“I wasn’t planning to stay. Neither of us were.” Each word that comes out of Hal’s father’s mouth is a shard of ice.
Barney has stepped forward again. “I’m sure we can manage something – let me speak to my staff. If you’d care to wait in the bar, Mr Waverley? Perhaps I can get you something to drink.” The question is aimed past Hal’s father, straight at his grandfather. A smile, a welcoming gesture. Barney knows what he’s doing, and cautiously, Pa nods.
“That would be very kind.” His face shifts, and so does Hal’s – with relief. Whatever happened, it’s over.
Except as Barney leads the way to the bar, with Pa just behind, Hal’s father’s hand snaps out and locks tightly around his son’s arm.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone? Or returned my calls?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy.”
I make myself invisible, just like I do on any normal day here. But I can’t leave. Eddie Waverley’s voice is hard and cutting, and watching them from the other side of one of the huge flower arrangements, I see exactly what anyone else would. A furious man in an expensive suit and tie hissing at his son; wanting to shout but not wanting anyone to know, bringing him to heel like a badly behaved puppy. I see Hal, turning his face away, his jaw set hard and an angry flush to his cheeks, his hands pressed deep into his pockets and his shoulders locked and tense.
Then I see something else, something more. Something that happens so quickly, it takes a moment before I understand what it was.
Movement. Hal’s father first, reaching forward as if to grab Hal’s shirt, right below the neck…and Hal, moving faster than I’ve ever seen, his whole body twisting away. His hand slapping his father’s down – and then his arm outstretched, keeping him at bay. A warning finger held out and pressed so hard against his father’s tie, right over his heart, that the fabric dimples around it.
I slip into the doorway of the library, pulling it almost closed behind me, before Hal can know that I’ve seen.
What I’ve seen.
Their voices seep through the door.
“I’m not bankrolling this stupid obsession of yours a moment longer. You’re coming home. With me. You can put all this…energy into the office.”
“It’s not an obsession. And it’s not stupid! It’s for Pa…”
“‘It’s for Pa,’” his father mimics him, then makes a disgusted sound. “Pack your things.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry? What did you say to me?”
“I said no.”
Deep inside my chest, my heart aches for him. It aches and it burns and it hurts. I want to throw the door open and run to him, but I can’t. After what feels like an hour, he clears his throat. “We had a deal, remember? You agreed. Besides, the room’s paid up front for another couple of days. Non-refundable,” he adds. “If I check out now, it’s money wasted. And I know how you feel about that, Dad.” His voice is full of prickles, of sharp pleats and creases. Not like the Hal I know at all.
His father snorts. “Oh, I think we can swallow the price of a couple of nights’ bed and breakfast, don’t you?” There’s the click of shoes on the floor as he starts to walk away – and then Hal calls out after him.
“You promised. You promised me that I would get to finish this.”
“I beg your pardon?” It’s low. Dangerous. Vicious. He’s turning around, going back over to where Hal’s still standing his ground.
“When you said I couldn’t go to university, did I make a fuss? No. But you and me, we had a deal.”
“Are you out of your mind? I—”
“I get to finish this, and then you get me. No complaints. I come and work for the company, doing what you tell me. I’ll do whatever you want. That’s it. No more research, no more history. I’ll never even mention university again – not once. But I do have this. You agreed.” I hear the breath Hal takes, deep and ragged. “Isn’t that the thing you pride yourself on? Being a man of your word? So be one.”
The silence between them pulls so tight that it could cut through flesh and bone. Then:
“Fine.” The answer should be a relief, but it feels like a death sentence. “You can stay until then. Finish off whatever it is you’ve been doing. And then I want you home. It’s time you grew up and acted the way I expect my son to. And by the way, don’t think I’ll be paying for the repairs on that little toy of yours. It can stay in the garage for a while, I think. Perhaps it’s time you actually appreciated just how much I do for you.”
Another swish, and more clicking. I peer around the door just in time to see him stalking away into the bar – leaving Hal standing in the shadow of the staircase alone, absently rubbing the forefinger on his right hand.
“You heard all that, didn’t you?” he says hoarsely, his head barely turning towards the library door.
“It’s none of my business.”
“You still heard, though.”
Our conversation from earlier, turned on its head.
I open the door and step out into the lobby, reaching for him. He pulls away.
This is why he never mentioned they’d be at the party. He wasn’t trying to hide me from them; he was trying to hide them – this – from me.
“So that was your grandfather?” I try. “Pa.”
“That’s him.”
“And your dad.”
“Yep.”
“I get it.”
“You don’t. But thanks.” He sighs. It hurts my heart. “Look, you should probably find Mira or your brother. I’ve got to go…be me.”
It feels like a whole new pane of glass has slid down between us.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“Yeah. I guess we might as well finish that stack of papers off. Maybe I can show some to Pa before we leave. He’d like that.” He sniffs. “Goodnight, Flora.”
But the mood and the moment don’t match.
What he says is “goodnight”. What he means is “goodbye”.
And when Charlie and Felix have found me and near-bundled me, still shrouded in Hal’s jacket, into the Land Rover, and we pull around the side of the Hopwood, I crane my neck to look – and I find him. Sitting alone in the library, his shoulders hunched and his head in his hands. All I see is a flash, enough to know it’s him, and then he’s lost to the darkness.
The hotel feels like it’s still half-asleep when I walk in through the staff entrance the morning after the party. The usually rowdy kitchen is relatively quiet – instead of yelling at each other over the noise of the ovens and fans and the clatter of pans, everyone seems to be whispering. I guess most of the kitchen staff put in an appearance at the party last night too. The staff break room’s not much better – a couple of the housekeeping staff are in there, and everything has the volume turned down. Even Mira.
I perch on the arm of the chair she’s slumped in, her sunglasses pulled down over her eyes.
“Morning!”
“OH MY GOD!” She actually twitches – and slides half-out of the chair. “Don’t do that,” she groans, pulling herself back into the seat.