Second To Cry. Carys JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.
seem like a trailer in comparison.
Slowing his car, Aiden stopped at the gates and wondered what to do next. The security was like that of a fort. Two CCTV cameras swirled to look at his car as he tried to remember how to gain access.
‘There’s a brick,’ the secretary had said, ‘just by the gates. It’s concealed, but if you look hard enough it has a small black button and a speaker. Just press the button and wait for someone to speak to you. It’s the exact same model that Hugh Heffner has,’ she’d added proudly.
Aiden had wondered if Samuel Fern had installed it to make his wife feel more at home.
Glancing at a small protrusion of rockery which he assumed would contain the entrance rock, Aiden squinted in the bright sunshine to find the small black button. At last he spotted it and rolled down his window, allowing his left arm to be exposed to the fierce afternoon heat. He pressed the button and waited.
There was no crackle like there was with the intercom at the office. Instead a male voice responded, sharp and clear as though they were stood right beside him.
‘Can I help you?’
‘It’s Aiden Connelly, I’m here to see Samuel Fern.’
‘Come and park in the visitors’ area,’ the voice instructed as the strong gates began to slide open.
Aiden drove in to the complex and took in the true glory of the ranch. Although it now seemed redundant to call it as such as it was so much more than that.
Samuel Fern’s home looked like an old English mansion. It was massive, spreading far beyond what Aiden could see. There were full length windows lining the front of the building, easily more than twenty, above which were balconied windows and various terraces.
As Aiden parked up and took it all in he had a strange feeling that the building looked very familiar. He’d definitely seen something remarkably similar before. He waited for the memory to surface and then knew instantly where he’d seen the building before. It was almost identical to the Playboy mansion in California. Aiden felt a little shamed to know what the mansion looked like, but like any teenage boy he’d harboured a fascination with the place and had always dreamed of going there. And now he was getting to live out that fantasy, sort of.
Again, he wondered if the house had been built to the specifics of the Playboy Mansion to make Deena Fern feel more at home.
The front doors to the fortress opened as Aiden approached and a lady, who Aiden assumed was Samuel’s secretary, was waiting to greet him.
‘Mr Fern will be down momentarily,’ she informed him politely. ‘Would you care to wait in the library or, as it’s so nice, you could wait by the pool?’
‘By the pool sounds good,’ Aiden nodded.
The secretary began to lead him through the house towards the pool out the back. The interior of the home was just as extravagant as the exterior.
A sweeping staircase led to the upper levels, made of pale marble. The marble theme was continued throughout the home with marble floors and also various pillars. Expensive-looking antiques were dotted around; a vase here, a sumptuous painting there. The walls were painted a light beige so that the whole place felt open and spacious. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
As Aiden walked through, he noticed amongst the artwork were framed pictures of Mrs Fern during what must have been her modelling days. And then, as they were about to leave the main foyer, a framed picture of her spread in Playboy. Aiden immediately averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks instinctively flush.
There was certainly no speculation now as to whether or not she had been a Miss September and Samuel was clearly most proud of that accolade.
From the foyer they entered the vast kitchen, which was large enough to accommodate a hotel let alone a family home. Whilst equally impressive, with state-of-the-art electronics and dark wood complemented by granite worktops, this room felt more lived in. On the double-door fridge there were various pictures of what must have been Samuel’s sons, accompanied by children’s artwork, lovingly held up by magnetic shapes. Whilst the kitchen was still eye-wateringly opulent, it was nice to see the family element creeping into it.
Samuel’s secretary opened one of the six bay doors in the kitchen which led them out on to a terrace, beside which was the pool.
The pool was one lagoon after another, joined by slides or small tunnels. Surrounded by rocks, it managed to both blend in with the landscape whilst being an oasis. The dazzling sapphire water looked especially inviting in the dense heat as there was no breeze to take the edge off the sun’s penetrating rays.
Aiden surveyed the pool and thought how much Samuel’s sons must love it, which made him think how much Meegan would love it and he had a momentary pang of missing her. He could imagine her gleefully running up to it on her unsteady little legs, demanding to go in and impatiently allowing Aiden to put on her arm bands before she’d dive in with a surprisingly large splash.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ the secretary kindly offered as Aiden sat down at a wrought-iron dining table under a pagoda. It was cooler in the shade but only slightly.
‘An ice tea would be lovely, thank you.’
She left and Aiden tried to focus on the job at hand, rather than gawping at the flagrant displays of wealth around him.
His drink arrived before Samuel Fern did, thankfully cool in a tall glass, adorned with a slice of lemon. It tasted amazingly fresh, Aiden should have known that a man as wealthy as Samuel Fern wouldn’t waste time with the store-bought stuff.
‘Mr Connelly,’ a deep voice called out to him from close by, and a man with more than a striking resemblance to Buck Fern came out of the kitchen towards him. He wore slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt which was unbuttoned slightly at the top. He had a thick covering of white hair on his head and the same flint-sharp eyes as his brother.
‘Welcome to my humble home.’ He laughed to himself at the humble part. Samuel’s voice had lost the Southern lilt which coated Buck’s, which could probably be attributed to a life lived away from Avalon.
‘You’ve a stunning place here, Mr Fern.’
‘Please, call me Sam.’
Sam sat down next to Aiden as the secretary reappeared to take his drinks order. ‘I’ll have a Tom Collins,’ he told her, waving a dismissive hand.
‘Did you find the place all right?’
‘Yes, no problem.’ Aiden nodded.
‘I appreciate you coming out here so soon. I’ve just got some matters which need sorting. I imagine Edmond filled you in, he’s a good man.’
‘Yes he uh…’ Aiden cleared his throat uncomfortably. He suddenly felt very awkward to be entering this home, this kingdom, where there were pictures on the fridge, to question the authenticity of it all.
‘He mentioned you have some…concerns about your younger son?’ Aiden lowered his voice respectfully as he spoke.
‘He’s not mine!’ Sam declared with frightening sincerity. ‘You need only look at him next to his brother; he’s not a Fern boy!’
Sam’s drink arrived and he eagerly took a long sip from it.
‘I just need proof,’ he told Aiden, his voice level, cold. It was obvious that Sam was prepared to be as shrewd in his private life as he had been in his professional one.
‘You don’t get to the top through making friends,’ Aiden’s mother used to tell him. And he saw what she meant, to hear Sam Fern talk so coldly about his wife and son.
‘So a paternity test?’
‘Whatever it takes.’
‘Will your wife agree to a paternity test?’ Aiden queried, thinking of the pictures, the framed Playboy image. The house, whilst overtly opulent,