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Tyler begins barking profanities at us, by which point I have lost interest. Conflict doesn’t interest me in the slightest, and squabbling in the street like old fishwives is beneath me. I dust down my suit jacket before turning my attention to my cousin. “I will leave young Tyler in your capable hands.”
Josh’s nostrils flare. “Where the hell are you going?”
“I have an urgent meeting with my father and brothers.” I pull the pocket watch from my jacket and glance down at the domed face. “And would you look at the time.”
Smiling to myself, I take my leave. I head to where McKenzie, my driver, is parked up in my Mercedes. I open the rear passenger side door and slide onto the rich leather upholstery.
“Where to, sir?”
“The Calloway Hotel in Truro.”
I can’t help wonder what my father deems so important that I had to cancel all of my morning appointments.
Lucian
The drive is pleasant, and with time to spare I ask McKenzie to take the slightly longer, more scenic route. I’m so used to the hustle and bustle of life, work meetings, and trying to be in a hundred places at once that when I do get the chance to have an uninterrupted drive, I savour every second.
The unspoilt terrain and lush greenery are soon replaced by red-brick buildings and cobblestone paths. Truro is renowned for its remarkable Georgian architecture, though the true show-stealer is the cathedral, which reaches high in the skyline.
The city is popular with locals and tourists alike, and for this reason was the perfect location for a Calloway hotel.
The car slows as we reach the hotel car park. I wave my hand in the air like royalty. “No, McKenzie, you know the drill. Drop me out front.”
Flicking the indicator, he sighs. “Certainly, sir.”
My driver has always been a man of few words. At seventy-five years of age, McKenzie Osborn is our longest-serving staff member. He drove me to boarding school as a boy, and from the back seat of the car I have watched his thick black hair thin and grey as time claimed his once-youthful appearance.
McKenzie’s hazel eyes meet mine in the reflection of the rear-view mirror. Perhaps he’s hoping I’ve had a change of heart. I haven’t. Without a word he parks up on the double yellow lines outside the hotel’s entrance while I recline back in my seat.
It’s the same old thing every time we meet in one of the hotels. We discuss profits and expansion, during which time Father tries—but fails—to talk Gage and me into manning one of the other Calloway businesses.
I casually slide my way along the back seat of the car. McKenzie is holding the door open, but I do not rush. The sound of horns and angry drivers is music to my ears. I do not do this for any other reason than to irritate my father. My father, who is keen for me to one day run the hotel chain. With millions, if not billions, of pounds on the line I feel the need to show him my utter disregard for this particular business endeavour. My intention is that he’ll leave me alone to focus my attention on what I am good at, and that is the Calloway housebuilding empire.
I draw every second out, taking my phone from my trouser pocket and punching out a memo to Christine.
“Sir…” McKenzie prompts with his hand angled toward the building. I wait a few extra minutes before sliding out of the vehicle. McKenzie holds his hands up in apology to the building queue of traffic behind and hurries to get back in the car.
It is now that I notice my father standing in front of the hotel’s turnstile door. He’s wearing his signature brown suit, matching tie, and off-white shirt with elasticated trouser braces. His thick grey hair is like a beacon as it reflects the morning sun. I smile and nod in acknowledgement, though he does not return my pleasantry. His body is rigid and his arms are crossed firmly in front of his chest.
Excellent.
Now that I have his attention I crouch down and lean my elbows on the front passenger side window. The window is partially rolled down, thus allowing me yet another opportunity to hold up traffic and prove to my father what a bad choice I would be for this company. “Before you go, be sure to pick me up in one hour. I have somewhere I need to be afterward.”
Deep furrows form on McKenzie’s brow. His gaze is fixed on the rear-view mirror and the building traffic. Just when I’m about to suggest we synchronise watches, a hand grips my arm from behind.
“That’s quite enough, Lucian,” my father snaps. He guides me toward the hotel, and, like McKenzie, holds his hand up in apology to the motorists.
He releases me and together we step through the large turnstile doors. Cool air whips around my face from the overhead air-conditioning unit as we enter the grand marble foyer. In-house restaurants flash by as I hurry to keep up with my father’s quickening steps. He’s muttering under his breath again, something he always does when he can’t say aloud what is really on his mind in fear of being overheard.
“Insubordinate little sh…”
I zone out because I gather his hushed rants are about me. Staff pass us by, cleaners and a few of the hotel porters. They smile warmly; however, I give them the same treatment as I gave to the drivers out front, which is to completely ignore their existence.
From the corner of my eye, I notice two young boys squabbling. They each pull the end of a stuffed toy, tug-of-war style. The taller of the two appears to have the advantage, that is until he unexpectedly releases the toy and sends it catapulting in the air. The toy falls to the floor and slides across the polished marble, coming to rest directly in front of my father, who, stepping over it, continues on his way.
“Here.” Crouching down, I scoop up the stuffed cat and toss it to the younger child. His gap-toothed smile is short-lived as their game of tug-of-war starts over. I proceed to the conference room.
The doors are open, and my brothers, Gage and Malachi, are already inside sitting at the long table, along with Father’s lawyer. What is Edgar doing here?
