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“Sink or swim, mate. Hanna will either figure it out, or we’ll be making another drive to the airport today.” Martin spread his hands.
Gregory scowled. “Preferably to put my mother in the cargo hold of a plane headed to Antarctica.”
“What did the penguins ever do to you?”
“They looked better than I did in a tuxedo.”
“That’s a terrible crime.” Martin leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “I saw you eyeing her, you know. Hanna, not your mother. Your ‘professional curiosity’ looked a great deal more like ‘I might like to thoroughly fill out your job application and show you my CV’.”
The crack of Gregory’s palm hitting his own forehead rang through the room. “You said that. Out loud.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You sound like Gran. She was teasing me about it.” Gregory wiped his hand down his face. “Truthfully, Hanna seems like a remarkable woman. One worth getting to know. But also one who deserves better than I have to offer right now. Between the company, Gran’s health, all the changes…”
“I understand, you know. There’s a lot happening in your life just now. It wouldn’t be fair to ask someone to wade into it.” Martin smiled. “I was only curious, because you seemed very interested.”
“In another time, another place… If things were different, they’d be different.” Gregory shrugged. If things were different. If he were still just an engineer and a visionary. If his grandfather had lived, or left the company to someone more experienced, as they’d expected him to.
“‘If things were different, they’d be different.’ Truly profound, you.”
“A veritable Socrates. Anyway, on that note, when Hanna’s– When her current job position comes to an end, I’d like to see if we can get her in with the company. She’s got a love for logistics, planning, problem solving… We’ve got to have someone who could show her the ropes and make use of her enthusiasm.”
“Perhaps not quite like you’d enjoy making use of her enthusiasm, if things were different.”
“For God’s sake, Marty, if either one of us needs to get laid, I’m starting to think it’s you.” Gregory shook his head. “What do I have left on my calendar today? Just that meeting with Robert, right?”
“Correct. All the files you wanted for that are waiting in your email. After that, I’d like to go over the final plans for the party this weekend. There’s a few signatures required, so it looks like you gave even a quarter of a shit about the affair.”
“All right. Let me get set up for this meeting, will you? Robert should be here anytime. Tell him just to knock and come in when he does.”
“Not a problem.” Martin gathered up his papers, closed his laptop for carrying, then sodded off as directed.
Gregory turned to face his computer so he could prepare. As he did, the stack of paperwork with Hanna’s name on it caught his gaze. Employment. Good until the death or mental incapacitation of his grandmother. A pile of papers atop files for elder and hospice care, advanced directives, and the double-edged blade of his grandfather’s last will and testament.
“If things were different, maybe they’d be different,” he said to himself, though he wondered if he weren’t also speaking to a woman upstairs, so close and yet so very far away. Then he opened his work email to focus himself for a discussion that should be short and sweet, yet he didn’t think would end up that way.
4
The Ghosts of the Persistent Past
Robert Lane arrived five minutes late, which suited Gregory just fine. Extra time to arrange and go over the information would help if this meeting turned contentious.Which it shouldn’t. I’m being paranoid. Or maybe I’m just intimidated and lack confidence when it comes to stepping into my grandfather’s shoes.
Not that Robert Lane was an intimidating man on his own. He hadn’t put up a fight against middle age, and it hung from his unremarkable frame with the ease of a moth-eaten sweater. When he wanted to impress, he put on an expensive, tailored suit that brought out his best attributes while downplaying those features he didn’t care to highlight. He had no one outside a boardroom to woo with his looks. Not his wife, who found the “shark in sheep’s clothing” appealing, not Henry Russell anymore, and surely not Gregory.
He didn’t need to. Gregory had his own complicated feelings about his grandfather’s right-hand man. Robert had worked with his grandfather since Gregory could remember, and had worked hard. Gregory got the idea a great deal of water had flowed under the bridge that connected his grandfather to Robert. But he’d been a fixture in Gregory’s life, almost a father figure but not quite.
Gregory would never let him that close. Not for lack of trying on Robert’s part. Yet whenever Gregory thought about opening up, perhaps admiring the older man or allowing a closer relationship, a deep uneasiness prevented it. Gregory didn’t understand it. He also didn’t question it. Instinct had saved him more than once.
No, the only intimidation was in the knowledge that Robert knew Russell Holdings inside and out, knew how the company and its branches functioned, knew how to manipulate all the pieces into line. Stepping up to take the place of a great man came with expectations. The first expectation, that Robert would inherit the company, had already died a sudden and unanticipated death of its own.
“Greg!” Robert grinned as he strode into the office. “You’re looking good. Britain treating you all right?”
“Hello, Robert.” Gregory stood up to shake the older man’s hand. “It is. Gran’s happier than I’ve ever seen her, even despite her health.”
“Howisher health, by the way? Everyone on the board asks after her.”
“Improving, as long as she has the chance to rest.”
