough for a couple to live in quite comfortably and not lack space. I guessed that this was our ultimate destination.
“Rebecca,” I began to speak. My voice cracked ever so slightly when I said her name. A kind of anguish tainting the delicate syllables. Rebecca turned towards me, looking deep into my eyes, almost as if she were trying to read my soul. I could see something there, something that hadn’t been there previously. Pausing, I realised that it was a lack of something, not an addition. “What was that look,” I wondered to myself. I was just about to continue talking when she reached around the back of my neck and pulled me towards her for a very tender kiss. I returned the kiss, savouring the sweetness of her lips and the electric touch of the tip of her tongue on mine.
Breathless, she pulled away from me briefly, placing a hand on my chest and said simply, “I know.” Instantly, my blood turned to ice water in my veins. I realised with utter horror that something missing in her eye was the sparkle that had been there but a few short hours ago. Even more disturbing was the sudden accompanying realisation that ‘I know’ meant that Rebecca knew what Simone had done, or at least suspected as much and was fearing the worst outcome.
“I can explain,” I started, knowing full well that I was innocent of any accusations that could be levied against me, but I was being betrayed by my youth and inexperience. My biology was fighting against me, and I was losing. My face was flushed, and I was, shaking with both fear at the thought of losing this amazing woman, and anger that a spiteful, entitled rich brat had put me into a tailspin. My carefully crafted explanation of the happenings in the bathroom with Simone, and my complete innocence were rapidly unravelling, and I was scrambling to maintain my composure.
“Please Oli, let’s wait until we’re in the summer house?” Rebecca said softly. The tinge of sadness in her voice was both unmistakable and simultaneously, like a knife to my heart. “I caused this,” I thought. I couldn’t help it, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. It was as if I were a puppy that was expecting to be punished for missing the pee pad. Why was I feeling so guilty about having done the right thing by staying true to Rebecca?
Before long, we reached the summer house and entered. It smelled of fresh pine and was as sumptuously decorated as the main house. A large, circular Persian-style rug functioned as a carpet. Twin leather recliners and a well-stocked mini fridge. Various tapestries hung from the walls and also a rather impressive-looking music system finished off the space. Most of the tapestries were just ornate and intricately patterned explosions of colour, however, a couple were rather suggestive, continuing once more the theme from the lounge.
Rebecca started to draw the blinds and then went to the music centre and started playing some eighties hits. Finally, she retrieved a can of soda from the fridge and sat on of the recliners. “Help yourself,” Rebecca stated, indicating towards the fridge. Although my mouth had suddenly gone very dry. I wasn’t in the mood for a drink. I sat on the other recliner and was about to speak when Rebecca started the conversation.
“Did you fuck her?” Rebecca asked, point blank. No emotion on her face whatsoever.
“Wow! Not taking any prisoners, are you?” was my immediate reaction to this very blunt question. Rebecca was regarding me coldly. “I guess having a Professor of Psychology like your father has its benefits,” I thought.
“What? No! Oh, good GOD NO,” was my reply. “Becky, after what I told you all last night about my father, and its associated trauma? Do you think that I would cheat on anyone, let alone a woman as… well, as perfect as you?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I thought so much about planning my speech that was WAY better than what I’d rehearsed in my mind. Rebecca took a swig from her can of Coke and regarded me for what seemed to be an eternity.
“I believe you, Oli,” was all she said. Whether Rebecca wanted the details or not of the encounter in the bathroom, I didn’t ask. I went on to describe the scene anyway, as I felt it important that she see that I wanted to be open and transparent with her about not just this, but every aspect of my life. When I got to the part about Simone practically begging me to fuck her, I could see the change in Rebecca’s delicate features instantly. “So… that’s how the little bitch does it eh?” she said… almost to herself, but I’d heard the comment over the music that was playing in the background.
“Wait. Has Simone done this to you before?” I asked. Not wanting to know the answer, as I suspected that the answer was going to be yes.
“All through my last year of Senior High and two years at college. Every boyfriend I’ve ever had has either been scared off by her or ended up dumped by me after falling for her bullshit and being caught in the act.” There was such bitterness in her voice and for some reason, perhaps it was the fact that I hadn’t fallen for Simone’s wiles, and I wasn’t the first that this had happened to; my guilt just evaporated.
Rebecca continued speaking. “I like you Oli. Like, REALLY like you.” The emphasis on the word ‘really’ wasn’t lost on me. “I just don’t want that little slut to spoil what I think is going to be a great thing,” Rebecca finished her sentence. I was touched by this more than I thought I would be. I felt my heart start to melt a little. I reached over and took Rebecca’s hand in mine and spoke from the soul.
“Becky. I like you too,” I began. “I think we’re going to be great together, and I can’t wait to find out with you just how good it’s going to be.” I paused for a moment. I had to consider this very carefully, I thought. “I have to ask though if this has happened to you before, why have you not spoken to your father about it?” I knew that the question would likely open up a hornet’s nest of trouble, but I had to know.
“I have, Oli.” Rebecca bit her bottom lip, searching for the right words to describe the bombshell that she was about to drop on me. “The thing is, Daddy and Simone are into that whole ‘swinging scene’ and is happy to let his little slut find unsuspecting prey.” She paused. Taking another deep drink of Coke. “When she’s had a good hunt, she lures them back to her lair and then gets railed by both Daddy and her ‘flavour du jour’.” The last words spoken were dripping with sarcasm. “She likes it best when her prey is one that was initially interested in me. I guess it makes her feel powerful knowing that she can take what she wants from me and there are few repercussions.”
“Hang on a second. Simone told me that Hamish and she weren’t intimate?” I said, trying to be delicate. “And, she’s the same age as us, more or less,” I commented, bewildered by the fact that Rebecca hadn’t yet clawed her stepmother’s eyes out.
“Don’t be fooled. The only way you can tell when that little whore is lying is when her mouth is moving.” I had to stifle a small snigger at that euphemism. “That little gold digger has Daddy wrapped around her little finger.” Rebecca took another sip of her Coke. “She’s had more work done than I-Ninety One. She’s actually in her mid-thirties.”
At that admission, I was surprised.
“Her surgeon must be good, and expensive,” I observed.
“Yes, he is. She fucks him with Daddy quite regularly.”
I felt sick to my stomach. While the thought of a threesome was universally the stuff of male fantasies from late puberty, I was rapidly going off the idea wholesale. Perhaps it was because the scenes being described were of two men and one woman. Would I feel differently if it were two women? I wondered absently.
“So then, to sum up,” I breathed out slowly, gathering myself. “We’re ok again?” I paused slightly, looking for Rebecca’s response and felt my heart skip a beat when she smiled and nodded her affirmation. “Great. Got that. Now, I’ve recently found a great girl whose adoptive father turns out to be my long-lost uncle, who in turn is married to Satan’s lead horn-bitch from the ninth circle of Hell and she likes poaching boyfriends and doesn’t care what methods she uses. Have I got all that straight?” Rebecca leaned forward in her chair and laughed heartily.
“Sounds like you’ve covered the relevant bases, but you’ve missed one more thing, Columbo,” she mocked me playfully.
“Oh, I am pleased. I was beginning to lose track of it all in my mind, wait, what have I missed?” More laughter ensued and once again we locked eyes.
“You’ve started to call me Becky,” I realised that she was right. “Don’t worry – I’m fine with it! I prefer it to be truthful,” I was unspeakably gratified to see the sparkle and mischief had returned once more to those beautiful green pools of wonder. Instinctively, I reach for the back of Rebecca’s head and pulled her gently towards me. Her mouth opened up passionately under mine and once again our tongues explored each other thoroughly. Rebecca broke off the kiss for a moment to stand.
“I have a surprise for you,” she whispered as she rose. “Close your eyes.”
To my delight, this time I wasn’t looking for any hidden cameras or other forms of a joke to befall me. I did as she bade me do and I could hear assorted rustlings from around me and then the sound of matches being struck. I wondered fleetingly about the wisdom of using candles in a wooden building, but the thought passed as quickly as it came.
“OK. You can open your eyes again,” Rebecca whispered. She stood before me. Dressed in a black basque that may have been a size too small deliberately, for effect. Coupled with matching lacy lingerie. Suspenders were clipped to black fishnet stockings that had little pink bows on the band of lace at the top. A few rogue ginger pubic hairs were poking through the lace of the impossibly narrow panties, and I suddenly felt a familiar tightness in my jeans.
