Secrets? Never.

15. C'est La Guerre

Lydia couldn't have known. Wouldn't have known. Would never have known; just what would be in store for her that day. Unless of course, she'd miraculously been blessed with mystifying powers of foresight, which, of course we all know, by my very saying these things, isn't the case at all.

She'd never have known, by the call she received, what would come of it. She'd never even have gotten an inkling of what was in store for her in the immediate future. Which is why, on that fateful day, she answered her phone.

"Lydia" she heard the unmistakable tones of Victoria's voice echo down the phone, bringing back memories of countless summers spent together drinking white wine and socialising at functions.

"Victoria, I wasn't expecting your call," it was an all-too-sincere statement on Lydia's part, mostly because when last they spoke, to say they were at odds would me a gross understatement.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to make it, it's impromptu to say the least, but Emily has told me you're in town, and I mean to invite you over for lunch." Lydia could hear the falsity in Victoria's voice even through the phone. "As lovely as that sounds-" but she was interrupted, just as she was about to decline the offer, "I won't take no for an answer. I've had Martha prepare a salad of asparagus picked fresh from the garden. You simply can't let it go to waste. I'll see you at half past twelve?" Victoria took Lydia's pregnant pause as a yes and hung up the phone, most likely, as Lydia imagined, feeling pretty full of herself; perhaps laughing maniacally? She wouldn't be surprised.

She made her way over later that day, ruing the day she'd crossed Victoria as she was escorted through the foyer by one of the Graysons' maids, remembering fondly the days when she was able to afford such luxuries. She was greeted by a sight most unfamiliar to her; Victoria tickling the ivory keys of the grand piano which she had always assumed was for decorative purposes. The sound of one of her favourite pieces; 'Au Clare de la Lune' echoed through the whole building, filling its emptiness with music that made her stomach leap within her, arousing fond memories of evenings spent in the company of society's elite. She stood in silence, absorbing the melody (she hated to admit it- but Victoria wasn't a bad pianist, she concluded that some people just do have it all), until the final note died within its wooden coffin, and Victoria looked up from her hands at the pensive woman before her; clad in much more common clothes than she'd previously have donned, she naturally came to the conclusion that it had everything to so with her current monetary situation (or lack thereof).

"Lydia" she greeted with the falsest of grins. Lydia reciprocated with her own look of totally erroneous affection, "Beautiful, Victoria. I had no idea you were a pianist. It's amazing what even a decade of friendship doesn't reveal." "Truer words, Lydia, truer words." Lydia supposed she was referring to her affair with Conrad. She hoped against hope that he was, by some divine mercy, at work, or absent in favour of some other more worthwhile pursuit. But it was rendered a moot hope, as Victoria ushered her to an outdoor table, where, as promised, there were two salads laid out for their consumption.

Flashback;
Victoria quelled the din of her ringing phone, as she answered it, only to be greeted by the low tones of Emily's calm voice at its other end. "Victoria," Victoria was barely able to conceal her distain for the young woman as she replied "Emily, how are you?" "Well, I'm certainly a lot better than you're about to be." Victoria's voice, now peppered with concern, gave her away almost immediately as she probed, "And why might that be?" "Nolan has informed me of Lydia's intentions to expose the secrets of the family. She's gotten her nose out of joint about the fact that she's found herself playing the role of pauper while you're still very much the prince. Everything she knows could come to light if we don't do something soon."

Present;
"So I hear you've been meaning to divulge my family's secrets, which you were guarding so well until you enlisted the help of a one Mr Nolan Ross. You never learn, do you? The people around here aren't to be trusted. Myself included." A shot sounded and Lydia fell limply into the pool, the water slowly running with the red of her blood.

"Even if I don't trust her; Emily is family nonetheless, and Graysons protect Graysons."

© Sarah Egan 2014 - 2015. All rights reserved. This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.