The Glass House

by Bella Bryce

  Elisabeth spun slowly in his grip and faced him quite easily.

  "I can certainly arrange for you to have your own wardrobe of sorts," Bennett added, as his lips hovered just above hers.

  She smiled as she stood up on her toes to reach him more easily. "Just the wardrobe or the whole package?" Elisabeth asked, almost whispering. Her eyes were taunting him as she clearly referred to the nursery.

  "Keep this up and I shall have us married right here and now, young lady," Bennett replied, finding his voice again. He raised his eyebrows at her. Bennett knew if either of them pushed the boundary any further, it would only make maintaining their discretion a lot more difficult. He had absolutely no desire to give in or to cheapen their affections by being so weak.

  "You'll hear no complaints from me," Elisabeth replied, having pulled herself out of the rather secretive voice she'd been using.

  "Don't tempt me, my girl. There is an ordained pastor downstairs."

  Chapter Ten

  Ana sniffed several times before she relocated the tissues in the hall cupboard. She wiped one eye with the back of her hand and blinked to refocus her vision when she found the blasted box and carried it back into her bedroom. She moaned when she realised the steaming hot cup of tea she'd made was still in the kitchen, and retrieved it before apathy carried on getting the best of her. Ana had no appetite, otherwise, she would have made herself a tray of toast and an entire pot of tea to ensure she could remain in bed undisturbed until one of them went cold, but she had no intention of remaining awake for that long. She was exhausted, fed up and practically lifeless by that point, for more than one reason.

  Ana placed the tissues and the tea within close proximity to the bedside table she favoured due to her equally favoured side of the queen bed, and then tucked herself beneath the duvet. It was unheard of that Anabelle used her holiday, and regardless of how 'generous' Tweed Events Co. was with their boastful twenty-eight days, three weeks of sick pay, and work-life balance scheme', (that's all it was, a scheme nobody was ever really encouraged to take them). It wasn't lucrative or even beneficial for Anabelle to utilise her benefits because it would only mean she got behind, and if she was behind, she could be replaced. Anabelle couldn't bring herself to demand her rights when she knew perfectly well that there were lots of other agencies to work for who did the same thing, but they weren't exclusive and they weren't in the circles Ana was part of.

  She knew the top socialites in London and their friends beyond the M25, and their friends who had second homes in the Lake District and their friends who lived and hosted abroad. Tweed Events Co. was the place to be for someone of her age who wanted the opportunities only they seemed to get. They had a reputation for 'flawless' like no agency but the price was coming down with illness rather abruptly from overworking and under sleeping. Ana never used her holiday, her sick leave or her right as a human being to have a life outside of a career, but the night before at the Fowler-Warner engagement party proved to be the culmination of being overworked, under slept and stress leaving the body after an intense period of seventy-hour work weeks with Evelyn Fowler phoning just as many times as the hours Anabelle worked to perfect the party. It was the perfect morning to come to terms with how unfulfilling the hours she spent at work actually were, and it did absolutely nothing for her to be lying with the duvet over her head wishing to remain there the rest of the week. The vibration of her mobile phone quickly shot that idea to pieces as she threw back the layers and exhaled, rolling to her side to reach it.

  "Anabelle Greyson," her weak and tired voice managed.

  "Anabelle, darling, it's Evelyn Fowler."

  "Good morning, Mrs. Fowler. How are you?" Anabelle asked, sliding one hand over her face. She used what little effort she had to deliver the best possible customer service available within her. It was not the phone call she wanted to have there and then, that was for sure.

  "I'm fine, Darling. Now, I wanted to speak to you about Bennett and Elisabeth's wedding."

  Ana scrunched her eyes closed beneath her hand as it covered her face. She fought the ever-increasing temptation to put the phone down, turn it off, and roll over to get some more sleep.

  "I know the children have decided to run with this idea of afternoon tea, and the meal with the caterer has been cancelled, but I wanted to know if perhaps you might suggest to them that they feed their guests a bit more substantially than just pastries and clotted cream."

  Ana removed her hand from her face and stared up at the ceiling.

  "I'm afraid to say Mr. Bennett Fowler has taken over the billing for the rest of the wedding-planning appointments, so I'm not actually able to discuss details with you privately. Anymore. Without his permission. I'm afraid."

  The phone went silent.

  "Pardon?" Evelyn eventually replied.

  "We received a contract from him this morning, and Elisabeth Warner is currently the only authorised person on this account to be billed for my time. He's pre-paid until the end of the spring," Ana replied.

  "The end of the spring? We spoke of August!" Evelyn exclaimed.

  Ana was quiet.

  "Imagine, a mother being pushed out of her son's wedding planning, and she doesn't find out until the wedding planner tells her about it. He hadn't said a word about it to me, and it's been two weeks since our last meeting. He certainly didn't say a word at the engagement party last night!"

  Ana held back an eye roll and sat up against her upholstered headboard, her hand reclaiming its place across her face as she felt the life continue to drain out of her. She was so exhausted.

  "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Fowler," Ana offered. She couldn't offer any more information without betraying Bennett's contract or his trust.

  Evelyn made it clear that she would 'sort the situation out' and phone back later, to which Ana wanted to reply, 'please don't.' She didn't. Instead, she reached for her tea once their conversation ended and thought about turning her phone off entirely, but it would only grieve her to return to a bunch of annoyed clients and confused junior colleagues. If she didn't answer her mobile they would phone the office in London, and the client would either leave a message on her voicemail or ask to speak to someone else who could help them immediately. Often times, it was the case that clients felt their parties or events were like medical emergencies that required quick and early intervention to prevent catastrophe. In their world, it was the most stressful event occurring in their life at the time, and Anabelle could humble herself to be at the end of the phone to extinguish any fear or panic no matter how ridiculous. It was just easier if she removed the boundary between her personal time and work carried over into it. Of course, it was completely unacceptable for the reverse to occur.

  Her phone vibrated again, and she immediately hated herself for being so bloody accommodating.

  * * * * *

  Evelyn wasn't pleased. In fact, she was very nearly livid, although it was well masked in the numerous messages she'd left her eldest son over the course of the day.

  The last consultation at Tweed Events Co. two weeks prior, followed by unwelcome criticism by her husband on the ride home was enough to leave her speechless. She'd never been blatantly disregarded, but especially not by the males in her immediate family. Evelyn was used to having the final word on all matters; with her sons because she was their mother and they would never quite grow up in her eyes, and with her husband because he felt guilty for his domestic absence over the years, which she quietly, but knowingly, held over his head. Those notions had been enough for Evelyn to hold such a position over her family, but she could feel her clout lessening. It seemed guilt and feminine domination were no longer welcome in the Fowler family and she wasn't in the least amused.

  What was more, Bennett made a very deliberate move to contractually exclude anyone besides himself and Elisabeth from discussing details of their wedding with their coordinator – which she discovered from the coordinator instead of Bennett himself. Bennett hadn't answered her calls, tex
ts or voice messages, and it was most unlike him. Part of her was worried, and the rest of her was angry that she was losing her grip on him.

  "Have the car brought round front. I'm going to Barton-Court to see Bennett," Evelyn told Willis.

  "No, you aren't," Jonathan's voice sounded, as he entered the foyer of Greystone Hall and removed his smart reading glasses from the end of his nose.

  Evelyn felt a surge of humiliation flash through her. She'd never been told 'no' by her husband, and certainly not in front of their butler. Willis watched as Evelyn turned to face her husband.

  "Thank you, Willis," Jonathan said, as he continued to approach his wife.

  Evelyn squared her shoulders and folded her arms neatly. Jonathan would have liked to have taken his wife right there as she stood defiantly in her designer dress, those heels and the pearls he bought her for no reason years before – with her mouth nearly hanging open. He realised her shock at losing power was intensely attractive to him.

  "That will be all," Jon confirmed to his butler without hesitation.

  "Sir." Willis abandoned the foyer before Evelyn could dispute it, having previously been rendered immobile by the shock.

  "What is this, Jonathan?" Evelyn asked, as though his orders to their butler, his interest in the situation and his intervention were confusing. Her displeasure was obvious; he had never undermined her before.

  "You will leave our grown son to his own affairs. Bennett will phone you when he has the time."

  Evelyn's eyes were gaping, and her arms nearly fell from their folded position. "When he has the time?" she demanded. "I am his mother!"

  "You no longer hold the position of centre of Bennett's life, Evelyn, and you can't expect to."

  They stared at each other like a male and female lawyer in their power suit and designer dress, in the grand foyer, seeing who would have the last word on the way to the courtroom.

  Evelyn's eyes were still widened and she was at a complete loss for words.

  "And neither can I," Jon remarked. "He is about to be married. Is nothing sacred?"

  Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her husband, the very same look Bennett gave when he wasn't amused.

  "After all this effort and expectation; to raise our sons to be strong, independent, gentlemen, why don't you actually give him the space to be one?" Jon added, quietly, before he left his wife in the foyer alone. Somehow, it felt like Jon was talking more about himself than their son.

  * * * * *

  Bennett knew his mother had phoned, numerous times. He hadn't answered, and he wouldn't respond until he was prepared to. He knew exactly why she was calling, and it was only to ask, 'why have you cut me out of your wedding planning?' It would only infuriate Bennett if he had to explain his reasoning, because it seemed rather obvious precisely why. Despite Elisabeth having been openly questioned on thoughts about her own wedding, she had forgiven her future mother-in-law. They both had, but they didn't want Evelyn to continue being part of the planning. After all, she'd already had her turn. Bennett felt like he'd been waiting since he was a young lad to find the love of his life, and now that he did, he refused to let his overbearing mother water it down with her own expectations.

  He listened to his mother's fourth message in four hours from the previous day as he sat upright behind his desk in the study. His eyes went to the ceiling and he selected 'delete' and carried on to the fifth message. Bennett deleted that one as well.

  His mother definitely seemed to have an identity crisis, and it was wrongly planted in the idea that her role in life was solely to be a mother. It wasn't. Evelyn Fowler was Evelyn Fowler regardless of how successful her sons became, whether they reciprocated her love and affections, whether their weddings followed social expectation, even if they rejected her at some point. Evelyn Fowler needed to learn that her identity didn't lie in motherhood. If it did, it would destroy her if Bennett or Damian failed, or wanted their space as mature adults - as the latter was proving to be true. She wasn't even terribly maternal, but it was clear from the forced calm in her voice that she felt the grip she held on Bennett loosening, and she was scared.

  He didn't want to hurt his mother, but Bennett knew a bit of tough love in distancing himself was crucial to protecting his impending marriage. Evelyn loved Elisabeth and didn't feel threatened by her, but she wanted to maintain the relationship with Bennett that she'd always had with him – the one where she had all the control and authority – without question.

  Bennett's iPhone rang as he descended the staircase, but he didn't pull it from his inside blazer pocket to find out if it was his mother. He just assumed it was.

  "My coat please, Sullivan." He needed some fresh air.

  Bennett walked alone in his formal gardens, his hands tucked neatly inside the pockets of his navy blue formal woollen topcoat. His blue and green tartan scarf lay obediently on either side of his neck and a smart striped tie was visible where his coat parted. He walked with purposeful candour at a pace that still allowed him to fondly recall the details of his engagement party the night before. It was an evening he would never forget. Bennett revisited the party in his mind without proof on his straight face; Elisabeth's beautiful smile, the way she looked in her dress, her sweet shoes, and the satin ribbon wrapped two times around her waist and tied into a bow. She'd looked like an adorable little present that needed to be unwrapped.

  Of course, Bennett didn't imagine 'unwrapping' her the way he would unwrap her on their wedding night, it was more of the idea of Elisabeth being his gift. He had been unspeakably satisfied with the engagement party in more ways than one; namely for the unexpected and terribly delightful way in which Elisabeth had approached his old nursery, and then led him by the hand through the door as if she were a curious little girl. Bennett could replay Elisabeth looking at him over her shoulder the way she had and never tire of it. It had him completely hooked; so hooked, in fact, that he didn't hear his phone vibrate. A second round of subtle vibration in his suit jacket, beneath his coat, finally caught his attention. He stopped walking along the gravel path near several stone statues and answered it. Thankfully, it wasn't his mother. Nor was it at all what he was expecting.

  His thoughts immediately turned from a beautiful, smiling Elisabeth to a very, very distraught one. Bennett turned from the tranquil section of his gardens surrounded by cherubs on pedestals and frosty rose bushes, and ran in the opposite direction back toward Barton-Court house. Sullivan nearly had a heart attack seeing Bennett push through the front doors in such a hasty state.

  "My car out front, Sullivan. Now, please," he said, as he stormed straight through the foyer and up the grand staircase in a gentlemanly but hurried manner.

  Bennett's hard-soled dress shoes pounded right through the thick, burgundy, carpet runway lying atop the wooden floorboards all the way down to his study. He quickly grabbed his wallet from its ninety-degree angle aligned with the inside of his desk drawer, and exited again within seconds of arriving. Once out of the study, he crossed the corridor to his own bedroom, switched on the light and stopped in the middle of the room.

  "Damn," he said, under his breath. "Mary!" he called, as he walked back to his doorway and looked up and down the corridor.

  "Yes, Sir?" she asked, appearing with a stack of flawlessly pressed and folded bed sheets, her smile fading when she saw Bennett's face.

  "I need a case packed. I'm leaving straightaway."

  Mary nodded and quickly passed him in the doorway, leaving the stack of folded sheets on top of his bed. She wouldn't otherwise have done so, but Bennett's face and manner – whilst appearing calm – made it obvious that he was flustered. Mary had never seen Bennett flustered in the nearly half a year she'd been employed by him, and regardless of his very particular and somewhat pedantic manner, seeing Bennett hiding concern made Mary's heart break a little for him. She was extremely uncomfortable with him being in such a state.

  "Any suit, Sir?" she asked, as she opened a door to the far right side of the seemi
ngly endless mahogany wardrobe, which took up an entire wall of double doors. Mary knew exactly where everything was and how to pack a gentleman's bag with very little notice.

  "Please," he said, as he scrolled through his phone.

  "How many nights away?" Mary asked, as she expertly hung a pair of trousers, matching blazer and a solid coloured waistcoat with shirt and tie into a monogrammed, brown leather suit bag. It wasn't like Bennett at all to not choose his own suits.

  "Just one for now," he replied, as he put his iPhone to his ear and glanced at his head housekeeper. She heard Brayden's name as she disappeared very calmly, but quickly, into his en-suite bathroom and prepared his brown monogrammed leather toiletry bag.

  The glass wardrobe in his bathroom was meticulously displayed and stocked with only the best men's products, all of which also came in travel size. Mary packed his overnight bag so that it was tidy, just the way he liked.

  Within five minutes of his return from the gardens, Bennett was out Barton-Court House gates driving his £80,000 car up the country lanes toward Waldorf Manor. He would normally notice when he was speeding and made a habit of never doing so, but it was going to be a difficult afternoon for more than one person, and his only thought was to get to Elisabeth straightaway.

  "Good afternoon, Sir," Wellesley said, as he answered the door.

  "Afternoon. Where is Brayden?" Bennett asked, as he strode through the doorway and into the foyer.

  By the look on Wellesley's face, it was clear he hadn't any idea why Bennett was asking, but like all experienced butlers, he didn't react. He closed the doors and was very professional about crossing the foyer toward the staircase.

  "I will find Mr. James, Sir," Wellesley replied before ascending the grand staircase to the right as Brayden appeared and descended the left.