Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Seeing that look on Matt’s face suddenly made all the wrangling Owen had done to get them this suite worth it.
“Oh wow.” Matt stared at the huge window overlooking the river. “This is amazing.”
“I suppose it’ll do at a pinch,” Owen said with a shrug, trying to keep a straight face.
Matt whirled around and gaped at him. “‘At a pinch’? This is the most fabulous hotel room I’ve ever seen.”
Owen had to admit that while the Grand River View suite had appeared good online, it was even better in reality.
The living room comprised a small round table by the window, on either side of which sat a comfortable-looking chair.
Parquet flooring glowed warmly, accentuated by a cream rug placed centrally beneath a long, wide sofa. There was even a marble fireplace.
He wandered through the doorway into the bedroom.
The king-size bed was a picture in white, with pillows and cushions at one end, a low couch at the other.
Black and white square tiles covered the bathroom floor.
On one side was a low bath with green marble surround, and on the other were two basins set in black marble.
A walk-in shower took up the end of the room, hidden behind frosted glass doors.
Owen went back into the bedroom to discover Matt hadn’t stopped smiling yet.
He shook his head. “I suspect this room costs about the same as a whole term’s tuition.”
“Believe me, it pays to have connections.” Owen set his bag down on the floor beside the bed. “Freshen up if you need to. I’ve booked us in for afternoon tea.”
Matt’s lips parted. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “With champagne. Because if you’re going to do afternoon tea at the Savoy, it has to be done right.” Then he’d planned a visit to Kew Gardens, before returning to the hotel and getting ready for the reunion.
Owen wanted this trip to be two nights that would stay with Matt for a long time to come.
Matt had expected a function room in a hotel.
The College Dining Hall at the Royal Holloway University of London was breathtaking.
High moulded ceilings soared overhead, their ornate plasterwork picked out by soft lighting.
Round tables dressed in crisp white linen filled the hall, each centred with white roses glowing beneath tiny spotlights while blue uplighting washed the walls, making crystal glasses sparkle.
There had to be at least two hundred fifty guests.
“Ready for this?” Owen murmured beside him as they stood in the doorway.
Matt smiled. “Ask me again in an hour.”
Except after thirty minutes of mingling, he realised every introduction began the same way.
“Jeff’s son?”
“Good Lord, you look just like him.”
“I haven’t seen your mother in thirty years!”
“How are they?”
And through it all, Matt smiled, shook hands, accepted hugs from complete strangers, and repeated the same answers so many times he could’ve probably recited them in his sleep.
“Dad’s planning his retirement now…”
“Mum does volunteer work for lots of charities around Winchester.”
“They send their love…”
Someone produced an old photograph from a phone. Another remembered Jeff setting fire to toast in student accommodation. Three different people told the story as though they’d each been the only witness.
Matt laughed in all the right places, and after two hours, his cheeks hurt. All evening, he was aware of Owen across the room, talking, listening, laughing…
But he wasn’t laughing the way he had in Kew Gardens, or even the way he did over afternoon tea when they’d spent twenty minutes debating whether cucumber belonged in sandwiches.
This Owen was performing. He seemed warm, charming, even interested, but there was a distance to him. Matt recognised it because he’d worn the exact same expression himself all evening.
Eventually, they migrated to the bar, both nursing a glass of champagne.
Matt leaned in. “Enjoying yourself?”
Owen huffed. “Ask me in another hour.”
He laughed. “That bad?”
“Not bad.” Owen glanced around the room. “More… strange.” He watched another group burst into laughter. “Everyone remembers the same stories. The same lectures. The same parties.” He shrugged. “After thirty years, they’re all memories I don’t really own anymore.”
Matt took another sip of his champagne. “Do you think anyone would mind if we left?”
Owen snorted. “I doubt they’d miss us for a second, not with all the booze flowing around here.”
The cool evening air hit them as they walked out of the university, and both of them took a deep breath simultaneously.
Matt laughed first. “I thought it was just me.”
Owen gave him a sideways glance. “What was?”
“I’ve smiled so much my face hurts.”
Owen laughed too. “Oh, thank God.”
He blinked. “You too?”
“I reached my limit about an hour ago.” He scanned the street, looking for a taxi. “I spent the first half of the evening answering questions about Cyn.”
“And the second?”
Another snort. “Ben.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sleek black pants. “People were kind, but after the third explanation…” His smile lost some of its warmth. “I started watching people’s faces.”
Matt gazed at him. “They didn’t know what to say. I think they were genuinely trying to be sympathetic.”
“I agree, they were. But eventually I decided I’d done enough explaining.” He grinned. “I took refuge in the champagne instead.”
Matt chuckled. “Sounds like a wise decision.”
Owen peered towards the lights of central London. “Fancy rescuing what’s left of the evening?”
Matt arched his eyebrows. “That depends on what you have in mind. A night of clubbing?”
He guffawed. “God, no. I was thinking more of the American Bar.”
“At the Savoy?”
“It seems a shame not to make the most of it.” He smiled. “A cocktail or two?”
Matt grinned. “Why, Mr. Lane, are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Well…” Owen adopted an expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Are you the sort of man who takes off all his clothes and dances on the piano after two cocktails?”
Matt laughed. “No. I’m the sort who falls asleep in a corner.”
“Then I think we’re safe.” A taxi pulled up at the kerb. Owen opened the rear door for Matt. “Besides, I’d rather spend the evening talking to you than listening to people I haven’t seen for thirty years compare photographs of their spouses, children and grandchildren.”
Matt paused with one foot inside the taxi. “I’d rather talk to you too.”
Owen stared at him for a moment before smiling.
“Thank you.”
Owen quickly realised his plan was perfect. The American Bar was everything the reunion hadn’t been.
Warm amber lighting reflected on polished wood.
Orange leather armchairs sat in little conversational islands, each paired with bright burnt-orange cushions that somehow managed to seem both luxurious and inviting.
Behind the long gleaming bar, bottles caught the light like stained glass, while somewhere near the far wall, a pianist coaxed soft jazz from a black grand piano.
Matt gazed around. “I think this may be the nicest room I’ve ever had a drink in.”
Owen smiled. “It does have that effect.”
A waiter appeared almost immediately. “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”
Owen peered at Matt. “Have you had cocktails before, or…”
“Or.” Matt flushed. “I’ve never really gone beyond rum and Coke.”
“In that case…” Owen considered for a moment. “Two strawberry daiquiris.”
Matt raised an eyebrow once the waiter had disappeared. “I expected something sophisticated.”
“Oh, they are.” Owen leaned back. “They’re just pretending not to be.”
The drinks arrived in elegant stemmed glasses, pale pink beneath a dusting of ice.
Matt took a cautious sip, and his eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh.”
Owen grinned. “‘Oh’ good or ‘Oh’ bad?”
“‘Oh,’ as in ‘I could accidentally drink five of these.’”
He laughed. “That’s good, then.”
A comfortable silence settled between them before Matt gave him a keen glance.
“You’ve travelled quite a bit, haven’t you?”
“A fair amount.”
“Tell me about somewhere that wasn’t Brighton or the Isle of Wight.”
Owen smiled into his glass. “Palm Springs.”
“California?”
He nodded. “That was our honeymoon. And it wasn’t exactly conventional. A gay, clothing-optional resort. Except Ben neglected to tell me that part.”
Matt nearly inhaled his cocktail.
Owen chuckled. “The first morning I wandered down to the pool with a towel and a paperback.”
“And?”
He smirked. “I was the only one still wearing swim shorts.”
Matt burst out laughing. “What did you do?”
“I stood there for a full minute wondering whether I’d accidentally walked into the wrong hotel.”
“And then?”
Owen shrugged. “Ben looked at me and said, ‘Well, they’re hardly going to laugh at yours.’”
Matt almost sprayed daiquiri across the table. “He did not.”
“Oh yes, he did.”
“What happened?”
Another shrug. “I took them off.”
“You just…?”
“What was the point of being self-conscious? Nobody else was. Besides, Ben looked at me, shrugged, and said, ‘Well, you can either spend the next two weeks feeling overdressed or get over yourself.’”
“And?”
Owen smiled. “I got over myself.”
“Just like that?” Matt shook his head in amazement. “I can’t imagine doing that.”
“At the time, I couldn’t either. Turns out it takes about five minutes.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “You suddenly realise everybody is shaped differently, everyone’s busy getting on with their holiday, and nobody is paying the slightest attention to you.”
Matt considered that. “So that’s why…”
Owen frowned. “Why what?”
A flush crept up Matt’s neck, reaching his cheeks. “You didn’t seem bothered when I turned up by the pool.”
Realisation dawned. “Oh.” He smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Yeah, I was the one who was embarrassed.”
Owen couldn’t resist. “I noticed.”
Matt covered his face with his hand. “You had to remind me, didn’t you?”
“Absolutely. And I think I’ll keep on reminding you.”
He groaned. “I knew there’d be a catch to working for you.”