Companion Required

by Brian Lancaster

  Kennedy had already begun to chuckle, which brought Kieran to a halt.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you have a module on law in your management programme?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then maybe you should read the fine print. The first two lines on the beginning of page six.”

  Kennedy could hear the faint sound of a mouse clicking a couple of times before the line became quiet.

  “You’ll provide the clothes for me?” came the confused voice. “Why would you do that?”

  “Think of these items as your uniforms. I can hardly expect an employee to pay for clothes which, let’s face it, might not be to his taste, and some he’s unlikely to wear again. That would hardly be fair. Which is why, if you look further down, you’ll see that I need your key measurements, to make sure we get you the right size. Or if you’d prefer, we can go shopping together on a day you have free. Maybe the same day you get your health check done.”

  “Our health checks,” said Kieran firmly. “If I’m to suffer the indignity of getting tested, then so are you.”

  Kennedy inhaled deeply. This companion would be a challenge, but what choice did he have?

  “Our checks, then. And once the holiday is over, you get to keep whatever clothes you want or give them away. You decide. So I guess the only question that remains is—are you in or not?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m in. Thank you very much for the opportunity, Mr Grey.”

  “Oh, and Kieran. That’s the last time you call me Mr Grey. It’s Kennedy from now on. Are we clear?”

  Kieran chuckled.

  “Crystal clear. Although, can’t I call you Ned? I had a hamster called Ned when I was a kid. Loved him to bits.”

  Kennedy found himself enjoying the banter and struck back immediately.

  “If you’re going to reduce Kennedy to Ned, then I’m sure you won’t mind if I refer to you, Kieran, as Key. Can’t wait to see my friends’ faces when I introduce them to Key West.”

  The burst of laughter coming down the phone was unexpected, and made Kennedy smile.

  “I think that’s your way of telling me no, so let’s keep to our original names.”

  “Smart boy.”

  “And that, Kennedy Grey, is the last time you get to call me a boy. Deal?”

  The comment caught Kennedy off guard and he laughed aloud.

  “Touché.”

  Before signing off, they agreed to meet on a Saturday for tests and shopping. Tossing his phone onto his desk, Kennedy stared down at the blank display, shaking his head and grinning to himself.

  Kieran West was going to be an interesting handful.

  Chapter Six

  Kieran

  Kieran skipped his lectures on the Friday of their flight to Singapore, his whole body buzzing with a combination of excitement and trepidation. He had arranged to shower at Cole’s place after finishing packing away the last of his own personal things in the large case—wash bag, beach towel, swimwear, sunblock, a huge bottle of aftersun and a couple of different factor suntan lotions. Except that, while packing, something unfamiliar inside the case caught his eye.

  “What the hell’s this?” he asked, holding up a small zipped-up pouch.

  “A holiday gift. From me to you. Emergency first aid, of sorts,” said Cole, leaning against the doorjamb and grinning mischievously.

  Despite Cole’s earlier warning, Kieran’s gay-for-pay temp job had been an endless source of amusement, and he had become Kieran’s co-conspirator and confidant. On Cole’s advice, he had told Jules the absolute minimum, told her he would be an assistant to a CEO, travelling abroad, nothing more. Even storing the huge new suitcase full of holiday items at Cole’s place had been his friend’s brainwave. Had he brought the colossal thing back to his sister’s apartment, she would probably have sneaked a peek inside when he wasn’t around.

  Kieran unzipped Cole’s gift and pulled out two packs of condoms and a tube of lubricant. Tilting his head to one side, he raised both eyebrows at Cole.

  “Seriously? I hope you kept the receipt. You’re more likely to use these than me,” said Kieran, zipping the bag closed. “In fact, why don’t you keep them?”

  “Do your Uncle Cole a favour and take them. You never know, you might get lucky.”

  Once he had dried his curly locks and dressed in the new black tracksuit and trainers Kennedy had provided—something casual for the long-haul flight—he collected his luggage from Cole’s bedroom. In his life, he had flown less than a handful of times, and only within Europe, but he remembered how cramped the seats could be, especially with his long legs, his knees usually getting wedged against the seat in front.

  Apart from the tracksuit, the other clothes he and Kennedy had shopped for two weeks ago already sat packed inside the case. Far too many, really, but Kennedy had insisted, telling him they would be away for twenty-eight nights and he didn’t want to rely on the cruise ship laundry service. Kieran had washed and ironed the items at Cole’s, and packed them away immediately despite Cole urging him to give a couple of the CK tees or Armani shirts a test run. The only item of clothing he had baulked at was the black dress suit ensemble, which included a wing-tip shirt, bow tie, burgundy cummerbund and shiny patent leather shoes. Still unsure about wearing anything so formal, he had tried none of those items on in the hope that he wouldn’t actually need to showcase them. But Kennedy had insisted on the last-minute purchase. Every cruise offered a formal evening at the captain’s pleasure, he had told him, and no companion of his would look out of place. He had even thrown in the huge new designer suitcase on wheels to pack everything in.

  After getting a text message from Kennedy, he gave Cole a hug and peck on the cheek before heading out to the road. On the pavement outside the tenement block opposite Wandsworth Common, he stood waiting, more than a little anxious, wondering if he had done the right thing.

  But the Saturday they had spent together had been surprisingly pleasant. At one point, laden down with shopping bags, Kennedy had asked him if he was enjoying his Pretty Woman experience. When Kieran had looked blank, Kennedy had rolled his eyes and told him he really needed to brush up on gay trivia if he hoped to survive a gay cruise. That had prompted a diversion—a trip to the movie section of one of the few surviving HMV stores and the purchase of a dozen or so DVDs which Kennedy had labelled ‘homework’.

  Kieran half suspected that Kennedy had road-tested the day to see if they would be able to get along, whether they could spend time together without getting on each other’s nerves. He had booked their medical tests at a private clinic on Carnaby Street first thing so they could shop throughout the morning, then have lunch in a humble Italian restaurant at the back of Piccadilly before finishing off shopping and heading back for their test results. Both of them had a clean bill of health, and Kennedy had dropped him off by taxi on his way home later that afternoon. Since then they had barely been in contact.

  Ten minutes later than their agreed meeting time, he began to get concerned, wondering if he had misunderstood any of the instructions. That was until Kennedy sent him a message saying he was on his way. Twenty minutes later, distracted by other messages on his phone, he barely noticed as a black Bentley pulled up at the sidewalk and a driver, complete with black uniform and chauffeur’s cap, stepped out.

  “Mr West? Let me take your bags for you, sir,” said the tall man, opening the back door and gesturing inside. “Mr Grey’s waiting for you.”

  Unsure how to respond, and looking around quickly to check whether anyone had seen the spectacle, Kieran slipped into the back seat. Kennedy sat there in his business suit, phone clamped to his ear. Almost dismissively, he turned and nodded to Kieran while continuing to talk to someone. As they drove off, Kieran listened in on some of the conversation.

  “If you could be in Okinawa on the twenty-first? We dock there overnight in Naha. Perfect. Let me know where? I’d suggest one of those small bars tucked away down the back streets. Anonymous and
quiet enough to chat. Bring along whatever you have ready. Also, find out everything you can about Giorgio Milletto of Cold Steel Security, doesn’t matter how personal or insignificant. Send everything to my private account, yes? And what’s the name of that talented techie guy who works for you? Hiro, yes. Bring him with you to Okinawa. Take business class, if you have to, and bill me privately. Okay, Tim. See you soon.”

  Once he had ended the call and slipped the device away, he turned to Kieran.

  “We’re running late. Been trying to clear up a few issues before the flight.”

  “Is this an Uber?”

  “Hardly,” snorted Kennedy.

  Without clarifying more, Kennedy pressed a button on the centre console and a disconnected voice sounded.

  “Yes, Mr Grey?”

  “Just a guesstimate will do, but how long to Heathrow?”

  “I’m checking the traffic cams and RouteMaster. Rough estimate, an hour and ten.”

  “Thanks.”

  Without another word, Kennedy thumbed through his phone and dialled a number.

  “Gina? Hello, this is Kennedy Grey from Grey—yes, the same. Look, I wonder if you might be able to help. We’re on our way to the airport, flying to Singapore tonight at eight-fifty, but we’re running late and the traffic is, well, you know what Friday night traffic is like. According to the driver, we’ll probably be at the terminal around eight. Anyway, I wondered if there was anything you could do to help get us through? Sorry, say that again. Yes, we both have luggage, but I’ve already checked us in online. It’s really just bag drop and security. Two persons. Yes, of course. I see. Excellent. That would be perfect, thank you so much for your help.”

  Once again, Kennedy pressed the comms button on the console.

  “Ben, when you reach terminal two, look out for someone who’ll be waiting with an airport buggy.”

  “Roger that, Mr Grey.”

  Smooth. Efficient. Polite. No fuss. Not afraid to call in a favour. Kennedy Grey, the businessman. Kieran smirked out of the tinted window, wondering if this man could even request the plane to be delayed.

  They arrived at Heathrow airport with scant minutes to spare. Outside the departure terminal, the driver—Ben—found the small enclosed airport buggy and loaded their bags. After a few private words with Kennedy, Ben the chauffeur headed off. When the buggy driver began to take them into the underbelly of the terminal, Kieran realised the route must be there for dignitaries or celebrities. Apart from both of them being scanned at an internal security post, they did not step off the buggy until the boarding gate.

  By the time they reached the impossibly large plane—via a stairway to the upper deck—all other passengers had already boarded. Once again, Kennedy led the way and Kieran hurried to keep up. He marvelled at the sheer size of the double-decker aircraft. His flying experience had been limited to small jet planes travelling to destinations within Europe. As they stood at the cabin door, Kieran once again witnessed the Grey charm, as he smiled professionally, flashed their tickets and chatted with the cabin attendant. When she personally accompanied them to their places, turning left towards the front of the plane, Kieran did his best not to gasp when they stopped at two huge, luxurious chairs.

  “Business class?” he asked as Kennedy settled next to his.

  “Naturally. What? You think I’d ever fly economy long haul?”

  “Not you, no, but I thought maybe—”

  “You thought I’d stick you in the back? No, not my style. And we’ve got background work to do before we reach Singapore. Get you up to speed not only about my family, but also about my friends.”

  Kieran had just placed his bag in the overhead compartment and taken the huge comfortable seat, when a male voice sounded from the aisle beside him.

  “Something to drink, Mr West, Mr Grey? Champagne?”

  With a friendly smile, the handsome cabin attendant indicated the tray of assorted drinks he held. Kieran reached for the pocket of his tracksuit pants and pulled out his wallet, ready to hand over money. Kennedy placed a hand on his wrist to stop him.

  “We’ll take two champagnes, please,” said Kennedy. “One each.”

  After placing the flutes with coasters down in front of them, the attendant picked up something else from his tray.

  “And here are your landing cards and menus,” he said, placing them next to the drinks before straightening up. “My name’s Eric, by the way, and if there’s anything you need throughout the flight, just call me.”

  When Kieran peered up, he noticed the steward had singled Kennedy out with his dazzling smile. Kennedy simply nodded back, completely at ease with his surroundings. Feeling out of his depth, Kieran remained quiet, his head down studying the menu.

  “I’m not sure what type of airlines you’re used to,” said Kennedy. He had waited until Eric had moved down the cabin before leaning a fraction across the divider, and speaking in a lowered voice. “But on this one, food and drink are included in the ticket price. And up here, the food’s generally above average. So relax and enjoy yourself, and more importantly, order anything you want. After we’ve finished our work, you might want to check out the entertainment system. Or if you’re feeling tired, you could ask them to help make up your bed.”

  “Bed?”

  “Your chair doubles as a flat bed. The controls are on the arm of your chair.”

  The heat in Kieran’s cheeks intensified. Less than five minutes on the plane and already he felt out of his depth.

  “Don’t worry, Kieran,” said Kennedy, his head in the menu. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kennedy

  As the plane taxied out to the runway, Kennedy switched his phone off, sat back and indulged in the simple pleasure of flying undisturbed by clients or employees. Quiet moments focusing on the business came along so rarely, and flights gave him precious time to think ahead and strategize. Without question, Sloan had moved his first pawn—or at least that wa’s what Kennedy’s intuition told him. But then, he enjoyed these games and challenges. They kept him alert, focused and grounded. No CEO in their right mind would ever have allowed their senior managers to hold a potential merger meeting without being present themselves. Kennedy was no exception.

  What none of them realised was that he would still be present, if not in person, and he would be able to see and hear them, even interject if the necessity arose. He had not only survived but thrived for over eighteen years in a tough business environment dealing with cutting-edge security systems and had not done so without picking up a trick or two along the way. A piece of advice came back to him from his late uncle. ‘Be generous with the rope you hand out to those ambitious souls who surround you. Just make sure to keep a firm grip on one end.’

  Not long after take-off, wanting to get the chore out of the way as soon as possible, Kennedy began to give Kieran the low-down on his family and friends.

  “If he bothers to talk to you at all, my father will probably ask you to call him Jeff. He’s a pompous, miserable old bastard by nature and rarely smiles, so don’t take his rudeness personally. He’s spent practically his whole life in Singapore. Our grandfather worked for the British Government before Singapore gained independence, and continued to do so afterwards. My father only left the country once for any extended period of time and that was to go to university in Cardiff, Wales. He hated being wet and cold, and couldn’t wait to get back to the humidity and sunshine that is Singapore. Following in Grandfather’s shoes, he also worked for the consulate as assistant high commissioner until the day he retired. Personality-wise, he’s a snob, still acts as though Singapore is a colony, and thinks he should be treated like royalty. Although he’s never said as much, his disdain for me is, I think, because his only son is gay. Thinks he’s been robbed of the chance of another Grey male heir to carry forward the family name. Once you’ve finally met the rest of the Grey clan, you’ll understand what a blessing that is for the world.”
r />   “Surely he’s impressed with what you’ve achieved?”

  “As far as I’m aware, he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”

  “How about your mother?”

  “Claire Hamilton Grey nee Havens. Unless there’s been an article about me in Cosmopolitan that I don’t know about—which seems to be more and more likely these days—she doesn’t keep tabs on my career. Ridiculous, really, because I took the family business over from her late brother, my uncle. These days she’s a typical ex-pat trophy wife. Bridge club and coffee mornings. Although, according to my sister, she’s now more partial to jugs of afternoon cocktails with the rest of the ex-pat wives. Can’t say I blame her. Having to live with that old sod every day of her life, who wouldn’t choose insobriety? She deserves an OBE.”

  “Brutal. Your father doesn’t drink?”

  “Of course he does. Cliché to a fault, he’s a cognac and cigar man, the latter of which my mother hates.”

  “Will she like me?”

  “They’ll both be polite. Dad will probably ignore you most of the time. Mum’s fine. She’s a fan of royal family trivia, if you know any.”

  “Hmm. Not really my thing. Is that it?”

  “There’s my sister, Reagan.”

  “Named after King Lear’s daughter?”

  “Guess again. But if it helps, my father’s full name is Jefferson, and he named his kids Kennedy and Reagan.”

  “American presidents?”

  “Correct. One of his interests is global political history.”

  “Do they have a bulldog called Bush?”

  “Not yet,” said Kennedy, smirking. “But I’ll mention the idea to Mum.”

  “So what’s your sister like?”

  “We get on okay. She’s three years younger. Graduated in textile design and could have done really well in fashion, but she married an Australian guy called Bernie and decided to spend her time bringing up babies. They’ve got three boys—Adam, Glenn and Dennis. Can’t remember their ages. My secretary diarises their birthdays, so they get a card and a handout from their uncle each birthday and Christmas. They split their time between Singapore and Melbourne, so no doubt you’ll get to meet them.”