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“Caro, that’s…” Words fail me. On the one hand, it would be great to stop worrying about Alessia’s legal status in the UK. On the other hand, this feels like… cheating.
“Darling, title has its privileges.” Caroline correctly interprets my frown. “Wealth too. Of course,” she adds.
“It does,” I mutter, and turn to my wife, who’s spreading avocado and salmon on her toast.
“That’s great. Thank you, Caroline,” Alessia says with enthusiasm, and it’s obvious she has no reservations at all.
“I’ll talk to our immigration lawyer about it.” And also my wife. I’m not sure I want to cheat our way to citizenship for Alessia. After all, deep down, that’s how I feel about our wedding. We didn’t follow the rules, which led to awkward press questions, and I don’t want to end up in the press because we circumvented the visa system. I’d like to do this properly, but perhaps keep Caro’s father in reserve.
“This is really tasty, Alessia,” Caroline says. “No wonder you don’t go out as much as you used to!”
Alessia joins them at the table. “Lime juice and ricotta. My secret ingredients.”
The beauty of launching my wife at Dimitri Egonov’s party is that we are plagued with invitations for social engagements. I mean, I used to get my fair share of invites, but now we’re inundated. Everyone wants to meet my wife.
I put the correspondence aside. I’ll go through it with Alessia when she returns from her shopping expedition. Tobias Strickland, young Bleriana, and now Caroline are joining us tomorrow for Sunday lunch, and she’s out somewhere on the hunt for ingredients—to say she’s excited about this is an understatement.
I have offered to take us out, but she wants to cook.
And far be it for me to get between an Albanian woman and her cooking.
I sit back in my chair and eye the wooden box Caroline gave me at the beginning of the week, standing unopened on my desk. I don’t know what’s stopping me.
Dude. Open the box.
Reaching for it, I set it in front of me and lift the hinged lid. Neatly coiled on the top of a scrap of blue velvet is Kit’s old Iron Maiden belt. I laugh out loud—Caroline knows I loathed Kit’s taste in music.
Petrol Head.
Metal Head.
He loved, loved, loved his heavy metal bands.
I pick up the weighty belt. The leather has seen better days. The buckle, on the other hand, is as fearsome as the day Kit acquired it. Made of pewter, it depicts a beast’s head, with one red jeweled eye over a skull and crossbones, with 1980 and 1990 carved on small plaques on either side. Between the dates, EDDIE is engraved on a scroll. Kit was fourteen when he bought this, and it was his pride and joy. I remember at ten years old being so envious… Odd to think I spent so much of my early life envying my big brother.
I put it to one side, reach into the wooden box, and pull out another box—this one clad in green leather. It looks vaguely familiar… The crown on the front should be a clue, but I can’t place it. Opening it up, I find my father’s Rolex.
It’s a gut punch.
Daddy.
I ease it out of the box. It’s chunky. A manly man’s watch made from stainless steel.
My dad’s watch.
ROLEX OYSTER COSMOGRAPH is written on the face above three dials.
The word DAYTONA appears in red above the third dial.
Fuck. I tear up examining it. I remember as a child—I used to fiddle with the crown and the two pushers while he wore it. I was fascinated by it and loved that he let me mess with it. He seemed to enjoy it. Time is precious, my boy, he used to say, and he was right.
I flip it over, and there’s an inscription on the back.
Thank you.
For everything.
Always your Row.
Whoa. I had no idea this was a present from my mother. He wore it every single day, I imagine, as a testament to her. I shake my head, knowing what I know now.
She was lucky.
He loved her very much.
He gave her respectability and a title, and her son an earldom.
And on the back of this watch, there’s only gratitude. She admitted she was obsessed with another man. A man who didn’t want her or her child.
Maybe this was why I didn’t want to open the wooden box. I knew there would be… feelings. I have to reconcile myself with the fact that my mother married for convenience, not love, and that my father didn’t have the love of a good woman.
Like I do…
But he had her respect. So there’s that. Maybe that was enough for him. I have to take comfort in that.
I place the Rolex back in its case and pull out another dark green velvet box.
Inside, nestled on velvet, are a pair of silver cuff links with the Trevethick coat of arms. These are very Kit, and I’m trying to remember if he had them made or if they were a gift. If they are a gift, they’ll be from Caroline. I’m heartened that she’s decided I should have them, and what’s more, it’s appropriate.
