Channing found it amusing that, among the handful of her acquaintances who’d met Lark, it was her straight, married driver Ruth who admitted finding her sexy. “I’m into blokes but she’s dishy. Such a cute figure…and those gorgeous eyes.”
A chime announced a text message. If it was from Lark, it meant her flight was delayed.
Miss Hughes, it’s Vanessa Easton. I got your number from our mutual friend, Oliver Bristow. Would love to have chat. Next week perhaps? V
Vanessa Easton. A capital manager, she recalled from the memorial event at the Crown and Punchbowl. And a handsome woman whose husband taught at Cambridge, who said she’d founded her company on economic principles learned from Poppa. Why would she… Perhaps because she was head of a company that might very well have use for someone of Channing’s talents.
It was an intriguing possibility, assuming that’s what this was about. The sort of work Vanessa Easton did was on a smaller scale than Albright, but right up her alley.
“They’re just like the robber at Butch Annie’s.”
“Excuse me, what?”
“Her eyes. They’re like the guy who robbed Butch Annie’s.”
“You mean the burger joint?”
“It was brill, just last year. Some wanker came in and robbed all the customers while they were eating. Made like he had a gun in his pocket and collected all their wallets in a sack. So the police came around and took down his description, right? Everyone remembered his eyes, that they were gold with little brown flecks. It goes out on Twitter and bunches of people start tweeting to the police that their friend Roger has eyes like that. So they go to Roger’s flat and he’s got this pile of cash on his bed and a sack of empty wallets. All because of his beautiful eyes.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Lark that story so she knows not to rob Butch Annie’s.”
She could have rented a car twice over for what she’d paid to have Ruth at her beck and call, but a rental car wouldn’t have come with such vivid narration. All of Ruth’s stories were captivating, even the royal gossip. Surely it was useful to know the line of succession all the way down to the grandson of the queen’s second cousin several times removed.
“Bloody sakes, you actually know these people?” Ruth exclaimed as they started down the long drive that led to Breckham Hall.
“The Earl of Alanford lives here. His son was my best mate at school.”
“My Toyota isn’t posh enough to be in the drive. You want I should go back and wait outside the gate?”
Two luxury vehicles sat gleaming by the garage. Surely Lord Alanford would offer to have one of his drivers deliver her to Penderworth. Or she could ring Cecil to fetch her, since they’d be home from the Burys by now.
“I’ll catch a lift home, Ruth. Thanks for the airport run.”
The door was answered by Helena, a longtime employee of the Alanford household who’d served as Kenny’s nanny when he was a toddler. “So nice to see you, Miss Hughes. Lord Alanford is waiting in the courtyard with tea. May I bring you anything else?”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.” On the drive back from Heathrow, she and Ruth had stopped for a pub lunch in Hatfield.
Though Channing knew her way around Breckham Hall, Helena escorted her to the garden, a practice that always felt more like surveillance than hospitality. She wondered if they followed Oliver as well.
Lord Alanford rose from his shaded chair as she walked across the flagstones. “How wonderful to see you, Channing. Thank you so much for making time to come. I know how busy you must be.”
There was no sign of Lady Alanford, who sometimes stayed at their flat in the city. In fact, Channing recalled Kenny saying they were catching a performance this week in West End.
“I was delighted when you called. It’s been so hectic, I almost forgot I’d promised you a memento from Poppa’s collection of Romantic poetry.” She handed him a book by Keats that included “Ode to a Nightingale,” the poem she’d excerpted at Poppa’s funeral. “It’s not a first edition, nor even in good condition, I’m afraid. It was one from which he read quite often, as you can tell by the worn cover. He’d be so pleased to know it was on your nightstand now.”
He held the book to his chest as his eyes misted. “I couldn’t be more pleased with your choice. I always felt it was the poetry that gave your grandfather his gentle side, which I very much admired. Lord Hughes, as we all knew, was an unflinching champion of the work ethic, but he saw the imbalance in our social system.” Ever the gentleman, he held her chair before seating himself at the one adjacent. “Over the years he came to believe that economists, himself included, should focus their theories more on the common good. I believe it was his love of poetry that brought him to an appreciation of humanity.”
Channing was too polite to call bollocks on his revisionist reflections, recalling all too well Poppa’s full-throated defense of Thatcher long after civilized Englanders came to see her policies as needlessly cruel.
“Let me congratulate you on your meeting with Sir Nigel. He’s always been such a generous patron of the arts and letters. I’m sure he was delighted at the find.”
“He could hardly contain himself. They all were anxious that I might take it to auction, but I was impressed by Sir Nigel’s promise to share the collection with scholars, as he’s done with other works.”
“A magnificent windfall, that was. Though in retrospect, I find it rather perplexing that Lord Hughes didn’t mention this collection in his will. You don’t suppose he was unaware of its monetary value?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing. He spoke often of the poetry itself but never its worth. But then I realized that the works were already mine. From my father, that is. Poppa presented them as a gift when I was just a child, but in hindsight I think it was to encourage my interest.”
“Whatever the reason, I’m delighted by your good fortune. Almost as if Lord Hughes was watching over you.”
“Quite right.”
He sipped his tea and shifted nervously. “In light of your unexpected fortune, I thought we might discuss your present thinking on Penderworth. Perhaps you’re reconsidering the offer Kenneth extended last weekend. He indicated that you’d tentatively accepted, though it’s probably occurred to you that your new financial situation gives you more options.”
“It has occurred to me, yes.” Though any conversation about that would be with Kenny, not Lord Alanford, since Kenny said he planned to make the purchase from his trust.
“You might recall a promise I made when I executed Lord Hughes’s will—that Lady Alanford and I stand ready to support you in any way, regardless of what you decide. I know it’s been difficult, given both the practical and emotional issues. I have to say, I was impressed by the ingenuity of Kenneth’s proposal. Obviously he wanted to make it possible for you to keep the manor and bring it up to standard—to live there if that’s what you desire, or to hold in trust in the event you decide to return someday. Our son, it goes without saying, treasures your friendship.”
“Just as I treasure his.” Lord Alanford was saying all the right things to demonstrate his support, yet there was a feeling of suspicion that she couldn’t shake. Did he have an ulterior motive? “I think Kenny’s goal was to trap me into keeping it forever, since he knew I’d be crazy to unload it later for a single pound.”
“You’re probably right,” he said, sharing her laugh. “Though I want you to know that if you’d prefer an outright sale to a deal that brings you only half what the manor is worth, I will gladly pay you full price for Penderworth.”
“Is there some reason you think I ought not accept Kenny’s offer?”
“Goodness, no. On the contrary, it would be fabulous all around. I’m only saying that if you’re considering declining it in favor of getting full price, I stand ready to make that offer. If your concern is Kenneth, rest assured that I’d happily pass it on to him should he and Oliver wish to reside there.”
It was the far better financial deal for both Channing and Kenny, but it assumed Kenny actually cared about the money. Perhaps he cared more about being able to say he’d purchased his own home. Or he hoped to share the costs with Oliver, as it might someday be the place they raised their children.
“Out of loyalty to Kenny, I feel I should discuss these options with him. Are you all right with me sharing this conversation?”
“Of course. I can join you if you like. What you want is most important, followed by what Kenneth wants. At the risk of sounding like Sir Nigel, my objective here is only to make a preemptive offer that precludes someone else acquiring Penderworth.”
“You needn’t worry about that, Lord Alanford.”
His shoulders collapsed with relief. “That’s wonderful news. May I ask then, are you any closer to a decision on what you’ll do? He seemed to think you might return to Boston in the short term. Something about a promotion at your company.”
“That’s one consideration.” She’d never spoken of her romantic life with either of Kenny’s parents. The way they’d treated Kenny growing up made her distrustful. “Did Kenny happen to mention that I was seeing someone?”
“The doctor? Marjorie and I would love to meet her. Shall we plan dinner with the boys this weekend?”
His cheerful reference to “the boys” was endearing in light of his torturous history with Kenny. “I’m afraid she’s gone back to Boston. I’ve only just dropped her at Heathrow this morning.”
“A shame. You must let us know when she returns.”
The conversation was almost surreal…welcoming the woman in her life with open arms the way he’d finally welcomed Oliver. It was only days ago that she’d told Lark about the night Kenny had shown up at the door, bloodied by his father’s rage.
“Channing, is something wrong?”
“Lord Alanford, I need to ask you something about my grandfather…something you might find painful to talk about.”
By his sudden look of shame, he’d followed the logical links from the subject of her girlfriend, and knew exactly where the conversation was headed. “It’s all right. I fully accept that I brought that pain on myself, and on others.”
His refusal to accept having a gay son had nearly destroyed his family. Even their eight-year healing process had been agonizing, Kenny said, as Lord Alanford’s suffering and guilt had spiraled into depression. It was only after falling in love with Oliver that Kenny realized their path to reconciliation was through forgiveness.
“Back when Kenny used to stay with us”—a euphemism for his running away from home—“Poppa never talked about him being gay. Not with Kenny, not with me. He knew, obviously, because Kenny said he told him everything. For some reason, it just wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Kenny thought it was out of respect for you, his best mate and colleague. Whereas I always worried that it was a subject he couldn’t bear to bring inside his own house for fear of opening the floodgates.”
His voice lowered and he began the mindless distraction of turning his cup so that its handle played like a sundial against the saucer. “He certainly opened the floodgates in our house, as you put it. I’d never seen Hughes so angry. Actually rolled up his sleeves to take me on…all very ridiculous for two grown men to be circling one another with their fists up, as Marjorie pointed out.”
What an incredible spectacle that must have been. Poppa would have been sixty years old to Lord Alanford’s mid-forties. “I can’t imagine such a sight. I never saw my grandfather raise a fist to anyone.”
“No punches were thrown. At the time I thought I’d won the fight with my defiance, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. As he walked out he said Kenneth needn’t be my problem, that he was welcome to live at Penderworth. I’d certainly made the poor lad’s life miserable here at Breckham Hall. No phone, no laptop. Small wonder he started going to your house on his weekends home from Aldenham. To be perfectly honest, I always appreciated knowing he was somewhere safe and not in a bathhouse with strange men twice his age.”
She recalled Kenny raging over his father’s baseless assumptions, saying he might as well do the things he was being accused of, cruising the dance clubs in London and tricking in parks. Instead he hung out with her at Penderworth, eating, sleeping and watching TV. And occasionally smoking weed in the chimney.
Given the earl’s attitude at the time, it was unlikely her grandfather had confided his thoughts on her sexuality. “I don’t suppose… Did Poppa ever mention that I might be gay as well?”
“Yes, of course.”
She became aware of a pounding in her chest.
Lord Alanford folded his arms and crossed his legs primly, and though he spoke to her as he might family, it was clear he still struggled with layers of guilt. “You have to understand, it was a very difficult time for our friendship. I was furious that Hughes refused to condemn Kenneth’s behavior. At the same time, he lost respect for me as a friend.”
She hadn’t known this righteous side of Poppa, though his valiant actions to protect Kenny spoke clearly of his decency. It was his silence that had made her wary of coming out. Words of unconditional support would have been of tremendous comfort.
“Your grandfather and I hardly spoke to one another during those last two years you both were at Aldenham. When Kenny chose Queen Mary instead of Cambridge for law school, he stopped coming home at all. You’d gone to university in the States by then. The constant pressure of our quarrels was over, but Marjorie was heartbroken…as was I. We missed him terribly.”
“He visited me several times when I was at Wellesley. My mum was living in Boston at the time. She adored him, and of course assumed he was my boyfriend. I told her no, that both of us were gay, but she’s utterly incapable of processing anything but her own thoughts. I wondered if Poppa might have believed it as well, that perhaps Kenny had gone through a phase but was over it by college.”
“Oh, I hardly believe he thought that.” Lord Alanford laughed, this time a painless chuckle. “He and I met up for a pint at the C & P after you’d gone off to uni. He had several photos on his phone, one of you and Kenneth on a boat wearing silly pirate costumes.”
“I remember…Halloween at Provincetown. Practically the whole town is gay.”
“Hughes laughed and said it was a shame, the pair of you would have made beautiful children. But that you had about as much interest in men as Kenneth had in women.”
“You’re sure of that.”
“Oh, absolutely. He said it was my fault you hadn’t come out to him, that parents like me were the reason gay children hid their lives. He was looking forward to the day you did, because it would mean you’d found someone who made you happy. That’s what he wanted for you—complete and utter happiness. He never understood how I could want anything less for Kenneth.”
Tears escaped down her cheeks before she realized they were there. She’d never make sense of why Poppa hadn’t spoken of it when Kenny brought the elephant into the room. But it was enough to know that Cecil was wrong about how Poppa would have felt about Lark.
* * *
Channing’s building was on a tree-lined street just a block and a half from an organic grocery store and a row of small ethnic cafes. Even better, it was only three blocks from the Orange Line, which connected Lark to Gipson, and Channing to Boston’s financial district. It was an absolute dream location, especially after the miserable rush hour commute Lark had endured for a year and a half from Ma’s house in Mattapan.
They stopped in front of a neat Victorian painted the color of a stormy sky, with a white porch and shutters. It had three levels, including one partially below ground. Channing’s top-floor apartment had a large bay window on one side and a small gray satellite dish peeking around the corner on the other. Parking was in the back, she’d said, accessible by an alley.
“Sixty-three,” her taxi driver said, his voice muffled by a gnarly beard.
Her first reaction was that his fare was exorbitant, even with the Logan surcharge. Then she realized he was talking about the address.
“Thirty-one-fifty.” A more reasonable fare, which Gipson would reimburse.
Her car, which sat in the garage at Gipson, would have to wait until the next day. Right now her body was saying it was nearly ten p.m. back in Cambridge, and that she’d been awake since four. Waving forty-five bucks, she coaxed the driver into carrying her massive suitcase up eight stairs to the porch and another sixteen to Channing’s apartment. That was after keying in the four-digit code for Payton’s birthday and kicking aside several pieces of mail that had come through the slot. It didn’t help that the light for the stairwell was burned out.
She’d decided already that the rest of her belongings would remain in storage for a while, at least until the seasons changed. There wasn’t all that much, since Bess had bought her half of the furniture when they split up. As silly as it was to be contemplating the state of her worldly goods, practically speaking it meant she could move into Channing’s apartment completely unencumbered.
“Thanks, have a great night,” she told the cabbie.
The apartment’s interior was warm and inviting. Very warm in fact, since it had been closed up through the early part of summer. She quickly located the control for the climate unit and lowered the temperature until it whirred to life.
It was a cozy living room with a pair of love seats arranged at right angles to watch both the TV and the gas log fireplace. Only steps away was a modern kitchen with glass-paned cabinets and a large black granite island that doubled as an eating space. The walls of both rooms were painted a light sage against the dark cherry trim of windows, doorframes and baseboards.
As she crossed the hardwood floors, she noticed how the rugs and appointments—even the artwork on the walls—all seemed specially chosen for the space they occupied. Clearly Channing had hired an interior designer to style her home the way she styled herself, with perfection.
The bathroom was salmon-colored with a glass step-in shower and tile mosaics. Unlike the towels at Penderworth, these weren’t monogrammed. They were luxurious, so pristine in fact that Lark wondered if there were others somewhere, worn and ragged, that were used for drying.
French doors led to an office suite in the smaller bedroom. The desk held a mountain of unopened mail, presumably placed there by someone who had access. A housekeeper or landlord.
In the master bedroom, a queen-sized bed invited her with its fluffy comforter and shams, but the odd touch was the matching pair of accent chairs by the bay window. Upholstered in a textured olive fabric, they looked comfortable but elegant—and hardly used.
She collapsed into one and dialed Channing’s number. “Why do you have two chairs in your bedroom?”
“I was wondering if you’d gotten there yet. What do you think?”
“This place is gorgeous. If you break up with me, at least let me take over your lease.”
“Always an angle. My cleaning lady comes on Mondays…Lucia. In fact, you can pay her.”
“She’s dumped a shitload of mail on your desk. How soon are they going to cut my water off?”
“That depends on how many notices I’ve already ignored.”
It was possible Channing wasn’t kidding. “For what it’s worth, the AC came on when I figured out which button to push. If one of those was a panic code, the police will be here any minute.”
“I pay everything online, but I always leave Lucia some extra cash. By the way, it’s a bloody good thing you said that on the plane about stopping the newspaper. Can you imagine how many there would be if I hadn’t called them the day we got to London?”
Though Channing had described her decision to quit Albright and go home to England as abrupt and reactionary, the unopened mail proved even more what an impulsive decision it had been. No wonder her boss was so quick to believe she’d been suddenly overwhelmed by her grandfather’s death. Nothing else was rational.
“Are you going to answer my question? I want to know who this other chair belongs to.”
“You, obviously. But there’s only one bed. I’m afraid we’ll have to share.”
“If we must. Your bed is possibly the most blissful sight I’ve ever seen.” She pushed off her shoes and lowered the zipper on her pants.
“Tell me about it. I came up to my bedroom immediately after dinner under the auspices of watching something on the telly. Instead I fell straight into bed. Do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
“Not until noon. Our whole team has been called to a meeting with the CEO and some of the higher-ups. A catered lunch. It’s going to be nerve-racking but at least we’ll have salmon and grilled vegetables instead of the usual turkey wraps.”
“This really is quite the big deal, isn’t it?”
“Huge. PharmaStat’s our biggest contractor by far. They should have caught this before I did. If we can’t trust their quality control process, we’ll have no choice but to cancel all of our contracts.”
“What you need, my love, is a little downtime. I think you should pull back the covers on that bed. All the way down to the sheet. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
Lark laughed, but that bed was definitely calling her. She folded the comforter to the bottom, finding white sheets in soft pima cotton. “Okay, she’s turned down. Do I get to lie down now?”
“You might want to draw the shades first. Then I think you should throw all those dirty, germ-y travel clothes on the floor and let those soft, satiny sheets caress your tired body and welcome you home. Shall I wait for that too?”
Hearing Channing call this place her “home” made her heart skip a beat. Technically, a surge of norepinephrine had done that, while dopamine had triggered a sense of euphoria. The cliché sounded better.
“All right, Lady Hughes…I’m buck naked and getting between these heavenly sheets. Are you going to sing me to sleep?”
“Trust me, you don’t want that.”
It occurred to Lark that she needed to up the minutes on her international calling plan.
“In the bedside table, bottom drawer…”
“Yes?” Lark flicked on the lamp and started digging through the contents of the drawer.
“There’s a sweet little red device in there that I call Ruby…because she’s a real jewel. I’d like to listen while the two of you get acquainted.”