Chapter 39
Ethan
‘You look even more pleased with yourself than usual,’ my old mate Brendan observes as he pulls out a chair opposite me.
I’m not sure self-satisfaction is a state I permit myself that often, but if he’s referring to my Caribbean tan and my relative level of relaxation, then he may have a point.
‘I could say the exact same thing for you.’ I stand and slap him on the back as I bro-hug him.
We’ve arranged to have a drink in the Parliament bar at the Kingsley Westminster. It’s been a while since we caught up—a function of my preoccupation with the Montague deal and his preoccupation with his EA-turned-girlfriend, Marlowe.
He’d never admit it, but I suspect it’s also partly due to the fact that he brought Marlowe in for a threesome with me before he’d admitted to himself that he was seriously into her.
As far as I’m concerned, it was an amusing interlude, now forgotten, but I suspect he wishes he’d never done it.
From what I can tell, the bloke is head over heels.
And I’d never admit how much I’ve been looking forward to catching up with him.
When did I become the kind of man whose social calendar consists of business dinners and obligatory family functions?
Brendan's one of the few people who knew me before I became... whatever the hell I am now. In a life full of barely tolerated networking, Bren’s a breath of fresh air. And god knows I need that.
‘I’m feeling pretty fucking smug, actually,’ he says with his trademark wide grin as he sits down. He’s like a big, good-natured golden retriever.
‘Popped the question, did you?’
‘Nah. Although, between us, I went ring shopping last week. Brought Gabe’s fiancée Athena along to make sure I got it right—I think I told you she and Marlowe are best mates from school.
She fucking fleeced me. To say I got upsold is an understatement.
I’ll need to work till I’m eighty to pay it off. ’
I let out a genuine laugh. ‘That’s amazing, mate. Seriously, congratulations. When are you popping the question?’
‘I’m taking her and Tabs—that’s her daughter—to the BVIs after Christmas to give the new catamaran a whirl. Thought I’d do it then.’
‘Brendan Sullivan, family man. I never thought I’d see the day. No wonder you’re so pleased with yourself.’
He crosses one ankle over the other knee and picks up the scotch I have waiting for him, saluting me with it. ‘She has to say yes first. But that’s not why I’m pleased as fuck. I had a very interesting day in Nottingham today.’
I frown. ‘What were you doing in Nottingham?’ As far as I know, Sullivan Construction’s business interests are solely focused on London.
‘You may well ask.’ He leans forward conspiratorially.
‘Marlowe has no clue about this, by the way. I’m not sure how she’d react.
But get this. Tabby’s biological father was Marlowe’s music professor when she was at uni.
The pathetic fuck seduced her and then showed her the door when she told him she was pregnant.
Tried to strong-arm her into getting an abortion. ’
I grimace. ‘Jesus. What a prick.’ Brendan has filled me in on his girlfriend’s daughter’s health issues, and the fact that he dropped everything to go to the US and be with them when the little girl had a heart valve replacement.
Sounds like Marlowe, who seems to be a lovely woman, has had a shitty run of things.
‘Yeah. He was married at the time. Fed Marls a load of bullshit about how he was unhappy in his marriage, but when push came to shove, he was just a fucking predator. Clearly he was scared shitless that he’d get busted, because Marls told me he moved to a different uni that summer. But she wouldn’t tell me which one.’
A slow smile spreads over my face. ‘Let me guess. Nottingham?’
‘Got it.’
‘How did you find out?’
He snorts. ‘Hired a private investigator. It wasn’t exactly difficult for him to find this twat, but I wanted some extra leverage from him too, shall we say.’
‘So you’ve gone full vigilante, basically?’
‘Yep. Paid him a little visit today in his faculty.’ He screws up his face. ‘God, what a worthless piece of shit he is. How the fuck you walk away from a woman like Marls, I don’t know. But his intense stupidity is my gain.’
‘What did you say to him?’ I’m enjoying this yarn immensely.
It’s such a Brendan thing to do: the stubborn side of his default golden retriever mode.
His lack of impulse control has caused him problems in the past—there’s no doubt about that—but I find his cavalier, fuck it attitude far more refreshing than I would if I’d spent more of the past decade cultivating realness in my relationships.
‘We had a little chat.’ He grins at the memory.
‘Reminded him of his spectacularly poor life choices. Told him that he’d donated sperm to the most amazing, resilient little girl to ever walk this earth.
Told him he wasn’t worthy of scraping the shit off her shoes, or her mother’s.
He seemed pretty affronted until I pulled out my trump cards. ’
He pauses, smiling broadly as he nurses his scotch. His Irish genes have made him a highly entertaining storyteller, so I’ll allow him this pause for effect as he spins his yarn.
‘First, I put down a photo of the PhD student he’s currently fucking.’ He shakes his head. ‘Randy old fucker. He must be pushing fifty. But the pièce de résistance was when I showed him a piece of paper with his wife’s name, mobile number and email address on it.’
I bark out a shocked laugh that has the people at the next table looking over in alarm. ‘Holy fuck. Remind me never to cross you.’
He starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking.
‘Genuinely one of the most satisfying moments of my life. I let him know that Marlowe was now in my care, and that I was one of the wealthiest and most influential people in the British Isles. I told him I was this close to making a donation to the University of Nottingham’s Music Department, the only condition of which would be the immediate termination of his contract and an investigation into his abuses of power so thorough that he’d never work again. ’
‘Jesus Christ. Weren’t you tempted to just crack on and do it?’
He shrugs. ‘Nah. He has a wife and two kids. The poor fuckers have enough on their plates dealing with that gobshite without being on the breadline, too. But I told him if he doesn’t cease all romantic relationships with his students for good, then I’ll know about it, and the axe will fall swiftly. ’
With that ominous pronunciation, he sits back and takes a swig of his scotch.
Here’s the thing about Bren: he’s larger than life and so full of bluster.
He definitely isn’t known for thinking through consequences before acting on his impulses.
But he also has a heart of gold. Sparing that jackass for the sake of his family is classic Brendan. I give him an approving nod.
‘Classy. That was the right way to go, I suppose.’
‘Yeah.’ He stretches and yawns. ‘Shame. Would have been fun to destroy the useless cunt. I did get Marlowe’s old boss from the Royal Academy fired last week, though.
He fired her when she left early too often to take Tabs to A&E.
Pathetic tosser. So I pulled some strings and had him axed.
Probably the second and last time our family’s patronage of the RA has actually served any useful purpose—my first meeting with Marls there aside. ’
I chuckle. Despite an elite education, Bren hasn’t a cultured bone in his body, and he’s not afraid to admit it.
‘But enough about me.’ He pours us each a generous slosh from the bottle of Macallan I had the server leave on our table. ‘I’m dying to know how it’s going with the lovely Sophia.’
The discomfort is instant. Obviously, things between me and the lovely Sophia are going very fucking well.
Mustique was, undeniably, a kind of turning point, even if I’m unsure yet what kind.
All I know is that there is, for want of a better word, an intimacy between us now that goes beyond mere chemistry.
And if I’m not ready to analyse any of it too closely, except to say that I feel lighter, more contented, than I’d expect given the immense work headaches I’ve got going on, then I’m certainly not ready to analyse any of it with Brendan.
Deflection it is.
‘Have you met her?’
‘Once. Briefly, last month. Marls had her and Athena over for a girls’ night when I was out at a dinner, but I caught them before they left. They were pretty hammered.’ He grins knowingly. ‘She’s very entertaining and very hot.’
I purse my lips together before replying. ‘No argument here.’
‘So it’s going well? I don’t have much to go on except what I’ve heard from Marls, but I understand she has a Mustique tan to match yours?’
I’d like to slap that smug grin off his face. ‘Didn’t realise you were such a gossipy little bitch, Sullivan.’
‘Just looking out for my mate. But if she survived a week away with you and she hasn’t run for the hills yet, that’s a good sign, surely?’
He’s nowhere close to the truth.
Sophia.
I allow my mind to drift back to my favourite memories.
The sunset on her face.
Her filthy cackle whenever I said anything that amused her (which was a lot, apparently).
Kissing her. On the shore. In our bed. In the hammock.
I’ve spent the entire day with her, and I still want more. Bren doesn’t need to know that I’m going back to hers for my next fix when I’m done here.
It seems my face betrays me, because Bren slaps his knee with a loud guffaw. ‘Holy fuck! That’s the goofiest grin I’ve ever seen. You’ve got it bad.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Look. It’s going well, alright? She’s really amazing. We’re… seeing how things go.’
He shakes out his wrist. ‘I knew it! I’m thrilled for you, mate, honestly. It’s been a rough year for you—you deserve it.’
‘Thanks. The rough year isn’t over yet. But yeah. She’s a bright spot in it, there’s no doubt about that. She even has me going to therapy—it was one of her conditions.’
To be honest, I’d love to tell him more about all of it—Soph.
Therapy. The small green shoots of hope that have started to spring up when I consider that my future may actually have the potential to be anything other than a write-off.
But even if Bren is one of my closest mates, there’s still an element of holding myself back.
I give him what I think he wants, which really amounts to easy banter.
He doesn’t want or need to know what the darkest corners of my soul look like.
I’ll reserve that for Philip, given I’m paying him handsomely for the privilege.
He gives a low whistle. ‘Fucking hell. You in therapy—I never thought I’d see the day. Good on you, mate. So you’re dating?’
‘Kind of. I suppose so.’ If dates look like lingering dinners at the Cotton House, our legs intertwined under the table, or champagne picnics on the beach at sunset that morph into skinny dipping and sea sex, or the strangest feeling that every meal, every drink shared, is a moment I wish could last forever.
‘We have a thing this weekend, actually—as a couple. Some friends of hers are having a Christmas party, and I promised I’d go with her. Aide Duffy—do you know him?’
‘We’re going too,’ Bren says, and relief rushes through me.
‘Thank fuck. I think some of the Montagues will be there—not my idea of a relaxing night. How do you guys know each other?’
‘I’ve met him a few times in passing at various fundraisers. He’s a good guy. And Marls met Aide’s wife Lotta a while ago through your girlfriend and it seems they hit it off.’
I ignore his use of the G-word. He won’t get a rise out of me. ‘Well, as long as you’re prepared to act as a human shield if things get ugly,’ I mutter instead.
He grins. ‘I’m fucking massive. I can cover you easily, mate.’
The thing is, I know he means it. This may just be the only friendship I have that isn’t transactional. He doesn’t need anything from me, doesn’t fear me, doesn't want to impress me. He just... likes me.
I’m not sure when that became so rare.