Consequences: JACK TURNER SERIES, #1

By Sam Boyd

This is a modern-day story of unrequited love, lies and betrayal where honour and duty are words, not actions, and the consequences of these decisions, lead to a tragic ending.
From humble beginnings, Jack Turner is introduced into high society by his best friend, Rupert Winstanley. Into a network of the wealthy and the upper classes, who play by their own rules. A private club where emotions are kept under control or disguised and, a stiff upper lip is obligatory.
From a camaraderie that begins at an exclusive private school and survives attending rival universities, Jack and Rupert's friendship endures. That is until Anne Peters a high society beauty comes between them.  From then on, the decisions the three of them make affects them for the rest of their lives. Could different choices, have changed their destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Boyd
• Release date: Jul 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9780989215299

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

IT WAS EARLY EVENING; I was emotionally and physically exhausted. Taking off my Jacket, I slung it over the backrest of a chair, as I passed through the dining room. A dull metallic thud caught my attention, as something struck the chairs wooden leg. It was the cell phone in the side pocket. The car and house keys were in there too.  There was no damage done to the mobile or the chair. Walking through to the lounge, I dropped everything into the drawer of the table at the side of my favourite armchair. They were no longer needed today.

I was in desperate need of comfort after the events of this terrible day. Funerals, Graveyards and Crematoriums, are not places to be at the best of times. I know because, in my line of work, I’ve been to many. I’m a politician. A member of parliament elected to the lower House of Commons and later, after elevation to the peerage, the upper House of Lords. Shaking hands, kissing babies, attending funerals and social events, all done to gain voter approval.  Most of it unreal, unfeeling and disingenuous. A much-practised art, to suit every occasion, and facial expression for the event, that disappears the moment we are out of the public eye.  It had taken me some time to understand and learn how to play each role as the actions required for the parts didn’t come naturally to me.  The agent on my first campaign trail taught me the look necessary for every occasion.  She made me stand in front of the mirror and practise for hours until the appropriate expression and pose, could be repeated when required on command.

Today, I had not been playing a bit part in the tragedy of life. I didn’t need to strike a pose or wear a mask of desolation and despair. Today was real and personal. A pain so deep inside me, I couldn’t think or breathe. A hurt that affected every nerve in my body the likes of which I’d never felt before.  My heart beating so fast it ached, and my mind so muddled it screamed in my ears. My reason for living destroyed and taken from me. A dagger is piercing my eyes and entering deep into my soul, as a reminder that my decisions and actions, had been the cause of today.

The bitterly cold late November day, heaped further misery onto an already depressive one. Freezing into my bones the certainty that I would never see or speak again to the woman I’d loved from the moment we first met. Each word spoken in remembrance of her slammed into my head and intensified the feelings of guilt, deceit, weakness and betrayal.

Unlocking the drinks cabinet, I grasped a full bottle of twelve-year-old Glenlivet malt whisky, picked up a cut-glass tumbler and set them on the small table at the side of my favourite armchair. My intention clear; I was going to drown my sorrows in alcohol. Sinking deep into the cushion, I stared at the fiercely burning log fire.  The large chair's arms were enveloping me and making me feel secure. The day had been a long and emotional one. I needed the support of this chair. It was an old friend and had comforted me through many a crisis in the past.

I’d watched the only woman I’d ever loved buried alongside her husband. I felt I’d killed them both. Sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance brought back many memories of Anne. Memories that were overwhelming and crushing me. It felt like my heart was being gripped firmly in a vice. My head thumping to the drumbeat of words I should have said and actions I should have taken.  Emotions I had kept locked deep inside were now surfing on the waves of guilt coursing through my body. Through it all came the understanding that events and actions I started and left unfinished were the cause of this sad day. What had happened would have been avoided if I had acted differently. I had set-in-place the chain of events that led inevitably to this miserable day.  I was responsible, and everyone at the funeral knew it.  In a deep black hole of self-pity, remorse and personal grief, I finally succumbed to the truth. I was the cause of Anne’s death. I had killed the woman I loved, the woman I should have taken care of and protected.

There were so many times I could have handled events differently. Each circumstance and occasion were now flashing through my mind at the speed of light. Every single one is accusing me of disgrace, betrayal and murder as it went hurtling past. At the end of this miserable day, I was facing the stark reality that I would never have the opportunity to rectify what had happened.  Even now, consumed with guilt and remorse, I was letting my best friend, Rupert, Anne’s husband, take all the blame. The green bile of self-hate, disgust and alcohol hitting the back of my throat at the admission and understanding of what I had done.

I could no longer let Rupert defend himself as they buried him next to his mother Margaret, and alongside Anne.  Throughout the day, I had kept quiet, and not had the common decency to admit, even in death, at their funeral, that it was all my fault.  As I stared into the flames, I knew one thing for sure, that Anne and Rupert, would never know how I honestly felt. Words I should have said that would have changed the direction of all our lives could never be shared.

A flash of lightning shook me out of my thoughts and lit up the darkened room. It was followed immediately by a massive crash of thunder that made the short hairs on the back of my neck rise.  The house trembled and groaned 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 agree that I was responsible for this tragic day.

I reached for the bottle of Glenlivet whiskey and topped up my glass.  I opened it a couple of hours earlier, and now it was half empty. I wondered why I thought the bottle half empty and not half full. Maybe it was the negative mood I was in; I didn’t know. At least the alcohol had the desired effect.  Slowing down my reactions and thoughts and numbing the pain. My mind drifting again and wondering why I’d let things get this far. The insecurities of the past floated into my head. They were reminding me of the poor choices I had made and the ones I should have taken had I been as mature then, as I am now.

No longer shackled and introverted as plain Jack Turner from a poor working-class family, or desperate to cross the perceived divisions of the working class, privilege, poverty and wealth. I was a man who believed in himself, and that duty should be carried out with honour, freed from the shackles of poverty as Lord Turner of Evesham. Friend of prime ministers and members of the royal family. A Peer respected for his beliefs and opinions, and whose counsel was sought by many.  In my current depressed and alcoholic state, I knew I had compromised these beliefs. I’d been brought up to believe it was better to hide one’s true feelings; to keep a stiff upper lip as we British say, to be honourable and selfless at all times. Even if, in carrying out one’s duty, meant putting oneself at a disadvantage and forsaking personal happiness. What I had done had betrayed everything I had held close and respected. The decision and actions I took were out of fear and cowardice, and I knew it. I may have fooled everyone else at the time, but the truth was coming home, to rest on the shoulders of the one person responsible.

I took another large swig of whiskey, trying to make sense of it and to find some justification for all that had happened. In a drunken state of self-pity and remorse, I heard the muffled sound of my cell phone ringing in the drawer at my side 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 and Lady Margaret Winstanley the owners of Pennington Hall Estate. The magnificent country house surrounded by one thousand acres of prime Cotswold land. Rupert was the only child and heir to the property. On the death of his father, he would take the hereditary knighthood bequeathed to the eldest son of every Winstanley since 1843. A one hundred and fifty-year-old legacy.  The family-owned International trading company engaged in shipping, marine engineering, distribution and finance. Rupert’s father was Chairman and Chief Executive, and he would inherit the majority of his father’s shares on his death. The Winstanley family of Sir Jonathan, his wife Margaret, his brother Peter, and sister Kiera, were the only shareholders in the business. Rupert would follow in the footsteps of every Winstanley’s eldest son and enter into the family business after university. Rupert knew his future from early in life and what that meant. He took the responsibility seriously but at the same time assured me 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 as I recalled some of the mischiefs.

Those were the happiest days of my life. I thought.

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 challenging times. Especially so, when on more than one occasion it looked like one of us could be in serious trouble with our housemaster.  Separated for the first time when we went to rival universities, in spirit, we were always together, no matter what happened, until that fateful day just a week ago. That day changed everything, and I was the person responsible.

Rupert and I met Anne Peters at the same time. It was at the Annual Cotswold Hunt Ball about five months before we went up to university. That’s where it began for all of us. I was a guest of Rupert’s at the Hunt Ball and sat at the Winstanley table. Anne was a friend of Rupert’s latest squeeze, Penelope Redfearn. Penny was another member of the Cotswold county set and much admired by the Winstanley family. It was no secret that the Winstanley’s and the Redfearn’s hoped one day Penelope and Rupert would marry. 

Frederick Redfearn was a gentleman farmer and breeder of prize Aberdeen Angus cattle, on a six-hundred-acre farmstead only sixteen miles from the Pennington Hall Estate. His wife, Marion, a local magistrate of the County Court was a prominent member of the Conservative party. Penelope their only child, and according to local chatter, was 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 their farm.  Penelope was five foot five and always wore high heeled shoes that made her appear taller.  Even so, she still small when alongside Rupert, who as a senior in high school, stood some six foot three inches and towered over her.  Penelope had beautiful, long black hair, but, in my opinion, her best features were her liquid black eyes. Whenever Penelope looked at me, the intensity in them would disarm and overwhelm me. I remember always having this feeling of being inadequate whenever we met. On the night of the Hunt Ball, Penelope was particularly gracious towards me.  She introduced me to Anne, as Rupert’s best friend from King James; the exclusive, all-boys, private prep school, from which we would soon both be graduating.  It was Penny who 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 at 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 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, when 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 the cover of Vogue magazine. Anne had auburn hair cut short in the style of Audrey Hepburn and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They were brown coloured with flecks of green in them. When Anne looked at me and smiled, I was captivated and compelled to give up my innermost secrets or anything else she asked me, for that matter. Although we were from the same village, Anne lived in one of the large mansions at the top of the hill. She was the youngest of the three Peters children.  With two brothers, three and five years older than her. Anne’s father was the director of a multi-national financial institution, a racehorse owner and chairman of the local cricket club. I had not met Anne before that evening. It was because even though we were the same age, I was at the local King James School and she a boarder at Malvern Girls School, some thirty miles away. I knew of her brothers, but not well and had only seen them on a few occasions. They were also pupils at King James School. I could not remember ever seeing her brothers outside of term time. It was almost like living in two separate villages.

During the school holidays, I tended to maintain contact with the boys and girls from the village school I attended before going to King James. I always had this feeling they were more in keeping with my background. 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 way of life, opposite to that of Anne’s. To provide a home and a lifestyle for someone like her was far beyond my reach and wildest dreams. All of these thoughts were racing through my head as I recalled trying to make the most of my good fortune that summer evening, so many years ago. Sitting in front of the fire, in a drunken, trance-like state, tightly holding the glass of whiskey, the feelings of guilt and responsibility were overwhelming and drowning me. A voice in the far recess of my head spoke to me; 

"Jack, why do you think you are to blame for what has happened."

It was Anne, and I knew I was the one to be buried today.

CHAPTER

THREE

I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN uneasy, maybe a little shy around women. 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’ ability to make small talk. The evening seemed to fly by at supersonic speed. We danced, drank champagne and told each other about our dreams, and ambitions for the future.

Anne hadn’t decided what she wanted to do and was still contemplating what her future.  She hadn’t made a final decision. Her options were straightforward; go to university and study computer sciences or go into full-time employment. Anne knew from her housemistress that the Institute of Science and Technology in Manchester would be the right university if she chose that route. Or she could apply for a position at one of the top four Accountancy firms. Anne thought she could join one of them as a trainee, straight from Malvern college. 

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 selected our university and courses.

I had long ago decided I was going to study law at Oxford providing my grades were good enough. Rupert was following family tradition, with little choice but to apply 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 on a chair to explain the rules to everyone.

The object of the game gentlemen is for you to be the horses and to carry your ladies on your backs. You are to proceed as fast as you can, anti-clockwise around the circular course that Penny 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 over there. He said, pointing at the two ends of the dance floor.  You will, by now, have noticed there are ten fences to clear in all. 

Then to hoots of laughter added,

Well, those of you sober enough to count to ten. You are to run around 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 Penny lets show them how to do it!

Without a second 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 voice as she urged Rupert to charge around the course like a madman.

I looked at Anne to see what she wanted to do. There was no way I was allowing Rupert to go unchallenged.

Don’t even think about it, She said. I am not taking part in these silly games. Let the hunting set have their fun.

I was a little disappointed as I’d tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Anne’s legs wrapped around me. I recall there were some substantial bets placed on who would be the overall winner. Given the amount of alcohol consumed, it seemed to me inevitable that someone would get hurt. There were quite a few of the participants not beyond sticking out a leg as one of their fellow competitors went racing past. The unfortunate couple would come crashing to the floor much to the delight and howls of unrestrained laughter from everyone watching. It was during one of these moments when convulsive laughter had taken everyone’s attention that I asked