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‘The Harringtons are going to have to come around at some point,’ Ben told Spencer, his tone dismissive. ‘They don’t have as big an operation as The Chatsfield. They don’t have the resources to withstand you.’
‘The negotiations are going to be delicate,’ Spencer answered. ‘I have some of the shareholders on board, but not all of them. Yet.’
Ben shrugged. He didn’t care about either of the hotels, not any more.
‘Look,’ Spencer said. “I need to be on-site, in New York and London, dealing with this buyout. It’s at a critical stage just now, and I’ve got to be there.’
‘So be there.’
‘And I’m meant to be in Berlin starting next week, overseeing the hotel during the Berlinale.’
‘The what?’
‘The film festival.’ Ben just stared, nonplussed, and Spencer continued. ‘Most of the Hollywood types stay at The Chatsfield for the festival. It’s an important time for the hotel, and for the company as a whole.’
‘I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this,’ Ben told him, even though he was starting to have a suspicion.
‘I need someone on-site,’ Spencer explained. ‘A Chatsfield.’
And he was a Chatsfield. ‘So you expect me to drop my own business, my whole life, and head over to Berlin to help you out?’ Ben filled in, his voice dripping disbelief. ‘And all this after fourteen years of silence?’
Spencer’s eyes flashed with sudden temper. ‘You’re the one who left, Ben.’
Ben nearly took a swing then. He felt his hands bunch into fists and his heart start to race. The desire to hit Spencer felt almost overwhelming, but he choked it down, as he always did. Once his anger had left a man nearly dead. Now he forced himself to breathe evenly, to relax his clenched fists.
‘So I did. And I’m not coming back for you or your hotel, Spencer.’
Spencer’s gaze flicked over him. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re still my brother, Ben,’ Spencer continued with a small, sad smile. ‘And I’m still yours. Maybe I should have got in touch before now. Hell, I know I should have. But you could have too. We’re both to blame, aren’t we?’
The old Ben would have tripped over himself to accept the blame, to apologise, to make it right. To do whatever it took to make Spencer happy, his whole family dancing a damned jig. This Ben, the man who had had fourteen years of work-focused isolation and suppressed bitterness and rage, just shrugged.
‘Please,’ Spencer said. He tilted his head to one side, gave Ben the whimsical, lopsided smile he remembered so well from their childhood, a smile that felt as if it catapulted him back in time, back to the boy he’d once been. ‘I need you, Ben.’
Still Ben shook his head, resisted that tug towards the past. ‘I just opened a restaurant in Rome that I was planning on visiting...’
‘Two weeks, Ben, that’s all. We need to be a family again in this, stand united behind The Chatsfield. I want that more than anything.’
A united family. That was all he’d wanted when he’d been a kid. He’d suffered his parents’ arguments, his father’s rage, and had tried over and over again to make it all better. He’d sacrificed himself on the altar of his family once already, and here he was coming back for more. Because he knew then that he was going to agree. He’d regretted leaving all those years ago, even though it had felt like the only choice he could make. Regretted being the one to tear their family apart, and now he wondered if he could actually make amends. Make things better.
Ever the peacemaker.
‘Two weeks,’ he said neutrally, and relief broke over his brother’s face like sunlight.
‘Yes...’
‘I’m a chef, not a front-of-house man. I leave all that to other people.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Spencer assured him. ‘It’s just a lot of smiling and handholding, honestly.’
Right. Ben shook his head, still wanting to refuse, knowing he wouldn’t. Knowing he hadn’t changed as much as he thought he had. He was just angry about it now.
‘I haven’t had anything to do with The Chatsfield for fourteen years,’ he reminded Spencer. Reminded himself. ‘Nearly half of my life.’
‘All the more reason to come back to it now,’ Spencer told him, and Ben heard the throb of sincerity in his brother’s voice. ‘I’ve missed you, Ben. I’m sorry you ran away all those years ago. I know you were trying to protect me...’
‘Forget it.’ Ben felt his throat close up, although whether from anger or grief or just pure, nameless emotion he couldn’t say. He didn’t want to talk about the past. He didn’t even want to think about it.
