by Lisa Lace
Irene grins wickedly. “I won’t tell your father if you don’t. He hasn’t gone upstairs in the better part of a decade. I doubt he’ll ever know.”
Melissa clings nervously to my hand. When I told Irene we’d be sharing a room, I thought she’d boil over, she turned so red from embarrassment. I pull Melissa closer and kiss her forehead.
She looks around the grand foyer with undisguised discomfort. She bites down on her lip with nerves and clings onto my hand like it’s a lifeline. All the while, she cranes her head this way and that, drinking in the sight of the original marble tiles on the floor, the sweeping staircase that splits at the top toward each wing, and the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.
The floors smell like fresh polish and of the flowers that rest in heavy bouquets in tall standing vases around the edges of the foyer.
“You two must be starving,” Irene guesses. “How about a cup of tea and a biscuit? I made sure there were plenty of hobnobs just for you.” She winks. “I know they’re your favorite.”
“Thanks, Irene.”
We’re following Irene into the kitchen when I hear my name being called. I turn around to see my mother on the last step of the staircase. She’s tightening the belt of her fur-lined dressing gown around her as she descends. She looks like she’s just woken from a deep sleep; her eyes are still bleary. “Henry? Is that you?”
“Hi, Mum.”
She stands in front of me with her arms folded over her chest. After a long time examining me and staring daggers at Melissa, she coldly rises to her tiptoes to plant a formal kiss on my cheek. “I’m glad you had a safe flight. Was the chauffeur there on time?”
“As always.”
“Good, good.” She turns her attention to Melissa. Her voice rises a pitch in disapproval and suspicion. “You’ve brought a friend, I see.”
I thread my arm around Melissa’s shoulders to encourage her to step forward from where she’s hiding shyly behind me. “This is Melissa. We’re dating.”
My mother purses her lips. “Your father won’t be pleased.”
I glance at Melissa, who looks mortified, then back to my mother. “Can I speak to you for a moment in private?”
“I think that would be wise.”
“I’ll take Melissa through to the kitchen,” Irene offers kindly. She puts her arm around Melissa’s shoulder and ushers her down the hall.
I turn back to my mother. “There’s no need to be rude.”
“You brought back a girl with no warning. Can you not get through a single holiday without another notch in your bedpost? This is disrespectful.”
“I didn’t ask because I knew she’d not be welcome, but I’ve invited her as my guest, and I want you to treat her with the same respect and courtesy as you did Olivia when Alexander first brought her home.”
“The difference is, Henry, Alexander doesn’t bring home a different woman every week. When Alexander brings home a girl, your father and I know she’s someone special.”
“Melissa is special,” I retort quickly. My temper flares and I can hear it in my voice. I try to bring the tone down again, lowering my voice to a careful, sincere whisper. “She’s ambitious, kind-hearted, and loyal. She’s extremely intelligent and driven. If you give her a chance, you’ll like her very much. She’s a good influence on me. She’s a good person, full stop.”
My mother ignores my speech and waves her hand dismissively in the air. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. Irene will show you to the room. You’ll be staying in the east wing. It’s been renovated.”
“I’d rather stay in my own room.”
“The east room has been renovated.”
It’s no use arguing with my mother when her mind is set. She and my father are like a pair of broken records when it comes to following the rules they’ve set.
“Very well.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, my mother returns upstairs, slowly stepping up the staircase like a true duchess in careful, measured steps, her back straight as a poker.
I breathe a sigh of relief when she’s gone, then rush into the kitchen to find Melissa. She’s sitting with a cup of tea clutched in her hand, a plate of chocolate-covered hobnobs on a little plate in front of her. She looks like a frightened deer caught in headlights, and her eyes are pink, as though she’s just wiped away tears.
Irene watches me enter and offers a sympathetic smile as she busies herself with tidying the remaining biscuits.
“Sorry about that,” I say softly to Melissa. “My mother can be very cold.”
“She hates me.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My parents are never glad to see me; it has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course, it does,” Melissa says tearfully. She gestures at her outfit. “Look at me.”
I lift her face so her gaze meets mine, and I hold it earnestly. “You’re perfect.”
Irene looks over her shoulder and smiles at us. “Henry’s right, my dear. Diane is not the easiest woman to impress. Even with her nearest and dearest, she’s a very formal person. Don’t you worry about it. Don’t you cry, my pet.”
She turns to me. “I’m going to go make sure your bags go to the right room. I’ll be right back. Have a nice cuppa, and you’ll feel better.”
Once Irene has left, I put my arm comfortingly around Melissa’s shoulders. “I know you’re nervous and feel out of place, but I’m glad you’re here. Usually, I feel nervous and out of place on my own.”
Melissa offers an empathetic smile. “Is your mom always that formal toward you?”
“God, she’s awful.” I chuckle. “It’s only recently she’s started calling me ‘Henry’ instead of ‘Son.’ She learned how to raise her children from the Victorian Book of Etiquette and Stand-Offery.”
She giggles and a little sparkle returns to her eyes. She rests her head on my shoulder. “This cup of tea is lovely. Irene is nice, isn’t she?”
“The only shred of warmth in this house, sometimes. When I was home from Eton on the school holidays, it was Irene who looked after me, from cooking my dinners to playing ‘tag’ in the gardens. I used to imagine what it was like at her house—I’d have given all this up to have a mum like Irene.
“Not that I don’t like my own mother,” I add quickly. “It’s that she’s almost a stranger. Sometimes I feel like this whole family is a set of figurines in a music box, just waiting for our turn to spin to the tune.”
“What about your brother?”
I shrug. “We get on. I don’t feel like Alexander’s against me, but he doesn’t truly understand me, either. He always liked to spin to that tune.” I drink down the last of my warm, milky tea with a smile. “I’ve missed Yorkshire Gold.” I pick up a biscuit. “And hobnobs.”
Melissa grins and takes a bite of a biscuit herself. “They’re pretty good.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you on a positive rollercoaster of British taste sensations. We’ll track down Scottish shortbread, tea cakes, scones. I’ll even make you have Bovril on toast for breakfast.”
She smiles. Her eyes are growing heavy from exhaustion. We traveled almost twelve hours today.
“Let’s go to bed,” I say.
Melissa has enough energy left to grin wickedly. “Your father won’t be pleased.”
Standing now, I pull Melissa into my arms. “My father wouldn’t know what passion was if it grabbed him by the balls and stuck its tongue down his throat.”
“Hmm, is that how it’s done?”
I smile, pulling her closer and wrapping my arms around her tightly. “He also wouldn’t know what it feels like to hold someone like this and feel completely content. Thank you for coming, Lissy. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here.”
Melissa
As promised, Henry showed me the most wonderful day in Cambridge. He took me for afternoon tea at the Ho
tel du Vin & Bistro, where the sweet and savory treats were served on silver towers; then we went punting in a boat on the River Cam.
I admired Henry as he stood at the foot of the little rectangular canoe-type boat and pushed us through the water with a pole, singing in nonsense Italian as he went, despite the looks it earned us from passing tourists.
It was freezing on the boat, but the company offered blankets. I wrapped myself up warmly and watched Henry push us through the water with a smile on my face. Every time my mind wandered to Connor, I forced myself to live in the moment and told myself not to regret or feel guilty for one moment of happiness I might enjoy.
Eventually, Henry moored us up in Grantchester and joined me under the blanket, the boat nestled under the drooping branches of willow trees. There we sat for over an hour, talking and watching the ducks and swans go by.
Henry entertained me with stories of Napoleon the swan, who was known for attacking innocent punters, and of the game of bridge-hopping, where punters tried to jump over bridges as they moved down the river, having to land back in the punt on the other side before it drifted away.
After our punt tour came to an end, Henry bought us both a hot chocolate to-go. Hand-in-hand, we wandered around the city, and Henry acted as my tour guide around the gorgeous colleges of Cambridge University.
After a marvelous day, I had just about mustered the courage to join Henry’s family for dinner. I hadn’t seen any of them since we arrived in the night.
Now, I’m sitting at a table with them all—Walter and Diane, Henry’s parents, and Alexander and Olivia, Henry’s brother and sister-in-law.
I’m struck by how pristine each of them appears. Walter, although rotund and red-faced, is immaculately dressed in a pressed gray suit with silver cufflinks and tie clip. His wife, Diane, looks exquisite in pearls and a fitted red dress. Pinned to the front of the dress is a jeweled wreath brooch made with what I suspect are real emeralds and rubies.
Alexander is also dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, complete with tie clip and cufflinks, but at least he smiles when I catch his eye. His wife, Olivia, looks almost as out of place as I do. She keeps darting glances across at me so she can catch my eye and smile. It seems she, too, is looking for an ally among the Southby wolves.
“I spoke to Mattock, today, Father,” Alexander begins, serving himself roast potatoes from a ceramic dish at the center of the table. “He mentioned you’ve spoken to Towley. That makes me think you’re going for the Canary Wharf bid.”
Walter clears his throat before he speaks. When he does, he holds his fork up like a scepter. “Towley came to me. He has an original design for the building. Award-winning, maybe. If I don’t snap up that design, someone else is going to make Towley’s visions a reality. It’s less about the bid and more about a show of faith for the architect.”
“Towley’s innovative, all right,” Alexander agrees. “I saw a piece on him in The Guardian a few weeks back. He does some very interesting things with solar energy.”
“Yes. He’s known for his green designs, although this building will be phenomenal because of its structure. It will make the Gherkin look like a child’s scribble.”
Alexander raises his eyebrow. “Bold claim.”
“From the man who turned online marketing on its head?” Walter smiles knowingly. “You thought I didn’t see your stock rise? I’m proud of you, son. You’re an entrepreneur. Just like your father.”
Most of the conversation goes over my head. I feel like I’m sitting in on a board meeting rather than at a family dinner. From what I can see, mealtimes at the Southby house are nothing more than an opportunity for Alexander and Walter to pat each other on the back.
I’ve not even been acknowledged by Walter yet. It’s a strange feeling, to be invisible.
Finally, Walter turns to Henry. Immediately, his expression turns to scrutiny. “And how have you been doing, Henry? I’ve heard good things through the grapevine, but I know how adept you’ve become at hiding your little misdemeanors from me.”
Henry holds up his hands innocently. “Nothing to report, Father. I’m averaging a 3.8 GPA.”
“I suppose you better introduce this young lady to us.”
Henry looks over to me and offers me a warm, reassuring smile. He turns back to his family proudly. “This is my girlfriend, Melissa.”
“Girlfriend!” Walter exclaims. He scoffs so hard, he almost chokes on a mouthful of roast beef.
“I didn’t send you away to go courting.” He turns his intense stare to me. “You’re a Harvard girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you studying?”
“I’m working toward my MBA.”
“I see. Where did you do your undergraduate?”
“State college.”
“Not an Ivy League, then?”
“No, sir.”
“I see.”
The way Walter says “I see” makes my skin crawl. You could easily replace those words with “I disapprove,” and they’d make me feel the same.
“Melissa is top of the class,” Henry tells him with pride. “She’s an incredibly studious woman. A real academic.”
It’s Diane’s turn to lean forward. “What do your parents do, Melissa?”
I look across to Henry. I can see him opening his mouth to divert the conversation, but I quickly lay a hand on his forearm to stop him. I’m going to damn well hold my own. “Actually, my mother passed away a few years ago.”
Diane bows her head, and I recognize the first shred of human emotion I’ve seen in either of Henry’s parents so far. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And your father?” Walter continues.
I take a deep breath. “I’m not acquainted with my father. I was raised in a single-parent family.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Diane says, her voice laced with disapproval.
“Melissa’s Mum was a kickass woman,” Henry says. “She raised two kids on her own, worked three jobs. Supported the whole family alone. Incredible, right?”
Walter and Diane exchange contemptuous glances—as if Henry had announced that my parents had been a buffalo and a goat.
“You have a sibling, then?” Diane says. “Older or younger?”
“A younger brother. He’s nineteen.”
“Is he in school?”
“No, ma’am. He’s still grieving.”
“It must be very difficult.” Alexander jumps in to end the interrogation. He offers me a kind smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Adversity builds opportunity,” Walter says. “Your brother shouldn’t rest on his laurels too long, or else laziness will become habit.”
Henry’s eyes flash with anger, and he turns toward his father with undisguised contempt. “And what would you know about adversity, Father? Or grief? Honestly, sometimes I think you talk out your arse.”
“Henry!” Diane gasps.
As I glance around the table, I see Walter red-faced with rage, Diane pale with shock, Alexander trying to hide an amused smile behind his hand, and Olivia looking like she’s glad someone said it. I quickly look down at my plate.
“What?” Henry objects. “We’re all meant to act like the Lord of the Manor knows all? You’re being incredibly disrespectful to Melissa and her family, and I won’t have it. She is not some fling who’ll be gone tomorrow. I care deeply about her, and she’s not going anywhere, so you’d better get down off your high horses and treat her with a little kindness. You could all learn something from Melissa, who has faced adversity and still gone to Harvard, with no hand-outs from her parents or anyone else. If you want me to learn personal responsibility and work ethics, you should be thanking Melissa for teaching me. She’s the most hard-working and self-sufficient person I know.”
Henry rises from his chair and looks around at his family in disgust. He points at his parents, his face livid with anger. “You want the world to think you’re better than everyone el
se, but you lack basic human compassion. And you—” He turns to Alexander. “You know as well as I do that our father is full of shit, but you wouldn’t dare call him out on it. Grow a backbone. How would you feel if he spoke like that to your wife?”
Finally, he turns to Olivia. “I apologize you had to see our family in this light, Olivia. Please don’t think their behavior is reflective of us all.”
Henry holds out a hand to me. “Melissa and I will be in my bedroom if you need us.” He turns back to Diane. “The renovation looks like a wedding dress threw up on a doll’s house, and it smells like mothballs.”
I have to hold back my smile as I accept Henry’s hand and follow him to his childhood bedroom.
When we’re finally out of earshot, I manage, “I can’t believe you said all that to your parents.”
Henry comes to a stop and takes both his hands in mine. “I won’t have them treat you like anything less than the determined and capable woman you are. After all you’ve achieved in your life, you deserve the utmost respect.”
My eyes fill with emotional tears. The way Henry defended me in front of his family, and the sincerity in the way he speaks to me now, makes me feel more recognized than I ever have in my life.
“Thank you, Henry.” I hang my head. “I’m sorry I made a bad impression and caused an argument.”
“You did nothing wrong.” He leans forward to kiss the top of my head. “You’re the first good choice I ever made in my life—and I don’t care what they think.”
Henry takes me back to his childhood bedroom. I smile as I look around and imagine a young Henry living here. The walls are covered in posters of Green Day and Blink 182. There is a huge corkboard that he’s covered in photographs. As I step closer, I notice that his family doesn’t feature in any of them.
“You have a lot of friends,” I say.
He looks over my shoulder and smiles. “I grew up with these lads. At the time, they felt like brothers. I’m still close with many of them today.”
I look up at him, feeling like maybe I understand him more than I did before. “I didn’t realize your family were so—”
“—Cold and synthetic?”
