Chapter 5
Tristan
“Tristan, I am warning you, stay away from the assistants. For that matter, from all employees. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, mother.”
“I’m serious.” Her right toe taps at a brisk pace, underscoring her point. “I do not want our family to be wrapped up in a scandal. Do you hear me?”
“A scandal from what exactly? Dipping my quill in the company well?”
She raises her hand, and I slide away from her with a grin I can’t contain. “That ring of yours hurts.” She’s fun to rile. I’m in my mid thirties and yet Mum can turn me into a boorish teen in under an hour.
“I saw you looking at her.”
“I would have had to close my eyes to not look at her. She sits right outside his office.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t play ignorant. You looked at her like you fancy a fuck and that will not cut it in our family’s company.”
“When did you get that mouth?”
She lets out a pained sigh and her eyelashes flutter as if she’s enduring an agonizing pain commensurate with labor. “You are not taking me seriously.”
“I promise you, I am. It might surprise you to learn that while I disagree that my dating a fellow colleague ranks as scandalous, I do very much care about our family’s reputation.” I care so much, in fact, that I am on a long-term undercover assignment. It’s tempting to take her aside and tell Mum everything. But there are many reasons I won’t. And one of those reasons is that there’s no reason to bring my mother into this. If I told her, she’d take it as a personal affront and would hunt down the person, or persons, herself. She loves this company more than anything or anyone. I might be her flesh, but this company is my favored sibling. And I will not put my mother in harm’s way.
Apparently appeased, she steps forward to open the door to her burgeoning cosmetics start-up. She raised me to be a gentleman, and I move to open it for her, but she brushes me aside, pausing in the threshold.
“People will believe nepotism is the only reason you are here. I need for you to take this seriously. If you’re ready to settle down, I can introduce you to many accomplished women who would make a magnificent partner. If you’re not ready to settle down, go do your thing. But do it outside of these walls. Understood?”
“I already said I did.” With a subtle exhale, I breathe out my frustration. It’s a wonder my father can put up with her. She can’t let anything go and she repeats herself endlessly. “Aren’t we going to lunch?”
“I don’t have time. I moved things to make the time for the Nelson meeting.”
We planned on lunch last week. I had her assistant place it on her calendar.
“Oh, don’t look so dejected. Ring your father. He’ll be available.” Her expression softens, and she adds, “I’m thrilled for you to be here, Tristan. You’re going to be a resounding success. But Tristan?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t cock this up.” The brass plated door closes behind her with a dull thud.
At this end of the lobby, I’m quite alone. I doubt many people are even aware this passageway between Lumina and my mother’s start-up exists. The door looks like an internal door, but the weight of it is that of an exterior door. My mother moved on, but she didn’t move far.
I lean against the wall and pull out my phone to tap a text to my father.
Me: Lunch?
I lean against the wall and wait. Ferdinand, a cafe I’m partial to, is nearby. I could grab a tea while I wait for a response. Find a table and read. I have a few hours to blow before I should be back for the afternoon meeting. If I go back to my office and attempt work, I might give the impression of being someone other than a spoiled trust fund kid appeasing his parents. And my gut tells me it’s better that no one has a reason to see me as a threat.
I exit the building, headed toward the cafe. My thoughts go to the dark-haired exotic beauty, and her name plate. Lucia Oliveira. I’ve seen that name before.
Ozzie, the queen of all things tech, answers on the first ring. “If it isn’t my favorite Nomad.”
“How’s the code-breaking heartbreaker?”
“Busy. What chu need, sweets?”
“Can you look up a name for me?”
“Fire away.”
“Lucia Oliveira. If I recall correctly, she’s mentioned in one of the reports about the missing American incident.” I step around a gentleman on the sidewalk, listening to the clack of the keys through her speaker.
“She’s mentioned once. She told a Miss Sage Watson that her sister resigned.”
“Interesting.”
“How so?”
“It’s odd the call was routed to her. Not her department. Can you run a full background on her? And include financials.”
“Should have it in under thirty.”
“You are a wonder, my love.”
“Sod off.” The call ends and, as always, Ozzie has me grinning.
Debt is always an excellent incentive to play along. If the dark-haired beauty is involved, there’s no doubt she’s on the lower rung. But, low or high, in this game, I want all the players. If you’re cleaning the cobwebs, it doesn’t do to leave a strand behind.
My mobile rings and my father’s name shows on the screen.
“Dad,” I answer.
“Are you in Geneva?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you’d be back at the end of the month.”
“It’s the end of the month.”
“Ah, so it is. Well, yes, let’s definitely meet for lunch. Come to Le Jardiner.
The Michelin-starred French restaurant is a part of the Woodward Hotel and boasts views of the picturesque Geneva harbor. I researched it during the journey, and it’s precisely the type of lunch spot I would expect my father to frequent.
The host escorts me to a round table by the window. It’s chilly, and the patio is closed, but naturally, my father has secured a view. He’s not alone, but I didn’t anticipate him to be. He’s a sociable man. Clad in a collared sweater and dark jeans, his cheeks flushed and eyes smiling, the contrast between him and my mother couldn’t be more striking. At seventy-five, there’s a vibrancy about him that suggests he’s healthy and content with his circumstances. The shock of bright white hair atop his head is thick and brushed back. He underwent eye surgery several years ago, and no longer wears glasses, but there’s an indentation on the bridge of his nose if one looks closely from decades of wearing them.
The woman at my father’s table has shoulder-length hair, and like my father’s, it’s gray, but hers features a thick slate streak from near her crown to her shoulder. She removes her reading glasses, and I’m struck by her light blue eyes. Judging from her laugh lines, she’s older than my mother, and like my father, she’s retired and carefree.
“Son, I’d like for you to meet Cassandra. She’s an old friend.”
“Salu,” I say, taking her hand in mine and maintaining contact. Since I haven’t met her before, I do not air kiss her cheeks, but the way she angles her head, I might have if I hadn’t already been pulling back to take my seat.
“Thank you for letting me join last minute,” I say, since I’m quite positive my call interrupted a pre-planned lunch. Cassandra is vaguely familiar, which means she’s probably been a family friend, or perhaps she worked for the Wagner Group back in the day, and I probably should have kissed her cheek. My father keeps in touch with many of his old colleagues, as to him, they’re an adopted family. However, I don’t remember them.
“Nonsense,” Cassandra says.
Both she and my father are drinking glasses of a white wine, and they are sharing an artichoke and burrata appetizer.
My father gives me a firm hug and a clap on the back. With a hand on my shoulder, he peers inquisitively and asks, “So, you’re really going to do it?”
“I am.”
He shakes his head and returns to his seat. He doesn’t speak until his napkin is placed elegantly across his lap once more, but the crinkling around his eyes conveys amusement.
“Never saw you as a corporate man.”
As I pull up my chair, I sense Cassandra’s gaze. No doubt she’s intrigued by the prodigal son. I fix my attention on my father.
“Thought it might be time for a change.”
“Well, you know, I had a change of heart around your age, too.”
“I presume you’re referring to mum?” I’ve heard the story plenty of times. Dad entered a conference room, and he was so smitten by her beauty he stumbled over his presentation. My grandfather accused him of day drinking afterwards. I arrived about five years after they met. While they had a whirlwind courtship, my grandparents insisted on a lengthy engagement, and while my dad claims my mother locked him down at first sight, I’ve always sensed neither of them was eager to become parents. Indeed, they didn’t have a second, and I always had nannies.
After taking our orders, my father says, “Have a glass of wine with us. These days I consider a glass to be a requirement.”
I ordered only water. While I wish to appear aloof, I aim to be quite aware of my surroundings this afternoon. It will be my first chance to get a good look at the key players and to observe how they react to me.
“These days being your golden years?”
“You’ll be there too, one day.” His lazy smile is unfamiliar, but it’s the way he gazes at Cassandra that puts me on alert. “So tell me, what’s new?”
“Other than I returned to Geneva and accepted a position at Lumina?”
“There’s more to life than work and residence. You’re living at the condo?”
I inherited my condominium from my grandfather. It’s furnished, but I wouldn’t call it lived in. I far prefer my London flat. “Yes.”
“And is there a special someone in your life?”
“Are you getting sentimental in your old age? If you’re hunting for grandkids, I can assure they are not on your horizon.”
He chuckles and his cheeks rise with his smile. “Trust me, son, I’m not pressing you. I just want to know you’re fulfilled.” He coughs slightly, covering the noise with a fist. When he relaxes again, he sets a warm gaze upon me. “Tell me about your life.”
This is not the father I grew up with. We’re sitting at the table with a woman I likely know but do not recall and he’s behaving like…I don’t know. My grandfather. I push up from the table.
“Excuse me. I should wash my hands.”
Outside of the rest area, I check my mobile. There’s a text from Nigel asking if I’m situated. I reply that I am.
To buy some time before returning to the table, I scan the BBC headlines. Record heat. Electric vehicle order increases. A boat carrying migrants overturned.
I glance up from my phone and watch my father. His head leans close to Cassandra’s. They’re talking like close friends. Laughing. Perhaps I’ve got a bit of an ego, because I can’t help but feel they might be talking about me. Or laughing about how alike father and son are.
I slip my mobile into a pocket and stride to the table. But then I halt. It takes a second to fully process what I’m seeing.
My father’s fingers are linked with Cassandra’s above the table.
His gaze lifts, and he sees me. Gaze fixed on me, he half rises from his chair, presses his lips to Cassandra’s cheek, and only then does he remove his hand from hers. He brushes his hand across her back with kindness and fondness.
I can’t quite bring myself to do anything but watch his approach.
“Son,” he says, clasping a hand to my arm, “I’m glad you’ve met Cassandra. She’s an important person in my life.”
There’s a table to my right of two men dressed in business attire, and one glances our way.
“Would you like to step outside to talk?” He presses on my arm, pushing me in the requested direction.
“To talk?”
“Do you have questions?”
“If I am understanding the situation, you’re cheating on Mum and you’re asking me if I have questions.” My words sound slow to me, and I’m sure I sound like the fool, but my brain lags.
“Let’s get a breath of fresh air.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but maneuvers me to a side door.
Outside, the air is brisk, and he clasps his hands together and breathes on them. I’m caught in a surreal moment.
“Do you have any questions for me?” With those ruddy cheeks, he looks bloody happy. Outside on the patio, telling his son he’s cheating on his mother, he looks as happy as he did inside sipping wine.
“Are you and mum getting a divorce?” I’m in my thirties, I’ll survive. I hardly ever see them together, but what a load of rubbish.
“No. No. There’s no need for anything like that.”
I cock my head, unsure I heard him right. “Say that again?”
“Oh, Tristan. Come now. These are modern times. And at your age, this can’t be much of a surprise. Your mother and I have had an open marriage for decades. Cassandra is simply the first who has, well, she’s important to me. I plan to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Why not divorce?”
“That would be expensive. And not at all necessary. Your mother lives at the Wagner estate. Cassandra and I live at her place. There’s no need to go through splitting assets. We have one heir.”
I truly can’t believe I’m hearing this.
“Come now. Do I need to tell you we both love you? That this doesn’t change how we feel about you?”
He’s making light of the moment, and I smother the urge to pummel the bastard. I let out a sigh and pace the ground. Through the window, Cassandra watches. I don’t know her well, and can’t be certain what she’s thinking. But I imagine she’s concerned.
But should she be? Dad’s right in his own way. My parents never spend time together. My mum is married to work and isn’t showing any sign of slowing down. To the contrary, she’s roaring forward with a start up on the brink of something significant. And my dad desires long lunches and walks in the park.
“Is this going to be a problem?”
“Mom knows?” I need the verification.
“Yes, she does.”
“Is she—” I stop myself because I don’t want to know if she’s seeing anyone. I glance back at the restaurant window. My appetite evaporated. “I tell you what. Can you give Cassandra my regards? I’m sure she’s a lovely woman. And yes, I am going to be fine with this. I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness. But I need some time to wrap my head around this…situation.”
“I didn’t mean to spring it on you. I just…honestly, I didn’t expect you to be surprised.”
“Right.” I take stock. I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Flabbergasted? Thrown? “I suppose either you and Mum did a better job keeping that part of your lives under wraps than you thought or maybe I’m not nearly as observant as…” I let my words trail, clap him on the shoulder one last time and stroll away. I possess superior observational skills and pride myself on reading people. How the bloody hell did I miss this?