Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Hugo Chadwick
Hugo took a deep breath, put the camera back in his pack and continued on his way to the office.
* * *
‘As you know, my wife inherited the building many years ago and we have now acquired the adjoining premises—’ Raymond Chadwick halted as his son walked into the boardroom.
The look he gave him was imperceptible to the partners around the table, but Hugo knew what it meant.
Resentment. The words had never been spoken, but the meaning was clear: the wrong son had died.
‘We’ve made an offer on the corner building,’ his father then continued, ‘and I’m confident that we should have acquired the entire street by the end of the month.
My son here will be heading up the negotiations with the hotel group,’ he finished, concealing any doubts he might have had as to Hugo’s ability.
‘Yes, in fact I’ve already been liaising with the design team and they’re quite adamant that they wish to retain the original facade,’ Hugo said, taking out some brochures and handing them around the table.
His father gave him another of his covert looks, but, as always, was careful not to betray his emotions in public.
Hugo was counting on this as he added, ‘I must say I tend to agree, as we want to keep the local council on our side. There will be a lot of disruption to the area?—’
‘As well as regeneration, employment, increased business rates…’ his father countered.
‘Absolutely,’ Hugo said, swallowing hard. He had to win this argument. ‘However, retaining the historical facade would go a long way towards ingratiating the local businesses?—’
‘Gentlemen,’ Raymond cut in, oozing fake charm, ‘I am sure you all appreciate my son’s enthusiasm for the genteel aesthetic, but let us move on to more important matters and touch base with the negotiating team once they’ve secured the contract for the final property.’
With that, Hugo was excused, like a child who’d been pestering the grown-ups.
It was utterly humiliating, but he had to risk his father’s ire if it meant retaining something of the property in question’s original features.
If his father had his way, every piece of beautiful architecture would be replaced with angular concrete and glass.
All Raymond cared about was profit, and yet the more money he made, the more miserable he became.
Hugo couldn’t understand what was driving his father anymore.
Win at all costs, that was his motto. But win what, exactly?
* * *
Walking home that evening, Hugo passed by the old flower shop again.
The light had completely changed, and even though the facade was just as ornately beautiful, it lacked the vibrancy he had caught this morning.
That’s what he loved about photography – the conditions were so happenstance, you could never capture the same image twice.
In a habit he could hardly recall forming, Hugo touched the left inside pocket of his jacket where his paperback should’ve been.
Then he remembered: Edith. He shook his head with a smile at the memory.
She must have thought him so contrived. But it was true – he carried that book everywhere like a talisman.
In some ways it was a symbol of protection – something that was stopping him from turning into his father. And yet he could feel himself slipping.
When Stéphane was alive, he was the centre of attention.
He was naturally full of charm, and as the first-born son his every achievement was lauded, every indiscretion indulged.
Hugo had always looked up to him as some sort of demigod.
Yet it was only after his death that Hugo realised how much of a buffer his brother had been between him and his father.
As long as Stéphane was the high achiever, the heir apparent to the Chadwick fortune, his father was happy and this allowed Hugo to pursue the life he wanted.
Being the younger brother, he didn’t feel any pressure to carry the mantle of his father’s expectations.
In fact, he wasn’t sure that much was expected of him at all.
Stéphane had been the golden child. But in the end, all of that pressure began to weigh down on him. And now it was crushing Hugo, too.
Taking photographs of old buildings began as a hobby, but it had become so much more than that.
It felt as though keeping some kind of connection with the values of the past could keep him connected to his soul.
In the dying light of the evening, he now saw his camera lens as a doorway, some kind of threshold between the life he was living and the idealised version of it he’d once had.
The gulf between these two realities was beginning to swallow him up.