Chapter 22
Ethan
Sophia may be off on what strikes me as an ill-advised and irresponsible night out tonight at Alchemy, but she’s here right now.
A small part of me feels marginally guilty that I’m making her work a second consecutive Saturday, but a far larger and more forceful part needs to know she’s safe and here and within my orbit.
The sense of conflict between those two emotions has me wondering, for just a moment, if that’s what Sophia means whenever she bangs on about my ‘parts’. I’m damned if I’ll give her the satisfaction of asking her to elaborate on her psychobabble. I’d rather die.
We’ve moved from my study to the kitchen where we’re poring over the list of questions and issues that my initial meetings with the biggest Montague investors have yielded.
Our aim is to go back to each party as soon as humanly possible with the answers they require, but some of their queries require serious number-crunching on our part.
I have my Strategy team and my Finance Director on the case, but Sophia is helping me compile all the information in one folder, organised by theme, so we have it to hand.
The reception overall has been warm, I would say.
It’s better than a tepid or outright icy reaction, but it’s not a foregone conclusion.
Our success in persuading the most influential investors to swap their Montague Group shares for Kingsley Hotel shares will depend on our ability to forecast mega cost efficiencies…
and to persuade them that we will execute on these once we get the keys to the Montague kingdom.
It’s a tough sell and, as war correspondents would describe it, a highly unstable situation on the ground.
None of which is remotely appeasing to me.
Of course, the more the investors smell value creation and the more they demand we slash costs between the two groups, the more the Montagues will dig their heels in.
In a word, messy.
Very fucking messy.
Sophia doesn’t seem particularly happy with my current behaviour, but the feeling is mutual.
When all around me a shit show of epic proportions is waging, I’d like to think the EA I’m throwing six figures a month at could rise to the occasion and provide a bit of fucking stability, but no.
I admit I made a tit of myself yesterday over her PT session, but I’m extra sensitive right now.
I’d like everything to be just so, in my office at least. I’d like to know someone in my life has the ability and the desire to meet my needs, but Sophia is far too busy psychoanalysing me to offer any actual comfort.
She’s just another moving part in this chaotic mess, and it’s very fucking disappointing.
We’re absorbed in breaking down the follow-ups from my meeting with Legal & General on Thursday when, to my discomfort, in walks Elena, my ex-wife.
Excellent.
I’d forgotten she was coming. I’d forgotten Jamie was here, truth be told.
He stayed over last night because she had an urgent meeting in Brussels, and I haven’t actually seen him yet today.
I also didn’t hear the doorbell ring. One of the staff must have let her in.
She looks tired but perfectly groomed, as always, and, as always, distinctly displeased to be back in the house where I apparently made her so unhappy.
I close the laptop with a sigh and stand to greet her.
SOPHIA
Ooooh.
So this is Ethan’s ex-wife?
Fascinating.
I sit up straight and pull my sweater cuffs down over my hands as Ethan rises to greet her, because this kitchen is like the Arctic Circle.
‘Hi,’ he says, his voice quiet but not what I would call intimate. Weary, more like. Resigned, maybe. He kisses her on both cheeks and breaks away to gesture at me.
‘This is my new EA, Sophia. Sophia—Elena, Jamie’s mother.’
Is that an odd way of putting it? I dunno. I’d expect him to call her my ex-wife, but maybe that’s unnecessarily brutal. It’s not exactly my area of expertise.
‘Hi!’ I say as brightly as I can, hopping off my bar stool.
Ethan may be the last person on earth with whom I’d want to attempt a relationship, but at the end of the day, we’re fucking, and I’m only human.
I want to check this woman out and, at the very least, try my psychoanalysis party trick on the person who actually did attempt a relationship with him.
I kind of wish I could give the poor woman a badge that says AT LEAST I TRIED.
I shake her hand. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. Jamie’s a very sweet boy.’ Although I had no idea he was here.
‘Hi, Sophia,’ she says, giving me a smile that looks frankly exhausted but is also undeniably genuine. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, too.’
‘How was Brussels?’ Ethan asks her. To me, he adds, ‘Elena is a translator for the UN.’ There’s no pride in his voice. He’s merely stating a fact. He’s not getting off on having an accomplished wife.
‘Oh, how interesting,’ I say, although I already knew this.
Ethan’s father, Richard, told me as much when he was asking his son about Elena the other day in front of me.
Clearly Ethan doesn’t remember. Richard definitely was getting off on Elena’s accomplishments.
I bet he thought it helped his family’s optics. Even if she’s run for the hills.
‘It was fine, thanks.’ She rubs her forehead tiredly. ‘It went on ridiculously late, but I got the first train back this morning.’
My hot takes are as follows:
One, Ethan hasn’t done what the offspring of so many parents with DPD—dickwad personality disorders—do and repeat the pattern by seeking the mirror image of what they believe love looks like by shacking up with another dickwad.
Elena looks to be genuinely undickwaddish.
And she’s a translator for the UN, so she’s presumably altruistic in nature.
She’s possibly a Two or a Three Enneagram—The Helper or The Achiever—or a combination of the two. Hmm. Her obvious exhaustion suggests she spreads herself too thin, puts others’ needs first, and has issues upholding boundaries. I bet she could have used a lie-in and a later train this morning.
Two, I’m not getting any vibes of affection or pining or regret from Ethan. He’s respectful rather than tender towards her. A bit awkward, too. Whatever shit went down between these two—and I’d give a lot of money for the full scoop—he’s not in love with her anymore, nor she with him.
And three, Elena is beautiful. Like, really stunning in a genetically blessed, can’t-be-faked way.
Not that I’d expect less from Ethan—whatever he lacks in the personality department, he’s objectively gorgeous and loaded.
He was always going to marry and procreate with a beautiful woman.
Elena is tiny and slim, almost bird-like, from what I can see through her gorgeous Max Mara camel coat, which hangs open.
She’s wearing small but impeccable pearls and tan Tod’s loafers and some tailored trousers with a merino-knit polo neck.
Everything is classy and understated, unlike yours truly.
Her bone structure is stunning, her eyes the same clear brown colour as her son’s, and her shiny nut-brown hair is pulled into a neat chignon.
The woman is fucking gorgeous, even after an early commute from continental Europe.
‘How’s Jamie?’ she continues, looking up at Ethan quizzically. He really does tower over her.
‘Fine. I haven’t seen much of him.’
‘How did his maths assessment go?’
Ethan frowns. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’ Code for I have no fucking clue. I wonder if they spent any time together last night.
‘Well, I’d better get him.’ She gestures awkwardly at the door to the hallway. ‘I’d like to get as much of the day with him as possible.’
Something softens in my heart—Jamie’s mother rushed back from an overseas trip on the first possible train so she could spend the weekend with her son. I’m just so damn happy to know he has one parent who can’t get enough of him.
Before Elena can go off in search of him, there’s a thunderous disturbance on the stairs on the scale of someone ripping out a bathroom and chucking its contents down the stairs.
‘Don’t run!’ Ethan roars in a Dad voice.
Jamie enters the room at a fair clip, slowing down as soon as he sees the three of us and doing his best to look cool as he shuffles across the kitchen.
He’s in a dark green hoodie—hood up—and black scuffed jeans.
He goes straight to his mum and folds her into a hug, dwarfing her entirely. She clings on to him tightly.
‘Hi, my gorgeous boy. Oh my goodness, such a good hug. You ready to go?’
‘Sure,’ he mumbles against her. I risk a glance at Ethan. He’s watching them with what looks like a stricken expression. I wonder if seeing Jamie’s easy affection with his mother reminds him of how lacking his relationship with his son seems to be.
‘Excellent.’ Elena releases him. ‘Do you have all your stuff? iPad? Phone? Chargers?’
He looks down at his feet. ‘Yeah. Think so.’
‘Sketch pad? You can’t forget that. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been working on.’
He smiles, bashful. He’s such a sweetheart. ‘Got it.’
‘Great. Say goodbye to your father, then.’
‘Bye, Dad,’ Jamie mutters, making no attempt to go to Ethan.
‘See you soon, mate.’ Ethan steps forward and gives him an awkward slap on the upper arm. ‘Have a good weekend, yeah?’
‘It was so nice to meet you, Sophia,’ Elena says.
‘You too!’ I say brightly. ‘Have a great weekend, Jamie.’
‘Bye,’ he manages.
‘I’ll walk you out,’ Ethan says stiffly.
Boy, this is all very awkward. My inner Seven wants to run for the hills…
or straight to Bond Street at least, to drown out all this Kingsley dysfunction in some good old hedonism.
Thank god I have Alchemy tonight. I’ll need it after this house and its master have finished sucking the very soul out of me.
‘Honey, why don’t you go wait in the car?’ I hear Elena say from the hallway. ‘I want to talk to your father for a sec.’