Chapter 19
Hendricks
“Don’t normally see you in this early.”
I smile sheepishly at Claudia. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She raises an eyebrow in response. She’s not buying the bullshit I’m selling this morning.
It’s not bullshit, though. Not totally anyway. I woke up exceptionally early after a fitful night. The quality of my sleep has gradually worsened since Saturday, since Sienna called and the countdown to seeing her again after years of no contact began. Because I still don’t know what she wants.
But I’ll find out today.
The other reason I’m here this early, the one I suspect Claudia has already guessed for herself is the date. February 5th. Story’s birthday.
“Nothing to do with my other early morning customer then, I s’pose?”
Yup. She knows.
I pull my best confused expression and peer around, there’s not a soul in here. The pre-commute rush hasn’t started yet, but once the church clock chimes seven a.m. and The Beanery officially opens, there’ll be a queue out the door.
“Don’t know what you mean, Claud.” I shake my head. “I’ll take the two coffees to go, please. And can you put the flapjacks in separate bags . . . on second thought, put two in one bag and one in the other.”
As I’m out this early, I may as well take a flapjack home for Max while I’m at it.
Claudia turns to the coffee machine and the familiar whirr and chug of the beans grinding, followed by the drip and scent of brewing coffee fills the air.
“Am I putting six sugars in one of these?” This time, both brows shoot up and she knows she’s got me.
I don’t know why I’m so reluctant to admit I’m in the coffee shop before the sun’s risen buying flapjacks and coffee for Story and me.
It’s probably got something to do with all the meddlers—Claudia included—who give me a look every time they see us together.
A look that says “six years apart and we want to know what’s going on. ”
Because they saw us grow up together, they’re as invested in our relationship as I am.
The other reason—one I’m never going to admit—is that I only know Story will be here because I overheard her talking to Claudia at the meeting on Monday.
Apparently, she runs every morning and picks up a coffee from The Beanery on the way home.
This morning, however, I’ve taken care of the coffees and will be intercepting her regular schedule.
“Yes, please.”
She continues in silence, virtually unheard of for Claudia.
Every so often she opens her mouth, only to close it again when one of her staff rushes in with a tray of croissants fresh from the oven.
By the time she’s done with the coffees and bagged up the flapjack, a small queue has formed behind me.
“Wish Story many happy returns.” She calls after me as I exit the shop, loud enough that every single person hears.
Not telling Claudia was my first mistake.
My second is that I don’t actually know which direction Story will come in.
It’s still dark enough the streetlamps are lit, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones.
Down near the Valentine archway, I spot a few people rushing toward the station for the 07.
07 train to London, but I don’t see anyone who looks like Story.
Deciding that she’s more likely to come from the direction of the fountain, I hedge my bets and walk toward it. I’m not halfway there before my chance pays off.
I wait while she sprints past The One True Love, along the pavement, legs powering her forward at an impressive speed.
Tight Lycra hugs her body—every curve, every dip and swell—leaving nothing to the imagination. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve thought about her like this since we rescued Churchill. It’s what’s been haunting my dreams during the very little sleep I’ve had.
That, and the almost kiss.
She’s passing Agatha’s when she spots me, surprise flashes in her eyes before it’s replaced with a little twinkle as she slows to a stop. Pulling out her AirPods, she swipes away the sheen of sweat on her forehead and grips her waist.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” she puffs.
I give her the excuse I gave Claudia. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I don’t want to admit that I’m here especially for her birthday. We might be trying this friends thing on for size, but it doesn’t have the same fit it once did—even after spending Saturday together building the kissing booth.
“Is today the day?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Her head tilts a fraction, studying me, but her eyes fall onto the coffee cups and the paper bags with The Beanery stamped on the side. “Can I smell flapjack?”
“Nothing gets past you.” I grin and hold one out to her. “Happy Birthday, Stor.”
She stares, incredulous, then snatches it out of my hand like she’s worried I’m going to change my mind about giving her a flapjack. “You remembered?”
“Of course I did.” Even when she was in Australia I always remembered. I pass over the coffee. “To dunk it in.”
She takes it, eases off the plastic and sticks her nose so close she comes away with a tiny spot of frothy milk. “Mmm. And you put—”
“Six sugars.”
Her smile rivals the sunrise. “Thanks, Hen. This is the best birthday present I’ve ever had.”
“You’re welcome.”
She takes a long sip, followed by another. “So what happens today?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, we’re meeting at my solicitor’s offices as per Sienna’s request. We’re as prepared as we can be for all eventualities.”
“It’s going to be okay, Hen,” she says, wrapping her free arm around me, squeezing me tight.
My chin drops onto her head, allowing myself to settle against her.
Because this, the hug, breathing her in—even sweaty—until my nervous system relaxes, is exactly what I’m doing in Valentine Nook before the sun’s fully risen.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. On one hand, no, I’m not sure. On the other, I know bringing Miles with me to Arthur’s office to meet Sienna could make things worse.
Or better. It’s impossible to decide.
“Let me drive you at least,” he pleads. “You’re not exactly thinking straight, and you need someone to talk it through with.”
“Mum’s coming with me because she’s got a meeting with the estate anyway. James is driving.” I place my hands on Miles’s shoulders. He’s as tense as I am. “But could you please collect Max from school? Maybe take him to Foxleigh after?”
My twin nods, and even if worry wasn’t written all over his face, I’d feel it.
It’s one of the reasons I don’t want him with me.
He’s much more explosive than I am, and I can’t have it jeopardizing anything if Sienna acts like the bitch we all know her to be.
The PTSD from two years of dealing with her is real, and I know how to stay calm amid her excessive demands and bullish solicitors.
The quicker this meeting is over, the better. I’ve barely slept in the four nights since she called and asked for it.
The first night, I didn’t go to bed at all.
I just sat up all night in the library working through game plans A, B, C, and D while reruns of The Simpsons played on the TV.
The second night, Miles joined me. The third, I took a sleeping tablet, which didn’t work until halfway through the morning of the fourth day. Which is why I didn’t sleep that night.
My body clock is fucked. I’m currently eight hours behind. If I were in California for the meeting, I’d be golden.
“Sure, we can do that. He can take Chester for a ride. That’ll stop him from asking too many questions. He might even think I’m you.” He winks, and I admit it raises a small smile.
“Thanks, Milo. I love you.”
“I love you. Remember elbows in, bump hard, and you’ll be fine. Especially if the duchess is there channeling her best Rottweiler.”
“What’s that?”
We both turn as our mother walks in, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves.
“See, she’s come prepared for murder. Everything will be fine.”
“Miles, what are you talking about? Who’s been murdered?”
“Just talking about your gloves, Mother.”
She holds her hands up, turning them back and forth. A dignified wave. “These? They’re Hermès, why?”
“Don’t worry about it, Mum.” He slings an arm around her and kisses her cheek. “Just let us know where to bury the body later. James can help. I’m sure he’s had plenty of experience with that in his time.”
My mother rolls her eyes, though her lips twitch in amusement. “I’m sure it won’t come down to that.”
“I’m just saying, I’ll provide you an alibi.”
“Miles, shut up,” I snap, though it’s more weary than annoyed. “Mum, can we go?”
“Yes, darling. James is bringing the car around.” She nods and walks out of the kitchen.
Miles and I follow down the corridor, accompanied by Dolly, Maud, and Hamish the Labradors, because they always have to know what’s happening.
I stare out of the huge mullioned windows that line each side to the wide lawns below.
Beyond that, fields stretch as far as the eye can see, some dotted with cows, others with horses.
Ironically, it’s a stunning day, where thunderous clouds would be more suitable.
The skies are clear, and the air is crisp. The best kind of day.
But then my eyes catch Max’s fire engine on the veranda, and the rage bubbling under my skin becomes too much.
“Fuck.” My fingers press into my temples before a migraine sets in.
Miles’s hand clamps around my neck, and he pulls me in. “It’s going to be okay. This is Max’s home.”
“Where’s Clem?”
“In the gym, but I’ll take her on the school run later. Auntie and Uncle to the rescue.” Miles victory pumps his fist.
“Thanks. Sorry it’s all happening on Birgitta’s day off.” I open the front door to where the car is waiting, and my mother is already in the back seat. I slide in next to her. “I’ll text you when it’s over.”
“Ready?” asks James.
I nod and debate asking him to play Ice Cube for good luck, but in the end, we drive in silence. At least until we get to the end of the driveway.
“James said Story MacIntosh was helping you with the Valentine committee.”
I glance at him, expecting him to meet my eye through the mirror, but his focus stays straight on the road. He’s excellent at pretending not to hear anything, which is why half the time we forget he’s there and how one hundred percent of the time our mother knows everything. Because he’s told her.
“She was. She’s part of the school representation. The choir is singing.”
“And I hear she helped you with Churchill the other week?”
I nod. “She found him and called the surgery.”
“How is he?”
“Back to normal. I saw him in Alex’s garden this morning on the way back from dropping Max.”
She chuckles as she looks out the window. “But she’s back for good now?”
I sigh. “I don’t know, Mum. Why?”
She turns her body toward me, reaching over the center console to take my hand. “Hendricks, Max is six this year. In that time, I’ve never seen you even remotely interested in meeting a woman—”
“Mum—”
“Don’t interrupt. I know the past few years have been a lot, that you haven’t wanted to bring someone into your life for Max’s sake, and I respect that. I think it’s the right thing to do. But . . .”
Of course there’s a but.
“I think you’ve been waiting for Story. And now she’s here.”
“I—”
“You know I always suspected the two of you would end up together, and truth be told, it made me very nervous. You were so young when you met, and you spent all your time together whenever Miles was off with polo. I can’t say I wasn’t happy you seemed to drift apart when you went to university.
Her mother told me she had a boyfriend in Australia, but she broke it off—”
I frown. “She had a boyfriend?”
“He wasn’t the one, apparently. I suspect for reasons similar to why you haven’t made the slightest effort to meet someone.”
“Mum, c’mon. That’s not fair.”
Her mouth purses, then she shrugs and goes back to looking out the window. It’s her way of saying I’m right and you know it. Maybe it’s true. Maybe there are reasons I’ve stayed single beyond dedicating my time to raising my son.
“All I’m saying is that once we’re done with today’s mess, maybe this is your chance to be more than Max’s father.”
We pull up to the law offices with their black doors, iron railings, and double-sided stone steps.
One of the junior associates is waiting, opening the door for my mother once the car stops.
He’s equal parts intimidated and sycophantic, a reaction she elicits from most people.
Lando receives the same treatment, Alex sometimes, whereas Miles, Clemmie, and I are too far down the pecking order to have any real effect.
“Lord Burlington”—he nods deeply, though it’s aimed at my mother—“your Grace.” I know that had she not been here, he would have stayed waiting inside, perhaps wouldn’t even have bothered coming to greet me until I’d checked in.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, if not for some unusual circumstances. ”
“Edward.” She smiles, pulling out her uncanny knack for remembering every single person’s name, and he simpers underneath it while following close on her heel as she marches inside. “Good to see you again. Now, shall we get on with it? Where’s Arthur?”
I glance at the clock. Sienna is scheduled to arrive in five minutes. For the past thirty, we’ve been going over my legal team’s strategy—somewhat tricky, seeing as we don’t know what she wants.
“Again,” Arthur says, “these are the possible scenarios we’ve come up with. One, she wants more money. Two, she wants to meet Max. Or three, she’s decided she wants a relationship with him, including visitation rights and custody.”
“She can fuck off if she thinks she’s getting two or three.”
My face drops to my hands, fingers digging into my skull. I sit there trying to block everything out while my mother and half a dozen solicitors debate my fate.
It’s so hard.
It’s so fucking hard to figure out what’s right for my son. Whether denying him access to the woman who gave birth to him is for his benefit or mine. What will happen when he’s eighteen and discovers I’m the one who blocked a relationship with her because I thought it was for the best?
Is five years old too young for him to decide for himself? If that’s even what she wants.
And so we go around and around. The boardroom becomes a pressure cooker as the clock ticks toward the hour and beyond.
“Where is she?” my mother snaps. “She’s half an hour late, for goodness’ sake. This isn’t the sign of a person responsible enough to look after a child.”
“Try her again. Where are her solicitors?”
Edward leans across the table and hits redial. Ringing sounds out over the speakerphone until it cuts out. No voicemail, nothing. We leave another message with her legal team.
“She’s got fifteen minutes, and then we’re leaving. We’re not wasting time sitting here for someone we don’t want to see in the first place.”
We don’t need fifteen minutes because in five, my phone beeps with a message.
SIENNA: Sorry, Hendricks. I’m not coming.