CHAPTER SEVEN #3
Fenwick approaches him after lunch. They typically meet as per the schedule though Lachlan will occasionally go to Fenwick for something and Fenwick may come to him, but he dislikes the older man’s presence in the East Wing, let alone the Cove so he’s unwelcome today right off the bat.
Briskly, he asks Fenwick, ‘What do you need?’
‘Schedule adjustment,’ he says, showing Lachlan his tablet.
It’s still refreshing to be met with a blank slate of operational neutrality.
Fenwick never seems to take hostility personally and is always open to new ideas, like the addition of laminar alloy to all curtains in the Estate, effectively adding an extra layer of ballistic protection. He oversaw the installation.
‘I didn’t get an update.’
‘I’m delivering it to you.’
‘Direct from Penhalyx?’
‘He’s giving you notice so you can prepare.’
Lachlan scans the directive on the schedule and then reads it a second time for details. Alistair Penhalyx is throwing a party here at the Estate in a month’s time. He expects both children to attend.
A month isn’t sufficient notice for something of this scale but Lachlan can pull it together if he makes the effort.
‘Heard,’ he simply says to Fenwick and then moves to leave, but Fenwick stops him physically, hand on his arm, they’ve never touched since they shook hands the first time and Lachlan purposefully drops his gaze to the contact, expression glacial.
Fenwick removes it when he’s good and ready.
‘I need to brief the children.’
‘The children are my domain.’
‘Everything is my domain, including the children, Tanner. Yes, you’re the specialist. The protector.’ Fenwick’s mouth twists with derision. ‘The Nanny. But I run the show and I will be briefing the children while assessing their performance capability for the party.’
‘Performance capability for what?’ Lachlan asks, becoming irritated despite himself. ‘They’re not the fucking Von Trapp kids.’
‘You can accompany me on the briefing if you like,’ he offers, already moving further into the wing, headed for the Cove. ‘But no interruptions.’
It marks the first time Lachlan’s authority over the children is challenged and he doesn’t like it at all.
He runs through every angle, every possible outcome.
Lachlan ultimately falls into line with Fenwick and follows him to where Jules is reading and Mimi is playing on the floor with Mari and her blocks, building him a tower that keeps accidentally getting destroyed by lightning.
Both children frown when Fenwick enters.
‘Good afternoon,’ Fenwick greets, his accent pleasingly perky although Lachlan wants to rip his throat out for intruding.
It was different with Clara. She wasn’t like Fenwick.
‘Your father has sent me here to begin a series of preparations for his birthday party on the horizon. He wants you both to attend.’
Jules sighs, shoulders sinking in resigned understanding. Mimi, however, cocks her head with interest before coming to Lachlan, pulling on his hand, which means kneel down, and then she whispers, ‘Is party bad?’
‘Jessamine,’ Fenwick says. ‘I’m talking to you, not the bodyguard. Come and stand with Julian, please.’
Mimi gives him a hard stare. Lachlan sees a little flash of her brother’s defiance when she makes a mean face, wraps her hand around the fox tattoo and then says, ‘Kill him, bodygarden. Bang bang.’
Lachlan bites back a smile, but even though he obviously won’t be doing that, a part of him knows that down the line, Fenwick is going to be a problem in a way Clara never was.
‘Go be with Jewel, princess,’ Lachlan says, tone easy, takes no trouble to obscure language or hide anything. Everyone knows, as Blaire said. It would radiate weakness to try and hide it.
She obeys instantly, albeit glaring daggers at Fenwick.
Jules watches the interaction, sharp gaze moving between the older men before he scoops Mimi up in his arms. ‘Why does she have to come?’
‘Because your father wants her there.’
‘She’s four years old.’
‘It’s a family party, Julian. Your father expects you to both be on your very best behaviour, is that understood?’
Damningly, both children look to Lachlan.
Fenwick clocks it, no doubt already mentally composing his complaint to Penhalyx. ‘I see,’ he says, lips pursed. ‘Lachlan, a word.’
They head to the barracks, mostly because Lachlan wants him away from the kids, but also because if something happens, it’ll happen where Lachlan knows there’s a hard concrete floor to slam Fenwick’s skull down onto.
Fenwick waits until they’re alone.
‘I’ve warned Mr Penhalyx more than once about your relationship with the children, but he refuses to intervene.’ His jaw works, feathering. ‘You’re too involved with those kids and he’s happy about it. Do you know why?’
‘Are you offering to tell me or asking?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘If Mr Penhalyx has declined to illuminate you,’ Lachlan reels off tonelessly, ‘then far be it from me to step in.’
Fenwick has his back to all the cameras, likely chose this spot for privacy.
‘There’s something not right about him,’ he says quietly.
Lachlan rolls his eyes, thinks it a little late to notice that about the old man. ‘Those children are mine to manage. I’ll work with you, I respect you, but if you overstep, I won’t hesitate to act.’
Fenwick stiffens. ‘I run this household.’
‘The children are mine to manage,’ Lachlan repeats, steps closer but Fenwick doesn’t budge. ‘Shall we seek clarification from Penhalyx himself?’
He waits it out. Fenwick eventually breaks first, lips in a thin line. ‘No.’
‘Then don’t push it,’ Lachlan warns him, which is admirable considering the rage he feels inside, how badly he wants to crack a bone, earn the crunch of a good, thick snap.
He misses it sometimes the way he misses the heroin they used during tolerance conditioning.
‘Nothing about the way this place operates is normal. I know you don’t like it, but it’s how it has to be. ’