“I’m suffering a midlife crisis, so I’m told.”
“By Portia?” He almost sneers. The pair aren’t fans of each other.
“I’ve been too busy to see much of her of late. She probably thinks I’m avoiding her.”
“That’s not a bad strategy,” he murmurs, setting the tiny cup and saucer down onto the desk.
“We’re not all of us interested in girls almost young enough to be our daughters.”
Wrapping his fingers around the edge of the desk, he leans forward. “There’s a girl downstairs you would love. She’s studying for a PhD in medieval history. Beautiful, very cerebral. A little cold on the surface, but she likes to be manhandled. Just how you like them.”
“As I said, I’m not—”
“Living for yourself. Alexander, there’s something to be said for the company of twenty-five-year-olds.”
Twenty-four-year olds, too. As for the woman he just described, I’m not going to bother telling him that his tastes are just that. His own. Mine are mine alone, as well as none of his fucking business.
Van holds up his hands as though warding off my words. “I know, we’re all far too jaded for love. For fucking? Never. And just the whisper of your visit will be enough to drive this month’s numbers up.”
“I’m happy to oblige,” I reply, curt. “But I’d appreciate it if in the future you just be honest with me. We’re supposed to be friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends make time for one another,” he says rather regretfully.
“Yes, you’re right.” Of course he is. “Things have just been precarious,” I add hesitantly, unwilling to share my burdens. The ongoing battle with bankers and those of my investors, of how my personal fortune is whittled away daily, dripping into the abyss of entailed properties that are little more than financial black holes of ruin, properties in need of millions of pounds for repairs. Perhaps a sensible man would gift them to the National Trust, a charity dedicated to preserving such history. Unload them and move on, but how could I when it feels like giving in? And what of my heir? Offloading them from under him feels little more than theft. So, I’ll stay the course and trust that by the time my nephew inherits, the dukedom won’t be such a mess. I press my fingers against a building throb in my temple.
“Matteo and I, we’re your friends. We can be relied on to lend an ear . . . money, if the need arises.”
I laugh unhappily. If anyone would have the money to help it would be Van, not Matteo. Matteo is wealthy, but Van’s father is as rich as Croesus. Or perhaps I should say the family is. Read into that what you will.
“Thank you,” I reply. Van smiles knowingly. He’d no more borrow from me than I would him. “It is money I’ve come to speak with you about, actually.” At this, his expression reacts in shock, but blink, and I would’ve missed it, such is the skill of his poker face. “My sister, Isla. You remember Isla?” A telling pulse begins in his jaw, though I know he’ll offer only the blandest of responses.
“How could I ever forget her?” I find my brow reacting as though yanked up by a string. “I’ve seen her at the castle many times,” he blusters, and I find myself wondering if I’ve ever seen the man so unguarded. “Is she well?” His blonde brows beetle as his fingers tighten on the edge of the desk.
“She’s fine.”
“And her sons?”
“They’re well, too. They’re staying at the castle at the moment.” Isla had given me some bullshit about repairs on her own home. Add to that I’ve been unable to reach Chrissy, the woman who is the string that holds the castle together, by anything other than email, and I’m beginning to suspect all is not as they’d have me believe.
“And her husband?” Bland, so bland, Van. Yet not quite bland enough.
“No. He’s not with them. He came to see me last month, and it seems he’s overstretched himself in an investment. A distillery on one of the Hebridean islands, I believe.” Along with an ill-fated golf course. “He was looking for a partner.” More like someone to bail him out.
“And you turned him down.”
“I did.”
“Business and families can be a difficult balance.”
“I have no allegiance to the man. He’s Isla’s husband and the father of my nephews. If he can’t take care of them, I will. But I’m not adding him to the list of my responsibilities.”
“I see.” He smiles wryly, his gaze turning to the wall of TV monitors. “I think you have enough of those.”
For a moment, I assume he’s talking about the house, the estates, but as my gaze naturally follows his, I find myself warding off the sight. “I don’t need responsibility for that, so don’t think to send me his bill.” Because there on screen, I catch an unfortunate glimpse of a half-clothed Griffin, along with the angelic-looking woman from downstairs. The pair aren’t alone, another woman crawling up the huge bed.
“The bill? I’ll send it to my uncle. I believe he has him on a retainer.”
Something else that doesn’t interest me. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
“English, sometimes, makes little sense,” Van mutters, straightening from his desk. “So you think Isla’s husband . . .”
“Thomas,” I supply.
“Will come to me for money to invest?”
“You met him at Christmas two years ago, and he’s tried to bring you up in conversation numerous times since. The oligarch’s son.”
Van nods knowingly. “What are Russians known for if not vodka and money?”
Not to mention their dubious business dealings.
“So, am I to invest in this distillery?” he adds.
“Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t think so.” He smiles, shark-like. “But there’s no need to bite off my head, old friend.”
“I have a feeling that things are getting desperate for him.”
“Should I meet him or not? Perhaps I can bring him here?”
To what purpose, I’m about to ask when his head turns quite deliberately to the TV monitors.
“Give me a couple of days to think on that.” It’s not like I have any reason to ruin my sister’s marriage, apart from abhorring the man she chose. “I’m going up to the castle next weekend. I’ll see how the land lies then.”
“Of course.”
“You’re welcome, too. It’s the tourist season, but the place will be closed for the weekend. Isla and the boys are there.” I’m not sure why I add the latter. I know he has always been attracted to her, despite his attempts to hide it. Besides, for a man who owns a club that allows people to fuck indiscriminately, he’s always been quite honourable himself. And my sister is as faithful as her elderly Labrador. And a lot less trouble. But the words are out there, and there’s no taking them back. Not that he’s likely to say he will.
“Yes. I believe I’d enjoy the break.”
I try to hide my surprise. I’m not sure whether I manage it.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, indeed. Or in other words, this is something I’ll need to puzzle out another day, I believe.