The Family Game(22)

He liked my book. I absorb his very particular brand of acceptance, aware that there is a kind of understanding growing between us.

‘Thank you,’ I tell him, with genuine gratitude, ‘that means a lot.’

‘Coming from me?’ he asks, amused. Another test. Am I playing the game of elder statesman and grateful young woman? And if I am, am I doing it deliberately?

That smile again. If this isn’t flirting, it’s definitely in the ballpark. So, I guess the question is: will I play ball?

‘Yes,’ I say, my eyes on him. ‘It means a lot – coming from you.’

And just like that, we both know where we stand. I am game and so is he. Anything could happen.

He nods to himself and raises his port to me in acknowledgement.

It makes sense that he would be this charming in person; people don’t tend to get, or stay, in his position without knowing how people tick. But I know how people tick too; after a lifetime of trying to fit in, working people out has proven essential.

I watch him refill his port glass. ‘We have something in common, you and I,’ he tells me.

‘Aside from Edward. And our love of thrillers?’ I quip.

He takes a slow puff of his cigar, watching me. ‘Indeed, our cups runneth over already. No. We are orphans. You and I both suffered loss at a young age. Your parents died. My parents died.’

He’s gone straight for my weakest spot, my soft underbelly. He knows. Edward must have mentioned it to his mother and I know how these things spread. Like wildfire.

And just like that, my brain lights up like a Christmas tree with memories I do not want. An upturned car, bodies hanging in the air. Fire and pain. Images press in on me fast and hard. The before and after. Driving down that early morning road, the chill in the air, the startling as it swerved towards us, the bracing for impact, my mother’s face turning to me, the look in her eyes, the words I never quite heard. Then sound, pain and darkness. Even here in the Holbecks’ penthouse I smell that mix of country air and petrol. After all these years, no matter how far I go, it follows.

‘I’m sorry,’ Robert says, after a moment, ‘that was unnecessary. I should know better than that. Especially at my age. The past can catch us if we don’t see it coming, can’t it? I apologize, Harriet.’

He really can read me. But then perhaps he speaks from his own experience.

I recall his words. ‘How did you lose your parents?’

‘My mother went first. When I was seven.’ He breaks off, looking back into the darkness of the room. ‘She was a good woman. Full of love. Maybe too good. She left a hole when she died; my father lost his way. As I said, one must be careful not to love any one person more than anything. Life is fragile. We both know that. My father was a case in point.’

‘He killed himself?’

‘In a sense, but no. Illness. He put up little fight. It was quick.’

‘And what happened to you? Afterwards?’ I ask.

‘Alfred and Mitzi Holbeck happened to me. My grandparents took me in. The woman who wore the ring on your finger raised me.’

I look down at it, the garnet’s arterial red glimmering in the firelight and I wonder for the first time exactly whose idea it was to give me this ring. Either way, Edward must know its significance to his father.

‘Was it hard after they died?’ I ask, more to hear him speak then to hear the answer I already know.

‘It was. And for you? You miss them.’

‘Yes. I try not to think about them,’ I say simply. ‘But they come back. Every day. A tune, a laugh, a memory. Every day.’

‘Every day,’ he says, almost to himself. ‘But do you still look for them in crowds?’

My eyes snap to his in surprise. A laugh of recognition. ‘I do. Do you?’

He nods warmly, leaning in to top up my tea. ‘Always. Even now, when time has meant that they would be long gone regardless.’

I watch him as he pours. To have all this and no one to see it.

‘I’m glad Edward found you, Harriet. You’re not his usual. But then the woman you ask to marry you never is, is she?’ I don’t know why, but something about the way he says this unsettles me.

I’m reminded of Edward’s exes, and the power Robert has had in the past to decide who is or is not right for him. I remind myself that it is only a quirk of fate that Robert has decided to approve of me. And that approval is conditional.

‘I don’t know how much he’s told you,’ he continues, ‘about our history? About the family.’

‘Not much, to be honest,’ I say carefully.

He studies my face for the truth of that and seems to find an answer there. ‘That’s interesting,’ he says, ‘very interesting.’

He seems to come to a conclusion, leaning forward on an elbow. ‘He left ThruComm. He wanted to make a go of things on his own. His own way in the world.’ He leans back now, with a nod. ‘A noble idea, of course, to build a life from scratch. But a family business is a group endeavour. We take from the past and give to the future. We add more and pass it on. Edward is my eldest; the company should be his. But he chose another way.’ He gives me a wry look. ‘Now, Harriet, don’t misunderstand me. I’ve made peace with that part of the story. My concern now is for my family. I want him back here. Eleanor wants him back with the family. Matilda spoke with you, I understand. We all want him back and we think this engagement is a good thing. You’re good for him. I see that.’