Chapter 2
Chapter Two
DANNY
Daniel Jackson gazed up at the opulent properties lining St Luke’s Mews in London’s prestigious Notting Hill and shook his head, stunned by what he saw.
The extent of the Spencer-Harrison family’s wealth still amazed him, despite having been a part of their lives for nearly two decades.
He couldn’t believe this was where he would be living for the next few months. It was beyond belief.
Although he’d lived in the UK for eighteen years, London wasn’t a city he was familiar with.
He’d mostly lived in the South East, moving from one town to another to further his career and living from paycheque to paycheque.
He was used to noisy neighbours and arguments over street parking, not rooftop balconies and sophisticated security systems. It was like something from a futuristic movie.
‘The residents are going to think we’re burglars,’ his brother said, glancing at one of the perfectly maintained and yet deserted courtyards. ‘Curtains are twitching. It’s only a matter of time before the police show up and arrest us for trespassing.’
Danny suspected the people who lived in these properties didn’t own anything as mundane as curtains. They probably had remote-controlled silk drapes, handmade in a rural village in Morocco by eccentric, yoga-mad monks.
Imagining himself living here was almost as surreal as his student days when he’d stayed at the Spencer-Harrison’s stately home in rural Berkshire. It was a far cry from most student accommodation, but then most people didn’t have a best friend whose father sat in the House of Lords.
When he’d won a place at Oxford University to study law, he’d foolishly assumed his parents’ disapproval of his life choices would lift and he’d finally win their respect.
That hadn’t happened. Instead, they’d withdrawn financial support and he’d abandoned any ideas of returning to Orange County, resigning himself to a new life in the UK with his surrogate family—people who actually gave a damn about him.
Danny checked his watch. ‘Hugh should be here soon. Stop looking so nervous, it’s making you look guilty.’
‘I feel guilty.’ Connor dug his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘And I haven’t done anything wrong. But that doesn’t always count for anything, does it?’
Danny placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder, knowing that being accused of something he hadn’t done was an emotional trigger for him.
Connor had discovered first-hand that justice didn’t always follow a false accusation.
‘We’re here legitimately,’ he assured his brother, hoping to convince himself in the process. ‘Stop worrying.’
‘Tell that to the woman giving us the evil eye.’ Connor nodded to the property behind. ‘I don’t think we’re the right kind of resident for this area.’
Danny flattened a crease in his T-shirt, wishing he’d worn one of his work suits instead. He felt competent in his work attire, even if it wasn’t practical for lugging about packing crates. ‘We could be millionaires, for all she knows. People shouldn’t judge by appearances.’
‘But we’re not millionaires, are we?’ Connor’s voice was barely a whisper, as though he was fearful of being overheard.
‘No, but Hugh is. And he’s invited us to stay, so that makes our presence legitimate.
’ Danny checked his surroundings, taking in the immaculate planters attached to the iron balconies, each one bursting with greenery, no doubt manicured by gold-medal-winning Chelsea designers, whose hourly rate probably exceeded Danny’s monthly income.
There was an unusual absence of trash, as though nothing dared blight the view—not a garbage bin in sight.
The tension gripping his neck eased slightly at the sight of his mate’s car pulling into the courtyard. ‘Here’s Hugh now.’
Connor glanced behind him. ‘He might be too late. The woman’s on the phone, she doesn’t look impressed. Expect sirens.’
The midnight blue Jaguar eased silently to a stop, and a grinning Hugh Spencer-Harrison emerged from the vehicle looking like something from GQ magazine. ‘Gentlemen, you found our little pad okay.’
Danny raised an eyebrow. ‘Little?’
‘Compared to the Chelsea town house, it is.’ Hugh gave a good-natured shrug. Lights flashed on his fancy car as it silently locked and he made a beeline for Connor, enveloping him in a crushing hug. ‘I’ve missed you.’
Connor hugged him back, the bond between them as strong as ever.
Being landed with caring responsibilities for a five-year-old at the tender age of nineteen had upended Danny’s life in a way he couldn’t have imagined.
Sharing the load of that responsibility with Hugh had been the only reason he’d coped.
Eighteen years later, and the bond had been cemented by love and tragedy.
‘Ready for the grand tour?’ Hugh strode over to the front door, mastering the art of smart casual in his designer chinos and polo shirt. The Breitling watch on his wrist glinted as it caught in the sun’s reflection.
Danny only had two looks: work smart, or work casual. They were basically the same thing, with or without a waistcoat.
Connor only had one look: student casual. Which was hardly unusual when you were twenty-two and yet to enter the world of employment. Danny didn’t begrudge his brother his lack of responsibilities; adulthood had a lot to answer for.
Danny took after their father, tall and solid, his colouring lighter than his brother’s.
Connor took after their mother with his slender frame, and had inherited her dark eyes and jet-black wavy hair, which almost reached his shoulders.
Despite his love of loose-fitting jeans and baggy hoodies, Connor still made an impact.
He’d been a cute kid who’d grown into a handsome man, even if he didn’t realise it.
His self-confidence had taken a hit of late.
Danny certainly felt like the poor relation as they followed Hugh into the elite mews property.
‘Open-plan living area,’ Hugh said, gesturing to the expanse of white stretching ahead.
‘Kitchen to your right, staff quarters to your left.’ The space was accented with glass and chrome, and magazine-styled to perfection.
Clean lines, large designer pieces of furniture and exotic plants filled the floor space.
Forget cosy rugs or family photos, this was like a show home, as if no one had ever lived there.
Connor gazed upwards, his mouth opening in awe as he took in the grand glass mezzanine above. ‘Wow.’
Danny made a mental note to avoid cooking anything messy for fear of ruining the white floorboards. They’d eat in the garden.
‘There are four double ensuite bedrooms upstairs, and a self-contained garden room on this level.’ Hugh handed Danny a set of keys. ‘There’s no lift, annoyingly, so I’m assuming you’ll need to take the garden room with your hip problems.’
Danny flinched at the mention of his injury, and also at the mention of a lift—even the lack of one. He wouldn’t have used the elevator anyway, not after what happened ten months ago. He grew sweaty just thinking about getting trapped inside one again.
He glanced at Connor to see if Hugh’s comment had caused his brother any pain, but Connor seemed fine—even if he did have his hands tucked under his armpits, as if he was afraid of touching anything.
‘Can I check upstairs?’ Connor looked mildly intrigued at the prospect of staying in such a fancy crib.
Hugh gave him a slow smile. ‘Make yourself at home. The place is yours.’
‘Temporarily,’ Danny added, still uncomfortable at accepting help from his friend, however grateful he was. ‘And don’t jump from the balcony,’ he joked, and then instantly regretted his insensitivity when Connor flinched. ‘Sorry, poor attempt at humour.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m used to bad dad jokes.’ Connor’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Danny watched his brother disappear upstairs, before dropping his head in his hands. ‘Shit … shit … shit.’
‘Still walking on eggshells, I see.’ Hugh patted his back.
Danny raked his hands through his hair. ‘I’m an idiot.’
‘Understandable, in the circumstances.’ Hugh glanced towards the spiral staircase, no doubt checking Connor was out of earshot. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘I have no idea,’ Danny said, sighing. ‘Sometimes he opens up and talks to me, and other times it’s like the drawbridge is down and I can’t reach him. It’s torture.’
Before Connor’s arrest, they’d always been so close, a team, facing adversity together. Conversation had been easy and open, and now every topic seemed to be peppered with emotional landmines waiting to detonate. Danny felt overwhelmed by it all.
‘It’s a normal response, given what’s happened,’ Hugh assured him.
‘But it’s not Connor.’ Danny walked over to the panoramic window and stared at the communal garden below with its stone water fountain and manmade bridge. ‘Or not the Connor he used to be. I want my brother back. The energetic, lively kid who never stopped smiling.’
Hugh joined him by the window. ‘You realise that’s an unrealistic expectation? And he’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. This will take more than a band aid and a kiss to make it better.’
‘I know.’
‘It’ll take time to process what’s happened. There’s no quick fix.’
‘I know that too.’ Logically he knew that, but the interim was torture.
Hugh rested his hand on Danny’s shoulder. ‘All you can do is be supportive and patient.’
‘Thanks, doctor.’
Hugh laughed. ‘You should be grateful, I normally charge extortionate rates for my counselling services.’
‘Which is how you can afford a place like this.’
‘Oh, this isn’t mine,’ he said, casually looking around. ‘This is part of the family’s portfolio. An investment property.’
Danny avoided eye-contact. ‘It won’t be with a couple of freeloaders staying here.’
‘You’re my guests.’
‘I’d feel more comfortable if we paid rent.’ He hated feeling like a financial burden.