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Regina
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"Apologies for being late."
Regina’s youngest daughter, Anthony’s apparent favourite, was the last to arrive. She was bundled up in a black coat and her expressions were clouded with something adjacent to sadness. Regina’s eyes lingered on Katherine’s, her daughter’s hollowed gaze a trapdoor to the emotions she wouldn’t express. The siblings jumped straight into their usual routine; Verbal fencing, their tongues épées wielded with practiced unforgivingness. She placed her Macbook on the coffee table, lifting her hands to massage her temples. Regina’s fingers made slow, pressurised circles either side of her head, eyelids fluttering shut as she allowed the children to jab at one another over the bar. Like a mother lion, Regina had always allowed the cubs to play fight to establish the pecking order. Like the animal kingdom, family politics was full of power struggles and the Blackstone children were no different. They’d been this way since they were no higher than Regina’s knees. The Au Pairs were always complaining that they struggled to control and corral the kids when they were in this mood. What they didn’t understand was that it was a necessary evil in this family. So much was built on the wrestle for the top spot and it fluctuated between each of them.
As Regina’s cool gaze raked over the room, each of her children all in one place at one time, she wondered when they’d last all shared the same air for this long. Without the purpose of a Birthday or Christmas or Charity Fundraiser, the Blackstone family rarely congregated. They weren’t close. But here they were, reunited.
Letting out a long, deliberate sigh, Regina rose to her feet. She glided across the Pool House to the bar where Mariana and Katherine were having their face-off, each of them fixed with a facetious smile that promised this was far from done. Regina cleared her throat pointedly, shooting them both a scolding glare. Wordlessly, she took the glass of good bourbon and raised the glass to her chapped, tired lips. The cool liquor traversed her jugular, warming everything it touched. A thankful sigh of relief left her body, enjoying the way the bourbon alleviated the weight of grief that pressed down on her chest. The glass was drained in moments and she daintily returned the glass to the bartop, nodding at Mariana to pour her another.
“Well, children-” Regina raised her voice to address the room, forcing the semblance of strength and nonchalance in the face of this family tragedy. “If you’re all quite finished with your bickering, shall I elaborate a little more on why we have the pleasure of one another’s company?”
The newly-widowed woman’s eyes lowered, looking to the ground as she struggled to find the words to string together. So small in this open plan room, Regina’s slight form was starkly contrasted to her children’s stature inherited from their father. She looked small. Fragile. Weakened. So juxtaposed to her usual potency. When it came to public announcements, speeches or addressing a room full of aristocrats, Regina always took to the podium over Anthony. She was the eloquent one, the palatable speaker. Artful in her vernacular, she never offended nor overstepped. Her upperclass upbringing trained her perfectly for the life of a trophy wife; She knew exactly how to take control of a room with narrative. But in the Pool House? With no one but her children staring back at her expectantly? Regina struggled to piece together the puzzle of a sentence. Another deep swig of bourbon stirred her, giving her the liquid courage to continue. Consciously smoothing her expression to neutrality, pursing her lips and lifting her chin defiantly, Regina began.
“As you all know, a few days ago I found your father…” The word felt fat, thick with the efforts of her lips forming the truth. “… I found your father dead in our bed.” An unsteady breath, inhaled through her nose, made Regina’s chest rise and she took another long sip of bourbon. “At first, paramedics assumed some kind of cardiac arrest. A haemorrhage maybe. They believed he’d died somewhat peacefully in his sleep-“
At this, she took a moment to look at each of her children. With suspicion rising around Anthony’s death, she realised in that moment that the familiar eyes staring back at her were potentially the eyes of Anthony’s killer. It was a chilling prospect. Too much to bear. Detective Russel had eluded to some further evidence needing to be gathered before the investigation was officially launched. The police team were securing the Manor, scouring it for evidence and forensics that may aid them in processing the investigation in its early stages. She’d had to withhold her protests, realising her lack of cooperation with the police would be perceived as suspicious. But now, retelling the story, Regina wondered if her husband’s murderer was closer than she thought.
“The police are saying, after their medical experts reassessed the scene, that your father was actually murdered…” She shivered at the thought, images plaguing her mind. “Asphyxiation is the conclusion so far but the post mortem will reveal more details. They’re not sure how long this will take but in the meantime, we need to prepare ourselves.”
Regina began slowly pacing the Pool House, taking slow steps around the circumference of the room whilst sizing up her children as she struggled to read their reactions. She spoke with one hand gestating, the other gripping the glass of bourbon that was fast disappearing.
“Your fathers death is bound to be in the press by tomorrow. I’ve managed to keep it out of the public eye thus far, give us some privacy as a family, but my lucks about to run out. The leeches can only stay away for so long before a good story brings them out of the woodwork. The vultures will descend and when they do, I want us ready.”
Public perception was a force Regina was accustomed to wielding. She’d damage-controlled the Blackstone name for years, palming Journalists payouts and hiring the best PR teams to generate a narrative that kept the family in public favour as much as possible. Granted, the Blackstone’s reputation was a murky one. Anthony’s recent endeavours meant it had been nearly impossible to keep a squeaky clean visage. It had been the root to many an argument between them, Regina forever trying to prevent “Blackstone” from becoming a sullied name not to be trusted. Anthony’s death was a nuclear bomb, bound to expose secrets. But if Regina had anything to do with it, they’d be prying family secrets from her cold, hard hands.
“Katherine, I want you to deploy close-protection security to each of us. If Anthony’s murder is as suspicious as the police say, none of us are safe,” Regina’s words were clear, concise. Despite the inner turmoil that whirlpooled in the pit of her stomach, she spoke with the authority of a true Head of Family. “The Will reading is tomorrow. You all need to be there. Not that I think you’d miss the opportunity to hear first-hand what small fortune you’re each inheriting… Ryland will be distributing the estate and assets. Funeral arrangements are being made. It’ll be on Friday next week, providing they release your Father’s body in the next couple days…”
Regina paused for thought, levelling each of the children with her signature challenging gaze. She’d managed to speak with no real interruptions, much to her surprise. And as she took a moment to allow her words to sink in, to land with her children, she awaited their responses.
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