It had started with a feeble attempt at a threat, but it had soon escalated into something much bigger. Harriet was helping Margery clear away the dishes after dinner one evening, and Steven and Mason had retired to the drawing room. The photo of Mason and his daughter had been hung, just that morning, in place of Finley’s. Mason walked over to it and ran his finger around the frame. Steven could still remember the smug look on his face, like the cat who had got the cream. It made his stomach turn. He poured them each a large measure of brandy and walked over to where Mason was standing.
His daughter’s boyfriend turned towards him and took the glass Steven was holding out. ‘You don’t like me, do you?’ Mason asked, looking Steven straight in the eye.
Mason’s directness had taken him by surprise. He had always been fairly quiet. Steven had taken it as a mark of respect, but he was pleasantly surprised by the boy’s directness. This was a side to the boy’s character he hadn’t seen before. A side, he had to admit, he found more favourable than what he had seen so far. Perhaps the lad had some personality after all.
‘I think you’re punching, to use a phrase the young use today,’ Steven said, without so much as a blink.
Mason laughed, but Steven noticed he was the first to look away. A small victory, but nevertheless a victory.
‘I think you’re right. Harriet’s definitely special to me and someone I’ll always take care of.’
‘On your father’s coin,’ Steven said. The words had left his mouth before he could stop himself. He hoped Harriet wasn’t listening at the door. ‘Although,’ he added, ‘there’s no harm in that when you pull your weight.’
‘Precisely,’ Mason said. Either he had completely missed the point or he was rising above it. Touché, thought Steven.
‘Your opinion matters to Harriet,’ Mason said. ‘It’s why I wanted to speak to you.’
Steven felt the dread rising from the pit of his stomach. He wanted time to stop. He definitely didn’t want Mason to ask what he was about to. He wasn’t ready to go through all that again like he had done with Finley. Not so soon.
‘I want to marry your daughter,’ Mason said.
There it was: the gut-wrenching statement.
‘I’m doing the right thing,’ Mason continued. ‘I’m asking for your permission.’
Steven eyed Mason. He knew about the boy’s past – the girls that fawned over him, his reputation as a ladies’ man. The boy had limited ambition, a leech on his father’s business. Was he worthy of his daughter? He couldn’t offer him cash to get out. No, he had made that mistake before and had paid the price. A smile formed on Mason’s lips with joyous expectation, and Steven’s grip on his brandy glass tightened. Just who the hell did Mason think he was? What kind of future could he give his daughter? Harriet certainly knew how to pick them. What was Evan White doing? It was about time he made his move.
‘No,’ Steven said, swallowing the dark liquid in his glass. Mason’s eyes widened, and Steven momentarily enjoyed the satisfaction of the boy’s disappointment.
Mason took a step closer. ‘I think I misheard you,’ he said, pulling something out of his jacket pocket.
‘I don’t think–’ Steven started, but Mason cut him off.
Mason had his phone in his hand. He was scrolling through his photos. He stopped at one and showed it to Steven. Steven did his best not to grab the phone from the boy’s hand and fling it across the room.
‘I thought so,’ Mason said, a smile spreading across his face.
‘What are you boys chatting about?’ Margery said, walking into the room with a pot of tea. Mason, Steven noticed, had pocketed his phone. Harriet followed his wife closely with a tray of cups and a plate of petits fours.
‘Man stuff,’ Mason said, without so much as a stutter.
‘That sounds interesting,’ Harriet said.
‘Oh, it is,’ Mason said, looking at Steven, who avoided his gaze. Mason walked over to Harriet and put his arm around her waist, kissing her on her cheek.
‘Young love,’ said Margery.
‘Stop it, Mum,’ Harriet said.
‘Tea?’ Margery offered.
‘God, no, woman,’ Steven said, reaching for the decanter.
‘I’ll have one, Mrs D,’ Mason said, his voice like nails on a blackboard. Steven took a breath before pouring himself another large measure and falling into his Chesterfield.
Days later, Harriet announced their engagement. With no engagement ring, Steven should have seen what was coming next, but he didn’t. He didn’t think the boy was that hard up. Mason’s father was strict with his allowance, everyone knew that, but for something such as this, especially given Bernard’s enormous wealth, he thought his father would turn a blind eye to the boy’s spending. Margery opened a bottle of champagne and Harriet gushed over plans for the engagement party. Steven had foolishly thought it was over. He was going to make contact with Evan. He was going to let Evan take matters into his own hands. But then Mason had complicated matters.
A week later, Mason sent him an email asking for money. Not just a couple of hundred, but thousands.
Steven had invited Mason over the same evening. If the boy was going to extort him, let him ask him to his face. It turned out that Mason had no qualms about this. He was only too happy to oblige. It was a thunderous night with rain lashing down, and they would find out the next day that Slapton Ley had flooded and that the road to Torcross was impassable.
They had sat in the kitchen that night. Both Harriet and Margery were away on a spa weekend in Somerset. Steven didn’t offer Mason a drink. Instead he sipped his whisky, his rage intensifying with each mouthful.
Mason had reiterated what he had asked Steven for in his email.
‘And what if I don’t pay you?’ Steven asked. He noticed the new knife block on the kitchen counter. Only yesterday Margery had commented that the knives were so sharp that they sliced through the joint of beef she was preparing like butter.
‘What do you think would happen?’ Mason asked. ‘My father would find out what you’ve been up to, and my mother would be mortified. She wouldn’t be able to show her face at parties, at those charity gala dinners she attends. And Margery would be upset too, I presume. Not to mention Harriet.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Your daughter has expensive tastes.’
‘I’m paying for the wedding,’ Steven said.
‘I’m paying for the engagement ring.’ Mason had the audacity to wink at him.
‘If you can’t ask Bernard, ask your mother,’ Steven said flatly, wondering if Mason actually needed the money or if this was just some show of power.
Mason looked away. Everyone knew the story of Mason’s older brother marrying a waitress in Vegas and losing half his wealth in the divorce that soon followed, which had made Bernard think twice about the allowance he gave his younger son. No doubt Mason had spent his allowance and more, so he was coming after his wealth. Was that why he was marrying his daughter? For the money? Steven’s anger soared.
‘Don’t you care about your mother?’ he asked.
‘She doesn’t need to know unless you want her to… publicly.’ Mason hesitated. ‘Her behaviour has been shocking. It’s not something I’d expect from June, but Dad’s away a lot, and when he’s around, he isn’t really there. So, I guess I can see why she strayed. It was a momentary lapse of judgement.’
Bernard Connolly lived to work, and that made him a very dull man. Steven had known Bernie and June since school. He could see why June had wanted something more.
Growing up, June was beautiful, but Margery had the looks, the wealth and a certain edge that put her a league above. He’d considered dating June back then, but he was already with Margery. You would never go behind Margery’s back, not then, when they were in college. He had witnessed her harsh and a little unfair treatment of a girl, her arch-rival, Vicki Cross. When Vicki had attempted to flirt with him, Margery hadn’t thought twice about slapping her adversary in front of their year. Margery soon earned a reputation. He certainly hadn’t dared go behind her back in all their years of marriage – well, not until now.
He had been smitten with Margery back in college; her bold and determined nature had impressed him. Other women were so feeble. Although he had been slightly unnerved one evening when they were dining at an exclusive restaurant with her parents. They had taken a stroll in the grounds and had seen one of the waitresses fumbling about with a diner they had previously seen in the restaurant. They had both laughed about it at the time because it was a sackable offence. One of their mutual friends had lost his job there after a similar incident. But no sooner than they were back in the restaurant Margery complained to the management and Steven had been gobsmacked at how Margery could so coldly snitch on the poor young lady when she knew exactly what her fate would be. It seemed so spiteful and for no good reason.
Margery had changed over the years. After Harriet was born, she had softened, and when she stopped working to become a full-time mum, she definitely lost her confidence and volatility. Occasionally he saw a glimmer of the old Margery, the woman he had fallen in love with, but more often than not she was just a fretful woman. The anxiety and constant worry had started when Finley died. Margery had put her life into her daughter, but her daughter was making her sick with worry because she wasn’t living the life she had planned for her.
It wasn’t long after Finley’s death that he had seen June in his office dropping off some accounts for Bernard. Things just progressed from there. A chance encounter turned into a drink, then dinner, and then spending the night at June’s house. It was amazing how a shared youth and nostalgia could draw people together. He loved June. Not so much that he would leave his wife for her, not just yet at least, but he loved her in his own way. June felt the same; she had said it in not so many words. It wasn’t Bernard she was worried about but their only son. Mason was her everything, and she wouldn’t hurt him, even though he was a grown man. Steven understood. He felt the same way about Harriet. You would do anything for your kids. He knew that better than anyone.
Steven looked over at the knife block again. He imagined walking over to it, picking up the butcher’s knife, feeling the weight of it in his hands and plunging it into Mason’s chest. The boy deserved it. He looked at him with pure hatred. This would be the first and last time the boy extorted money from him. He promised himself that.
‘Okay,’ Steven said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll give you what you want. This is a one-off. You threaten me again and I’ll let you talk. Share your photos with the world for all I care.’
‘Oh, you care, Mr D,’ Mason said, standing up.