Box Set Of Three Books A Jack Turner Series

By Sam Boyd

All three Jack Turner series novels come in this compendium set of books.Follow Jacks life from schoolboy through to becoming rich and famous. His life his loves his hopes his dreams are all laid bare.The complete set of Jack Turner books trace his life from attending a prestigious private school to becoming a Peer, the repercussions of helping a Baroness through to missing a link from his past that almost gets him killed. Excitement, mystery, thrilling content and adventure all the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Boyd
• Release date: Aug 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370986033

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

Box Set

Book One - Consequences

Book Two - Repercussions

Book Three - Revenge

The Complete Jack Turner Series

Sam Boyd

Consequences

By

Sam Boyd

A Jack Turner Novel

PUBLISHING INFORMATION

Copyright © 2016 by Sam Boyd.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses. The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Where the author uses real names, events and places the circumstances under which they were mentioned are also a product of his imagination to add authenticity to his work. Any resemblance to real-life actions or events is purely coincidental.

'Author's note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.'

This book is dedicated to my

Partner, Pitsinee.

She is my inspiration and without

Her love and support, I am only a

Shell of a man

I love you babe

CONTENTS

Book 1 Consequences

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other books by the Author

CONTENTS

Book 2 Repercussions

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other books by the Author

CONTENTS

Book 3 Revenge

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other books by the Author

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 practice 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 showjumping 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 Anne;

Would you like a little fresh air?

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

The Ball is at the Arlington Hotel and set in three acres of formal gardens and grounds planted with many different 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 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 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 Rupert shouting our names. I called back, and we met him and Penelope on the front steps of the hotel, where they were holding our overcoats.

We’ve been looking everywhere for you. It was Penelope who suggested you might have gone for a walk in the gardens. Sorry to have shouted so loud, Rupert said, looking at Anne.

We had been invited to stay overnight at Pennington Hall. Rupert arranged for one of the employees from the estate to pick us up from the Hotel. Sir Jonathan, 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. 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 memorable evening and bade him and his guests’ goodnight. Rupert showed me to my bedroom first. Before entering, I watched as Rupert walked down the long hallway, in between Penelope and Anne them, with his arms around their waists.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Pennington Hall is a magnificent country house that has been in the Winstanley family for over a hundred and twenty years. The Hall is built in Jacobean style using Cotswold stone and has three floors. The ground floor has a large reception hall and seven additional rooms consisting of a smoking lounge, library, formal lounge, dining room, breakfast room, snooker room and kitchen. Attached to the side of the ground floor, a utility and boot room.

Above on the first floor are ten main bedrooms, all en-suite with magnificent views over the estate. The second floor has a further five bedrooms and three bathrooms, together with a games room and a separate wing for the staff.

The grounds of the main house consist of a swimming pool, tennis court, flood-lit riding school and a practice polo ground. The coach house, set a little way from the main building, has three bedrooms and is occupied by the stud-groom/chauffeur Lionel, his wife and two children. It is close to the stables for the twenty thoroughbred horses under his care.

My bedroom was on the first floor and more substantial than the whole of my parents three-bedroom flat above our village shop. Rupert took all this privilege and wealth for granted and thought no more of it than I did of my family’s small apartment. I fell asleep that night imagining Anne creeping in beside me and wondering how I could ever compete with anyone to win the hand of Anne Peters.

Next morning, I was having breakfast when first Rupert appeared and then sometime later Anne and Penelope. Everyone else, it seemed, up long before us and had either left or were around the estate somewhere.

Penelope and I are going to take a couple of horses for a ride around the estate. Would you and Anne like to join us? Rupert enquired.

I have arranged to be picked up by my father at eleven o’clock, Anne answered and looking straight at me continued, If you don’t want to go out onto the estate Jack, you’re welcome to a lift back to the village with us. Providing you haven’t made any other travel arrangements? she added.

I confirmed I hadn’t and eagerly accepted her offer. It was a chance to spend a few more minutes with Anne.

Having said our goodbyes to Rupert and Penelope, we left Pennington Hall, with Mr Peters driving us back to the village. Not another word said on the journey home. Anne’s father dropped me outside our little shop, and I thanked him for the lift and said goodbye to Anne. I was closing the rear door of the car when she lowered the front passenger window and handed me a small card with her name and telephone numbers on it.

Give me a call sometime. She said.

I still have that card to this day.

I met back up with Rupert at King James school on Monday morning, to spend our last few weeks there before going up to university. We had to complete our A-level exams in the hope of achieving grades that ensured we were offered places at our first-choice universities. I needed passes of at least three A’s and a B to get into Oxford with Rupert requiring similar results for Cambridge.

I tried calling Anne at home and Malvern School in the weeks following the Ball without any success. I also left my name and telephone number at her house and the school but did not get a response from her. I was beginning to think that the night of the Hunt Ball had been a one-off. That Anne was only kind to me, when she gave me her card, as indeed was her way with everyone. But I was desperate to see her again and could not get her out of my mind.

I was at home on mid-term break when out of the blue, Anne called me.

Would you like to accompany me to the local repertory theatre? She asked. "There is a good production of The Brothers and my parents have tickets."

I accepted immediately.

My father will pick you up at six-thirty, and we have a table reserved at Armstrong’s, the Michelin-starred restaurant, for dinner afterwards, She added.

The Peters arrived promptly to pick me up. It was just the four of us. Mr and Mrs Peters were in the front seats, and I climbed into the back to sit alongside Anne for the journey into the theatre.

CHAPTER

FIVE

I was looking forward to the play, though the truth of it was, my head was almost exploding with the thought of sitting so close to Anne in the small, red-velvet theatre seats. When at the beginning of the first act, Anne slipped her hand into mine and gently squeezed, the rest of the first act went by without me registering a single word. During the interval, we went to the member's bar where Anne’s father had arranged for a bottle of champagne. Mr Peters poured the drinks and gave a small toast. I was feeling relaxed until he started to interrogate me. Or so it felt at the time. I found out later from Anne that this was just his way, and I shouldn’t read too much into it. I presumed it was a habit formed, from being the director of an International Financial Institution.

You know, Jack, I don’t think I’ve ever met your parents, he said as he poured out more of the champagne.

My wife sees to all the shopping, of course, so I’ve never set foot in the shop. Does your father play any sports, golf or cricket, maybe? He enquired. I have not seen him at any of the clubs. Or maybe he plays snooker? But I can’t remember seeing him at the social club either, He added almost as an afterthought and answering his question.

Father is not a sports person, although he does support both local football teams, I explained, trying to give him a measure of respectability.

He has to be up early on weekday mornings to go to the market to buy fresh fruit, flowers and vegetables for the shop, and that leaves him very little spare time for personal or leisure pursuits, I added defensively.

Mr Peters seemed to understand my frustration and softened his tone a little, giving me a good-natured slap on the back.

Local shopkeepers are the backbone of the nation.

I lifted my glass and drank a little champagne, not sure how or if I was supposed to respond. I was thinking Mr Peters was going a little over the top but decided not to disagree with him.

My Father has only ever been to one of my rugby matches. That was the final for the Independent Schools Rugby Trophy, and he’s never seen me play cricket, I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

I went to the Independent School’s rugby game this year, he said with an air of sadness. I went to watch my old school; King Edwards play against King James.

He suddenly looked at me very carefully, like he was carrying out a thorough inspection of my face.

I remember you now, he recalled. You played fly-half and in the centre was young Winstanley; you two ran us ragged.

There was a slight pause before he said, Why don’t you come and play cricket for the local club? I’m their chairman.

Most weekends during the summer, the school has games, so I have to play for them. But, I quickly added, during the summer break from university, I could come down to the club and see if there is an eleven, I can play for.

Mr Peters surprised me a little by telling me they ran four teams on Saturday and two on Sunday and that I would certainly get a game.

Anyway, he said, smiling at me for the first time, I hear you are rather a good bat.

I began thinking he had been making a few enquiries as to who his daughter was associating. Without any warning, the questions from Mr Peters became very personal. Which university was I attending? What were my ambitions and how long had I known his daughter? The questions were endless. I felt exhausted and wanted to get back to sitting next to Anne.

I was relieved when I heard the interval bell ring, advising everyone to return to their seats for the second act. I remember I hadn’t touched another drop of my champagne.

We returned to our seats just as the lights started to go down, and the curtain came up for the second act. I waited patiently for Anne to put her hand back into mine. After about five minutes, when nothing had happened, I realised that perhaps she was waiting for me to make the first move. I very slowly and tentatively reached for Anne’s hand and was rewarded by an even bigger squeeze from her than the first occasion. At the same time, Anne moved her leg so that it rested gently against mine. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I wanted the play to last forever so I could remain in this beautiful dreamlike state for the rest of my life. I was immersed in my little world, thinking about ways of spending time with Anne. Had she not suddenly removed her hand from mine to applaud the cast at the end of the play, I would probably have sat through the entire curtain call. It occurred to me that over dinner if there were any questions on my opinion of the actors or quality of the performance, I would be at a loss to answer. For all I could remember, I may as well have been asleep throughout the whole performance.

I had never been to Armstrong’s restaurant, but Mr and Mrs Peters were well known there. The waiters were very attentive and fussed around Mrs Peters and Anne, making sure they were comfortable and had everything they wanted. Many of the guests waved, nodded and spoke to the Peters family during the evening. It gave Anne and me time to talk and discuss what we were going to do over the summer months.

Have you made your mind up whether you are going to university or joining one of the accountancy firms you have applied to? I asked.

I’ve received positive replies from three of the four firms, but one has said they are not taking on trainees this year, only graduates.

The selection process for the accountancy practices seems to be a combination of a formal written test and an interview with the head of personnel. Then if all has gone well, a final discussion with a partner of the firm. I have arranged interviews with all three possible employers over the summer period.

Anne looked at me as if she was expecting a response, as she wiped a non-existent crumb from her lips.

This year I also have to go on the family holiday as this is possibly the last year, we will all be able to go together.

I began to wonder if Anne would have any time left to spend with me. The evening came to an end all too soon, and on the way back in the car, I had no opportunity to hold Anne’s hand as her father occasionally looked at us through the rear-view mirror.

Would you mind if I give you a telephone call tomorrow? I inquired.

I would like that very much, she answered, giving my hand a little squeeze.

I thanked Mr and Mrs Peters for their generosity and a delightful evening before saying goodnight to Anne.

I spent the rest of the night lying on my bed, thinking about Ann and how lucky I was.

CHAPTER

SIX

That summer was one of the happiest periods of my life. It may well have been due to the euphoric mental state I was in most of the time. Everything planned or unplanned for that matter seemed to work out too my advantage. Usually started with a little help from Rupert. It was one of the many times I felt so lucky, even though we came from different backgrounds that somehow our paths had managed to cross. Meeting Rupert on the first day at King James School for boys was an enormous stroke of good fortune for me.

King James is in forty acres of grounds in the Worcestershire countryside. The school took boarders and day students from all over the country and had sent thousands of its pupils out to success and achievement. From artists to authors, Nobel Prize winners to Generals, prime ministers and politicians, the school was renowned for the number of students it sent to Oxford and Cambridge every year.

Rupert's family had been pupils there for well over a hundred years, and each generation of the Winstanley family had bequeathed significant sums of money to the school over that period.

My admission was from a far different background. The headmaster of my primary school, Basil Terry was an ex-pupil of King James. I had taken the eleven plus examination and passed to go on to Worcester Grammar School. However, Mr Terry convinced my parents to let me take the common entrance exam for King James. He believed I could pass the examination and receive a bursary from the school if I did. My Father felt we could not afford the fees to such an elite school, even with a bursary.

My mother was adamant that I should take the exam, and if I passed, they would find the money from somewhere. Mother held the strings of the purse and, anyway, my Father adored her; what she said was what eventually happened in our home.

I was their only son, but I had a sister, who was eight years older than me. We lived in a small, three-bedroom apartment above the village shop. My parents and sister worked as a team seven days a week, 365 days a year. They even opened for a few hours on Christmas day, in case someone in the village had forgotten an essential item for their Christmas dinner.

I can remember like it was yesterday my first visit to King James School. It was the open day before taking the entrance examination. I was so nervous and petrified. A first-year student showed me around the school. He was probably only a year older than me but seemed to know much more about life. He was very confident and sure of himself.

The school was so large that had I not been escorted I would have gotten lost. Everyone looked smart in their blue blazers, dark grey slacks, white shirts, with dark blue, light blue and green striped ties. Embroidered proudly on the breast pocket of their blazers were the school badge and motto. The classrooms and facilities were beyond anything I had ever seen or could have imagined. The list of extra-curricular activities was so many and varied; I would have great difficulty in selecting which ones to attend. That was, of course, if I was fortunate enough to be accepted at the school. But one thing was sure in my mind that day; I wanted to pass the exam by such a margin that the school would have to offer me a place at the September intake. I just had to win a seat, or I would be devastated.

Returning home after the open day I asked my Mother if she would talk to my headmaster Basil Terry to see if he could arrange for extra tutoring for me over the summer in preparation for the exam, which was to take place in mid-July. Fortunately, Mr Terry agreed to prepare me personally for the examination at no cost to them.

Before the examination, my parents learned there were one hundred and four places available for that year. Pupils with the top ninety marks from the entrance examination would be invited to attend. The remaining fourteen vacancies went to pupils chosen by the school’s governors and administration board.

I spent the next two months, three evenings a week cramming and studying under the tutelage of Basil Terry in preparation for the King James entrance exam. It came as a shock when I entered the main hall to take my seat to find almost 400 boys there trying to gain entrance to this prestigious school. I didn’t know at the time that Rupert Winstanley was one of those boys. The difference was he was almost guaranteed a place given his family history and background with the school.

I waited anxiously for six weeks for the result to come through. When the letter finally arrived, addressed to my parents, I thought it very unfair that my results should be sent to them and not to me. Father opened the letter that morning and read it. Without saying a word or giving anything away in his facial expression, he handed it to my Mother. The beaming smile on her face told me everything. I had passed. Mother couldn’t wait to get on the phone and call Mr Terry to give him the good news. When she called, she found out that he already knew?

There are three boys, he told her who have gained joint top marks of 96 per cent. You should be very proud, as Jack is one of the top three.

I will remember forever the look of pride on my Mother’s face that morning. It wasn’t until years later that I found out from Basil Terry that Rupert Winstanley was also one of the three with top marks in that exam. In the envelope with the exam result was an invitation to attend a pre-school day and to meet personally with the headmaster of the school. During the day they would discuss the award of a potential bursary towards the cost of my school fees. To this day, I do not know the outcome of that discussion or what financial arrangements were agreed. What I do know is that when my parents returned to meet me after the grand tour of the school, I was to become a pupil at King James School. That summer, unlike every other summer I had known, seemed to go by at a snail’s pace and drag on forever. All I wanted was to take my place at King James as soon as possible. Rupert Winstanley was also being shown around at that pre-school day along with his parents. Many things happened on the same day to Rupert and me. It was almost as though it was preordained that our lives should become inextricably woven together.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

From day one, Rupert Winstanley was larger than life. Even at eleven years old with his long blonde hair and striking good looks, he drew people to him. Somehow, despite our very different backgrounds he and I became staunch allies and the very best of friends during our time at King James.

The beginning of our friendship came about a week after the start of the first term. It was at the rugby training session for all first-year boys, to see if the new entrants could muster a rugby team. A misleading event because whether we wanted to play rugby or not, students of every year had to participate. During rugby season, King James School would play home and away matches at every form level against other notable independent private schools including, Repton, Eton, King Edwards Birmingham, Royal Worcester and Solihull. Our school was rightly proud of its sporting history and had pupils selected for County and England teams in many sports, but in particular at rugby and cricket.

At the beginning of the term, I put my name down for rugby, cricket and hockey. Which, as it happened, were the same three sports that Rupert signed up to play.

Rupert’s father had been an outstanding cricketer and rugby player and represented the County at rugby. The rugby masters were aware of this and asked Rupert,

Winstanley has your father given you any coaching?

Yes, Rupert replied.

And he believes that inside centre is my best position.

Does he? came the response from one of the masters. Well, we will have to see about that.

There were about eighty boys at that first training session, divided into four smaller colour-coded groups of around twenty pupils each. I was in the blue group, which like the others organised into forwards and backs. Each group received instructions on how to play the game. Elementary rugby skills of running, passing and tackling taught and rehearsed. Rupert was in the green group. By process of elimination and selection, two teams of fifteen players and three substitutes were chosen to take part in a practice game of ten minutes each half. Rupert and I were both selected for the inside centre position. The blues versus the greens game became a fierce competition between the two of us with neither of us prepared to give ground. At the final whistle, the match was a draw with both Rupert and me having scored two tries apiece. Finally, the master’s selected A and B teams from the thirty-six players who had taken part in that match. Rupert was in the centre with me at fly-half for the A team. The ‘A’s beat the ‘B’s by fifty-three points to thirteen. Rupert scored two tries, and me three. I also added a further eighteen points by converting three of the tries and adding four penalties. Rupert claimed he would have scored more if I had passed the ball to him more often. He perhaps had a point. But what was certain was from that day grew respect, rivalry, partnership and friendship that remained strong through to our upper sixth year at King James. It was an emotional break for both of us when we went our separate ways to rival universities.

In truth, I was always in Rupert’s shadow. He captained the school rugby and cricket teams in every year from the age of eleven through to eighteen years old. A very rare achievement at the school given the quality of its pupils. So unique that Rupert was only the second boy to receive this accolade. He had a confidence and air about him that sucked you in. His good looks, charm and disarming smile got him out of more scrapes over the years than I care to remember.

I cannot think of a term when Winstanley’s name was not on the headmasters’ report for some misdemeanour. The most famous of these was in the sixth form after we had beaten King Edwards School Birmingham for the English Independent School’s rugby trophy. It was the first time the school had won the award, having appeared in the final of the competition on three previous occasions.

Rupert believed something special should take place to mark this memorable occasion. An event so spectacular that it would go down in the school's records. He refused to say what this event was but swore the whole first team to secrecy when it happened.

On the stroke of midnight, I want each player to wear his first-team rugby strip and to present himself for inspection in the school quadrangle.

He was the first team captain, so we were all duty bound to do as he ordered. At the appointed hour we left the dormitory and assembled in the quadrangle. At five past midnight, Rupert appeared naked with his face and delicate parts painted in the school colours, and he proceeded to run around the courtyard. We were shouting, shrieking and laughing at our captain’s performance.

Rupert had in his hands the trophy we had won that day. Inside were several aerosol cans of paint in the school colours and a camera with what looked like a very expensive flash attachment.

It soon became clear what Rupert expected. Come on, boys, don’t be shy, he shouted. Strip off and paint your faces and private parts! He shouted. I want to take photographs that will be seen and admired by future generations of King James students.

Unfortunately, the noise we were making woke the housemaster, who observed and made a recording of all the shenanigans from his bedroom window above the courtyard. Much to our surprise, the overhead floodlights came on illuminating us all. At the same time, the housemaster shouted,

I know every one of you down there and will be putting you on report to the headmaster tomorrow morning. Winstanley get some clothes on now, and the rest of you get back to your rooms immediately.

Early the following day, we were summoned to the housemaster’s office.

If I could expel the lot of you immediately, I would do so, he said. His face puce with anger. But fortunately for you, I have to march you down to the headmaster’s office.

Arriving in the headmaster’s room and seeing the look on his face left me in no doubt that had we been runners up and not won the trophy, the headmaster would have suspended all of us. He was not in a good mood at all.

He was fixing us all with a fierce stare and deciding who was going to take the most heat. He needed to make an example of someone. Slowly his gaze settled on Rupert.

Winstanley, he eventually said, you are not only the captain of the team, but also it seems the perpetrator of this disgraceful behaviour.

Yes sir, I take full responsibility for…

Shut up the headmaster shouted. What you did is a disgrace to this school, and as such, you will be sent home at once.

I was shocked and by the look on everyone else’s face, so were they. The headmaster continued,

A report will go to the school governors with a recommendation that you are expelled from the school.

We all gasped and were stunned at the severity of the headmaster’s words. The report was potentially very embarrassing for Rupert’s Father, who was himself a governor of the school.

The rest of you can count yourselves lucky you are not receiving the same punishment. He continued, staring at us individually to emphasise his words.

You are all to be put on report and formally advised that any further misbehaviour this term will result in an automatic suspension.

With that, he tersely dismissed us from his room except for Rupert. It turned out the housemaster had arranged for all Rupert’s belongings to be collected and for him to be driven home at once. Throughout the rest of that day, many stories were making the rounds at school: Rupert was never coming back to the school, and the Winstanley family had withdrawn from making any future donations; the headmaster had been asked to resign, and Sir Jonathan Winstanley had resigned from the board of school governors.

No one I spoke to predicted that Rupert would be coming back any time soon. I was getting very alarmed at some of the stories circulating, so I requested an appointment with the headmaster to plead for Rupert’s case. Just after the lunch break, I received a note from the headmaster’s secretary saying that he would not see me as there was nothing to discuss.

Sanity somehow prevailed because a day later Rupert returned to the school. He looked and was probably feeling somewhat ashamed. Nevertheless, he gave me a huge grin as we hugged each other before the morning assembly. There was no announcement or explanation, Rupert appeared at morning assembly took his regular seat and acted as though nothing had happened. I was very impressed, given that every eye in the school was on him.

In a quiet moment later, that day Rupert took me on one side and said,

Swear on your Mother’s life, and at the pain of death, you will never repeat what I am about to tell you.

I couldn’t wait to hear.

I swear, I said hastily.

Father told me last night he had come to an arrangement that satisfied the school governors, the headmaster and most importantly, the housemaster’s sensitivity. He would not tell me what the arrangements were, but I was to go on report, the same as the rest of the team.

I could see that Rupert was feeling discomfort at having been dressed down by his Father. He was moving from foot to foot and swaying as he recalled his words.

I have never seen him so angry with me. He gave me a stern lecture that this would be my final warning and the last chance to complete my education at King James.

Through good fortune and the turning of a blind eye, we made it through to the upper sixth to complete our education at the superb King James School. I have looked back many times during the years I spent in school and will be forever thankful for the first-class education I received. For the friends I made, the character the masters developed in me, and the opportunities it afforded me. Most of all I would be grateful to the teaching staff who often, with some resistance on my part, brought out the best in me, despite the occasional lack of discipline and effort they were entitled to expect.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

It was the morning after the night at the theatre and dinner, before I had a chance to call Anne as promised, that Rupert telephoned me.

What are you doing for the rest of the weekend? He asked.

I went to the theatre with Anne last night and promised to call her today. I’m hoping to persuade her to spend some time with me and perhaps go into town for a meal or maybe to the cinema. I answered.

Look, as you have nothing arranged yet, I have to take some supplies down to Abersoch for Father. Why don’t you come with me? We have a motor cruiser in the marina, he said. I have to open the boat up and get it ready for the summer season, so why don’t you call Anne and see if she would like to come with us for the weekend. While you’re calling her, I’ll call Penelope and see if she wants to come too. I’ll get back to you in about twenty minutes.

Without waiting for me to reply, he hung up. It was not the sort of call and conversation I was planning or wanting to have with Anne after only one night out. But I knew that between Rupert, Penelope and Anne if I didn’t speak to Anne about the suggestion Rupert had made, then she would find out from them anyway. She might think I wasn’t that keen on her when in truth, I was already madly in love with her.

As I dialled Anne’s number, my hands became damp with sweat. My heart pounded even harder, and I felt almost nauseous when Mr Peters answered the phone.

Hello, Grange House.

Oh, good morning, sir, I stammered. Thank you again for last night. I was wondering if I could speak with Anne, please.

Anne, it’s for you, he shouted.

A moment later, I heard him say, It’s the Turner boy.

His name is Jack, Daddy, if you remember, I heard Anne say rather crossly.

Hello, Jack. You’re an early bird, she said with a slight giggle in her voice.

I am sorry for disturbing you so early, but I’ve had a call from Rupert. He’s asking if we would like to join him and Penelope for the weekend in Abersoch.

The palms of my hands were now wet from gripping the phone so hard, but I quickly continued.

The Winstanley’s have a motor cruiser down there, and Rupert has to go and stock it up for his Father. He’s calling Penelope now and said he would call me back in a few minutes.

I’m not sure she replied.

I detected a slight hesitation in her voice or perhaps a note of caution.

I will have to ask my parents. Let me talk to them, and I will give Penelope a call and get back to you.

All right, I said weakly and then realised that my whole body was rigid with nervous tension.

As I hung up, I remembered all the things I had intended to talk to Anne about had Rupert not called. At the same time, I was crossing everything possible for good luck in the hopes that Anne was permitted to go with me to Abersoch. Spending a whole weekend with Anne was beyond my wildest dreams. The next twenty minutes seemed like twenty years before Anne returned my call.

Hi again, she said. Her voice was light and cheerful, giving the impression she was smiling. I’ve spoken to Penelope, and we would be delighted to join you both for the weekend. She is calling Rupert as we speak.

I couldn’t think, let alone talk. All functions between brain and mouth had broken down. I stood there with the telephone against my ear, unable to say a single word.

Hello? I heard her small voice somewhere in the back of my head. Are you still there?

I have no idea what I said in reply. All I can remember to this day is Anne saying,

"Penelope is getting the final arrangements from

Rupert, and he’ll call you in a moment."

Within ten minutes, Rupert had called me back. I’ll be with you in under an hour to pick up you and Anne, He said. You’ll need some warm, casual clothes as we will be eating at the local pub and staying overnight on the boat. It can get a bit cold.

For the first time in my life, I was not sure what to tell my Mother. I didn’t want to say anything that might compromise Anne.

Rupert has invited me to Abersoch for the weekend, I told her. And we are staying on the Winstanley’s boat. Rupert is coming here shortly to pick me up.

That will be nice for you, she replied.

I’ll be back sometime on Monday afternoon.

Rupert arrived in a Range Rover Vogue about thirty-five minutes later. As I was leaving the shop, my Mother pressed something into my hand.

Here, she said, take this. It turned out to be a fifty-pound note.

Rupert was alone when I climbed into his car. Where’s Penelope and Anne, I asked.

Slight change of plan. Penelope is picking up Anne as she has told her parents that she’s going to Penelope’s for a couple of nights. Rupert replied with a grin spreading across his face as he said it. "Penelope’s going to leave her car at the Fox and Hounds pub in Malvern for the nights we are away, and I’ve