Chapter Eight
Kent
Since he’d returned home from the hospital five days earlier, Kent was certainly being looked after. Cameron had flown in from Toronto to check he was still in the land of the living, Maggie had been her usual efficient self around the house but paying more attention to him—something he guessed Cameron had put her up to—and Jack had taken the reins with the business alongside Braydon.
He picked up the first newspaper from the stack Maggie had brought in and piled onto the side table next to the couch. He’d not read or seen the news when he was in the hospital. Instead, he’d slept, read an entire novel—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to do that—and he’d enjoyed friendly banter with other patients who had nothing to do with jewellery, weren’t looking for a promotion, and weren’t trying to chat him up. He flicked from the front page of the periodical through to more doom and gloom. The world seemed to be getting worse, not better.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ His housekeeper was back again.
‘You must have a million and one things to do, Maggie. I take it this is Cameron’s doing?’ The sheepish expression told him he was right. ‘Well, I can assure you I don’t need to be fussed over. I’m alive and kicking and I’ll yell if I need anything, I promise.’
Maggie left with a smile. She was a good worker and her efficiency had wowed him from the start, but he’d never formed the same bond with her as he had with Nicole.
He sipped from a glass of water and reached for a different newspaper, hopeful it’d be more positive than the previous. But it was the same old thing … and he may have only been away five days, but he wondered how he’d ever read these over his breakfast, then again in the evenings, convinced he could have missed something vital.
He sat back against the couch, closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift to Nicole. Had she found work quickly after their altercation? He’d felt wretched after it had happened, and hadn’t seen her since she’d gathered up her things that day and left the townhouse for good. But he hadn’t fired her only because she’d been giving handouts to a homeless person, he’d had to get rid of her because of who she was. And what had started out as a platonic relationship had soon developed into a friendship, and later the gradual realisation that his feelings ran so much deeper. And when he’d told her to leave that night, part of the reason was because he couldn’t carry on the pretence any longer.
His feelings had blossomed a few days before Christmas, during Jack’s final year at college. It seemed a lifetime ago, but thinking about it now, it felt like only yesterday. Kent had flown in from Seattle one morning, and with the business not expecting his return until the following day, he’d experienced a rare day out and about in New York City, his birthplace.
He’d gone right to the top of the Empire State Building and out onto the main deck on the 86th floor where he’d soaked up the three hundred and sixty degree views taking in Central Park, The Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Times Square and the Hudson River. Along with the mesmerising views and the fresh air, he’d taken in a city that was almost a stranger to him. He went from home to the office, the office to home each day with not much in between, but up there, he’d realised the world was a big place if only he could open his heart to it.
He’d continued his adventure like a big kid, perusing the Christmas windows in Macy’s, and just as he was contemplating a show at Radio City Music Hall, something he hadn’t done since Cynthia was alive, he bumped into Nicole, dazzled by the blades on the white skates looped over her shoulder by their tied laces.
‘You look like a professional,’ he’d told her, flummoxed at their unexpected meeting outside the confines of his townhouse. ‘You never mentioned you were a skater.’
Over a mulled cider each that Kent had bought from a street vendor, who was so embroiled in the festive spirit he’d filled their polystyrene cups up at least twice as much as they should be, they got to know each other a little more.
‘I’m sure I’ve mentioned ice skating over the years,’ she told him.
‘You probably have.’ He looked around them, appreciating the hustle and bustle, the myriad of characters walking past going about their business. He felt like his head had been buried beneath a heap of sand, unable to see or hear anything much other than his own thoughts and concerns.
‘How often do you practice?’ he asked her.
‘At least a handful of times every year.’ The breeze made her corkscrew curls dance beneath a beige bobble hat.
‘How could I not know that?’ He shook his head.
‘Becauseyounever asked.’
He finished his mulled cider, and as Nicole finished hers, he took both empty cups and dropped them in a nearby trash can. ‘Well, I’ll let you get over to the ice. I might even watch for a while before I head back to the house.’
‘You’ll do better than that.’ She grabbed his hand and off they went.
‘Oh no.’ He shook his head when he realised they’d joined the line at a booth to pay for admission, rent him some skates. ‘I don’t think I can.’
‘What a load of nonsense.’ She grinned back at him and kept hold of his hand as though he were a small child about to make a run for it.
By the time they took to the ice, Nicole, with a prowess he never dreamed he’d find, and Kent, with all the grace of a deer who hadn’t yet learned to walk, he knew he was in trouble. They’d twisted and turned—her much more gracefully than him—they’d laughed and become far more than employer and housekeeper, and when Jack had spotted them on the ice together and seemed only happy to behold the rare sight of his father having fun, Kent had allowed himself to follow the spiral of falling for Nicole, this woman he liked, admired, laughed with. He’d pushed away his feelings of how wrong it was, any misgivings at getting involved; he’d told himself of course he couldn’t possibly fall in love with the woman who was so closely linked to his wife’s death.
Now, sitting in the living room of his townhouse, Kent flicked through the newspaper pages and scanned the headlines until the doorbell chimed and Maggie announced he had a visitor.
‘Jack, good to see you.’ Over the years since his wife had died, he and Jack had gradually drifted further apart, and what had once been a close father and son bond had morphed into more of a formal relationship, garnered mainly during talks about the business. On the surface they looked as though they had a good relationship, but the strain came more from what was left unsaid than what was said out loud.
‘How are things with the business?’ He couldn’t help himself. Old habits died hard and business talk always prevented awkwardness.
Jack loosened his tie. ‘Business is just fine. More importantly, how are you?’
‘Sick of people asking me how I am.’ Kent smiled ruefully, dumped the newspaper on the table and took a sip from the glass of water beside him. ‘Sick of drinking nothing but this or herbal teas. I could do with a neat Scotch to take the edge off.’ When Jack shook his head, he said, ‘You think I’m kidding? I’ve had your sister pampering me day and night and she only left yesterday.’
