Chapter 40 #2
‘Not cool, Theo,’ I say warningly, but Nora’s already on the case, tugging him to look at her with a hand on this arm.
‘We talked about this!’ she hisses. ‘Remember what we tell the twins: if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. If you can’t behave in a way fitting of this lovely party, you can go and sit in the car.’
I’m grateful to her. Still, watching married couples arguing is always uncomfortable as fuck.
Talk about a quick way to put a downer on the party.
I glance up at Ethan to make sure he’s okay.
After all, I dragged him behind enemy lines.
He gives me a little smile that I think he intends to reassure, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘I’m going to see if Bren has arrived. I’ll catch up with you shortly.’
With that, he kisses me on the cheek and backs away through the crowd.
I glare at Theo. ‘Happy now?’
ETHAN
I make myself scarce for a good half an hour, taking my drink outside and finding a perch on the terrace, which is surrounded by outdoor heaters, thank fuck.
I can’t deny it’s a beautiful plot of land Aide has here—very peaceful.
After I’ve scrolled mindlessly for what feels like ages while pretending to check my emails and studiously avoiding the friendly, well-meaning smiles of anyone who wanders outside for a smoke, I force myself to brave the party again.
Here’s the thing. I can’t blame Theo for being antagonistic. The takeover is going full steam ahead, and I’m always going to be the big bad predator in the Montagues’ eyes. I probably shouldn’t have come, but here’s the other thing.
I want to make this work with Soph. She’s the one good thing I have in my life right now, the one relationship I haven’t yet fucked up inexorably, despite a couple of excellent efforts.
If I can do the work on myself, prove to her that I’m worth taking a proper chance on, then I’ll do it.
And letting her come to a party alone because I’m scared of getting a hostile reception isn’t the way I want to move forward.
To my intense relief, I spot Aide and Bren in a quiet corner of the kitchen.
I don’t know Aide, but something tells me this is his preferred party mode: hanging out quietly and enjoying some decent one-on-one conversations, rather than flitting around like a social butterfly.
Sophia mentioned on the way here that he’s far more introverted than Lotta.
In that, I suspect our couple dynamics—if I can presume to call them that—are alike.
‘Mate!’ Bren says, pulling me in for a bear hug as he whacks me hard on the back.
His friendly mug and overt physical affection are far more welcome than I’d like to admit.
I may hate socialising, but usually I’m sought out at whatever events I drag myself along to.
I don’t pretend for a moment that people want to converse with me, but they usually want something from me.
Tonight, most people are oblivious to me and a handful actively despise me.
I’m a spare part at best and a liability at worst.
I’m even more relieved to find that Marlowe is nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t give a fuck about that threesome we had, but I’m sure Bren doesn’t want any reminders of his past errors of judgement, not when he’s so close to proposing.
‘We’re talking about work, I’m afraid,’ Aide says sheepishly, holding out a bottle of champagne so he can refill me and Bren. He’s on bottled beer.
‘That’s alright. There aren’t many other people here who’d want to talk to me about work these days.’
Bren guffaws. ‘You’re not wrong.’
‘What is it you do again?’ I ask Aide. ‘Medtech?’
‘Medical data. I run a company called Totum.’
‘Of course, that’s right.’ I know of Totum, in that it’s a member of the FTSE 100 index. As I understand it, it allows all the trusts within the NHS to share patient data, which shouldn’t be complicated and yet, thanks to the vagaries of our National Health Service, is near impossible.
‘Aide’s the real deal,’ Bren says cheerfully. ‘Not like us nepo babies.’
I grimace. ‘I can imagine. How’d you get into it, anyway?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah, you don’t want to hear that.’
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I’d like to. Here I am, running a family legacy I don’t really give a shit about and ruining another family with a deal I’m honestly not even sure I want. So hearing from someone who’s actually leading from the heart would make a nice change.’
Where the fuck did that emotional vomit come from?
Bren and Aide both stare at me.
‘Fucking hell, Kingsley,’ Bren says. ‘Therapy’s definitely loosened your tongue.’
I shrug. ‘I think I’m just past caring. Honestly, I’d love to hear your story, mate.’
Aide sighs and embarks on his tale with the reluctance of someone whose ego is in no way tied to his—clearly extraordinary—achievements.
He tells us about how there was a kid at his school who was being systematically abused by his father.
Because the dad always took him to different emergency departments at different NHS trusts after he’d beaten the shit out of him, the pattern of abuse was never picked up on by the authorities.
The kid ended up dying.
Jesus Christ. My blood runs cold, and I feel sick to my stomach.
‘That is so wrong on every fucking level,’ I say gruffly.
‘Yeah, it is,’ Aide agrees. So he went on, while at uni, to build a software programme that could translate and share all patient data widely while remaining highly secure.
Totum—the Latin word for all. Lotta’s father, who is a well-known software billionaire, ended up seeding him his first round of capital.
He dropped out of uni, and the rest is history.
I frown. ‘Hang on—so you must have known Lotta before, no?’
‘We met at her house once. She was sixteen, and I was a petrified twenty-year-old. She has no recollection of it.’ He shakes his head fondly. ‘Clearly, I wasn’t memorable enough for her back then.’
I’m mulling over the rest of the story. ‘You built a business because of a social injustice that you wouldn’t—couldn’t—let slide, and you’ve saved lives and totally overhauled the NHS.’
‘I definitely haven’t overhauled it, mate. It’s still a fucking shitshow.’
‘Agreed. But you made a real difference. You addressed a real problem.’
‘Your hotels address a problem, too,’ Bren argues. ‘You may not be saving lives, but you’re offering a service.’
‘I suppose so.’ I look down at my glass. ‘Would you ever want to take early retirement?’ I ask Aide. ‘Spend more time with your family?’
He purses his lips. ‘Nah. Not at the moment. I’ve stepped back from a lot of community responsibilities—Lotta taught me the meaning of the word boundaries when we got together.
But the company itself—I really believe in it, you know?
There’s still so much work to do. I’m pretty evangelical about it.
So no, I’d struggle to hand over the reins. ’
I stare at him. ‘Sounds more like a calling than a career to me.’
He shrugs. ‘Feels more like it, too.’
What would that be like? To get out of bed every morning with a fire in your belly? To know that you’re doing good, to be excited for the day ahead because you truly believe in your cause?
I have no fucking clue.
I run a company that I inherited.
I run it in the precise way that my father ran it, that he instructs me to run it.
He tells me to jump; I ask how high.
Since starting my sessions with Philip, I’ve begun to realise that many of the voices in my head are actually my father’s voice.
Sitting here listening to Aide talk about his calling, I realise I don't even know what my own voice sounds like anymore.
Every decision, every strategy, every fucking thought has been filtered through what would Richard want?
And I’m finding, like with many discoveries in therapy, that once I am made to see something, I can’t unsee it.
I may be the CEO of Kingsley Hotels, but it’s very clear to me that I’m still the puppet, and Richard Kingsley is the master.