Chapter 1: Tough Love

Happy New Year? Yeah, right! Who knew the beginning of this year would feel like this? I looked around as all my supposed-to-be friends jumped in huddles and laughed and joked and hugged and kissed. I took my fourth Pornstar Martini from the hot bartender. He didn’t even smile back at me and swiftly turned his attention to a slim blonde who had her breasts as out as she could without turning this club into a PG-13 venue. I downed my drink and walked towards the window panels to see the mesmerising display of fireworks outside. I would have stood out there in the cold just watching the colours in the sky until my fingers went numb. But I was stuck inside on a first date with Mr Simon Cute-Hair. No, his last name wasn’t really Cute-Hair. Since I was 14, I had learnt to call people by the easiest thing I could find to remember them. A swarm of people had come into my life since then and as quickly as they would come, they also left. Five new faces one day, 25 the next, seven the day after and 13 after that. I didn’t see the point of trying to remember everyone if I wasn’t going to see them ever again.

“Felicity! Where were you?” Mr Cute-Hair asked. “I was meant to kiss you on the strike of 12.”

“Yeah?” I glanced at my watch and saw that it had only just gone past midnight. I looked at the door and noticed two suited men standing there. Security? Good thing I guess. I didn’t want this date of mine to come anywhere near me anymore. As cute as he looked with his curly hair and broad smile, I felt out of place and I wanted to get home to my two-bed flat in Mayfair. “Simon, I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you again. I’ll see you next weekend for our first proper date.” Who took someone out to a club for a new year’s party as a first date? Simon Cute-Hair, that’s who! I pushed through the crowd and made my way towards the exit.

“Fee-fee!” Simon said, placing his hand on my shoulder, then turning me around and kissing me viciously on my mouth.

“What? The! Hell?!” I screamed over the loud music, in disgust, pushing him off me. Nobody turned around. Not one person cared. Well, one person did. Simon was now on the floor with a tall, muscular man holding him down. The two suited men who were at the door had already began escorting me out of the building. The cold momentarily stung as it hit my face. “Nolan?” I said, wiping my mouth, forcefully. “Where’s Nolan?” Tears streamed down my face and one of the suited men handed me a pack of pocket tissues.

“Your car is ready, miss. I will be escorting you to your father’s tonight. This is Griffin and he will wait for Nolan, miss.” Mr Pocket-Tissues said and pointed at the other man, presumably Griffin, who nodded at me and stepped three feet backwards.

“And you are?” I questioned, wiping my tears and trying to steady my dizzying surroundings.

“I’m Hamish, miss.” He said, opening the door to the black Mercedes.

I chuckled. Did Mr Pocket-Tissues really think I was going to get into the car just like that? “What’s the code?” I asked. I’d been kidnapped at the age of 14. Since then, every morning at sharp nine o’clock, Father assigned a new code to me and all his security details that were going to watch over me. Sadly, for Father and his hunky henchmen, he had to choose from a list I made. My codes weren’t always – well ever – a single, boring, safe-word or a series of random numbers. Nope, sometimes it was a bunch of random nonsensical words that really made it difficult for the people that worked for him. And sometimes, it was an extract from a philosophical speech from a thousand years ago, which was equally as hard to remember.

Mr Pocket-Tissues cleared his throat and searched his brain. He took in a deep breath. It had probably taken him an hour to learn this. Poor guy. “Tough love is just the right phrase. Love for the rich and privileged, tough for everyone else. Noam Chomsky.”

Today, it was a simple quote. I smiled. “Fine. Where are you taking me?”

“To the manor, miss.” Hamish Pocket-Tissues said. Eventually, I’d remember his name. Not today. Not after four Pornstar Martinis and a filthy tasting mouth left courtesy of something that Simon Never-Gonna-See-Again had been drinking or eating.

The gates didn’t open as we pulled in front of Baker Manor. Normally, Christopher always opened them as soon as the car approached. I hadn’t seen my father since Christmas and I wasn’t planning on coming here until the morning. I looked at Pocket-Tissues through his rear mirror. He looked back at me then dialled the number for the gate tower, which wasn’t really a tower, just a booth with a handful of CCTV screens.

“Christopher, it’s Hamish, with Miss Baker.” Hamish didn’t say anything else and the gate opened. He put the phone down and drove in, stopping at the ten-foot double door a hundred or so meters in. Hamish got out of the car and opened my door.

“You know, if you get shot, I can’t get out of the car, considering you child-locked me in. Then I’ll be next for sure. That means if you don’t die, Father will kill you.” I said, stepping out of the black Mercedes, something or other. Cars were never really my thing, as long as they took me from A to B, I was as happy as a bottom-heavy, sideways C, or a U in other words.

“Sorry, miss. Strict instructions when driving through slow-moving traffic in London.” Hamish said.

“Felicity!” Father said, greeting me with open arms at the door, in his silk dressing gown.

“Father.” I hugged him, not really wanting to. I slipped out of his hug in seconds and turned to face Pocket-Tissues. “Where’s Nolan?”

“I believe he’s on his way, miss.” Hamish said, then looked to my father and straightened his body, standing as tall and straight as a lamppost.

“You stay here until Nolan is back.” Father said, shutting the door on Hamish.

“What the hell?” I ducked under his arm and opened the door again. “Hamish, sorry, please ignore my father. He has no manners. Please, come in, it’s freezing outside.” It wasn’t. It was at least four degrees. And Pocket-Tissues was dressed appropriately for that kind of weather. But I couldn’t tolerate the way my father treated his staff. Hamish looked at my father, who shrugged his shoulders, turned around and made his way into the third reception room. I gestured for Hamish to stand inside, next to the radiator. “Sorry. Please let me know when Nolan is back.” 

“Yes, miss. Thank you.” Hamish said.

I walked into the third reception room. “What?” I asked, hands on my hips, annoyed with my father already.

“I knew something like this would happen, Felicity.” Father threw a newspaper in front of me, which I ignored. He sat in his regular armchair and gestured for me to sit. “You’re 24 years old. Don’t you think you should mature now?”

“25 in nine days.” I mumbled, not taking up the offer to be seated.

“Exactly my point.” Father said, pointing at the newspaper. “You can’t hang around with lowlifes like this.”

“Father!” I was fuming. He had no right to call anyone lowlife. I had no interest in what the media said and I cared less about what my father thought of it. If anything, it just made me want to do more things that he thought we were above. I didn’t have that same mindset as him. I was mature, he wasn’t. I knew this world was divided into rich and poor and I didn’t want to be a part of that archaic system. I was born into riches. It wasn’t fair for me to take that for granted. Just like someone born into poverty shouldn’t be blamed for their misfortunes. I freed myself from the clutches of my father’s money. Yes, he paid for the unwelcome security detail. Yes, he paid for my university under-grad and my masters. Yes, he’d brought me my flat in Mayfair. But that was all he got to give me. I rode the underground to get to work. I worked at a primary school in Cockfosters. Father hated it, but I wasn’t Felicity Baker there. I was Miss Baker, the early stages teaching assistant. I didn’t want to be Felicity Baker. I wanted to be free of my father’s name and everything that came with it. I hadn’t gone to Cambridge University to graduate in English for nothing. I wanted to be a secondary school English Literature teacher. That opportunity never came because of my father. So I did my Masters in Creative Writing at Oxford University to top off my academic appeal. It still didn’t work. Father had blocked all my applications to state schools and I didn’t want to work in private schools.

“Felicity.” He stood up. “You’re being made a ridicule of.” He sighed. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he seemed almost defeated.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks.” I protested. “Where’s Nolan? I want to go home.”

“You’re staying here for three days.” Father said, signalling to one of the maids, Henrietta, for a cup of tea.

“No way.” I didn’t want to stay. It wasn’t possible for me to spend anything more than three hours in the same house as my father, let alone three days.

“Felicity!” Father enunciated each syllable of my name. “Don’t argue with me. Your room is ready. Ashworth will see you to it.”

“No! I won’t stay.” I parked myself on the armchair opposite Father’s. “I’m not staying for three days. Where is Nolan?”

“You’re staying.” Father said, putting the newspaper in front of me and retreating to his seat.

I closed my eyes and reiterated my protests. “I don’t care about that. I want Nolan. I’m going home with him. I’m not staying here for three days.”

My phone started buzzing. Simon? What was he doing calling me? I picked up. “Hello?” I said, unamused.

“I’m sorry, Felicity. I shouldn’t have tried to… ouch! Okay, okay! I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn’t have called you Fee-fee. I won’t bother you again. Can you forgive me, please?” Simon said, as though he was reading from a script. He was. I knew it.

“Give the phone to the man who told you to call me.” I said, ignoring the speech he just read out, almost verbatim to the dozens I’d heard before.

“Yes, Felicity.” Simon said. “She wants to talk to you man.” 

“Hello?” A deep manly voice spoke through the phone.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“I’m Griffin, Miss Baker.” Griffin answered.

“Nolan?” I asked.

“He left half an hour ago, miss.” Griffin Gruff-Voice said.

“Thanks.” I said, putting the phone down. I was never seeing Simon again, that was for sure. I looked at my phone and out of the 28 texts and 49 Whatsapp messages, not one was from Nolan. I didn’t have any missed calls, but then again, who would call between five minutes ago and now?

“Ashworth.” Father called our oldest staff member, a butler, who was like a grandfather to me. “Can you see Felicity to her room please. And get someone to stand outside her door.” He looked at me as though he knew I was planning my escape. Unfortunately for me, that plan went down the drain before I could even start it.

“Yes, Mr Baker. I believe Hamish is standing by the main door.” Ashworth said, speculatively.

“Yes. He’ll do.” Father said to Ashworth and then turned to me. “Felicity, please, no trouble. Can you just come down for breakfast before eight o’clock?”

I sighed. I’d been sighing a lot for the past ten years. “I’ll try.” I didn’t hate my father. I hated what his money did to him. He was an amazing father and always had been. But since the kidnapping, he turned into the most serious man and hated almost everyone who came from a less fortunate background. His rationale behind it was that anyone who didn’t come from money, wanted money. And anyone who wanted money, would do anything for money. I didn’t believe him. And I would do everything to prove him wrong. One bad apple shouldn’t spoil the whole orchard. That was my thinking. I had faith in humanity. To a degree.

Hamish Pocket-Tissues stood outside my room and nodded to Ashworth as he exited my room. I looked at Hamish and smiled. He didn’t smile back. None of Father’s Felicity-assigned security details ever smiled back.

“Knock on my door when Nolan comes. Wake me up, whatever time. He should be here soon. Mr Gruff- er, Griffin, Mr Griffin said he left about half an hour ago.” I said, poking Pocket-Tissues on his arm.

“Yes, miss.” He said, unaffected by my actions. Where did Father get these robots from? There must be a factory somewhere on British soil.

I heard a knock on my door and a loud throat being cleared as the door creaked. Nolan? I rubbed my eyes and sat up. My phone had died. I looked at my watch and saw it was half eight. The sound of another knock was followed by my door being opened about half of the way to a 45-degree angle.

“Miss Baker, you’re requested at breakfast.” Hamish said, purposefully looking away from my direction.

“Thanks Hamish. Where’s Nolan? You didn’t wake me.” I said, getting out of bed and putting on my fluffy synthetic dressing gown and matching slippers.

“He didn’t make himself known here last night, miss.” Hamish responded, holding the door ajar.

“What?” I shouted. Where the hell was he then?

“Sorry miss, that’s all I know.” Hamish said, escorting me to breakfast.

The table had been laid perfectly for at least five people. I looked at Father, who was already at his usual seat, shifting through the jar of codes I had given for Christmas a decade ago. Every few weeks, I’d replace the notes and depending on my mood, on that particular day, they’d either be all full of innuendos, sarcasm, love quotes or a mixture of everything.

“Good morning, Felicity.” He said.

“Are we expecting guests?” I splayed my hands at the feast that had been laid out before me, just as I was greeted by Butch and Knight.

“No. This is for you.” Father said, replacing the chit with his morning paper. “Good morning, Felicity.” He repeated, this time with a bit more force.

“Good morning, Father.” I sighed, rolling my eyes as I looked over at my two best buddies. I picked out a couple pieces of bacon as they laid down between Father and my seats. I tossed the two Rottweilers a piece each. “Good boys.”

“How many times, Felicity? Do not feed them in the dining hall.” Father glowered at me as he popped his head over the paper. “Hamish, Griffin, your discharge is at nine o’clock. Felicity, just so you know, Corey will be assigned to you for the rest of today. He’s going to be with you until tomorrow morning. I’ll call him with the code. Which is…” Father folded the newspaper he was reading, laying it beside his iPad. Glancing at the chit from my jar, he started to read it, word for word, sighing and quite possibly having a mental breakdown after each word. “Red lolly, yellow lorry, red lorry, yellow lolly, lolly lorry, lorry lolly, lorry lolly, lolly lorry. Felicity Baker.”

I tried hard to control my giggling and glanced at Hamish and Griffin who were non-responsive. “Thanks, Father.” I chuckled. That one was hilarious. Even I struggled to say it out loud. “Who’s Corey?”

Father sighed then looked at me and shook his head, disapprovingly. “How on earth is anyone remembering this, Felicity?”

I ignored his condemnation and spoke with more seriousness. “Hamish said Nolan didn’t come here last night.”

“That’s correct.” Father said, dismissively. “This code needs to be changed. For my sake, Felicity, no more of this rubbish. Additionally, I’ve seen the news on social media about this Simon chap who kissed you last night. He’s been slapped with a restraining order and will be tried for sexual harassment.”

“What? No! That’s ridiculous. It was a New Year’s Eve party. Everyone was kissing. He was my date.” I said, trying to defend Simon Never-Gonna-See-Again.

“That’s not what Nolan told me.” Father said, now scrolling through worldwide news articles on his iPad.

“You spoke to Nolan? What did he say? Where is he?” I asked.

“Yes, I spoke to him in the early hours. He said the chap pulled you back when you were walking away and had already told him that you wanted to leave and then he kissed you forcefully and didn’t get off of you until you pushed him off. That sounds like sexual harassment to Nolan and me.” Father said, sticking his fork into his pancakes. “Oh, and something about calling you Fee-fee. But that’s between Nolan, the chap and you.”

I sighed. Nolan knew I hated being called Fee-fee. I used to be bullied in school and Nolan was always there, keeping an eye on me in class, at the playground and while walking home with me. He held my hand and promised that I could overcome anything. He was wrong about the everything bit. But he was right about being able to get over the bullying. It hadn’t been more than a day before the girls that used to call me Fee-fee the free-bee facility stopped and started apologising. Never was I ever bullied for my name again.

“Father, where is Nolan?” I asked, my voice as stern as it could get.

“He’s taken my private jet to Scotland. He will be away for the next three days.” Father said.

“So that’s why I’m stuck here?” I said, pushing away the plate of delicious blueberry pancakes drizzled with a substantial amount of maple syrup. I stood up and excused myself to my room. Hamish followed like a dog on a leash. I was angry. How could Nolan break rule number one? Going anywhere without telling me? I didn’t get far from the dining hall. My stomach started rumbling and I pulled at my hair in frustration. I put aside my arrogance, momentarily, and walked back into the dining hall, taking my seat and pulling my plate back. I ate all five of my pancakes. I then topped up my breakfast with two cinnamon rolls and a helping of summer berries, which had clearly been imported from somewhere.

“Happy New Year, Felicity.” Father said, excusing himself.

“Happy New Year, Father.” I mocked.

Once he had left, I asked Hamish and Griffin to join me. They didn’t. I stood up and said I wasn’t going to eat unless they did. As far as I knew, they had been up all night, or taking turns watching my door at the very least, and they needed some food. My stubbornness worked and both of them picked up a grilled cheese sandwich. I followed their example and took one for myself. Why they needed to be on guard within Baker Manor was beyond me. Apparently, Father only trusted me around one person.

I went up to find my suitcase opened on the ottoman at the bottom of my bed. A couple of jeans and t-shirts had been folded and placed beside the case. An evening gown hung on the dress rack by the tall mirror outside my walk-in wardrobe. “Am I expected to wear this?” I shouted out.

“May I enter, Miss Baker?” Hamish asked through the cracked door.

“Yes.” I barked. My frustration was directed at my father and Hamish had to take the brunt of it.

“Sorry, Miss Baker. Yes, that’s what Mr Baker has asked you to wear this evening. I believe Corey will be escorting you down in that for dinner.” Hamish explained.

“Sorry. I wasn’t shouting at you, Hamish.” I looked at the dress. A bright red evening gown that would have looked good on any model. Just that I wasn’t a model. I was a size 14, fat, unattractive 24-year-old, who still bit her nails and had to have at least one grown man follow her around the world in case she got kidnapped again. Who’d even want to kidnap me now? No one, unless they held a specific grudge against my father or wanted to blackmail him for his money in exchange for his only daughter.