by Zee Monodee
She released him, smiled as if in resignation that she would never be able to squeeze him much harder than she’d been able to since he’d become a teenager, and tugged on his coat. “Come on in.”
He followed her inside, closing the heavy wood door behind him. The smell of lavender tickled his nostrils, taking him back to the days when he lived with her. His mother loved to have lavender potpourri bowls everywhere, and she had the linen, sheets, and curtains in her house scented with the calming English flower.
“This is for you.” He placed the flowers in her arms. The sight of her smile brought some lightness to his heart, and he grinned like a loon. Who cared if the legal shark looked like a cartoon character right then? He enjoyed seeing her happy.
As he stood there in the middle of the room, he threw a glance around the bright and airy salon that opened onto a deck visible through the floor to ceiling glass panes making up the far wall, his gaze taking in the many flower arrangements on every available surface.
“So …” He chuckled. “Your suitors are all lining up today.”
She brushed his comment off with a laugh. “They’re from friends, Mike. Girl friends.”
“Yeah, right.” She gave him a mock glare that made him laugh. “Just joking, Mum.”
“I know, sweets. Come sit down.” She patted the seat next to her on the bright red, contemporary-style settee.
“Let me take my coat off first.” He walked back to the door where he flung his Burberry trench on the hanger and then returned to the front room and sat down beside her. “So, enjoying your day so far?”
“It’s good, especially since you said you took a full morning off to be with me. I thought you’d come around earlier. Thank goodness I asked Mabel to prepare brunch and not breakfast.”
Michael winced. “Phillip and I went to the team’s practice session earlier. I got caught in a meeting with the manager.”
She nodded. “I hear the team is doing well in the league table.”
“Yes, it is. We might even make it to the Premier League next season.”
He and his best friend, Phillip Campbell, co-owned the first division football team of Ashton Rovers. Whenever their schedule allowed it, the two of them went to see the team go through their preparations on the training grounds to offer their support and keep a close eye on the group. They also attended the games when they could. What had started as a dare between them—could they become the next Roman Abramovich and own their own football team?—had ended in this. Though rich, they were close to the Russian’s estimated net worth, so they’d settled for this little club … now seemingly destined for greater things.
Mabel, his mother’s housekeeper for the past thirty years, appeared in the doorway to the dining room. “Brunch is ready.”
On the way to the table, he stopped to drop a kiss on her cheek. He was fond of the old girl who’d been like a second mother to him when he’d been growing up.
“We were starting to think we would never see you around here,” she chided.
He shrugged and gave her a wink.
“You know the charm doesn’t work in this house, young man.” She playfully shook her finger in a scolding gesture.
He laughed, then pulled up a chair to slide in the seat opposite his mother at the table laden with French toast, cheese and ham omelettes, fresh rolls, salads, juices, and tea and coffee.
He cocked an eyebrow at Mabel. “You planning to feed an army, Mae?”
The housekeeper huffed. “Still remember the days when you would eat the kitchen sink after going through all the leftovers in the fridge and pantry if I didn’t stop you.”
He chuckled. “So now, you plan on saving your precious sink every time I come around, eh, Mae.”
She huffed again as she departed for the kitchen.
“Stop taking the mickey out of her, Mike.”
He winked at his mother. “For now.”
She rolled her eyes and set out to pour him a cup of coffee.
Eyeing the fragile china she was handing to him, he shuddered. “Mum, couldn’t you have used some other crockery? This is a doll’s set. I will surely break it as I’m not a doll.”
She shrugged. “Just don’t go all angry and seething on me, and you’ll be fine. Plus it’s my birthday. If I want you to drink out of a doll’s set, then you drink out of a doll’s set.”
He glanced at her. Over the years, he’d been known to smash a few defenceless teacups in his fist when emotion had overwhelmed him. But that had been when he’d been a teenager. As a grown man, he’d learned how to rein in his formidable temper. And he’d also learned no one brooked an argument with Olivia when she used that tone.
So he went on to pile his plate with French toast and dug in with relish.
They chatted over the meal, his mother taking the opportunity to grill him about work, which he discussed. When the topic veered to his private life, he sidestepped the issue.
When he had something going in his love life, he’d tell her. Preferably when things were very official. Like, post-eloped-wedding kind. Fair to say never, then. He didn’t see himself getting married to the type of women he met day in, day out in their world. That woman would need to be very different, and so far, he’d come across clones only.
“So, you met Phillip this morning.”
He nodded around a mouthful of French toast doused in honey.
“How is he? Claire called earlier, to wish me a happy birthday, but she didn’t sound well at all.”
About that … He placed his fork down before reaching for his cup. After taking a fortifying sip of coffee, he settled back in his chair.
“Things are not looking good, I’m afraid. Phil thinks he’s cornered, and Claire is miserable. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear they’re pulling the plug on their relationship.”
His mother gasped. “How, ever, did it get this bad? I know Claire’s pregnancy wasn’t planned, but still ...”
He shook his head. Did he ever know what she meant! He dealt with the same disbelief whenever he encountered either one of the couple. Lately, they weren’t even spotted together.
“She’s expecting his baby, and that idiot only thinks that his life and his freedom are lost.”
His mother reached out and patted his hand. “Don’t be so hard on him. It’s not easy for big, career-driven hot shots like you lads.”
If he read between her words … He narrowed his gaze on her. “Are you saying I’m like this, too?”
Many would have backed off from the growl in his tone, but his mother brushed him off with a wave of her hand.
“Most men aren’t ready for a baby, and men like you, and Phillip—successful, thriving, career-oriented—have an even harder time reconciling with the idea of a child in their worlds.”
She seriously believed that? She would lump him in that kind of basket, too? He kept his steady glare on her, and his teeth started to hurt after a while. He was clenching his jaw, a sure predictor of his rising temper.
“Your father was like that, too, yes.”
The answer to the question he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even wanted to contemplate, but it had flitted through his mind, nevertheless.
She nodded in his direction. “Put that cup down. You’re about to break it.”
He did as he was told, more to spare her from ending up with a mismatched set than because he wanted to obey. If it were anyone else but his mum, he would’ve told her to go to Hell a long time back in this conversation.
“I’m not like him.”
His voice thrummed low, menacing, even.
She gave him a sad smile.
“Sweetheart, look at you. You’re thirty-three years old, and you’ve never brought a girl home to meet me. Not once! I see all these dates you go on splashed on the front page of the tabloids, and even these have been few and far between lately. Now tell me how and when you’re going to find a nice girl, settle down, and have a family with the kind of life you live?”
He didn�
��t want to admit it, but she had a point. Everything she said was true, but that didn’t mean he was like her ex-husband.
“I’m my own person, Mum. Not anyone’s reflection.”
She sighed, and reached for his hand across the table. “I just wish you’d slow down and find someone, Mike. Life isn’t all about making a name and clinching super deals and being known as an übermillionaire in the tabloids, of all places.”
“Yes, Mum,” he let out like a child agreed to something when being berated and wanting the berating to stop.
Although he wanted to argue that he didn’t see what else there was to live for, he remained silent. The kind of fake, all made-up and spruced-up women he usually met in the circles he frequented didn’t impress him, and they were all after one thing: money. As for a family, to have children, one needed a woman first. He was old-fashioned that way.
How to tell all this to his mother proved a different kettle of fish, though. One he didn’t want to approach even with a ten-foot pole. She might be tempted to start matchmaking if he ever gave her an inkling what kind of woman he was looking for.
“Face it, Mike. You’re more like your father than you want to admit.”
And she was back at it again with that slur. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. “Mum, that’s enough.”
“Why? You have to accept it sooner or later, and only then will you be able to move forward in your life. Umberto Rinaldi is your father, and you take after him whether you like it or not.”
She’d had to go there. Of all the days … He stifled a sigh. No way could he let this roll.
“So I’m a callous bastard like he is?”
He forced his eyes open to stare at her.
She flinched, but he wouldn’t take his words back. This was one of the reasons he didn’t meet his mother that often. She remained too stuck on getting him to face the ‘truth.’ As if that were the key to happiness and peace of mind, two things he’d hardly had because of the sad arse in question. The truth to him was that he’d been fathered by an inconsiderate man who had happened to be married to his mother but who had never been there for him. Over the course of his life, he’d seen his ‘father’ less than ten times, and that, too, was stretching it. The man had left when Olivia had gotten pregnant and had divorced her officially two years later.
“You are his son. Full stop.”
She wouldn’t let up. Who was he kidding? He’d inherited his tenacity from her.
“What do you want me to say? And even if I embrace the fact that he fathered me, what happens then? We won’t fall in a familial hug and forgive and forget. It’ll snow in Hell before I let that happen.”
She shook her head. “Get over this anger, Mike. It’s not good for you.”
He didn’t reply.
A loud sigh escaped her. “You’re just as stubborn as he is. It might turn out to be a good idea if you don’t have that family, after all.”
Bitterness laced her words. He ached for stirring this awful feeling in her, but she had brought the subject up, and he couldn’t let it die.
“I won’t make a lousy father.”
“You’re sure of that?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, Mike.”
She could as well have said ‘when pigs fly.’
Never one to back down from a challenge, he stored the words away. One way or another, he’d show her she was wrong.
The atmosphere at the table grew quiet, hushed, filled with unspoken feelings hanging like a canopy above their heads.
Congratulations, mate. It’s her birthday, and you just ruined it.
He had to bring back the peace. So he reached for her other hand across the table.
“I’m sorry. Let’s forget about this, okay?” He dropped a kiss on her knuckles.
She smiled, and her aqua-blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at him. He smiled, too.
The doorbell chimed, and shortly after, Mabel walked in with a huge arrangement of red roses.
His mother had a boyfriend. Who else would send so many crimson roses on her birthday? Feeling as mischievous as a young boy again, Michael plucked the card from the bouquet before she could get to it.
“Give me that, you cheeky git.”
He flapped the card just out of her reach. “You’re eager to see who it’s from?”
“Mike!”
Laughing, he handed her the card. “Okay, won’t torture you further.”
She opened the envelope and pulled out a thick, cream-colored card. She scanned the message, the hint of a smile touching her lips, before she got up to gather the roses from Mabel’s arms.
Interesting.
“Who’s your new boyfriend?”
“None of your business.”
An alarm bell started to ring in his head. She never hid suitors from him. So this secrecy meant only one thing.
“It’s from him.” He all but spat the words out.
His mother stopped on the threshold of the dining room and turned. “Yes. Umberto sent them.”
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s a special day? Stop being so uptight, Mike.”
He couldn’t stop his hands from clenching into fists as she exited the dining room. That lout wanted to work his way back in her good graces. He’d be damned if he let that happen. Twice, Umberto Rinaldi had stepped back into Olivia’s life, and twice when he’d left, she had needed stays at a sanatorium in Bath, first for alcoholism, then for depression. The bastard wouldn’t hurt her a third time. Lucky for him, Michael had been too young when these past episodes had happened, but now, he was a grown man in the position to look out for his mother.
He turned to Mabel. “She didn’t seem surprised that he’s sent her flowers.”
Her face grew even more sombre. “You know, laddie, this isn’t the first time he’s been in touch with her lately.”
“What? And it’s only now that you’re telling me this?”
“Have you been around lately?” The older woman shook her head and then patted his arm. “Still, she’s a grown woman, Mike.”
He seethed as he unclenched his fists and settled his hands on the back of a chair, the knuckles white from the force of his grip.
“Yet, I hate to see this as much as you do, lad. I know the likes of him. They’re no good.”
“Exactly my opinion, Mae,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
He had to do something, but what?
“I know that look. Don’t go courting trouble, lad.”
As if he’d heed those words. No, it was too late to pay any caution now.
He needed to have a talk with her ex-husband. A man-to-man encounter.
“You will go find him, won’t you?”
He looked at her and nodded.
She shook her head. “Big mistake. If you want anything accomplished, it’s not him you should target.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Men like him are clueless about everything but their goals. Someone else does the dirty work for them.”
What was she on about?
“Who?”
“Think. You are a busy man, too. When you have something to do, who do you entrust with the task?”
“My personal assistant,” he replied without a second thought.
“Exactly.” Mabel smiled. “If you find his PA, you cut the evil at its root.”
Made sense. Without his faithful PA doing everything for him, Umberto would be helpless.
An even better idea wormed its way into his head.
If he got the PA to do as he wanted, he could easily make sure nothing came out of this renewed interest in Olivia. His mother would also come out of the whole nasty episode unhurt, while the person who would end up being hurt deserved it and more.
Speaking of, his mum walked back into the dining room.
“Mum, sorry.” He reached o
ut and hugged her. “An appointment I forgot about, cannot bail out.”
She sighed. “I knew you’d be on the run far too soon.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” He grinned. “Dinner next week? My place. I’ll cook.”
“You better make me some of that fiery green Thai curry.”
“Deal.”
Once in his car on the way to The City, he put on his Bluetooth earpiece and called his personal assistant, Rory.
“Do me a favour. Find out who Umberto Rinaldi’s PA is and call me back. ASAP,” he barked out as soon as the young man picked up.
He was about to cut the call when Rory’s small voice pierced the line.
“That would be Jane Smithers, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, yes. She’s the one we deal with when we do business with Vista Standard.”
“Thanks.”
He cut the call, pensive. He had a meeting with Jane Smithers, whether she agreed to it or not. She’d hear him out and do his bidding. Only a heartless bitch would refuse to help him when he outlined what that arsehole had done to his mother.
Question, then—was Jane Smithers a compassionate woman, or a consummate bitch?
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