CRUSHED VIOLETS - PROLOGUE

Victoria's pencil broke in half as tension overcame frustration. The sun’s brilliance bounced off the whiteness of her unmarked writing pad. The soft breeze rustled the papers edge, as she sat deep in thought.
“You bastard Laurie!” she shouted. She enjoyed venting her pent up rage, thrusting it into the empty space around her.
Victoria shut the writing pad with a snap, concentration flying out of the window as her anger welled up inside her. She pulled her body out of her favourite armchair, unwilling to accept the comfort it usually gave her. She didn't want comfort. She needed to feel the sharp winds of the Sussex Coast on a February afternoon, biting and needle sharp, giving her an edge.
Brittany in August was not Sussex in February, but it would have to do. She charged down a familiar path, walking out her anger through the rose arbor. She gained no pleasure from the cascading blossoms of pink and lemon or from the heady scent that assailed her nostrils. Victoria stood, breathless as she leaned over the old wooden bridge and stared at the stream that flowed gently beneath her. Her thoughts returned to the reason for her anxiety – her niece Emma.
Her own child would have been about the same age as Emma. They would have grown up together if things had been different. IF! IF! IF! Always if.... Victoria battled to control the anger and bitterness that crept into her thoughts, every time she delved into her past. She looked up at the cloudless blue sky, took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.
“Why did I do it? I didn’t need to give my consent. I could have washed my hands of the whole bloody business! But there’s no escape now, not this time.”
She turned around and retraced her steps towards the lovely cottage that was her Brittany retreat. She stood for a while on the crazy paving leading to the French doors, looking up at its ancient façade. The solid stonewalls had faded to a pale honey over the years, welcoming you with its ambiance. The creamy Breton lace curtains at the French windows swept back like a pair of smiling lips. The two small dormer windows looked like a pair of eyes, hooded by tiny lopsided eyelids. It was part of her now.
On their honeymoon, her husband, John, had brought her here. After following some inaccurate directions, the car finally emerged into a small clearing and there, in the centre, nestled their honeymoon cottage. The sun shone down, dappling the creamy walls with dancing shadows of the surrounding pine and maple trees. A beautiful weeping willow brushed the moist banks of a meandering stream. The garden, which was filled to overflowing with brilliant flowers, surrounded the cottage which was perfect and typically Breton in style. As they entered, their nostrils thrilled to the rich smoky aroma of a thousand log fires. A curved oak staircase led the way to pretty pine clad bedrooms snuggling under the eves. It was perfection and they both fell in love with it.
Eight years later, after completing a very lucrative contract, Victoria had surprised her husband by buying it. At first John had been appalled by such extravagance, but soon saw the sense of having somewhere to escape to during the unpredictable English summer. Victoria argued amicably,
“Think of all the fun we’ll have when we retire. We can grow things; keep a goat or chickens or something.”
John laughed, “The pace that you consider to be a normal working pattern will almost certainly guarantee that you will never reach old age my darling.”
Now they reveled in their cosy retreat, returning as often as their busy lives permitted, to recharge their batteries. Their children, Andrew, Matt and Emma, all loved it, especially now they were older and independent.
The shrill sound of the telephone interrupted her thoughts,
"Hello", the crackle and buzz of a mobile phone connection assaulted her ears.
"Hi darling, we've just got off the ferry, be with you in about an hour and a half traffic permitting. How is everything?" John sounded slightly harassed, as he always did when driving on the wrong side of the road for the first time in months. Victoria smiled,
"Everything’s fine, you just concentrate on getting here in one piece. Have you got Madge and Emma with you?"
"Yes, they’re both here. The boys will be down later. Probably arrive early tomorrow morning.”
"Is Emma all right John?"
“She’s fine. Stop worrying will you, it'll turn you gray”
She could sense his smile and his quirky sense of humour about her prematurely gray hair was a standing joke between them.
"I'll see you in a little while then, drive carefully."

Later that afternoon Victoria stood in front of her bathroom mirror, refreshing her make-up. She pulled back her silvery gray hair and swept it up into a ponytail. Her hair had been this colour ever since she’d suffered a horrific car accident many years before. She reached for an emerald green ribbon that was the same colour as her eyes - to tie around the band.
John would be here soon with Emma and Madge. Victoria’s Aunt Madge, was sprightly for her seventy-four years; although she’d only admit to being the 'wrong side of sixty'. To Victoria she was the mother she had lost. Madge had always been there for her defending her against the hateful treatment of Victoria’s sister, Sylvia. Madge was a tigress, all of five foot tall with a rotund figure, constantly covered in a checked overall that had enormous pockets at the front, usually containing a biscuit or two.
Victoria was brought out of her daydreams as her nose breathed in the aroma of roast lamb. She looked around; everything was ready for their arrival. There was nothing left to take her mind off her problems. Her niece, Emma, would be here soon and the time for explanations was upon her. Her fears returned. How could she explain the past? Would she be able to make Emma understand? To tell someone so young such a fantastic tale, however truthful, may be too much.
Victoria had made a solemn promise to Laurie, Emma’s father, to tell her the brutal truth about her past, when the time came for her to inherit her parents’ money. That time had arrived. Telling Emma the whole truth was one of the conditions Laurie had made. At least Emma was now a sensible young adult and should be able to handle the unpleasant truth.
It had been very different for Victoria; she had lived through those times. Times she had wanted to forget. Before she met John, her whole life had been fairly precarious. Where to start? How to explain? From the very beginning? Where was the beginning? Was it the car crash that killed her parents? She had been too young to remember anything before that. Then there were the secrets she had to tell - unknown to her at the time – which she had kept hidden up to now, for everyone’s sake. Would Emma understand how things were when her mother Sylvia was young? Victoria dreaded being held responsible for the tragic things that happened so long ago. Her own suffering in the past would be nothing compared to the damage that could be inflicted on Emma. Emma remembered very little of her childhood. Nature saw fit to block it out of her memory. But the time had come for her to know exactly who she is.

The noise of a diesel car wafted through the window on a soft breeze. She ran on to the patio as John’s Range Rover came to a halt at the side of the cottage. Emma leapt to the ground as soon as the vehicle stopped and ran towards Victoria. Victoria’s heart jolted as a lovely young woman with dark blonde hair, silky and straight, came running towards her,
“Mum!” She ran into Victoria’s outstretched arms and hugged her tightly. Ever since she had been a young child, Emma had called Victoria, Mum. At about the age of nine she had hauled herself up on to the kitchen work surface and told Victoria that as she was the only one she could remember looking after her she wanted to call her Mum and did Victoria mind.
Every time Emma shouted ‘Mum’ it was music to her ears.
“God! I thought we’d never get here. I wanted to drive, but you know what John’s like,” she whispered. “You look wonderful. Not been working too hard have you? This is supposed to be our vacation, remember? Let’s go inside I’ve got so much to tell you!”
Victoria felt herself being swept up in the whirlwind of energy that was her niece. She allowed herself to be carried along, grateful for the delay.
“Me too darling – let’s get you unpacked first shall we? Then we’ll have a chat.”