Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The Professor’s lounge had always resembled a museum dedicated to Charles Dickens. According to Granny, she’d persuaded him to copy her idea of storing part of his collection to avoid the place resembling a hoarder’s paradise. Even so, Aron felt that he was about to be transported to a Victorian parlour at any moment.

It didn’t help that most of the seating had been filled by neighbours who had been roped in to help. Wine importer Simon Harrington sat next to his gorgeous boyfriend, the owner of nightclub Club C, Rodrigo Costa.

They were joined by local florist, Stuart Monroe, and his other half, Jeremy. Inexplicably, Alexander Fitzwilliam had also appeared on the doorstep. He had no role in the proceedings. He simply didn’t want to miss out.

Aron grinned at him. It was good to see Alexander and he was more than ready to grill him to see if Paul had said anything. He hadn’t had time yet.

Of course, Granny was overseeing everything, ably assisted by the Professor.

The only person who hadn’t put in an appearance was Paul. Aron couldn’t stop watching the door. Alexander kept trying desperately to shoot him knowing looks but Aron refused to meet his gaze.

Stirrer.

“I do hope tardiness is not going to plague this project,” Granny said.

She also hadn’t taken her eyes from the door as they all partook in small talk about the weather and sipped tea.

Yes, he was back in Britain. That was for sure.

“It really isn’t like him,” the Professor replied.

Finally Alexander caught Aron’s eye. He imperceptibly raised an eyebrow. Aron undid the top button on his shirt and sat upright. He would kill Alexander. Show nothing in front of Granny. She might be preoccupied with her own love life at the moment, but she still had eyes like a hawk.

Thankfully, the front door banged.

“Sorry I’m late.”

That voice. Had it really been two years since he’d heard it?

A shiver ran down his spine.

There are too many bloody people in this room.

Aron would not lose the upper hand before they’d even begun. So, he forced himself to sit still and, he hoped, nonchalantly cross his legs. Unfortunately, he managed to kick Stuart in the process.

“Sorry,” he said.

The door burst open and there he was. Paul Higgs. Tall. Dark blond hair that always seemed to fall perfectly. Tan and gorgeous as ever.

But behind all that was a sadness that Aron had never penetrated. Instead, he’d become a victim of it.

Not this time. Stay on track.

Their eyes met instantly. Aron gripped the sofa arm and attempted a smile.

“Hi, Paul.”

“Aron. How lovely to see you.”

Damn those eyes. They raked over Aron’s body.

Defiantly, Aron met his gaze. “And you. I believe we’ll be working together on a very important mission.”

Paul grinned and perched on the arm of the chair occupied by Jeremy.

“I’m thinking of it as an early Christmas present,” Paul replied. “I’ll be honoured to be your co-worker.”

It was like a standoff as they stared into each other’s eyes.

The moment was broken by Granny sitting upright and clapping her hands.

“Now we’re all present, let’s get going. Alexander, since you are without role, I think you can minute proceedings.”

Alexander appeared as if he were a rabbit caught in her headlights. And anyone who had experienced Granny’s driving would know he didn’t stand a chance.

“Minute it? I don’t know how to do that.”

“Relax, dear,” she said. “I only want you to capture the task and the owner. You can do that on your mobile phone. Chop, chop.”

Aron stifled a laugh. He realised he’d been looking everywhere but at Paul since that first exchange. So much for playing it cool. He had to get a hold of himself.

Am I blushing? I bet I am.

He ran his hand over his cheek. It was scorching hot.

Yep. Fuck’s sake.

“Have I got this right?” Jeremy said. “Paul and Aron will be overseeing things? I thought you had Edwin and Anais on the team.”

“You’re perfectly correct. They will do all the leg work. I simply want a personal touch.”

Edwin and Anais were the main event planners in the area. Aron didn’t think they would take kindly to being relegated to dogsbodies.

It was quite the responsibility. His grandmother was nothing if not exacting.

“We probably should have invited them today,” Granny said. “But they do tend to get themselves worked up.”

“At risk of repeating myself,” Aron said. “Why bother?”

“Because Anais is the granddaughter of Bessie Burlington, one of my oldest friends,” Granny explained. “Imagine how it would look if I didn’t use their services.”

Finally the truth was out. Granny had no faith whatsoever in these two but didn’t want to upset one of her cronies.

“If you take my advice,” she continued. “Micro manage them.”

“Although I’m chomping at the bit to get stuck in. Don’t you think it would be better coming from you two?” Paul asked.

“We’re too old to be going to meetings and managing lists. No, we’ll be available in an advisory capacity. Isn’t that right, Philip?”

She patted the Professor’s leg.

“Of course, Beatrice.”

The Professor appeared to have learnt a few coping mechanisms. They would serve him well in his future married life.

“Besides,” he continued. “I’m not risking an IBS flare-up. Stress can do that.”

Perhaps he hadn’t mastered being Beatrice Wimpole’s consort fully.

“We don’t want you running down the aisle, Prof,” Aron said.

The Professor guffawed, setting everyone else off.

“Bumfloods,” Granny piped up.

“What did you just say?” Aron replied. Unease trickled down his spine like lava.

“That’s what you used to call that when you were a child,” she said with a giggle. “‘Granny, I think I’m having a bumflood,’ you’d cry.”

This time, the whole room collapsed in hysterics. All except Aron who genuinely could not believe she had said that.

“Thank you for sharing that with the group, Grandmother dearest.”

This only served to make the hilarity increase tenfold. Aron had no choice but to join in.

“I’ll get you back,” he said.

Granny squeezed his knee. He was more than willing to be the butt of any joke to see that twinkle in her eye.

Mercifully, calm soon restored and the meeting went ahead with no further humiliation on Aron’s part.

The colours were going to be cream and gold. Neither the bride nor the groom wanted anything too ostentatious. That made it easier for Aron and Paul. He had fretted that Granny would come up with a Renaissance theme or something similar.

Stuart had his jobs, as did Simon and Rodrigo.

“You two have a meeting with Edwin and Anais tomorrow to go through everything else. Please be kind to them,” the Professor announced. “Now how about a bottle of fizz? Let’s celebrate getting the ball rolling.”

“I knew I was marrying you for a reason,” Granny replied. “I put a Taittinger in your fridge for this very occasion.”

“That was you, was it?” the Professor exclaimed. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

They both got up.

“I might have some nibbly bits in the cupboard. I’d got them for Christmas,” the Professor said. “We can always buy more. Today is a celebration.”

Giggling like teenagers, they headed for presumably the kitchen.

Alexander was deep in conversation with Jeremy and Stuart. Simon and Rodrigo only seemed to have eyes for each other.

Paul smirked at him.

“I’ll give them a hand,” Aron said.

He fled the room and straight to the downstairs toilet. Panting, he locked the door and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“So much for showing him what he’s been missing,” he said to himself. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding on to the basin, he forced himself to focus. He’d made a bad start, that was for sure. Things were not written off totally though. That fucking lustful stare from Paul told him that.

“Okay. Get it together. You live in New York, for God’s sake. Plus you’ve sweated your arse off in that gym so you could come here and exude confidence. Go forth and exude.”

After flushing the toilet, he walked out of the bathroom and straight into Paul.

“Loitering around bathrooms now?” he remarked.

“I figured I’d better check you haven’t got a case of the bumfloods.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, Granny.

“Hilarious.”

“Adorable.”

“I’d better go or it’ll be Parkin making a mess all over your father’s Great Expectations rug.”

Paul held him by the arm. Aron determined to ignore that surge of energy that swept through his body.

“Do we need to talk?” Paul asked. All of a sudden serious.

“About what?”

“About my leaving like that. I had to. You don’t say no to Vogue .”

Aron nodded. “I understood and still do. Look at the award you got.”

“You heard?”

“I follow you on Instagram.”

“Oh, someone manages that for me.”

“I can tell.”

This was going way better. Aron refused to let Paul disarm him.

“As long as we’re cool,” Paul said.

“Aren’t you too close to fifty to talk like that?”

Paul was only forty-five but it didn’t hurt to rib him a little. Aron had to make up for lost ground and quickly.

Paul sniggered. “Wow. You’re on fire today, Wimpole. Working together is going to be a lot of fun, clearly.”

“Consider this a preview. Listen, we can split the tasks if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

Paul let Aron’s arm go. Aron instantly missed the contact.

“I’m not uncomfortable. Besides, that’s not the brief and you know it.”

“Can’t blame a boy for trying.”

“See you tomorrow, grouchy.”

Aron went to make his way back to the others.

“Nice muscles, by the way,” Paul said.

Without looking back, Aron walked into the lounge. Let him watch.

Once in the safety of the room, he went straight to Alexander.

“Get your coat. You’ve pulled.”

“What?”

“How about you, me and a hairy beast take this outside?”

“You want me to go on a dog walk?”

Aron nodded.

“Have you lost your mind? It’s freezing out there.”

Aron nodded over to the door as Paul came in.

“Fine,” Alexander said with a resigned sigh. “I can see there’ll be no champers until I concede.”

“Correct.”

With no further word, they grabbed their coats. Parkin was going crazy. Poor thing had sat through the whole meeting with not even a treat for his trouble.

“Oh, are you taking him out?” Granny said as they came into the hall. “See, being helpful is in your DNA. You take after me.”

He smiled sweetly and shoved Alexander out of the door. Compared to New York, the temperature was positively balmy. Plus they appeared to be between rainstorms.

“Go over to the main road,” Aron said. “Out of earshot.”

Alexander tripped down the steps. “Blimey, you’re almost as bossy as Mrs W. I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

They strode across the cobbles. Parkin pulled on the lead.

“Oh go on then,” Aron said.

Poor Parkin clearly couldn’t wait any longer and relieved himself against Charles Worthington’s Lamborghini. Thankfully, all the lights were off in Charles’ house.

“What’s this all about?” Alexander asked, blowing into his hands. “Now Stuart will grab all the best food.”

“We need to talk.”

Their charge had finished his business but Aron wanted to give him a chance for a snuffle and a second wee. They marched toward the main road. Poor Parkin’s legs working hard to keep up.

“May I remind you, we haven’t properly talked in two years. Not since you buggered off to the bright lights of New York and left us all for dead.”

“Mercury has already done that speech.”

Alexander pouted.

“I’m sorry,” Aron continued. “I guess I needed a proper new start.”

“And has it been? Are you happy in the Big Apple.”

They stopped at the corner. Parkin set about examining every inch of the pavement. Aron supposed Parkin saw Queens Crescent as his domain.

I wonder where he gets that from.

“I suppose I’m happy. Yeah.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

Aron looked around. The street did strange things to him. Every cobble seemed to have a memory attached.

“I guess I’ve missed you all.”

“Even Paul?”

Alexander stared hard at him.

“Listen, you can’t have those twitchy eyebrows in front of Granny,” Aron said. “You’ll give the game away and I really don’t need that.”

Alexander stopped. “Me? You were the one bouncing around the sofa like bloody Tigger.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Aron said. “Do you think he noticed?”

Alexander stopped. “What do you want from this? Surely you’re not going to take up with him again?”

Aron sighed.

What did he want from this?

“To show him what a stupid mistake he made.”

There. He’d said it.

Alexander appraised him. “I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.”