The Glass House

by Bella Bryce

  "So it had nothing to do with the fact she sat beside you during the meal, and then you never followed it up with an invitation to dinner, or anything like that?"

  "Elisabeth, would you excuse us for a moment?" Brayden asked.

  "Yes, Sir," she replied, then picked up her teacup and saucer and moved to another sofa nearby.

  "I'll thank you to keep comments like that out of earshot of my niece."

  "You do realise that your niece just watched her wedding plans fall apart, and the only thing I can possibly think of is that you were the last to speak to Anabelle on Sunday. It is now Monday morning, and we should be in our appointment. What am I supposed to think?"

  Brayden exhaled and put his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "We parted perfectly amicably, Bennett, I don't know what to say."

  "Then perhaps you should phone and see if she's all right," Bennett said, leaning forward.

  "She won't answer." Brayden removed his fingers and looked at his friend. "I've tried, several times. She's not responding."

  Bennett raised his eyebrows and sat back in the chair. He wasn't amused in the least.

  "Did you ask to speak to the director, or the CEO?"

  "That was my first and last request. I have his name and nothing else."

  "What is it?" Brayden asked.

  "Hamish Seagram."

  * * * * *

  Anabelle closed her office door and stood against it. She'd never, ever let her emotions follow her to work. It was inhumane to expect anyone to compartmentalise themselves upon showing up to their jobs, but a lot of employers wanted it that way. Ana had been a champion at it until Brayden came along. He followed her everywhere.

  It absolutely killed her to have spoken to Bennett so coldly and professionally. She felt as though the two years she'd spent building a relationship with the Fowlers was undone in a matter of seconds. Surely he would complain about the way she'd spoken to him, and Ana didn't stand a chance at keeping her job if she stepped out of line. Hamish wasn't very forgiving at the best of times. She only wished she didn't have a mortgage and commitments that she couldn't walk away from because then she would just put in her notice and find another agency. She would never find another agency with the client base that Tweed had, but she could start again if she had to.

  Her phone vibrated again. She couldn't speak to Brayden. Hamish knew that she'd been at Waldorf for Alice's birthday, which had sincerely concerned her. How on earth did he find out? Moreover, why had he made it a priority to find out? Surely, if he knew that, Hamish would know if she was answering his calls. It wasn't like Brayden to ring her unless she was working for him, so she deducted that it must have something to do with being moved off the Fowler-Warner wedding. She couldn't say anything more on the subject; she'd run out of words just speaking to Bennett.

  Ana pictured Brayden sitting in his study as he listened to the phone ring. It was painful for her to think about him wondering what was going on, and she figured that was exactly what he wanted to know. Her phone began vibrating again, and she grabbed it at the last second.

  "Mr. James," she said, trying to sound normal.

  "Anabelle. I've been trying to get in touch for over an hour. Is everything all right?"

  Ana closed her eyes as she leant against the wall behind her closed door. No, everything was not all right. "Yes, Mr. James. I'm afraid I've been rather busy this morning." She tried to smile.

  "Please tell me what is going on," Brayden said. His voice could rock her to sleep.

  Ana went quiet.

  "Anabelle," he said.

  She loved the way he said her name. "My boss knows I was at Waldorf on Sunday. He thinks I spend too much time with you and the Fowlers, so he pulled me off the wedding. He also threatened my job. I'm sorry, Brayden, but I don't have unlimited funds to protect myself, so I have to keep my mouth shut and do as I'm told." She couldn't believe how unprofessional she was being, sharing that information with him.

  Brayden was disgusted. "Did he accuse you of spending too much time with me? Or the Fowlers?"

  "In fewer and more cowardly words, yes."

  He exhaled and looked over at Bennett. "Right, well I think the best thing to do is to get you privately contracted. I will have my solicitor draw something up between you and me, and then you can work privately for Bennett. Tweed doesn't need to be involved."

  "I'm not allowed to take up private contracts whilst I work here," Ana replied. "Besides, I leave for Dubai next week, and then I start in on a new client the moment I return. Perhaps this is all for the best."

  Brayden could hardly believe it. "Anabelle, I mean to pay you whatever you need to leave that company. I'm telling you I will secure you."

  "I don't need to be secured," Ana replied immediately. That was a lie. She wanted Brayden to be all the security she would ever need, she just didn't want out have to spell it out for him. What was more, he was only offering his money. He wasn't offering himself, or his heart.

  "Bennett and Elisabeth don't want anyone else for their wedding. We all want you to be part of this. I feel responsible somehow, so I'm trying to make things right. You sound very unhappy."

  Ana closed her eyes again. It was gut wrenching to push him away.

  "Is there nothing that will make you reconsider?" Brayden asked. He found it unexplainably strange for Ana to be so cold toward him. "Or perhaps it has nothing to do with Bennett and Elisabeth."

  The phone went quiet. Brayden was all out of questions, and Anabelle hadn't a clue how to respond. Hamish was right about one thing; business and personal boundaries were best kept separate. She would never have been in that kind of conversation with any other client. She wondered if Hamish knew about her staying at Waldorf manor in one of the guest rooms after Brayden's 29th birthday ball. The thought darkened her.

  "Anabelle, please speak to me."

  "I can't. I have a conference call. I'm sorry, Mr. James. Goodbye," she said, and reluctantly ended the call. She closed her eyes and covered her face with both hands. It was a bloody rubbish Monday, and that was just the polite way of thinking about it.

  * * * * *

  Later that evening, Alice waited for Brayden to arrive and tuck her up at bedtime. Her hair had been put in two French plaits and secured with two navy blue satin ribbons, at her insistence. Celia always used white or ivory to match her nightdress but gave in when the girl went on about 'not matching is the new matching.'

  As soon as Celia left, Alice left her dressing table and ran across the room to the right-hand bedside table where Wellesley had placed Anabelle's gift; the glass house, as Alice called it. A wooden house in an oversized glass bulb had absolutely no ring to it. Surely, anyone would agree. She stood in front of the table, slightly bent over in her short baby doll dress with her bloomer shorts blatantly showing, as her eyes scanned the details. She was simply amazed at how everything was so exact; it looked as though someone had shrunk Waldorf Manor and the entire front of the property and put it in the two-foot glass bulb.

  Alice leant forward and extended her hand through the opening in the bulb and gently stroked the roof of the manor, then let her fingers slide down and touch the shrubbery in the front gardens of the replica. Her finger moved to the tiny 'stone' fountain, and caused her to smile. She leant to the right and turned the glass bulb slightly so as not to cause herself any grief in repositioning it. Brayden had told his daughter very specifically that she wasn't to move or lift it, under any circumstance. If she wanted it moved, Wellesley would do it. The bulb itself was at least two feet high and quite heavy.

  She rotated it ever so slightly and moved a few steps over so she could see the back of it through the glass. The detail was just as realistic even where no one expected to look. An engraving in gold beside a small matching switch was rather obvious against the light colour of the imitation 'stone'. She reached her hand inside of the bulb and carefully around until she slid the switch in the opposite direction, causing every window of the replica, the fount
ain and several little lampposts to light up. Alice's eyes widened and she smiled. It reminded her of those small village displays people often set out during Christmastime, with real light-up features. She turned out her bedside lamp and wrapped her arms around her legs as she let a faint smile paint her lips.

  "It has lights, too," Brayden said, as he quietly approached with his hands behind his back.

  "It's the best thing I've ever seen," she replied, quietly, as she looked at it with affection.

  Brayden looked down at her with a raised eyebrow, then repositioned the bulb slightly; he knew she'd turned it a few inches. Alice hoped to escape reprimand, as she climbed into bed and then turned around and hugged her knees to her chest. He pulled up his trousers and sat on the side of her bed as Alice continued to look at the glass house. He didn't know if it was appropriate to tell his daughter that Sunday was perhaps the last time they would see Anabelle. Whilst there had been no mutual understanding of affectionate relations between them, it felt implied. At least, it certainly did in that moment as Alice stared at the handmade gift that spoke love and acceptance without saying anything at all. It was symbolic. Waldorf Manor was Alice's home and a place void of crippling memories. It reminded Alice of her father's love. Anabelle knew that.

  "Perhaps in your 'thank you' card, you can ask Miss Greyson a bit more about it."

  "Her father made it," she replied, without flinching or moving.

  Brayden looked over at his daughter.

  "There's an engraving on the back." Alice pointed to the bulb. Brayden stood up and turned the large, heavy bulb around carefully, and looked through the glass. Sure enough, in the bottom left-hand corner of the manor house was a neat and tidy little engraving in gold paint that read, "W.G. Christmas 2013."

  "How do you know it was her father?" Brayden couldn't help but stand up and look over at his daughter for more direction on the matter.

  "Miss Greyson told me back in December when she interviewed me after the ball that her father had a workshop, and she said his name is William. The initials match. So, I guess he made it." Alice glanced up at him with the innocence only child-like logic brought.

  Brayden couldn't smile. He should be smiling at what all of that meant, but he couldn't. Christmas 2013. That meant Anabelle had commissioned her father to make the glass house for Alice, presumably, after the ball. They had also had a rather heart-fluttering exchange of dialogue. It meant that Anabelle had been thinking about Waldorf, about Alice, probably about Brayden, since then. It meant that she'd been quietly sitting by. Waiting. For him.

  He tucked his daughter into bed, and turned out the other bedside lamp, leaving only the dwindling fireplace and the glass house lit up with dim, miniature bulbs. It looked as though it were waiting for its occupants to come home.

  Once in his study, Brayden removed his blazer. He felt as though he needed some air, and so loosened his tie. It felt wrong, so he tightened it again. He did, however, grant his wrists the advantage, and removed his cufflinks, and rolled his starched shirtsleeves up neatly, three times each. It wasn't any wonder Anabelle had been so dejected earlier, or that Brayden felt responsible for her unhappiness. In a way, he certainly had been. He wanted to be with Anabelle. He hadn't pursued her. She'd been waiting. What had he done?

  It only took him a few minutes to realise that regardless of Anabelle's quiet and patient affections, he needed to leave her alone for the moment. He walked around his desk and dialled from the telephone on his desk before he even sat down. When his solicitor answered and cleared his throat, Brayden apologised for the evening phone call. Brayden went straight into the details of Anabelle's claim regarding her boss. There seemed to be undertones of jealously and harassment beneath his threats, as opposed to strictly professional reasons why Ana needed to keep her personal time and work time separate. He told Brayden he would phone back within the hour if he could do a bit of digging.

  "It appears Hamish Seagram is the Operations Manager, but he isn't the owner. The owner isn't anywhere nearby but has sole stock of the company. Seagram, being the one who runs the show with very little accountability in a situation like that, will be difficult to get around. His comments were definitely inappropriate, but it's her word against his. Now, one of my colleagues flagged something but can't give me any more information until tomorrow when he can access certain databases and resources. If this turns out to be something, we might have leverage."

  "What would we be able to do?"

  "If they're up to no good, we can whistle blow. At least it would mean Mr. Seagram could be sacked, and that would remove the problem of bullying and harassment. If not, then I'm afraid your . . . Anabelle, will have to decide if she wants to stay and put up with it. Is she any good with spreadsheets? My assistant is about to retire."

  "Anabelle should have her own company. I don't want to see her working for anyone else. Sorry, Graves."

  "That's quite all right." He smiled. It was obvious to him that Anabelle Greyson was more than a business contact. "I'll check back in with you first thing in the morning."

  "Thank you, Graves. I do appreciate it."

  Bennett appeared in the doorway and paused. His hands were in his pockets, but he was staring at Brayden's blazer as it lay across one of the club chairs in front of his desk. Brayden stood up and walked around, causing Bennett to raise his eyebrows. He'd seen his best friend without a blazer and with rolled-up sleeves once in his life before then; when he was awaiting the results of the voting for his nomination as Deputy Head Boy. Bennett had paced the room when waiting for his own nomination, but he hadn't rolled up his sleeves.

  "That was Lochlan Graves; he's doing some searching on the CEO."

  "What does all of this have to do with the wedding?" Bennett asked.

  "Hopefully, if they find anything, we can use it against him to tender his resignation," Brayden replied.

  "That's your plan? Blackmail the CEO of the country's most exclusive event's company, so Anabelle won't have any more bad days at work?"

  "He's the problem, Bennett. He's the reason you've lost your wedding coordinator," Brayden said.

  Bennett didn't have a lot to say. Seeing his fiancée with a long face after it had taken the knowledge of carrying on their wedding plans to perk her up since the funeral only made him more irritated.

  "I hope you're right," Bennett said, then quietly excused himself.

  Brayden let his head sit back against the headrest of his tufted leather wingback chair. He was about to snap. He never yelled and he never lost his temper, but after repeated arguments with his best friend, and knowing he was partly responsible for the situation with Anabelle, he was reaching his limit. He still couldn't believe Ana had denied every one of his offers.

  Brayden didn't sleep, not that night, and barely all week. Elisabeth had barely been home since Monday. Bennett would collect her in the morning well before breakfast, then bring her home right before bedtime. It seemed like Bennett and Elisabeth needed their space, and Brayden wasn't about to question it. They hadn't found anyone to take Anabelle's place with regards to coordinating the wedding, but they carried on planning the wardrobe with Harriet because Elisabeth's ideas had come alive in her sketchbook. Bennett knew custom-fitted clothes well, and that was one thing he was happy to let a trusted designer like Harriet take charge of, with or without a wedding coordinator.

  * * * * *

  Elisabeth covered her mouth discretely as Emma stood up on the pedestal looking slightly uncomfortable as the pieces of her bridesmaid dress were pinned on. They'd come pre-cut to her measurements just as all the frocks Harriet designed for Elisabeth and Alice did, which saved a lot of time and satisfied the discerning, quick turn-around her clients expected.

  She watched Emma stand still as she was pinned inside the dress, lovingly hoping her friend would understand in the smallest bit what it had been like for Elisabeth the last half a year. Emma had never had custom made clothes before and she'd never been put on display in a plac
e like Barton-Court for the fitting to take place.

  Emma looked across the room at her friend and widened her eyes, which caused Elisabeth to smile back. Aggie and Lucy were nearby getting ready with the help of the extra assistants Harriet had brought along for the project.

  "Darling, stand up straight for me," Harriet politely requested of Emma, for the third time in recent minutes.

  "Sorry."

  "She's a bit of a fidget," Bennett remarked, as he came up behind Elisabeth with his hands behind his back.

  "She is." Elisabeth chuckled.

  "Yes, Sir," he corrected, raising an eyebrow.

  Elisabeth turned over her shoulder and looked up at him. "That's what I meant."

  Bennett shook his head. "Oh dear, we are going to be in a lot of trouble when our playmates go home, aren't we?" he said, into her ear.

  She blushed before turning back to Emma. "You know what I was thinking?" she asked, quietly.

  "Hmm," Bennett replied, as he glanced at his watch.

  "Emma and Damian." She looked back at Bennett.

  Bennett exhaled and shook his head.

  "Don't you think? Look at her!"

  Bennett looked over Elisabeth's head at the girl as she stood on the pedestal trying to keep still and quiet, as Kate and Maggie adjusted the pieces of the knee-length dress on her.

  "That girl needs structure," he said. He looked down at Elisabeth and lifted her chin. "Damian knows nothing about it."

  "He was raised in the same household as you; he knows plenty about structure," Elisabeth said.

  "No match-making," he said, and tapped her nose as a warning.

  "Bennett," she said, seriously. "Trust me."

  He glanced at Emma and then back at Elisabeth. "I'll make sure they sit beside each other during the rehearsal dinner. That is, if we ever get someone to organise one. Keep out of the rest of it." He raised his eyebrows.

  "Yes, Sir. Thank you," she replied.

  "Indeed," he said, and gave her leg a light tap. "Go and tell your friend she looks lovely in her dress."

  Elisabeth smiled as she turned and approached Emma on the pedestal. The marigold knee-length pleated dresses with boat necks were unapologetically sweet. They didn't show bare shoulders, which was the only thing Bennett requested.