Chapter Twenty-Seven
Spencer
“Have you heard?” Orson asks.
Still holding the phone to my ear, I open the sliding door onto the deck and go out, bringing my smoothie with me.
“Heard what?” I sip the blended mix of milk, oats, and bananas, looking out at the ocean. I’ve been for a run, and I’m feeling more positive than I have in a long while.
“About Marama,” he says.
I stop with the glass halfway to my lips, and my heart bangs on my ribs. “What’s happened?” Ah fuck. For a moment, I’m convinced he’s about to say she’s lost the baby. I’m surprised at the deep stab of pain I feel in my gut at the thought.
“Nothing, she’s okay,” he says, “I meant the unveiling. Did you see the headline?”
“No. Unveiling of what?”
“There’s some kind of Open Day at Lumen today, and they’ve announced they’re going to be unveiling Marama’s first painting, as a teaser for her upcoming exhibition.”
I look at my glass and swirl the last inch of smoothie around the bottom. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I… thought you should know, after everything that’s been going on.
” He hesitates. “Dad, I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday. You should absolutely have been invited to that meeting. I should have insisted. I did actually think you wouldn’t want to be there, and that I’d scout it out and report back to you, but I appreciate how it looked.
We honestly were just trying to get the lie of the land and find out what the new club would look like.
We’re just trying to find a way to stop it being a complete disaster. ”
I finish off the smoothie. “It won’t be a disaster.
In a way, she was right—Lumen does appeal to a different clientele.
We don’t target movie stars and models at Midnight.
I think Elizabeth and Joanna would object to the ‘old white guys’ accusation, but we’re a business club first and foremost, and I think there’s room for both of us. ”
“Oh,” Orson says.
My lips curve up. “Huxley’s already called to apologize, and we had a long talk about it.
I understand why I wasn’t invited. I’ve…
not been at the races lately, what with one thing and another.
I’m sorry about that. I’ve let my personal life intrude on my business one, and that just makes everything more difficult. ”
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Look, Scarlett and Marama went out for lunch midweek and had a long chat, so I kinda know what’s going on.”
That shocks me. “She told Scarlett about the baby?”
“About the what?”
There’s a long silence.
“Fuck,” I say eventually.
“Baby?” he says. “Marama’s pregnant?”
“Ah… yeah…”
“And you’re the father?”
I wince, put down the glass, and massage my brow. “Yeah.”
He’s silent again for a long time.
I lower onto a chair and lean forward, elbows on my knees, letting him process the news. I don’t want to apologize, because that implies my relationship with Marama was a mistake, and it wasn’t, and I’m not sorry about it. But equally, I know I must have hurt his feelings, and I do regret that.
“I apologize for the shock,” I say eventually.
“The baby was a mistake?” he asks. When I don’t reply, he says, “Sorry, that was rude.”
“It was a fair question. We didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Is she keeping it?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long have you known?”
“Less than a week.”
“So you’re not… together?”
“No. Not yet.”
My relationship with my two children has never been amazing.
Helen is her mother’s daughter, and we’ve never been close.
I’ve been thinking about her a lot, and I do intend to try harder with her, especially now she has Callum, although I suspect she’s not going to be forgiving, and it’ll take a while to mend all the bridges between us.
But Orson is my firstborn and my heir. It doesn’t mean as much nowadays, but somehow it does still mean something.
I wanted him to grow up physically and mentally strong, and I know I was too hard on him.
I set my expectations high, and although he met them most of the time, that pressure had a detrimental effect on our relationship, which is often strained.
I want to mend that. As with Helen, it’s not going to happen overnight, especially if Marama keeps the baby.
But this is my mess, and I’m the only one who can fix it.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I admit.
“I didn’t react well when she told me. All I could think about was the impact the scandal and shame would have on me, my friends, and my family.
I’m hoping to correct that, but I’m not sure how she’ll react; she has every right to tell me to go fuck myself.
If she doesn’t… it will become public knowledge, and that’s obviously going to impact you.
The thought of your father having a child at my age must be embarrassing.
I am very sorry about that, and also for any distress it causes you. ”
“Dad…”
“Let me finish, son. I want you to know that I regret that we’re not closer, and I’d like to rectify that. You’ve turned out to be a fine man, a good one, strong and honorable, and I’m incredibly proud of you. And I wish I’d been a better father to you and Helen.” I stop, my voice husky.
“Jeez,” he says, “I didn’t expect this when I woke up this morning.”
“Well, I like to keep you on your toes.”
We both laugh.
“You were a good dad,” he says firmly. “Yeah, okay, maybe we didn’t throw a ball around in the garden much.
Yes, you were tough on me. But it made me resilient, and it pushed me to work harder.
I wouldn’t be where I am now if you’d been different.
I’ve always been proud to say you were my father, both at school and in business. ”
“Thank you.” My voice catches, and I clear my throat. “That means a lot.”
“Obviously,” he continues, “I don’t know how Marama will react to you either.
But I want you to know that I don’t care how old she is; only that she makes you happy, and that you’re good to her, too, as I like her a lot.
And as for the baby… I think you’ll be a much more relaxed dad now, and he or she would be very lucky to have you.
Don’t worry about me. I’m fine with it. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks or says.
Words don’t matter. It’s actions that count. ”
“When did you get to be so smart,” I tease.
“I was taught by this wise old sage…”
“Hey, less of the old.”
We both laugh again.
“Anyway,” he says, “Scarlett wants to go to the unveiling to support Marama, so I’m going with her. I just thought I’d let you know. I’ll call you afterward, if you like, let you know what the painting looks like.”
“No need,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
There’s a stunned silence. Then he says, “Wait, what?”
“I’ll be there,” I say calmly. “I want to see the painting.”
“But… you’ve read about how she’s painted you…”
“I know. And I’m sure I deserve it. I’ll face the music. And if that doesn’t convince her to have me, I don’t know what will.”
“Well, you’re a braver man than I am, Gunga Din. Are you sure about this? Genevieve’s going to have a field day.”
“Again, I probably deserve it. I’ll take what they throw at me, and hopefully emerge a better man for it.”
“Or it’ll completely crush you.”
“Best to look on the bright side.”
He gives a short laugh. “All right. I’ll see you there.” He pauses. “I admire you for going.”
“It’s either going to be the smartest thing I’ve ever done or the most stupid, and that’s saying something.”
He laughs again, and ends the call.
I put down the phone and look out at the ocean.
Despite my cavalier attitude, and the fact that I don’t get anxious very often, I’m nervous at the thought of going to Lumen and facing the music in front of everyone.
But I wanted to make a grand gesture to Marama, and this might be just what I was looking for.
She hasn’t lost the baby. Earlier this week I thought that might be the best outcome, as horrible as it would be for her.
Now, though, I’m surprised at the relief I feel.
Of course, she might still be planning to end the pregnancy, and I won’t try to stop her if that’s the case.
But I don’t want her to feel she has to do it because it’s the only option for her.
I want to give her a choice, and then she can make up her mind.
First though, there’s something I need to find, and I only have a couple of hours to do it.
I get to my feet and head indoors to have a shower and get dressed. Might as well look my best for the big event.
*
At ten minutes to one, I get out of the Uber and approach Lumen’s front doors. I’m wearing one of my best suits, a three-piece Italian cut, dark gray, with a pink-and-silver-striped tie and a pink pocket square. I’ve shaved and combed my hair, and used the cologne I know Marama likes.
Outside, posters declare the club is open to anyone and everyone today.
Guests are welcome to look around the club, talk to staff, and to have a glass of wine and nibbles while they meet and chat to clients and other visitors.
It’s a smart move on Genevieve’s part, as I’m sure there are many women especially who’ve wondered what goes on behind the closed doors, and it gives them a commitment-free opportunity to discover the facilities during a time when it looks busy and productive.
My mouth has gone dry and my palms are sweating, but I gather my courage and walk through the doors with my head high.
The foyer is packed with people, all talking and laughing while they munch on finger food, sip from champagne glasses, and exchange business cards or scan QR codes on each other’s phones.
There are more men here than I thought there’d be; I wonder whether that was planned on Genevieve’s part?
A woman-focused club is an interesting idea, but it doesn’t make sense to me for her to limit membership, and maybe she’s come to that realization too.