The Glass House

by Bella Bryce

  "Excuse me, girls," he said, and stood up from his chair.

  Alice could see Elisabeth set her teacup back into its saucer with more reserve than usual.

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing, darling." She smiled at Alice.

  Alice wanted to answer back, but she knew that things between her and Elisabeth had already shifted, and she didn't want to start pushing the newly formed boundary.

  "Have you set a date yet?" Alice asked, thinking that was a new subject.

  "Not yet," Elisabeth replied, and put her hand on Alice's knee. Bennett had asked her not to say anything about the situation to Alice. "Why don't you go and get your book. I think your uncle is going to be on the telephone for a little while. I'll keep you company."

  She didn't want to read. Least of all, the only book Celia put in her case for the weekend at her uncle's house was 'The Wind in the Willows.' It had been one of the 109 gifts she received, and although she was grateful for all of them, some left a lot to be desired. When Brayden had told the guests 'Alice loves to read', he forgot to tell them at what reading level. She'd already read the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway, and despite her implied age, Brayden had encouraged her to read anything and everything from his library. He'd started her off with 'Anne of Green Gables', and it took off from there, moving on to more complicated storylines and content, bigger words and depth of meaning. So, 'Wind in the Willows' was definitely child's play.

  She couldn't help but glance at her uncle's study on her way back down the corridor toward the staircase. She held the book in her hand and paused in the doorway. It was a non-negotiable rule that nobody was allowed into a gentleman's study (her father's, her uncle's, etc.) without explicit permission. Alice had never walked into her father's study when he wasn't there, unless he'd told her to report and wait for him. In such a case, she was in trouble, and knew she had to stand in front of his desk. The idea of wandering in and having a gander nearly made her ill, because she knew it was a gross betrayal of his rules, and his trust. How she found herself behind her uncle's desk dialling her father's mobile number, she wasn't sure. Perhaps because missing him was a greater pain in her heart was far greater than any pain that would land on her backside would be.

  "Bennett, I'll have to ring you back this evening and let you know how it goes. I'm just going to meet her now."

  Alice's eyes widened and she quickly put the phone down. Oh bloody hell. WHO? SHE? WHAT? WHAT? She straightened the telephone on the desk so it was perfectly aligned again, and quickly left her uncle's study.

  Brayden looked at his mobile phone and put it down to the car driving through a tunnel. He glanced at his watch and then up at the chauffeur.

  Alice retuned to the Great Room with her eyes plastered to one of the pages in the book. Elisabeth was still on the sofa, keeping an eye on Bennett as he spoke on the phone across the room. She returned to her place on the sofa abruptly and opened the book.

  "Oh, I love this book," Elisabeth said, as she turned it slightly in Alice's hand so she could see the cover.

  "It's a baby book. I'm beyond primary school reading."

  Elisabeth gave Alice a look as she poured another cup of tea for them both.

  "Do you know where Father went?"

  Elisabeth looked at Alice. "I don't."

  Alice left it at that. If Elisabeth had known, her eyes would have given her away. Elisabeth was a horrible liar, which was of great benefit to everyone who wanted information out of her. Unfortunately, Elisabeth's honesty told her nothing.

  * * * * *

  England was nothing like Dubai, and it never would be. The hilarity of comparing the two was almost too much. Anabelle lay on the sun lounger with her eyes closed beneath her sunglasses. She'd done half a mile in laps and didn't regret it at all. It was still morning back in the UK and a quick glance at her weather app reminded her that she'd picked the perfect week to leave the chilly and rainy little island she affectionately called home. Her phone hadn't rung in over an hour, and even though it was Saturday, it was impressive. A waiter stopped to check on her, and even propped the pillow under her head. On second thought, she could happily leave England behind and call Dubai home. Why not? There was nothing tying her down in London, except her mortgage. A flat in Belgravia wasn't hard to sell because they were very hard to come by. Nobody wanted to leave and everybody wanted to live there, especially if they worked in the city.

  With that temptation in her mind, she reached for her iPhone and pulled up her email. She added her contact at the agency that had sold her the flat two years before, and wrote a quick one liner before hitting send. She was only inquiring.

  Brayden walked into the beautiful lobby of the hotel and sat down at a table near a large window. He declined a drink, just in case she wanted to go somewhere else for one. He checked his watch, then pulled out his iPhone. He missed his daughter. He scrolled through the photos his photographer sent that morning – he hadn't even had a chance to look at them. Brayden smiled as he went through the batch slowly. He loved the one of Alice and Bennett looking out of the conservatory windows, which they had no idea had been taken. Bennett stood with his hands behind his back and Alice was just looking up at him, the flawless bow of her little white pinafore tied at the back was almost too much. Brayden wanted that one in a frame. Bennett would want it too. There were a few of Elisabeth and Alice, and of Alice and Ana, too. The photographer had done a fantastic job of being invisible, because Brayden certainly hadn't seen the party through the same lenses as he had. He blinked a few times when he scrolled through the ones of him and Alice dancing. His heart ached. There was an unforgettable photo of Alice laughing as she looked up at him as he held onto her small hand and waist during their slow dance. Another, as Brayden bent down and planted a kiss on her forehead with his eyes closed.

  "Darling girl," Brayden said quietly, as he smiled. He set that photo as his wallpaper, and then continued looking through the rest.

  "Mr. James?"

  "Yes," he said, as he looked up.

  "This way, Sir. I will walk you down. It's a big hotel," the uniformed man offered.

  "Thank you very much," he said, then stood up and took his briefcase with him. He was confident he would have good news when he returned home.

  Alice couldn't help but think about what her father said when he thought Bennett was on the other end of the phone. She forgot that her uncle's study phone number was different from his regular landline, so it would have shown up on her father's end as 'Bennett – Study', because that's how his father organised his telephone numbers. She was glad, too, because it meant she didn't have to say a word. Brayden just assumed it was Bennett phoning him, and it had worked in her favour. She wasn't sure if he would phone back, though, and ask why 'Bennett' put the phone down without saying goodbye. That worried her, because she would have to confess to going into her uncle's study without his permission. The fact her father was meeting a woman . . . well, that made everything more unnerving. Alice didn't know that Anabelle was abroad, on holiday, so the fact she'd heard what she did unsettled her. Brayden was a man of integrity and honour, and Alice couldn't imagine him leaving the country to see a woman, especially when Anabelle was the only one who'd gotten even remotely close to him.

  During dinner at Greystone Hall that evening, Alice tried to work through the pieces of information she'd inadvertently gathered, as if each one of them were a piece to a puzzle. In reality, Elisabeth didn't know where her uncle was, and Bennett knew very little.

  Brayden hadn't intended to keep anything from his best friend, but there simply hadn't been time to explain everything, and because of their slightly awkward week of minimal conversation following the Tweed Events fiasco, he'd found it a low priority to spell everything out. He preferred to wait until he returned, even though Bennett was his best friend and they told each other almost everything. They had since they were eight years old. The context of their conversations used to be about maths and history lessons,
their rugby matches, the bullying and upperclassmen at boarding school, then gradually, onto the behaviour of their peers when they were Head and Deputy Head Boy. Eventually, conversation changed to University, business and then finances. No matter what it was, it usually occurred over a brandy. The conversation that prefaced his last-minute flight, however, hadn't.

  It was clear to everyone at the table that Alice missed her father. She wasn't accustomed to being anywhere without him, and the fact she didn't know where he was, exactly, or why, weighed heavy on her mind. She wasn't the only one dining in subdued pensiveness that evening, though.

  Anabelle managed to shed a lot of the thoughts she'd arrived with, as she lay under the therapeutic rays with a cocktail at her side, but they returned as soon as the sun began to set. She abandoned the one place she'd been able to turn her mind off (if only for a few hours), and exchanged it for a hot shower. She took her time showering the chlorine from her skin and out of her hair. The products in the hotel smelled like coconut. Who didn't want to smell like coconut? She slipped into a simple black dress that stopped just above her knees and added a sheer grey scarf around her neck. Dubai was part of the United Arab Emirates, and even though western females were fine to expose their knees and bare arms in the confines of their hotels and resorts, Ana didn't want to be disrespectful. She could easily convert the oversized scarf to a wrap around her shoulders if she felt she should.

  The waiter sat her at a table on the terrace that overlooked the sea. Dusk was a perfect view in itself, but when it included pleasant evening air and outside dining, it was made even more flawless. The tables were generously spaced out, each with a small tier of tea light candles and beautiful place settings. Her only regret was watching the other couples dine together. She looked across at the empty chair across the table, imagining only one person. She'd never had dinner with Brayden, or any meal alone with him. She wondered what that would be like. The waiter returned with her wine, and then poured a glass of water.

  "Thank you." She smiled warmly at him.

  He nodded and gave a small bow. She'd ordered a traditional Al Machboos dish, which she imagined would have a polished European finish to it. It did. It was presented most impressively, as she'd expected, and served hummus, na'an and several other small dishes of dips and spices. Emerati food was really meant to be shared, as it was often presented family style. Although, she had no problem eating it all on her own.

  Brayden wasn't far from her thoughts again. When she returned to her room she was so tempted to ring Brayden and apologise. The way she'd left their conversation hadn't sat well with her, but being away from most of the buzz of her usual routine (discounting her mobile phone), helped her to really reflect. In her heart she knew that regardless of her boss, it wasn't right to be cold toward clients, or people, even if he wanted her to be – even just a little.

  She picked up her phone, thinking of how she could begin to explain why she'd dismissed his offer. Then she reconsidered. Perhaps an email would be a better idea. Then, like a plague of pessimism, Hamish's words hung over her head again. The line had definitely been blurred somehow, and it felt like nothing but a mess. She shouldn't have been so stubborn when Brayden offered her a contract. The only reason she'd said no was because it meant having to see him on a professional basis, repeatedly, and melting inside every time she looked at him while plastering a smile across the lips that wanted to kiss him. She'd also refused because their infrequent interactions had been painful to walk away from him empty handed.

  Alice's birthday party was the first time they'd shared a moment of their own completely unrelated to work, and even then, she'd left Waldorf a little disappointed. It puzzled her that he hadn't pursued her, because she was sure their feelings were mutual. Or were they? Perhaps he hadn't invited her to dinner or outside conversation because Ana was the only one who wanted a relationship, and the reality of that thought hit her like a brick in the stomach. She hadn't considered the possibility of that before, because his behaviour had suggested otherwise. The look in his eye when they faced each other, his smile, the way he spoke to her with subtle, authoritative tone and language. She must have read it all wrong. That could be the only reason for it. She felt like she might be ill. It definitely wasn't time for a phone call, but she took it anyway.

  "Anabelle Greyson," she replied, swallowing the remnants of dinner as she felt them creep into her throat.

  It was Bjorn, of the Bjorn engagement. His Swedish accent was unmistakable. She had to fetch her notepad and pen in order to keep up. He wasn't even supposed to be speaking to her until the following week, when his contract with Tweed would be drawn up. Anabelle was so far past caring. If Bjorn wanted to phone up and get free consulting a week before he started paying for services, it served Hamish and his money-mongering ways, right. It made for a good bedtime story, though, hearing Bjorn speak about his elaborate plans to propose to his girlfriend on the top of the Shard in London. It certainly wasn't the place she would want to be proposed to, but then again, he was Swedish.

  Ana knew that Bjorn had contacted Tweed Events weeks ago, wanting to consult about planning the perfect engagement, which was still a whole month away. Ana was supposed to be meeting with Bjorn first thing Monday morning after her holiday, but he'd seen a news article online about construction around the Shard in the coming weeks, and of course, he'd "been given this number to phone in an emergency." He didn't know how his perfect engagement was supposed to be perfect if there were 'men and drills and all theses things disrupting my poem'. Ana would eventually attempt to talk him out of the rather cliché elements of his idea. Bjorn was a very wealthy man, but not a highly intelligent one. Anabelle wanted to work with him so that he didn't come across looking like a complete numpty, reading a rhyming poem, on the top of one of the tallest buildings in London, the wind blowing his thickly-rimmed glasses down his nose as he pushed them up with one finger, and all with the Tweed Events branding behind it. She could just imagine it.

  After Ana was able to assure Bjorn that she would check with her contacts at the Shard to verify the timing of their construction plans, he calmed down. He also offered the whole backstory to how he and Vinca met. Vinca, like the plant, he specified. At least someone was in love that night, and she went to bed reminding herself that she wasn't on the receiving end of it.

  Six short hours later and with the sun bursting through the decorative holes in the shapely, wooden doors, Ana woke still very aware of the fact that Bjorn would eat, sleep and breathe Vinca, whilst she would be swimming, tanning and sipping Brayden. Since she left England, he'd begun to creep into every thought. As she settled into her sun lounger, every brown-haired, brown-eyed man who walked by made her head turn, which wasn't hard to come by in a culture full of dark-haired, dark-eyed men. Many of the hotel guests came from that side of the world, too; Saudis, Pakistanis, the Mediterranean; so Anabelle found herself glancing up over the book she was pretending to read whenever she thought she could tickle her Brayden fix by looking in their direction. She wore sunglasses to be discrete, of course, and her eyes only wandered to their upper body. It was no use looking at the lower half of a man who wasn't Brayden.

  The waiter made her jump. Good thing, too, because she was being ridiculous. She hadn't paid £3,000 to sit in Dubai thinking about Brayden. Although, if it hadn't been for him and his insistence on her slowing down, she wouldn't even be there. Anabelle had been proud to report back to Brayden and tell him that she'd booked one whole week away; her first since University. In a way, it made her feel even closer to him because he'd been the one to suggest it. So Ana talked herself back around to how un-ridiculous it was for her to think of Brayden as a benefactor to her work-life balance. Then Ana reminded herself that she wasn't the object of anyone's thoughts, but rather the one objectifying someone else. That wasn't fun.

  "I'll have a tequila sunrise, please, with more tequila than sunrise."

  The circumstance which took Brayden away from England temporar
ily, made room for several things that wouldn't have otherwise occurred. Jonathan and Evelyn Fowler spent a rather concentrated time with their adopted niece, Alice, and their soon to be daughter-in-law, Elisabeth. It wasn't that Brayden wouldn't allow his daughter enough time with her adopted uncle Jon and aunt Evelyn, it was just that their marriage had been so very broken, that they wouldn't have been able to enjoy much of it.

  The timing of Brayden's trip had been such that Jon and Evelyn had been practising a very different relationship long enough that they could give of themselves more easily. Bennett saw a marked difference in how his parents communicated and responded to each other, and how they responded to the girls. It had always been Brayden's intention that Alice could truly look at Bennett's parents as family, and by Sunday morning at the breakfast table, that was precisely how things felt. When Bennett left Elisabeth at Greystone in the evenings and returned to Barton-Court with Alice, there was an opportunity there that hadn't previously been available. Due to the circumstance, the only option was for Elisabeth to stay with his parents, and that opened the door for conversation that might have otherwise taken longer to draw out. Being that their time was more concentrated, Elisabeth found that their relationship was building stronger very quickly.

  Since Friday, Jonathan began a habit of taking an evening stroll with her. He and Elisabeth would walk along the lighted paths of the back formal gardens and by the time they returned inside, Bennett, Evelyn and Alice were in the sitting room ready to have tea with them. Bennett had previously filled his parents in on Elisabeth's late parents; their situation, her childhood, and what happened on the day they died. He was grateful he'd taken advantage of the day his parents reconciled with him, because the timing was such that they wouldn't have understood her reserve. Elisabeth was just as reserved as the next English girl, but she carried another kind; one which put adults (other than Bennett and Brayden), at arm's length. She didn't know how to respond to able-bodied, caring parental figures. How could she? With that knowledge, and by the renewed synergy of their marriage, Jon and Evelyn had been able to approach Elisabeth with the kind of approach she needed, and in a way which caused a welcome response. When previously Elisabeth felt offended that Bennett had hopes of Jonathan being like a proper father to her, she no longer was.