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The room contains a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and two bedside tables. I don’t know him well enough to know how he’d react to me looking in them. I don’t know him at all, really. We’re practically strangers, despite the fact that I’m having his children. It’s such a bizarre situation.
But I want to get to know him better, and this seems like a good place to start. I spend a while looking at his clothes—his exquisite suits, his pressed shirts, and his tees, neatly folded thanks to his housekeeper no doubt. The smell of his aftershave is everywhere, subtle but sexy, rising from his clothes like silk ribbons to envelop me.
I move to his bedside table. Four books sit on the top: a science-fiction novel; a book about IVF that looks very technical, full of diagrams of gametes and embryos; a biography of Ernest Rutherford—a Kiwi who was apparently the first person to split the atom; and another book about the Spitfire plane.
Can I open the drawer? I don’t want him to think I’m snooping, but I do want to find out more about him. My heart racing, I pull it open.
Lips curving up, I brush my fingers over the masculine items inside. There’s a box of cufflinks—they’re supposed to be placed neatly in twos in individual compartments but, unsurprisingly, Saxon has thrown them all in together in a jumble. There are all kinds—plain ones, elegant ones, even novelty ones, including a couple with a small TARDIS. A dozen tie pins, also thrown in together. A few ties he hasn’t been bothered to hang up on his tie rack in the wardrobe. I’ve seen him wearing a couple of them, so they must be his favorites.
There are six watches with expensive-sounding names: Patek Philippe, Longines, Bell & Ross, although I’ve only ever seen him wear his Apple Watch. There’s also a knee brace. Kennedy told me that he enjoys skiing and snowboarding, and he’s broken fifteen bones, so he must injure himself regularly. There are a handful of square silk handkerchiefs he must wear in his top pocket. I take one out, turn it over in my fingers, then sniff it. It smells of his aftershave.
There’s also a photo of six young people standing on a beach. Still holding the pocket square, I take the photo out and study it. I recognize him and Kip, although I can’t tell which is which as neither of them is wearing glasses and they look identical. They’re about twelve or thirteen, standing together, striking cocky poses. There’s a younger boy, who looks enough like the twins to suggest he’s Damon. An older lad, maybe fifteen or so. I’m not sure who that is. A girl, maybe ten or eleven, with brown hair—Kennedy? And a boy, around the same age as the twins. He has his arm flung around Kennedy. Is that her brother, Christian?
I look up, and my heart skips a beat as I see Saxon leaning against the door jamb, his hands in his pockets, watching me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to pry.” I look at the drawer. “Well, that’s a stupid thing to say because I obviously am.”
“It’s all right.” He pushes off the post. “I don’t have anything to hide.” He comes to sit beside me on the bed.
“I just want to know more about you,” I say softly.
“That’s fair enough.”
Relieved he’s not angry, I look at the photo. “That’s you and Kip?”
“Yeah.”
“Which is which?”
He laughs. “I don’t remember.”
“You can’t tell the difference?”
“Not at that age. We used to enjoy looking the same.” He taps the left twin. “I think that’s me. I seem to remember my shorts were a darker blue.”
“And that’s Kennedy?”
He nods.
I point to the older boy. “Who’s that?”
“Titus, my cousin. My mum’s brother’s boy. We hung around a lot as kids. His parents are lawyers and quite strict, not much fun, so he spent a lot of time with us.”
“And that’s Christian?” I point to the boy who has his arm around Kennedy.
He nods.
“Kennedy told me about what happened.”
He takes the photo and studies it. “Yeah. It was a really tough time.”
“She said you took it hard. Maybe harder than the others.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he says, “It was hard for all of us, especially her—she lost her brother, and she was badly injured. But when it happened, I was the one who was with him when he died.”
“Oh, Saxon.”
“Kip had swum back to tell the adults. Damon was trying to move the rocks. Kennedy was unconscious. I got into the water—it wasn’t deep, maybe three feet or so, but he was at the bottom, under the rocks that had fallen. I swam down to him. There was blood in the water, his and Kennedy’s. I knew Christian was alive because he looked at me. His bottom half was completely under the rocks—there were far too many, and I knew immediately we wouldn’t be able to move them all in time. I tried to pull him out, and when I couldn’t, I went up for air and swam back down to blow it into his lungs. I did that a few times, but he stopped moving. I did what I could, but he’d gone.”
