Consequences

By Sam Boyd

Jack Turner is born into reduced circumstances. Then he meets Rupert the only son of the wealthy Winstanley family. A lifelong friendship develops. But words like honour, duty, truth and respect appear to have different meanings to Rupert than they do Jack. Is this because of their backgrounds? Or do kids from low-income families think differently to those born into wealth and security? Perhaps they do?
When the beautiful and affluent, Anne Peters enters Jack’s life, he comes to comprehend and feel what those words really mean to him. That understanding changes the relationship between Jack, Rupert and Anne forever. Each of them hiding behind veils of suppressed emotions and deceit. Over the following years they meet as friends without ever showing their true feelings until it is too late. When the truth is finally revealed it has devastating consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Boyd
• Release date: Sep 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9780989215299

Sam Boyd

Writing has always been Sam's ambition. He has spent most of his life in consulting, helping others achieve their dreams. He now lives in Thailand with his beautiful partner, and they spend their time travelling and fulfilling their dreams. Sam, through his work, has been to many countries. He writes about people he has met and the lives they live or would like to live. He has seen firsthand the underworld of some of the major cities of the world and witnessed the hardship and poverty that exists in some countries. Many of the events he writes about have happened in real life. He uses these experiences as background to his stories. Visit Sam on his website; samboyd author.com. He would appreciate knowing how you liked his book so please leave him a review on line.

Book preview

Chapter One

Funerals, graveyards and crematoriums are never good places to be during the best of times. I’ve been to many in my life but today had been by far the most difficult for me. I’d said a final farewell to Anne Peters, the woman I’d loved from the moment we first met, the woman I’d killed as if I’d done it with my own hands.

It was late November and a bitterly cold day, which just heaped further misery onto an already depressive one. Although early evening, I was feeling mentally and physically exhausted. I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of my armchair. Removing the car keys and mobile phone from my pockets, I placed them in the drawer of the small table at the side of me. I didn’t need them anymore.

I went to the drinks cabinet and took out a full bottle of twelve-year-old Glenlivet malt whisky, picked up a cut glass tumbler and put them on the small table. I was settling in for the evening.

Slumping into my favourite comfortable armchair I sat in front of a fiercely burning log fire. I sunk deep into the chair’s cushion, its large arms enveloping me. The day had been a long and emotional one. This chair had seen me through many a crisis in the past.

Sitting in front of the warm fire, watching the flames flicker and dance brought back many memories of Anne. Memories that were overwhelming and crushing me. My heart felt like it was being gripped in a vice. My head thumping to the drumbeat of words I should have said and actions I should have taken.

Feelings I had kept locked deep inside were surfing on the waves of adrenalin coursing through my body. Through it all came the realisation that the actions I had started and left unfinished had been responsible for the tragedy of this day. Could what had taken place have been avoided if I had acted differently? Was it me that set in place a chain of events that inevitably led to this miserable day? Was I the one person responsible for what had happened?

In a well of personal grief I finally admitted to the truth. I had been the cause of her death. I had killed the woman I loved. The woman I should have taken care of and protected.

The times I could have handled things entirely differently were now becoming my accusers. At the end of this wretched day I faced the stark reality that I would never have the opportunity to rectify what had happened. Even now, consumed with feelings of guilt and remorse, I was still letting my best friend take the blame, even though I had just witnessed his burial, alongside Anne and his mother.

As I sat staring into the flames, I knew for certain that Anne and my best friend, Rupert, would never know how I truly felt. Words I could and should have said that would have changed the direction of all our lives, could now never be shared.

A bright flash of lightening startled me as it lit up the room, followed immediately by a huge crash of thunder that made the short hairs on the back of my neck rise as the house trembled from the after-shock. There was a big storm building over the nearby Malvern Hills. The weather, as dark and dismal as my mood, seemed to be in agreement that I was entirely responsible for this tragic day.

I picked up the now half-empty bottle of Glenlivet whiskey I’d freshly opened a couple of hours ago and re-filled my glass. My senses were slowing as the alcohol took effect, and I wondered how I’d let everything get this far.

I was no longer plain Jack Turner from a poor working class family; I was Lord Turner of Evesham and Worcestershire, friend to prime ministers and members of the royal family alike. A Peer respected throughout the country for my beliefs and opinions and whose counsel was sought by many.

I was a man who had been desperate to cross the perceived divisions of working class and privilege, poverty and wealth. But always with the basic premise that duty should be carried out with honour. Now in my current depressed and alcoholic state, I wondered if I had compromised these beliefs. I’d been brought up to believe that it was better to hide your true feelings, to keep a stiff upper lip as we British say, and to be honourable and selfless at all times. Even if, in carrying out these actions, it meant putting oneself at a disadvantage and sabotaging any personal happiness. I took another large swig of my whiskey and tried to make sense of all that had happened.

In a soporific almost drunken state of self-pity and remorse I heard the telephone in the drawer ring and wondered who the hell was calling me at this time of night and on this of all days.

Chapter Two

Rupert was the son of Sir Jonathan Winstanley who was the owner of Pennington Hall and the one thousand acres of prime Cotswold land that surround it. He was their only child and heir. On the death of his father, Rupert would take the hereditary knighthood that had been handed down to the eldest son of every generation of Winstanley’s since 1843—a one hundred and fifty year old legacy—along with the ownership of the Pennington Hall Estate and the majority of his father’s shares in the family business.

The Winstanley family owned a large International trading company that engaged in shipping, marine engineering, distribution and finance. Rupert’s father was the Chairman and Chief Executive Officer. All the shares in the Company were held by the Winstanley family.

Sir Jonathan, his wife Margaret, Sir Jonathan’s brother, Peter and sister, Kiera, were the sole owners and shareholders of the business.

It was expected that Rupert would go into the family business after University and follow in the footsteps of every Winstanley before him.

When Rupert was just a young man, he knew his future was pre-planned and what was expected of him, but he had vowed to me that he would make the most of the freedom he possessed until that day came.

Staring into the flames of the fire, trying to make peace with myself, I smiled for the first time that day as I thought, Those were the happiest days of my life.

Rupert was my best friend. We had come through prep school together, albeit from entirely different backgrounds. We had supported each other through good and sometimes difficult times. This was especially so when on more than one occasion, it looked like one of us could be in serious trouble with our housemasters.

Separated for the first time when we went to rival universities, in spirit we had always been together no matter what happened, until that fateful day just a week ago. That day changed everything, and I was to blame.

Rupert and I had been introduced to Anne Peters at the same time. I remember clearly, it was at the Annual Cotswold Hunt Ball about five months before Rupert and I went up to University. That’s where it began for all of us.

I had been a guest of Rupert’s at the Hunt Ball and sat at the Winstanley table. Anne Peters was a friend of Rupert’s latest squeeze, Penelope Redfearn. Penelope was another member of the Cotswold county set and was much admired by the Winstanley family. It was an open secret that both the Winstanley’s and the Redfearn’s hoped that one day Penelope and Rupert would marry.

Frederick Redfearn, a gentleman farmer and breeder of prize Aberdeen Angus cattle, had a six-hundred acre farmstead only sixteen miles from Pennington Hall. His wife, Marion, was a local magistrate of the county court and a prominent member of the Conservative party.

Penelope was their only child and, according to local chatter, the perfect match for Rupert. Their close relationship was openly encouraged by both families, in particular the Redfearn’s, who, without a son and heir, saw the union as security for the future of the farm.

Penelope was about five foot five and always wore very high-heeled shoes to increase her height. Even so, she still appeared small when alongside Rupert, who as a senior in high school, stood some six foot three inches. She had beautiful, long black hair. However, her best features were her liquid black eyes. Whenever Penelope looked at me, their intensity would disarm and overwhelm me.

I remember always feeling extremely inadequate whenever we met. On that night Penelope had been particularly gracious towards me and introduced me, as Rupert’s best friend from King James School—the exclusive, all-boys, private prep school we would soon both be graduating from.

She suggested I sit next to Anne during dinner so that the four of us could get to know each other better. As usual, Rupert, being the perfect gentleman, rearranged the seating so that we could all be together. Although I didn’t think about it at the time, it also enabled him to sit on the other side of Anne.

It was in that moment, as I looked at Anne, that I fell hopelessly in love with her. She was not only beautiful from the outside but had this inner confidence, kindness, wit and charm that just drew me towards her. That night she was resplendent in a long strapless turquoise evening dress that hugged her figure perfectly. My heart was beating so fast and hard I felt sure she would hear it.

At five foot nine in high heels, Anne was a little taller than me. With her stunning good looks and perfect figure, she would not have been out of place on the runway of a Paris fashion show or on the cover of Vogue magazine. She had auburn hair that was cut short in the style of Audrey Hepburn and had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, hazel coloured with flecks of green. When she looked at me and smiled, I was hypnotised and impelled to give up all my innermost secrets.

Although we were from the same village, Anne lived in one of the large mansions at the top of the hill on which the village was situated. She was the youngest of the three Peters children, her two brothers were three and five years older. Her father, the director of a multi-national financial institution, was also a racehorse owner and chairman of the local cricket club.

I had never met Anne before that evening. This was mainly due to the fact that even though we were the same age, I was away at King James School and she was a boarder at Malvern Girls School. I knew of her brothers, but not well and had only seen them on a few occasions. They were also at King James School, but I could not remember ever seeing them outside of school time. It was almost like living in two separate villages.

During the school holidays I kept in touch with the boys and girls from the village school I attended before going to King James. I always had this feeling that they were more in keeping with the background I had come from. You can take the boy out of a poor environment, but you can’t take the poor environment out of the boy.

King James had given me the social skills to interact with anyone. But in my thoughts at that time was the question; How is someone like me, from the lower end of the village, ever going to attract a girl as beautiful as Anne?

We were from entirely different social backgrounds. My lifestyle was completely opposite to the one she had been accustomed to. To provide a home and a lifestyle for someone like her was far beyond my reach and wildest dreams. All of these thoughts were running through my head as I recalled trying to make the most of my good fortune that evening, so many years ago.

As I sat in front of the fire, in a trance like state, the feelings of guilt I had been experiencing throughout the day came back to me once more. This time even stronger.

A voice in the far recess of my head spoke to me, Jack, why do you think you are responsible for what has happened?

It was Anne talking to me, and in that moment, I wished I was the one who had been killed and buried this day.

Chapter Three

I have always been uneasy, maybe a little shy around the ladies. But on the night of the Hunt Ball, in the heart of the beautiful Cotswold countryside, I was not restrained by my usual inhibitions. The reason for this could only be put down to Anne Peters’ great ability to make small talk on subjects I knew something about, and if I didn’t know anything about the topic at hand, I pretended I did. The evening just seemed to fly by. We danced, drank champagne and told each other about ourselves and our dreams and ambitions for the future.

Anne was deciding whether to go to University or straight into full-time employment. She hadn’t made a final decision on what she was going to do. She could go to University and study computer sciences. Anne understood from her housemistress at Malvern that the Institute of Science and Technology in Manchester might be a good choice for her.

Or she could apply for a place with one of the top four Accountancy firms. She thought she would be able to join one of them as a trainee straight from Malvern.

Penelope had already made up her mind. She was going to work in the financial district in the city of London.

Rupert and I were in our final year at King James School and had already selected our university and courses.

I had long ago decided I was going to study law at Oxford, provided my grades were good enough. Rupert, following family tradition, had little choice and applied for Cambridge.

Enough of this idle chatter Rupert shouted. I think we need to organise a chase. It is the Hunt Ball, after all.

With that Rupert jumped up, grasped Penelope’s hand and together they hastily constructed an obstacle course consisting of chairs, benches and small tables arranged in a manner that would have done show jumping at Hickstead proud.

Once completed, Rupert stood up on a chair to explain the rules to everyone.

The object of the game, gentlemen, is for you to be the horses and carry your ladies on your backs. You are to proceed as fast as you can, anti-clockwise around the circular course that Pen and I have laid out. The starting point is the small chairs at the end of the dance floor and the finishing line is at the cross benches. You will, by now, have noticed there are ten fences to clear in all. Then to hoots of laughter he added, Well those of you sober enough will have counted ten. You are to run round the course jumping all the obstacles, keeping your lady riders on your backs at all times. There will be time faults awarded for every obstacle knocked over, and the winner will be the couple who complete the course in the fastest time with the least number of time faults.

With that Rupert jumped down and bent over to expose his back to Penelope. Hop on, Pen. Let’s show them how it’s done!

Without a seconds thought, Penelope hoisted up her long gown and jumped on Rupert’s back. Straddled across her tuxedoed horse, Penelope was shrieking and screaming at the top of her lungs as she urged Rupert to charge round the course like a madman.

I recalled there were some substantial bets being placed as to who would be the overall winner.

Given the amount of alcohol that had been consumed, it seemed inevitable that someone would get hurt. There were also quite a few participants who were not beyond sticking out a leg as one of their fellow competitors went racing by. The unfortunate couple would then come crashing to the floor much to the delight and howls of unrestrained laughter from those watching.

It was during one of these moments when convulsive laughter had taken everyone’s attention that I suggested to Anne, Would you like a little fresh air?

Outside it was the most beautiful late spring night. I cannot remember the exact time but it was well after midnight. The sky was crystal clear and it was almost daylight with a full moon glowing directly overhead.

The Ball was held at the Arlington Hotel, which is set in three acres of formal gardens and grounds and had been planted with many species of trees.

We sat down on a wooden bench under a large old beech tree. For the time of year the evening was not cold, but Anne had only a flimsy shawl to wrap around her bare shoulders. I offered her my jacket, but she said Just put your arm around me and I will be fine.

The smell of her hair and the softness of her skin were just as intoxicating as the champagne I had been drinking. I could have stayed there forever and it would not have been long enough. I don’t remember how long we sat there, but I was stirred from this sublime dream-like state by the sound of Rupert shouting our names. I called back and we met him and Penelope on the front steps of the hotel where they stood holding our overcoats.

We have been looking everywhere for you, Rupert said. It was Penelope who suggested you might have gone out for a walk in the gardens.

Sorry to have shouted so loud, Rupert said, looking at Anne as he said it.

We had both been invited to stay overnight at Pennington Hall. Rupert had arranged for one of the staff from the estate to pick us up from the Arlington Hotel. Sir Jonathan and Lady Margaret and their guests had already left.

When we arrived back at Pennington, Lady Margaret and the wives of Sir Jonathan’s guests had retired to bed. The men were in the library, smoking cigars and drinking brandy. Come in and join us for a snifter, Sir Jonathan suggested, but Rupert declined.

Thank you, Father, but we have drunk enough and our ladies are tired and ready for bed. If you don’t mind, sir, I will show my guests to their rooms.

I didn’t want the night to end. I wanted to stay and wrap my arms around Anne’s shoulders and leave them there forever. But Rupert was the host, and with a heavy heart I thanked Sir Jonathan for a wonderful evening and bade him and his guests good night.

Rupert showed me to my bedroom first. Before entering I watched as they went down the long hallway. Rupert had his arms around both