Pandora's Gift: Pandora Series - Book Three

By Carolyn Mathews

When Jay loses their home and business in the financial crash and Pandora's job as a TV panellist comes under threat, the appearance of an archangel seems to be just the good omen they need. The message he brings, however, forces Pandora to disappear on a secret mission to fulfil a prophecy, endangering both her relationship and a precious gift she's been given. Events bring Pandora to her knees, but the light at the end of the tunnel may yet lead her to a miracle. It wouldn't be a Pandora story without romance, transformation, suspense and a touch of the fantastic. True to form, this final book of the series provides all these elements and more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Hunt Publishing
• Release date: Dec 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785351761

Carolyn Mathews

Carolyn Mathews is the author of the Pandora Trilogy, whose first instalment Transforming Pandora was showcased by The People's Book Prize in 2014. Carol has an MA in Applied Linguistics and an abiding interest in metaphysics, both of which have profoundly influenced her writing. She lives in Hertfordshire, UK.

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Chapter 1 – May Day 2009

‘Fancy a drink, Pansy?’

Gina’s reflection appeared in the illuminated mirror in front of me. She stood at my dressing-room door, small patches of beige make-up clinging for dear life to her face and neck, her cheeks smudged with blusher, giving her the appearance of a badly-painted puppet.

‘You look like Aunt Sally,’ I said, turning to face her. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead going anywhere with you in that state. And don’t call me Pansy.’

Parking herself in the seat next to me, she picked up a powder brush and began dabbing at her cheeks. ‘All right, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Life’s too short to waste valuable drinking time hosing that muck off.’

I ignored her and continued cleansing.

‘Come on, Pandora, I’ll stand you a pint and a bite.’

My studio car was booked for one-thirty. ‘I’ll miss my ride home.’

‘Since when has that bothered you?’

I laughed. She knew I had nothing much to rush home for when my partner, Jay, was out of the house, especially since my neighbour, Olivier, had taken the dogs under his wing. As long as I boarded the train before the rush hour, I was quite amenable to unwinding in the pub for a couple of hours before heading to Marylebone station.

Scraping the last vestige of foundation from my face, spray-painted on at eight-thirty that morning by a make-up artist, who insisted we needed it ‘to be HD-ready’, I applied an ultra-revitalising moisturiser while Gina performed an autopsy on the morning’s Straight Talking show.

‘Kay came down a bit hard on Trevor when he defended the May revellers, don’t you think?’

She was referring to our choice of articles from the day’s newspapers. Trevor had picked one about a group of nature worshippers who’d lit a bonfire to celebrate Beltane Eve. It was too close to the maypole, had got out of hand, and a concerned member of the public had called the fire service.

‘I thought we were all supposed to be singing from the live-and-let-live politically correct hymn sheet these days,’ she moaned. ‘Calling them irresponsible nutters wasn’t exactly PC. If they leave it in, there’s bound to be a backlash.’

Kay was the Straight Talking anchor whose contempt for neopaganism and the like was legendary.

‘They won’t cut it out, Gina. That’s what they want, something a bit provocative. If it makes the newspapers, they might get a few more viewers.’

Gina glanced at her watch. The programme aired at one o’clock. We’d finished recording at twelve-fifteen and had emerged relatively unscathed from the post-show rundown. Neesha, the executive producer, could be forensic in her dissection of who said what to whom, and wasn’t above scolding us if she thought we weren’t being sufficiently entertaining.

‘We’d better get a move on, before we have to fight our way through disgruntled druids.’

I’d finished my own primping so I waved a heavy-duty moisture wipe in her direction. ‘Only if you let me perform a bit of restoration work on you first.’

Heaving a sigh, she allowed me to begin renovating her face and neck.

In her day, she’d been a promising young actress, linked to several A-list actors. She’d even married one of them. But drink had done for both of them, and here she was, the wrong side of forty, single, and scraping a living from daytime TV and the odd supporting role. Despite all this, on a good day she still scrubbed up well.

‘I’ve never danced round a maypole but I’ve been to some similar shindigs in Glastonbury,’ I admitted, as I rubbed away the remnants of her face paint. ‘That’s the sort of thing my mother was into.’

Gina swivelled her eyes away from her own reflection to meet mine. ‘Didn’t you tell me once you were some sort of alternative therapist?’ Before letting me confirm this, she steamed on. ‘Why didn’t you put in your two penn’orth? It would’ve shaken things up.’

‘Didn’t think it would get past Kay. Too New Agey for her.’

She nodded. ‘It’s a fine art, darling. Being expected to have an opinion on everything, yet toeing the party line.’

Jay had also commented more than once on my reactions and interactions on the show. He felt I’d started off okay, but had recently become a puppet of the programme makers. I explained to him that ratings dictated content and daytime viewers on that channel preferred altogether lighter entertainment than we’d been giving them. But he still accused me of playing a part, of not being true to myself, at which point I’d had to bite my tongue.

‘I can’t afford to lose this job, it’s what we live on,’ I declared, saying out loud to Gina what I hadn’t been able to say out loud to Jay.

‘You and me both, darling,’ she replied, without a shred of sympathy.

Feeling there was a danger of getting into a I need/deserve this job more than you do contest, I focused on the task in hand. ‘Do you want to go au naturel or have you got some make-up with you?’

We both scrutinised her reflection in the mirror. Even in the unforgiving light of the illuminated mirror she didn’t look bad. Her grey eyes were finely outlined in black liner with pearl-grey shadow, still intact. After my efforts, her complexion was now clear with a natural hint of pale rose in her cheeks.

‘Just a bit of lippy,’ we said, almost in unison.

Once we were done, after cancelling my ride home, we jumped into the car booked for Gina, getting the driver to drop us off at the Raglan Arms in Fitzrovia, round the corner from where she lived. She favoured this pub because it meant she could drink as much as she liked and be home to sleep it off within five minutes.

I let Gina order the food, as she was footing the bill. We ended up with a baffling array of bar snacks, rarely seen outside of the pub’s Quick Bites menu. As I bit into a Cajun rarebit and Gina tackled a Bangkok Scotch egg, I noticed a man in a crumpled suit at the bar staring at us. ‘Do you know that man? He’s looking over here.’

She peered in the direction my eyes were pointing and shook her head. ‘Never seen him before. He’s quite fanciable, don’t you think?’

Gina was into her second cocktail and her tongue was loosening. I giggled nervously. ‘Sshh, he’ll hear you.’

‘He probably thinks he knows us but can’t think where from. I get that all the time.’

Her insinuation that she was much better known than me didn’t escape my notice. It was true. She was. But I didn’t need reminding of it.

The man had started walking towards us. When he reached our table, he stopped. ‘Excuse me, are you Gina Fraser by any chance?’ he said, regarding her with a pair of large, soulful eyes edged with thick, dark lashes.

He was well-spoken, of slightly above average height and indeterminate middle age. His dark grey hair, long enough to be arty but short enough not to be hippy, was brushed back from a wide brow, framing a face which had the nut-brown hue of someone who regularly spent time in the open air. Although he glanced away every so often in a way which suggested he posed no threat, this was belied by his cleft chin and wiry frame. I could see that Gina was intrigued.

‘Yes, guilty as charged. I am Gina Fraser.’

I half expected her to add, Who’s asking? But she left it at that.

‘My name’s Andrew Truman. I wrote to you about Raymond Stone.’

Gina looked blank but motioned him to sit down all the same. He put his glass of beer on the table and leaned forward, giving her his full attention.

‘I’ve just started writing his biography and I’m interested in talking to people who knew him and may be able to contribute some memories, anecdotes. I was given your address by your ex-husband.’

Gina let out a snort, her vacant expression swiftly replaced by one of fury. ‘That bastard! He’s got some nerve putting you on to me.’

The silence that followed could only be described as charged. Truman looked uneasy, his glance towards the door indicating he wanted to be anywhere but here. He must have needed contributors badly, because he sat tight and waited for her anger to subside. ‘Can I get you ladies a drink?’ he said, finally.

This was very timely as I’d drained my lemon and lime seconds before.

‘I’ll have a Gin Fizz,’ said Gina, ‘and my friend will have a Piña Colada.’

This had been a favourite of mine, before I’d found out how calorific alcohol was. Since then, I’d been on the wagon.

I hesitated.

‘Okay, just this once.’

While he was at the bar, I quizzed Gina about the letter Truman had written to her.

‘I ripped it up. He said Brett had told him I’d been a friend of Ray Stone’s. I thought he was insinuating I’d had some sort of a fling with him while I was still married to Brett.’

‘And did you?’ I said, my curiosity aroused. Raymond Stone was an American film director, famous, not only for his artistic vision, but for his playboy reputation rivalled only by the likes of Jack Nicholson.

‘Of course I did. How else would I have got the job? But I don’t want the world and his wife to know that, do I? If I ever decide to spill the beans it’ll be in my book, not his.’

Truman arrived at our table with the drinks and a grilled cheese sandwich which he quickly polished off. I took a sip of the drink he’d bought me. The coconut and pineapple flavours were easily identifiable, unlike the white rum and triple sec which usually hit the back of my throat at the first mouthful. It crossed my mind that maybe he’d economised and gone for the non-alcoholic Virgin Colada, instead.

I saw him eyeing our plate of snacks and told him to help himself. I’d been gaining weight lately and was having to watch every morsel. In no time, he’d devoured the last Clonakilty black pudding croquette, sitting back with a contented sigh.

‘So was it a coincidence meeting Gina today,’ I said, ‘or were you lying in wait for her?’

Gina tittered.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been stalked.’

‘Not exactly. As I hadn’t heard from you, I took the liberty of knocking on your door. No reply, of course, but your neighbour came home as I was leaving and told me where you might be.’

‘Man or woman?’ said Gina, almost sweetly, cradling her Gin Fizz.

‘Man. Oldish.’

‘That’s Morrie. I’ll have his guts for garters when I see him.’

Actress that she was, Gina could do almost any accent, and she’d lapsed into Eliza Dolittle cockney for her last line. I was used to this, but Truman looked startled. Taking pity on him, I decided to move proceedings along. ‘Gina, for goodness’ sake, put the poor man out of his misery. Can you help him or not?’

‘We-ell,’ she said, coquettishly, ‘it depends what you want to know. I only worked on one film with him.’ She paused, eyeing him up. ‘But if you like, we can go back to my place and see if my…memory…can be jogged.’

Truman’s grip tightened on his glass and I felt myself blush on Gina’s behalf. But to my surprise he went along with it. ‘No time like the present, I’ll be happy to escort you back.’

His smile was thin but it fooled Gina.

I was the first to move, almost knocking over a glass in my haste. It was illogical, but the prospect of them going off together consumed me with a feeling of being left out, even if it wasn’t something I wanted to be in.

I held out my hand to him. ‘Goodbye, Mr Truman’.

‘You’re not coming?’ he said, tilting his head slightly and holding my hand for a second too long.

While I was trying to work out whether he wanted me there: a) for a threesome, b) as protection against Gina’s sexual advances, or c) was just being polite, Gina cut in, making it quite plain she was riding solo.

‘Gimme a break. We’ve been together since eight o’clock this morning, we’re not joined at the hip.’

She struggled to her feet, teetering slightly. Gina always kept a small bottle of gin in her bag to top up the pub cocktails, which explained why she was bordering on smashed. I, on the other hand, felt completely sober.

‘I’m off to the loo,’ she slurred. ‘When are you in next week? Or, should I say, which day aren’t you in?’

Gina had always held it against me that I was on a maximum four-day-week contract while hers was only three.

‘Tuesday onwards.’

‘See you then, ducks.’

Gina had gone all cockney again so I answered in the same vein. ‘Okay, gal. Don’t get locked in the lav, will you?’

She chortled her way to the ladies and Truman and I exchanged wry smiles.

‘I’m afraid I’m completely lost,’ he said. ‘Do you two work together?’

‘Yes, as panellists on a daytime talk show. When Gina’s around I sometimes end up here.’

‘Really? What’s the show called?’

‘Straight Talking. Probably not your thing. It started out being fairly serious but it’s changing. Not completely frothy yet but it’s getting there.’

‘I haven’t seen it, but I’ll make a point of watching it now,’ he said. ‘Sorry – I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Pandora Armstrong. But I answer to Pandora Fry and Pandora Jay on Google, as well.’

The implied expectation that he would go home and look me up had slipped out before I knew it.

‘You can find anyone and anything on the web these days, can’t you?’ I said, to hide my embarrassment.

‘Very true,’ he replied, delivering his line with a downward sweep of his thick, dark lashes.

I don’t know why, but I was suddenly filled with a desire to help him. Maybe it was his slightly hangdog air, or the fear that he might tar me with the same brush as Gina. Whatever it was, I found myself informing him of her intention to keep any revelations for her own book.

‘That’s what they all say,’ he said, seemingly unperturbed. ‘I’ll still give it a go. Her ex-husband said she more or less lived with Stone while they were making The Red Galaxy. It was a defining moment in his career, so I’d like to flesh out that period in his life. Who knows, it might give her a boost. From what I’ve heard, she needs it.’

This was all very well, I silently speculated, but how was he going to stop her from jumping his bones as soon as she closed her front door?

‘I hope you get away unscathed,’ I gabbled, wanting to get it off my chest before Gina got back. ‘After an hour in this place, she casts all inhibitions to the wind.’

There, I’d said it. I’d committed the most heinous crime of all – undermining a fellow female’s chances of getting laid by labelling her a loose woman.

He looked away, at first I thought in embarrassment, but when he raised his head he was smiling broadly.

‘Sweet of you to warn me, but don’t worry, I can look after myself.’

Seeing Gina coming towards us. I waved in her general direction and, Judas that I was, blew her a kiss before speedily exiting stage left into the May Day sunshine.

When I got home to Phoenix Cottage I searched for Andrew Truman on my computer. Isn’t technology wonderful? His potted biography was there for me to see on his own website.

How times had changed in just four years. When my one and only book came out in 2005, no one had pressured me to become ‘an online presence’. Interviews and articles arranged by the publicist had done the trick, plus a few photo shoots, usually with Jay. But I was never under any illusions. If I hadn’t been married to, divorced from, and freshly reconciled with my rock star, the book would have no doubt sunk without trace.

I looked in my desk drawer for some file paper to make notes on but found only paperclips, Tipp-Ex and elastic bands. I was about to walk to the village newsagent when I remembered the file I’d used for a spiritual correspondence course in the bottom bureau drawer. I’m not going to start reading it, I thought, it’ll just make me feel guilty, so I deliberately opened it from the back. My idea had been to extract some unused sheets of paper but, in the end, I simply placed a page divider between the course notes and the blank pages. Then I began copying an abridged version of Andrew Truman’s details from the computer screen.

Andrew Truman: born 28 July 1953 (55 yrs old)

Education: Bristol University, History degree.

Career: publishing until 1992, left to pursue a full-time career as ghostwriter and biographer, specialising in creative artists: actors, musicians, directors, authors.

Family: married 1980, one son, divorced 2005.

Resides: Reigate, Surrey, and S. W. London.

Hobbies: sailing, fishing, squash.

There was more, but I was beginning to feel like a stalker, so I switched off the computer and went to get the dogs from Olivier’s house, a short walk from my cottage. The back door of The Cedars was locked, so I opened it with the key Olivier had given me. In response to my whistle, Oscar and Fritz appeared from the direction of the large dining room, where they liked to go when the room wasn’t being used for filming or functions.

After our joyful reunion, I put my head round the door of Olivier’s office on the off chance he was there. The room was empty, which meant he was probably at his cake boutique in the village, so we made straight for the woods. I needed a jog to separate my London self from my Chace Standen self, although these days I wasn’t particularly keen on either of them.

Chapter 2 – Losing It, Autumn 2008

I can trace the start of my decline back to one day last September. I was in my study at Four Seasons when the house phone rang. A man’s voice asked for Mr James Jay so I said I’d see if he was available. I wasn’t sure whether he was in his recording studio or in the packing shed with Hugh, helping him get the fruit and veg deliveries ready. I didn’t have to search far – I found them both in the kitchen having a coffee break.

‘Someone from the bank’s on the phone for you, Jay.’

The panic on his face tempted me to hover in the background when he took the call, but instead I did the polite thing and stayed to chat with Hugh. When Jay came back, he sat down at the table and clutched his head with both hands. I asked him what was wrong but he was so distraught he couldn’t speak.

Hugh got up to leave, looking embarrassed.

‘Sit down,’ said Jay. ‘This affects you, man, as well as us.’

Jay reached across the table and took my hand, his eyes pleading.

‘I’m sorry, Andy. I didn’t want to worry you. I was hoping there’d be some way out of it.’

He started shaking and I got the cooking brandy out of a kitchen cupboard and poured some into a small tumbler. He emptied the glass in one gulp and helped himself to a second shot.

‘Fact is, I’m skint. I’ve lost everything in the crash.’ His voice broke and he wiped his tears away impatiently with an upward sweep of his hands. ‘The guy on the phone said it’d take a miracle for me to hang on to the business…or the house.’

He looked wildly around, as if expecting a good fairy to fly in the kitchen window and make everything all right.

Hugh and I sat in stunned silence, trying to absorb the consequences of this news. Jay started to explain, his eyes downcast, his hands still trembling.

‘Five years ago I was advised to invest in property. There was this guy who did it all for me. He just used to ring up for my go-ahead and I let him get on with it. This isn’t his fault, by the way. He warned me about the subprime defaults in the States, but I never thought it would affect this country.’ He crashed a fist on the table. ‘Those greedy, bastard bankers! More like bloody gangsters.’

I stroked the knuckles of his hand, trying to sooth him, telling him it would be all right.

‘I thought I was being clever…remortgaged this place to build up the portfolio. Shouldn’t have put all my eggs in one basket.’

My brain jerked to attention. I had no idea he owed anything on Four Seasons. Fighting down a rising feeling of exasperation that he hadn’t thought to mention it, I forced myself to concentrate on what he was saying.

‘…I got a letter from the bank last year, didn’t take much notice. It said their commercial mortgages had been sold on to Lehman Brothers.’

‘That’s the American bank,’ I said, with a sinking heart. I’d followed their demise in the papers so I knew there was no hope.

‘Lehman Brothers crashed,’ said Hugh, a split second ahead of me.

Jay’s face creased in pain.

‘Yeah. Tell me about it. On top of that, the guy I just spoke to told me if I don’t pay the mortgage arrears on this place, they’ll be taking me to court to repossess it.’

‘How many payments have you missed?’ I said, holding my breath.

‘Must be about five now.’

‘But what about the business?’ I said. ‘Doesn’t that make enough to pay the bills?’

Jay looked glumly at Hugh and shook his head.

‘Only partly. I was using the rental income from the properties for the rest. That was frozen by the bank months ago. I’ve only just been managing the school fees, allowances…’

He stopped. He didn’t need to go on. I was only too aware of how much money flew out of Jay’s pockets to keep his five children, his mother, the two of us, plus various livestock, in comfort.

But maybe there was a way out. I still owned two properties. Ashley and Linden were living in my flat in Fulham but I could sell Phoenix Cottage. The present tenancy was due to end soon.

‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Jay? I would have put the cottage up for sale. I still can. Would the bank wait if I did that?’

Jay put up his hand to stop me.

‘I’ve already had the standard interview, babe.’ He flicked his head back as he always did when he was stressed. ‘All avenues have been explored. This is my final warning. There’s no point in selling either place…that’s where we’ll be living.’

I groaned. Much as I loved the cottage, I couldn’t see us, his mother and whichever of his children needed a roof over their heads shoehorning into a three-up, three-down. I was about to ask him to expand on this idea when Hugh intervened.

‘What about the business, Jay?’ he said, almost apologetically.

Considering his livelihood was at stake, Hugh was showing admirable restraint.

‘Afraid I’ll have to wind it up sharpish, mate. I’ve got to get shot of the house…can’t afford to complicate matters by selling it as a business as well. The way property prices are diving, I’ll be lucky to break even.’

Hugh’s chin was almost on his chest; he looked the picture of misery, as we all did at that moment.

Jay continued in confessional mode, his voice low and full of gloom. ‘My priority has to be scraping together enough to pay off the arrears and stay out of debt until the house sells. That way, I keep whatever equity there is and my credit rating. The only assets I’ve got left, apart from the furniture, amount to a couple of delivery vans and any fruit trees that can be sold off.’

Hugh shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening.

‘So when should I start looking for a job?’

‘I wouldn’t waste any time. The vultures are circling.’

The two men continued to sit staring at the table, lost in their thoughts, until Jay finally broke the silence. ‘We might as well go out and start making a list now, then you can get in touch with the organic farm, see if they’re interested in taking anything off our hands.’

Jay got up and walked out into the garden and Hugh followed him, nodding in my direction.

I’d rather Jay had stayed with me to talk about how we could raise the money for the mortgage arrears and where everybody was going to live. I wanted to run after him but I suspected he was avoiding me, out of fear that my initial sympathy had shunted into reproach.

At that moment, Jay’s mother appeared.

‘Hi, Pandora. I thought I heard Hugh. I wanted to ask him to keep some asparagus back for me. I wanna make some soup. It’s got great slimming properties.’

Since Sharon had become close to my stepfather’s friend, Pete, she’d made an enormous effort to lose weight. But Sharon’s weight-loss programme consisted of combing magazines for slimming tips in search of a quick fix which never came quick enough to fix her fat problem. Being in love suited her, though. She would never be a sylph again, but her eyes held a newfound sparkle and her skin glowed.

‘Wait, Sharon,’ I said, as she made for the back door. ‘Sit down. Jay’s had some bad news. It’s about the house.’

After dinner that night, we all assembled in the sitting room for a pow-wow. Jay’s whole tribe was there – Rowan, still at school, Willow, waiting to take her place at university, Cherry, about to start her third year, and the two oldest, Ashley and Linden, who’d driven down from London after an urgent phone call from Sharon.

Once she’d got over the initial shock, Sharon had valiantly taken up the reins and arranged for three estate agents to come the next day to value the property, for which I was exceedingly grateful, since both Jay and I had been in a daze all afternoon.

Sharon kicked off the meeting. ‘You’re all gonna have to grow up fast. Your dad needs to pay his mortgage arrears so he’ll get something out of the place when it sells. If he doesn’t, the bank will take it and he’ll be left with zilch. So we’d welcome some suggestions from you. How do you think you can help him save money?’

I looked over at Jay and pulled a face. He looked as mortified as I felt. None of the kids had any source of income: they all depended on Jay. What did she expect them to do, run off and join the circus?

‘I can leave school, if it helps,’ said Rowan, finding the silver lining.

‘Yeah, boy, that’s likely,’ said Linden, ruffling his hair.

‘Okay,’ said Sharon, ‘that’s a very good suggestion. You can go to a free school and that’ll save on school fees.’

Rowan’s face fell.

‘Not the local comp, Gran.’

‘Once they know you’re one of the poshos from King George’s, they’ll eat you alive,’ said Cherry. She stared accusingly at Jay. ‘Anyway, if you’re selling up, it won’t be the local comp, will it, Dad? Where are you going to live?’

Jay was sitting with his head in his hands so I explained that Rowan could come with us to Phoenix Cottage and