CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
“Jasmine, I don’t understand why you feel it’s necessary to sell the house.”
“I think the fact that my parents were murdered in it is the obvious reason Susan.” It always annoyed her Aunt Susan that she didn’t call her ‘aunt’; the reason for this phone call was because she’d decided to sell the family home and apparently had no fixed abode. It infuriated Susan even more because she wouldn’t get anything from the estate. It had belonged to her father’s side of the family and Susan was regrettably, her mother used to say, her mother’s sister. Up until their deaths they had kept Susan in a way she felt she deserved to be kept in, more to shut her up and keep her away from them than out of any real familial bond.
“Really Jasmine, it was over 12 months ago and you’ve managed to live there since. Anyway, where will you go? You haven’t even told me where to get in touch with you and my yearly contract with your father’s estate is due soon and you haven’t mentioned when you’ll be over to re-sign.” Ah, the REAL reason comes out.
“I won’t be signing any renewal Susan. I’ve decided that the estate will be put to better use and it’s about time you looked after yourself. Gotta go now, have a nice life!” Over. My last contact is gone, or it will be when I break this sim card.
Five weeks ago she’d turned twenty-three and had received a package from the Administrator. That was all she’d ever called him because that was all she’d ever heard her father call him. He was an old gentleman that oversaw her father’s estate; no age was attached, just that he was elderly in appearance. Jazz had been introduced to him a long time ago when she’d turned thirteen, but since then not seen nor heard from him. Not even when her parents had died, except for a note stating that the Administrator would fulfil their last will & testament, leaving her with nothing to do except collect the miserly few possessions that she wanted in remembrance of her family and a package marked ‘confidential’. In the package had been a diary, letter, a deed to a property and travel arrangements for her departure today.
She took one last look at what had been her father’s study. Gone were the books, which had been housed in the floor to ceiling shelves, and gone were the other items that had taken up residence in the room for as long as she could remember. The only thing that Jazz was certain to see once more was her father’s desk; some staff that had been sent had collected it, or so they said, by the Administrator. The books and everything else in the house had either been sold or donated to various organisations. Her home was gone. It hadn’t been home since a tragic night over a year ago. Gone was the smell of her father’s cigars, which he had sworn to her mother he no longer smoked but still did in the privacy of his domain; no longer would the smell of her mother’s specially made perfume, lily of the valley and hyacinth, be found when entering a room. It was all gone and what was left, was an empty shell that had kept her dry and absent from life, and now it was time to say goodbye.
Jazz picked up her leather gloves, swung her knapsack onto her shoulder and shut the front door, closing forever on a chapter from her life and made her way to the awaiting limousine. She closed her eyes as she leant back into the soft leather of the car seat as the car sped off. Thinking back to the letter that had been in the package left for her, she couldn’t help wondering at the unknown force compelling her to fulfil those words from the grave. Was this the right thing to do? The letter had been from her father, a voice from the grave reaching out to her.
My Dearest Jazz,
If you are reading this then both your mother and I are no longer with you. Be strong my heart, for we will always be with you in spirit. There are some things that I need to tell you and although I always envisioned that they would not be disclosed this way, you mother’s sight tells me I need to do this; I only pray that in this she is wrong. So, as your mother insists that this will be the way for you to know of your destiny, I am so doing her bidding, regardless of my wishful thinking. You will soon realise more than the gifts of your mother are present in this world, and for this reason alone you must hold to the strength and courage I know dwells deep within you.
As you know, we are very wealthy. What you don’t know Jazz, is that with that wealth comes much more responsibility than you would come to normally expect, and that responsibility has nothing to do with this world. “What world?” I can almost here you say. My family are guardians, guardians of our people; almost like the Head of State to a country’s people. There are myths in this world Jazz and from every myth there is, in fact, a kernel of truth. I’m sure that as a historian you are ready to automatically deny this as you insist on basing things in fact, but please, keep an open mind. I cannot write more for fear of this letter falling into the wrong hands. DO NOT under ANY circumstances let anyone know about this letter. Quite melodramatic I’m sure, but my heart, if I am dead and you know nothing of this already then you can take my death, and that of your mother, as reason enough to believe me. The Administrator will tell you everything that I cannot; he now serves you and will see to your protection. So, be prepared to take only those things that mean the most to you and do away with the rest, they are not necessary to your new life.
The Administrator will organise the rest as pertains to our Will; there is a ticket here and there will be someone to meet you to take you to where you need to be. Finally my cub, burn this letter and forget about everything you have ever believed to be true as truth is an illusion and the only truth you need to know is the truth of your heart.
Love Always,
Dad
Now sitting in the back of the limousine, leaving all that was familiar behind, Jazz couldn’t help but wonder as to the secrecy in her father’s last words to her. It had been hard doing what he’d asked; to burn her last material link that was his words on paper but she had forced herself to do it as she drank some 18yr old Macallan to their memory in his study the night before. In her knapsack she had the diary, the ticket, passport, wallet, her laptop and not much else. All her clothes and the patchwork wool quilt her mother had made for her as well as some photos were all that she was taking with her and they were in the trunk in a sports bag. It was amazing really how little one could sum up their lives if need be in materialistic terms; and now she didn’t even have a phone having destroyed it as soon as she’d finished her call with Susan.
She looked out the window to the passing green scenery and noted the sign as it flashed by, 14 miles to Heathrow. 14 miles, and then what? She shivered as ghostly fingers swept her spine at the thought of where she may end up and yet there was a touch of excitement at the back of her mind. The only clue was her ticket that showed her destination Melbourne, Australia. As far as she knew she’d only been to Australia once and that had been just after her birth, so there really was no memory of the country or what to expect. Her father had over the years flown over to there, but then he had also visited many other places; all to do with the corporation he was in charge of. Although independently wealthy, the Trust was run through the corporation and had been overseen by her father to some degree. He had been in Australia the month before his and her mother’s death, to see some friends they’d said and for the V&A Art Deco exhibition her mother was launching at a gallery. Jazz refused to further think of the possible insinuation that had to their deaths and her now travelling to the same place. She refused to contemplate it at all and carefully unclenched her fingers from the death grip it had on her knapsack, looking as the limousine glided towards the turnstile to drop her off on this unrealistic adventure.
The car stopped and a few moments later, the driver opened the door. Jazz took a firm grip on the knapsack, a deep breath and swung her legs out of the open door, taking the required steps to the path way.
“Here’s your luggage Miss Chevalier. Have a pleasant trip.” He tipped his hat at her as he passed over the leather sports bag that, unknown to him, contained the remainder of her possessions.
“Thank you Jeremy and please thank your bosses. As always your service has been impeccable.” She knew she sounded normal, but felt nothing like her usual self. How easy it was to deceive those around you from the pain and desolation that now occupied her very soul.
She watched him get back into the car and drive off. Taking a fortifying breath, she hitched up her bags and made her way to the Emirates lounge to await her flight. She didn’t need to check in; that could be done from the lounge when she signed in there. It was just one of the perks in flying first class, a driver to pick you up and all the comforts of a service based lounge whilst one awaited boarding. Her skin itched. It had done that a bit over the past few weeks. Maybe whilst waiting to be called for boarding she’d just have a shower, it helped ease the tension as well as the aching and itching she’d been feeling. At first she’d thought that she was coming down with the flu or some other lurgy, but her doctor had said it was probably stress, diet and lack of sleep.
Her teeth even ached at times for God’s sake! A shower, that’s what I’ll do. At the lounge a bright, young woman who scanned her membership card as well as her flight pass greeted her. She then made her way to the women’s bathrooms and locked herself into a room for her shower. The young attendant at the desk had told her that the flight was at this stage proceeding on time and they would be ready to have her board in another hour. Time enough for her to bathe, get a meal, some caffeine and pick up a couple of magazines and book for the long 17hr flight.
The water felt good sluicing over her head and shoulders. She washed her hair and then just stood under the pounding stream, her eyes closed as the ache and itchiness disappeared down the drain with the suds. Finally Jazz turned off the water, dried off and wrapped a towel around her hair and body. After lathering her body in her mother’s special body cream, she sat at the dressing table to dry her long hair. She loved watching it dry; as it dried red and gold glints picked up the light from the dark brown. Her dad had had the same colour and he called it whiskey like his favourite Macallan. Finally dry and dressed in comfortable jeans, t-shirt and ballet flats, Jazz went to have her meal.
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