Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Rain deluged New York’s iconic Fifth Avenue. The world-famous shop fronts illuminated the puddles on the sidewalk with their Christmas lights. Every year they competed to have the biggest and brightest displays.

The Christmas dollar was a powerful thing.

The taxi Aron Wimpole was in had been caught up in the usual bumper to bumper traffic. He should’ve known to take the subway by now.

He glanced at his watch.

“Fuck.”

He hated being late.

“Here,” he said, thrusting a twenty-dollar bill toward the driver. “I’ll run the rest of the way.”

“Hope you got your mac, buddy.”

Of course he didn’t. When he’d left to go to a meeting downtown it had been a sunny day. The clouds had overwhelmed Manhattan while he’d been discussing possible events for the next year.

Aron climbed out of the cab and ran down the sidewalk. All the shoppers darting from one place to another appeared to be going in the opposite direction to him. He swerved amongst them. Dodging carrier bags and dogs like he was in an arcade game from the eighties.

“Slow the fuck down,” one shopper shouted to him.

“Sorry,” Aron replied over his shoulder.

“Asshole,” came the reply.

Aron chuckled to himself. He loved New York for that raw honesty. In London he would have got a stern huff.

With remarkable speed, he scaled the steps of the New York Public Library and burst through the revolving door like a bullet out of a gun. The impressive marble entrance hall awaited him. There were a few people dotted around but it was a welcome dose of tranquillity after the madness of Fifth Avenue.

Bedraggled in his wool coat, he glanced around.

“Ah, here he is.”

His boss, the imposing Calvin Terry, stood with his arms folded. He even managed to make the huge Christmas tree in the foyer seem weedy. The hundreds of lights twinkled but Aron couldn’t see anything but fury in Calvin’s eyes.

As Calvin was the President of the Library, it did not do to keep him waiting. To make matters worse, he had his impossibly handsome assistant, Theo Moore, with him.

This is turning out to be quite the afternoon.

He had no time to get a towel so would have to drip all over the marble floor. Quickly, Aron took his sodden coat off and laid it over his arm. As calmly as possible, he walked forward to meet them.

At six foot four, Calvin towered over Aron, who was barely five seven. With his dark hair and pale skin, Aron had always veered on the side of puny. Thankfully three times weekly sessions with Rosie, his personal trainer, meant he’d bulked out since he arrived in New York. A mission that he’d taken seriously from day one. He’d arrived in the city desperate for change which had begun with his appearance.

Although he was not in the market for a new relationship, it was nice for his ego to notice the increased amount of looks he got from both sexes.

He shrugged. “Sorry about that. I had a meeting in the Village and traffic is the usual disaster.”

To the right of the tree and under one of the impressive staircases sat a roped-off area. As the Director of the Library Administration, Aron had come up with the brainwave of dragging relics out of storage to go on a display for short periods of time. The library owned a few Dickens artefacts, which were perfect for Christmas.

He smiled to himself. Back in London, there was someone who would be very impressed with his idea.

He led Calvin and Theo over to the work in progress. It didn’t look as impressive as it would by the time he’d finished.

“What am I looking at, Wimpole?” Calvin said, rubbing his chin.

“It’s Dickens’ writing desk and paper knife,” Aron explained.

When he’d first arrived at the library, he’d spent a fun week going through the archives. When he’d laid eyes on this artefact, Aron had been determined to use it someway. It was far too precious to be kept under lock and key for all eternity.

Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Dickens? I might have known.”

Aron shrugged. “He kind of is the author of Christmas. Who can resist Scrooge’s tale at this time of year?”

The desk glowed under the nearby lights of the tree. As a sentimental touch, Aron had written on parchment Marley was dead: to begin with. The famous opening line to A Christmas Carol.

Calvin squinted at it. “Impressive, I suppose. Can we arrange a label or something? People might not get it.”

Aron shuddered.

“Is it Christmassy enough?” Theo added.

“I did intend on dressing it with some editions of the book from all over the world. Maybe a sprig of holly,” Aron replied.

Calvin nodded, still rubbing his chin. Aron had soon learnt that was a good sign. If Calvin was ready to dismiss something, he would scratch his head. He might be wonderful at his job but he would make a lousy poker player.

“Not bad, Wimpole,” Calvin said at last. Aron inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “The trustees will love it. Theo, arrange drinks to unveil it for Thursday night. A singer will be required. All the usual carols and whatnot. Wimpole, dust off your Christmas sweater. Get some of those mince pie things you brought last year.”

As the token English member of staff, Aron had introduced a few delicacies to the staff Christmas party the year before. Mince pies had gone down a storm.

Aron smiled weakly. “I’ll be in London by then.”

Calvin frowned. “Ah yes. Is that still going ahead?”

“My grandmother’s wedding? Yes, it is.”

It had been a week since he’d dropped the bombshell that he needed to return home at short notice. Calvin didn’t approve of too much time off in one go. In fact, his usual rule was a week every quarter.

Aron hadn’t minded at first. As a stranger in New York, he’d thrown himself into the new job. Now, two years on, he was excited to return to the familiarity of London. Even if only for a little while.

Besides, he wouldn’t miss Granny’s big day for anything. When he’d heard that she and the Professor were getting married so suddenly, he’d dreaded speaking to Calvin. He’d been right to.

Calvin had taken it as a personal insult that Aron would want to be anywhere other than New York for the holiday season. Even so, Aron had dug his heels in.

“I still don’t understand why you need three weeks,” Calvin grumbled. “It’s only a day. Two at the most.”

“She is fairly high maintenance.”

That was putting it mildly. Aron’s grandmother was a force of nature. She’d declared that his help would be required in getting everything over the line. He had no intention of refusing. Not after all she had done for him in his life.

“Let’s not go over all that again,” Calvin said, waving him away. “Okay. I want you to make the changes to this exhibit before you go. Happy Christmas and all that. Theo, what do we have next?”

Aron bristled at being dismissed so easily. He also knew when to keep his mouth shut. He’d achieved his aims. If Calvin needed to save face by treating him like this, who was Aron to complain?

Theo glanced at his phone. “Coffee and cake with Betty Brody in ten minutes.”

“I need a piss before that. She talks for hours.”

Calvin stalked off to the nearest restroom. The visitors crowding the reception area parted to make way for him. Although Calvin was a problematic boss to say the least, Aron had a grudging respect for him. Especially the way he commanded every room he found himself in.

When he disappeared into the bathroom, Aron exhaled loudly.

“I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for going home.”

“He was furious, you know,” Theo said.

“Yes. I got that impression. It’s a bit unfair to have a go at me for taking my annual leave in one go. He’ll have me at his beck and call for the rest of the year. Anyone would think he’d be pleased about that.”

“He was angry because he’d planned on inviting you to their family home for Christmas.”

Calvin and his wife, Imani, had a huge apartment on the Upper East Side as well as a sprawling log cabin in New York State. The rumour was she had come from money and Calvin had married up. An invite to their home was quite the feather in his cap.

Aron took a step back. “Really? I had no idea.”

Typical, I spend two years trying to get into the inner circle only to leap straight out again.

“Yeah. I’m going too,” Theo said, staring him directly in the eye. “Think of it. You and me under the same roof. We might have toasted marshmallows on the fire when they’d gone to bed. Or whatever else came to mind.”

Aron reddened.

“I’ll stop asking one day, you know,” Theo continued.

Theo was gorgeous. On paper he had everything that Aron should want. Yet, something stopped him from taking the leap. He told himself it would be foolish to date someone from work.

That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

“Maybe ask me one last time in the new year,” Aron replied.

Theo shrugged. “Tell you what. If I’m available, then you can ask me.”

“Deal.”

“Theo!”

Calvin’s voice boomed throughout the hall.

“I’d better go. Have a merry Christmas.”

Aron watched him run after their boss as he strode toward the elevator.

“He would be the sensible choice,” he muttered to himself.

When had he ever taken that?

Thankfully, the first-class lounge at JFK Airport was quiet. As it should be. Aron had chosen to fly on the red eye overnight to London. If he slept most of the way, he would arrive refreshed and fabulous. As the prodigal son returning to the fold, he had every intention of radiating confidence.

Who for?

He knew the answer to that question although he’d tried to push it out of his mind as best he could. His nerves were jangling as though he were the bride-to-be instead of Granny.

“Aron Wimpole?”

He glanced up from his Kindle. There stood Madeline Morrison. Celebrated movie star and neighbour of his grandmother.

“Madeline. Gosh. How good to see you.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

Aron gestured to the seat next to him. It wasn’t every day he had a chat with one of the most famous women on the planet. Not that his grandmother would be impressed. She and Madeline rarely saw eye-to-eye. She featured heavily in their weekly phone calls and none of it complimentary.

Madeline’s son, Mercury, was a friend of Aron’s. Well he had been when Aron had been staying on Queens Crescent. So had Alexander Fitzwilliam. Aron was looking forward to catching up with them. According to Granny, their lives had been far more exciting than his own. Which wasn’t exactly difficult, admittedly.

“Two glasses of champagne, please,” she said to the waiter who seemed to appear from nowhere. “Thank you.”

She punctuated it with her kilowatt smile. The one that had shone down from billboards since Aron had been a child. The waiter reddened and scuttled off.

It must be wonderful to be so powerful.

“Are you heading home for Christmas?” Madeline asked, seemingly oblivious to her effect.

“Yes. And the wedding, of course.”

“How could I forget?” Madeline replied. “The Crescent is awash with it all, apparently. I’ve been filming in Detroit and called in on Josh Winterton. He’s moved out here for a while. He’s seeing a drag queen now. He finally gave that deadbeat ex-husband of his the heave-ho.”

It was strange hearing all these names being mentioned by someone other than his grandmother.

“Yes. Granny keeps me up to date.”

Madeline accepted the glass of fizz proffered by the still flustered waiter. The light from the bubbles danced in her eyes. Her beauty was truly astounding. He might not bat for the same team as the waiter but he could understand his predicament. Earlier in the year, Ryan Reynolds had been filming at the library. He’d requested a personal tour. Aron had obliged and found himself blabbering on for over an hour.

“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Madeline replied. “What do you make of it all? The royal wedding, I mean. Were you surprised?”

Aron gratefully received the second drink from the waiter. It appeared Madeline intended to get straight to the heart of the matter and he still had forty-five minutes until take-off. He would have to tread very carefully. Anything he said could be used against him in one of Madeline and Granny’s famous interactions. Generally, Madeline could hold her own but he suspected she was always on the lookout for a choice nugget of information to store away.

“If she’s happy, then I am,” he replied carefully.

“Ugh,” Madeline replied. “That’s a very beige response, Aron. I expected better from you.”

He shook his head helplessly. “What do you want me to say? They spend every waking minute together as it is. Honestly, when we bubbled with him in the pandemic, you would think they hadn’t seen each other in years. He was only a few doors down.”

Madeline took a sip of her drink. “And they had illicit dog walks with Parkin.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you know? At five o’clock in the morning they’d accidentally meet in the gardens while Parkin did his business,” Madeline proudly declared. “That dog must have terrible constipation. They’d sit on the bench for an hour at a time.”

She’d shocked Aron. Then his grandmother had rarely done things any other way than her own. The Professor wouldn’t dare refuse. He was signing up to being her stooge for the rest of his life. Although, Aron suspected the Professor thoroughly enjoyed this role.

“Well I never,” he said, taking a swig of his drink. “And poor Parkin an accessory. God, you don’t think she’s going to have him as ring bearer, do you?”

Parkin was Mrs Wimpole’s Yorkshire terrier and constant companion.

“I wouldn’t put anything past her. I’m still amazed she invited me.”

“She quite likes you. Deep down.”

This time it was Madeline who roared with amusement. “Very, very deep down. Jeez.”

As a child, he’d spent a lot of time within this community. Even living with his grandparents for a time when things weren’t easy at home. It had been two years since he’d last set foot on the cobbles.

“We’ve missed you,” Madeline said. “You bring a bit of class to the place. Not like my son or Alexander.”

Aron quite liked being described as classy. He had never been anyone other than himself. A fact he was inordinately proud of.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to being home,” he replied. “Seems ages since lockdown.”

“Your grandmother tells me you’ve done well here.”

He could well imagine Granny bragging away about him. He hoped to goodness she hadn’t embellished too much.

“Not bad,” he replied. “There’s always something going on at the library. I’ve met some amazing writers.”

“You always did have your nose stuck in a book.”

“Quite.”

“No plus one accompanying you to the wedding, then?”

He shifted in his seat. “No one special at the moment.”

Madeline frowned. “A handsome gay man in New York? What’s the matter with you? Even Mercury has bagged himself a man.”

And here it came. That awkward moment when two people have exhausted their common ground.

Nervously, Aron took another sip of his champagne.

“So,” he said. “I expect lots of people who lived on Queens Crescent will come for the wedding.”

Madeline pulled a face. “I hope not. They were a snotty lot when I first moved in. It’s better nowadays. The old guard are probably all dead now anyway.”

Aron took a breath. “I suppose the Professor’s son is coming.”

“Paul? Oh he’s already there. Flew in from Kathmandu or somewhere last week. Mercury said the Professor was beside himself with excitement.”

Tingles reverberated around Aron’s system. He tried to push them away.

Down, boy. Paul Higgs is a bastard. Remember?

“That’s a relief,” he said. “Someone has to keep the Professor under control.”

“I think we both know who takes that role on.”

They both laughed. It was hollow for Aron. In possibly a matter of hours he would be coming face to face with Paul.

Then it’s game on.