Rocking Horse Rider

By Jeff Hopkins

The result when two lives collide unexpectedly cannot be predicted. It might prove a catastrophe, or possibly a catalyst.

Twenty-two year old architectural intern, Rawden Phillips, has had all the benefits that nature and nurture could bestow, but he is lost. Australian heiress, Olivia Summer-Hayes, who should be running a Corporate Empire, is running away and has started making rash decisions. Suzanne Read has been commissioned to help find them both.

Half a world away Richard Barrington, a man with a fascinating personal history, is trying to juggle long-standing loyalties with the control of a conglomerate of companies.

Played out against a background of three of the world’s most iconic cities: London, Paris and Sydney, Rocking Horse Rider is galaxy of glittering personalities searching for identity and acceptance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925529753

Jeff Hopkins

Jeff Hopkins (1950) is a retired schoolteacher. He lives in Walyalup, Western Australia. Walyalup which means 'lungs' is the Whadjuk name for Fremantle, and is part of the Noongar Nation. As the drama master at Hale School in Perth, he wrote ten original musical plays and produced and directed them at the school.In 1992, he researched and wrote a family history, 'Life's Race Well Run', and after retiring in 2006 he has written twenty novels, a memoir, and three 'faction' biographies.

Book preview

Chapter 1:

You should go buy a rocking horse.

The Thursday lunch date had become a disaster. Well it wasn’t really a date; it was just a quick get together over lunch to finalise the arrangements for the weekend in Paris. The early November terrorist attacks had made travelling to Paris problematical, but they were still going; or at least at the start of lunch they were. They ordered as soon as they sat down and decided they could share a bottle of white wine even though both of them would be returning to work in the afternoon.

Rawden Phillips was twenty-two and was in the first year of an internship at Walter Levinson and Associates, one of the more progressive and respected architectural firms in London. The public acknowledgement of ‘progressive and respected’ had been quite an achievement for the firm. It was due mainly to Walter Levinson’s eye for young talent who he continued to employ and his strict adherence to a standard of operation and code of conduct that he had developed over many years. Leanore Lehmann was almost twenty-three. She was a lawyer in the legal department at the head office of Bousfields Bank in the city. Leanore had also been there less than a year.

Rawden and Lea had met at an office gathering at Walter Levinson’s. Lea had arrived on the arm of one of the associates and left with Rawden. They had been an ‘item’ now for about six months. At first Lea was fascinated by the ‘pretty boy’ and thought he might be ‘interesting’. Rawden had fallen under the feisty Lea’s thrall. She thrilled and frightened him all at the same time.

They went out to dinner on a couple of occasions and caught separate taxis home. Then Lea asked Rawden to come back to her apartment and the intimate side of the relationship began. For the first few months the sex was delicious. Lea loved looking at the lithe young man naked and she enjoyed his gentle touch and unhurried lovemaking. She also admired his control and quickly realised he was clearly experienced, knew exactly what he was doing and understood what women wanted. For his part Rawden found Lea exciting and dangerous. She wanted the physicality to be robust and often tried to hurry him, but Rawden was having none of that and he soothed her and waited until she would come with him and he knew she loved the satisfaction that resulted.

Then the lovemaking changed. Rawden would not linger after sex. He didn’t fall asleep in Lea’s arms and wake up to make love again in the early hours of the morning. More often than not he would leave her bed take a shower, dress and leave making some excuse about ‘having to get home’ and a ‘big day at work tomorrow’. Lea would watch him dress and delighted in the body that became progressively hidden under layers of designer underwear and fashionable clothes. Then he was gone and Lea was left wondering.

That is why she initially thought that Paris would be a good idea. They could spend the entire weekend in bed and Rawden would have no excuse to leave abruptly. It was exactly the thing about Paris that was concerning Rawden. He didn’t want to spend the entire time entwined with Leanore Lehmann.

So over a quick lunch Lea sensed Rawden was getting cold feet and his lame attempts to tell her he wanted to take some architectural photographs while he was in the ‘City of Love’ confirmed her suspicions. So she launched into a series of attacks. Initially there were small jibes about his commitment to the weekend and then stronger analysis of his attitude to their whole relationship. Rawden listened carefully and quickly ‘twigged’ to where Lea was going with all this. He bit back gently on a couple of occasions, but that only enraged Lea who finally let fly:

You know what you should do, Rawden?

No, Lea, what should I do? Or more to the point what are you going to tell me to do?

You should go buy a rocking horse.

Rawden threw back his head and laughed for the first time during the brief luncheon.

What? Are you serious? Buy a rocking horse? What in heaven’s name for?

Because ‘pretty boy’ it would suit you perfectly. You could ride it naked in front of a full-length mirror and admire yourself astride something else. Then just like you it would oscillate backwards and forwards, but end up going nowhere at all.

Lea!

Don’t Lea me. You are in love with yourself, Rawden Phillips. Nobody else is good enough to share you. At least riding a rocking horse you wouldn’t have to give a lame excuse to leave. You could just dismount when you are satisfied and the wooden thing would wait until you wanted to ride again without making any complaint.

With that Leanore Lehmann drained her white wine glass, left her half eaten lunch and stormed out of the Octagonal Café and was gone from Rawden’s life. He mused that probably Paris was off this weekend. Then he wondered what he was going to do with the many hundreds of pounds worth of rail tickets and the deposit for the hotel. He thought it had been a costly lunch. Then it occurred to him that he could halve the losses by going to Paris alone and taking as much time as he liked photographing the architectural sites in which he was particularly interested.

Rawden Phillips was jolted back to reality when he checked his watch and realised he had to be back in the office by 2:00 p.m. He finished his wine paid for the lunch and wine at the counter and hurried back to Water Levinson and Associates. Unconsciously he spoke aloud as he walked briskly along the busy pavement:

Buy a rocking horse and ride it naked in front of a full length mirror, where did that come from?

No one took any notice. Everyone talked into mobile phones and Bluetooth devices on London Streets these days. Talking to yourself could easily be mistaken for modern day communication.

Back at his desk Rawden remembered he already had a rocking horse. Firstly, it was his and then his brother, Joss, got it as a hand me down. He wondered where it was now? Probably his mother, Charlotte, had given it away or donated it to one of her many charitable organizations. He made a mental note to ask Charlotte where the rocking horse had ended up? Walter Levinson was standing at his shoulder and broke his daydream. The old man was looking at the drawing on his angled architect’s desk.

It’s good young Phillips, but the devil will be in the detail. How will you deliver utilities in the creative space you have designed there for instance?

I hadn’t got to planning the utilities yet, Mr. Levinson. This was just a concept drawing.

A creative concept drawing can be even more effective if it has some pragmatic solutions already built into it. Doing it the other way always calls for compromise, which is never satisfactory. Get the pragmatism and utility planning in your head first and then let your imagination fly.

Yes, Mr. Levinson.

Don’t be discouraged, young Phillips, it is a very good creative concept.

Thank you Mr. Levinson.

When the old man continued his afternoon tour of the studio, chatting with his associates and other young interns, Rawden wondered what it would feel like to ride a rocking horse naked? When Levinson returned to his own office, which was separated from the main drawing studio, Rawden fumbled for his mobile phone. He rang the hotel in Paris and cancelled the reservation. He would stay somewhere more modest. Then he rang the booking office at Eurostar and asked if he could get a refund for one of the two tickets he had booked for Paris. The operator politely informed him that the tickets were non-refundable, but he could rebook using the money he had already paid perhaps for an upgrade. He had paid three hundred and fifty eight pounds for two standard return tickets to Paris on Eurostar. If he cancelled one, which was non-refundable he would effectively lose one hundred and seventy nine pounds. The other alternative, the operator informed him, was that he could upgrade to one return ticket at Standard Premium rates by paying an extra forty pounds. This would give him much more comfort, free WiFi and a three-course meal on each leg of the journey. Rawden elected to pay the additional forty pounds.

Shall I charge that to the same credit card you nominated before, Sir?

Yes, thank you. Then Rawden had an impulsive thought. Why not take Friday off work and have an extra day in Paris. He asked:

I wonder if I could bring that booking forward to Friday the 27th at the same time?

I will check the availability, Sir. Yes there are a few seats left. Shall I book one for you?

Yes, please.

All confirmed, Sir.  The train leaves St. Pancras International at 9:22 a.m. on Friday 27th November.  Thank you for booking Eurostar.

The operator clicked off and Rawden thought ‘what the heck?’ I can at least travel in a degree of comfort and not all the money will be lost. He pocketed his phone and then doodled on his sketch block and tried to draw a representation of his childhood rocking horse from memory.

Chapter 2:

Please remember to dress properly for dinner, darling.

Walter Levinson always left the office between 3:30 and 4:00 p.m. His usual destination was a quiet tavern bar where he would sit and drink neat double malt whiskey. Rawden Phillips waited until he was sure his mentor was not going to return for the day and then he too decided to slip quietly away. Rawden caught the train on the Bakerloo Line and got off at Maida Vale station. From there it was just a walk of about a tenth of a mile, across the A5 and he was back at the family home in Maida Vale.

The house was an extremely impressive substantial six-bedroom family home arranged over four floors. The property had been well maintained and had flexible accommodation and superb entertaining spaces. It was situated behind a private high wall and gated driveway providing off street parking for a number of cars. To the rear was a stunning landscaped garden with a large outdoor heated swimming pool enclosed in a stylish white-framed glass Conservatory.

As he walked through the gates and up the drive Rawden didn’t think about any of these things. He just took his privileged lifestyle for granted and as long as he always got what he wanted he didn’t have to bother with details. He used his key to open the front door and immediately heard his mother’s voice calling to him from the drawing room that was at the right of the entrance hall.

Is that you, Rawden?

Yes, Charlotte, it is I.

Please remember to dress properly for dinner, darling. We have guests. The meal will be served at 8:00 p.m.

Wearily, Rawden acknowledged his mother’s instructions. He loathed her formal dinner parties and it would mean most of the evening would be wasted. Still that was the price he paid for still living at home. He climbed the stairs to the third floor and went into his bedroom where he flopped on to his queen-sized bed. He wondered how he would fill in the hours between now and dinner? A lengthy and luxurious bath was what he wanted most, but for the moment he couldn’t even summon the motivation and energy to get off the bed, so he just drifted and let himself dream about the curious plans he had formulated for the future.

Then Rawden made a decision. He felt like going for a swim. Even though it was November, in the late autumn, the heated pool, in the Conservatory’s glass enclosure, would be at a good temperature, the afternoon was still quite mild and he felt he could escape the events of the day under the water. With renewed energy he sprang into action. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks and when his bare feet felt the carpet uninhibited, he already felt better. Then he stripped off his work clothes and distributed them into the washing basket and hanging spaces. When he stood in only his upmarket underwear he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirrors on the front of the built in wardrobes. Rawden paused and admired himself.

At twenty-two he had an attractive body, which was lithe and wiry, but there was not strong muscular development. If he spent time at a gymnasium he could probably build himself up, but that would change his body shape and he needed it just the way it was. His hair had darkened a little from his childish blonde and he thought it was just about the right length covering half his ears and drifting down the nape of his neck. He wore no product in his hair and if he tossed his head to one side the hair would behave appropriately. He liked his blue green eyes as they stared back at him from the mirror and his lips were a gentle pink and inviting.

Rawden decided not to peel off his underwear in front of the mirror, he already knew, in detail, what he would see if he did that, so he went to the highboy and pulled out the third draw, which contained his collection of designer swimwear. He selected a pair of royal blue racing bathers and slipped out of his underwear and into the togs. Then he checked himself again in front of the mirror before he collected a large bath sheet from the en-suite bathroom.

Barefoot he took the back stairs to the second floor and then left the house via the outside metal staircase. He felt the manicured grass under his feet and anticipated the glass enclosure door would be unlocked, which it was and he was soon poolside. He didn’t even bother to check the water temperature he just dropped the bath sheet and dived neatly into the deep end of the pool. Initially the water was cold and it chilled, but it also refreshed him and he did a couple of well-measured strokes before rolling lazily onto his back. He had always enjoyed this pool. He imagined that floating almost weightless in the salt water was probably like flying. Then he duck-dived and entered the silent and comforting world at the bottom of the pool. He loved it here. A few breaststrokes underwater and he would surface at the little ledge at the deep end where he liked to rest his elbows with his back to the pool wall and survey the landscaped garden, through the glass, from below ground level. He was completely at ease and his mind floated just as his body did. A considerable amount of time passed unmeasured. Once more he duck-dived and was enjoying the peace and tranquillity at the bottom of the pool when something or someone ‘bombed’ their way into his personal space. He surfaced quickly and flicked his damp hair out of his eyes and looked to focus on who had disturbed him.

Hi, Rawdy, sorry about the unannounced arrival, but you looked far too peaceful.

It was Joss, Rawden’s younger brother by a matter of over five years. Physically he was almost a Rawden clone, but his hair was still quite blonde and was worn in a schoolboy’s style. Joss stroked across the pool to his brother who greeted him with:

What the hell are you doing here, Joss?

Charlotte wrote to ‘the Hawk’ and got me two days leave to come home for tonight’s dinner and stay over the weekend.

She never did that for me.

No, but you are not her ‘baby boy’, Rawdy.

No.

How’s the internship?

As boring as bat shit. How is ‘Harrow on the Hill’?

Working hard as always. I got a part in the Shakespeare.

Oh yeah, what are they doing this year?

Twelfth Night.

Nice. Let me guess. You are cross-dressing as the twins Viola and Sebastian.

Not quite! I am afraid I have broken the family tradition. I got given Malvolio.

Well done! It’s a plum role.

I am a bit disappointed. I wanted to follow in the footsteps of my talented big brother.

Ah, memories! My Rosalind and Ganymede.

It was memorable, Rawdy. You had all the attributes to pull it off.

Some people thought too well.

They were just jealous, Rawdy. Little else. Gee this water is not as warm as it could be.

Late afternoon, Joss, it cools quickly if it isn’t covered. Who’s coming tonight anyway?

Rebecca and the ‘wonder boy’ and a couple from Boston, I think it is a business thing.

Oh, that should be fun.

You have got to be kidding.

With that Rawden stroked to the stairs at the shallow end and walked out of the pool. His younger brother briefly caught sight of him in his racing bathers as he dripped his way to pick up his bath sheet. Joss thought that Rawden looked like a young Greek God might have looked. Then he dismissed the thought as he dismissed most of his classical studies course. Rawden picked up the sheet and towelled himself off and then wrapped it around his waist.

Well a long and languorous bath awaits. I will see you at dinner. He turned to go and then turned back and asked:

Did Charlotte indicate what the dress code was for tonight?

Jacket and slacks, with a tie. It is her version of informal.

Thanks.

This time Rawden did turn on his heel and go, disappearing through the door of the glass enclosure. Joss felt the chill of the pool and thought Rawden’s idea of a long hot bath would not suit him. Unlike the boarding house he could take a hot shower, in private and have the space and time for a little self-indulgence that he was denied at school. He got out of the pool and having not thought to bring a towel jogged across the lawn to keep warm and followed his brother up the outside stairs back into the house.

As he had visualised it, Rawden luxuriated in the bath for nearly half an hour. Initially he filled the classically styled tub almost to capacity and then he lowered himself in and played with a range of bath salts and oils. Then he sponged each of his limbs fantasising that some serving wench or other was performing the task. Finally, he simply slipped below the surface and held his breath for as long as he could concentrating on the minute sounds of his body and listening to the of lack of noise around him. When he felt completely relaxed he lifted himself out of the bath and took a long time to pat himself dry.

Selecting clothes for the dinner party was an easy task. The cupboards were full and all his clean underwear was neatly folded in the top draw of the highboy. Rawden decided, in his own mind, that he would present as a sophisticated young man from the City and selected a dark suit and pale blue shirt. The tie was problematical, but eventually he settled on a yellow power tie with matching pocket-handkerchief. He imagined Joss would wear grey slacks and a sporting jacket. Joss might even wear his Harrow tie. He sometimes did that. Rawden wouldn’t be seen dead in any tie that associated him with his former alma mater. He wondered if his father might dress formally for dinner or just wear a lounge suit? He would soon know. His bedroom clock had ticked past 7:00 p.m. and it was time to go down and see what pre-dinner drinks were on offer. The quality of the drinks would give an indication of the quality of the company that was being expected.

Rawden walked into the drawing room at the front of the house and was not surprised by the elegant eveningwear his mother had chosen. Joss was lounging on the sofa dressed exactly as he had predicted even down to the Harrow tie and his father, dressed in a light grey suit was pouring drinks at the side table that served as a bar on such occasions. Rawden heard the caterers clattering in the kitchen and one of their number, dressed in the classic black and white serving maid outfit and floating like a ‘butterfly’ was putting final touches to the napery on the dinner table. Rawden imagined she was a university student supplementing her meagre allowance by working nights for a catering company. Thank God he had never been forced into such tedium. His mother noticed the trouble he had taken with his attire. She should not have been surprised:

Oh, Rawden how smart you look.

Thank you, Charlotte, but your gown outshines us all. Is it new?

Perceptive as always, darling.

His father turned and asked in a matter of fact manner: Drink, Rawden?

What is everyone else having?

Well Joss has requested pale ale and I am drinking whiskey, but your mother has asked me to open a bottle of champagne.

"Well I