chapter twelve
Seb had been in many hotels during his twenty-six years. From the bog-standard side-of-a-motorway Travel Lodge deals that he’d endured when road tripping with his band to the most sophisticated home-from-home five-star luxury that had been his staple in holiday stays when he’d had access to Daddy’s credit card. He’d been on skiing trips, city breaks, exclusive beach resorts, and chowed down in some of the finest hotel restaurants that the country’s hospitality and tourism industry had to offer. He’d even been allowed a splash of extravagance with Jay on a couple of occasions.
But the Royal, situated in the heart of Piccadilly in London and practically overlooking the Queen’s back garden, was still the most lavish hotel he’d ever had the misfortune to lay his head down in. With its Grade II listed status, Michelin-starred restaurant and grandiose surroundings that matched the magnificence of its internal decor, the Royal screamed to those begging to be part of high society and immerse themselves in gluttonous opulence. Seb hated it, having had to endure many an afternoon tea and evening meal there, courtesy of his father who once upon a time wouldn’t let Seb out of his sight, even when conducting a business meeting. But they weren’t the only memories of the Royal that produced the stale, bitter taste in his mouth. The bedrooms brought forth the internal shudders.
Jiggling on the spot outside the entrance, Seb couldn’t fathom what it was that had brought him here. It was as if he’d been on autopilot. His conscious mind ran through streams of obscenities, claiming he wanted no involvement in any Saunders business—personal or otherwise. But his subconscious had him boarding the District Line and stomping the London streets at his father’s instant request. Maybe it was to show the man who Seb had become, without his father’s approval or support.
The top hat-and-tails door attendant nodded politely, ushering his white glove toward the glass door. Seb sighed, then shook his head and turned away toward the traffic. He tugged out a pristine pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, twirled open the plastic casing and cracked open the lid. He hadn’t craved cigarettes without the use of alcohol for a good long time, but that had been another instinctive impulse as he’d made his way here from St James’s Park tube station. He’d most definitely needed his dark shades at the open newsstands when purchasing the pack, as every piled-up newspaper boasted his picture alongside the paparazzi shot of him and Jay.
After sucking the toxins of the first cigarette, the rush went straight to his head and surged through his veins. Dangerous, really, how something so cheap could give such a high. He took another drag and blew the smoke out into the air, getting all the old feelings back. Another draw in and his lungs swelled. He held the nicotine down as a passing red Routemaster blew his hair to the side, then exhaled the smoke as the vacating bus revealed the bright lights of the advertising billboards over the road. Seb swallowed. The Nike emblem blinking in the distance advertised the latest in on-trend football studs—for a professional hit.
Jolted to reality, he searched the pavement for somewhere to throw the butt and stamp it out.
“Not got a spare one, have ya?” A doddery old homeless man pointed his fingerless gloves at the half-chomped-down end.
“Sure.” Seb tucked the lit cigarette into the man’s outstretched fingers, then handed over the entire pack. “Yours.”
“Bless ya heart.”
Seb passed over the bright pink lighter he’d also had to purchase at the newsstand and, feeling mildly more at ease, twisted back to the hotel front and allowed the doorman to usher him in. He made his way to the back restaurant, his hands shaking, but he clenched his fists to stave it off. Lavish decadence dripped down the gold-embellished vinyl wallpaper and oozed from every handmade soft chair covered in the custom design patchwork. All the men wore suits and sipped coffee from espresso cups, and every woman had perfectly styled hair and manicured nails. Nothing changes. Except Seb now didn’t care that his dress code of skin-tight and designer-ripped black jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket would be deemed inappropriate for such a high-class venue. Let my father disapprove.
His glance hit the table at the far window facing the grounds of Green Park. The usual table. Except the man, back to him and flicking through a broadsheet, hadn’t been the one Seb had been expecting. Seb nearly twisted to walk out, but infuriated anger exceeded any rationalised response and he stomped ever closer.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Seb didn’t bother to lower his voice, regardless of all the other diners hovering china tea cups at their lips and peering disapprovingly over.
Stephen Coles swallowed his mouthful of no-doubt espresso coffee, rapped the cup onto the saucer and folded the newspaper with graceful ease and control. “Good to see you too, Sebastian.”
“I came to see my father, not you.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
“Yeah, and you can keep your fucking distance.”
Stephen chuckled. “Sit down, Sebastian.” He kicked out the opposite chair with his tan leather Oxfords. “Your father had to take a rather important telephone call. He asked me to wait for you, in case you thought he hadn’t arrived.”
“I still fail to see why you are here. In London.” Seb gripped the back of the chair and it took all his effort not to launch it at Stephen. If he’d been able to lift the heavy-duty handmade upholstered lounge seat, he might have had to dig harder into his resolve. Still, the act might go in the rock and roll hall of fame. Put that image on the front fucking page!
“Your father and I are in meetings regarding the development opportunities after twenty-twelve.”
“Of course you are.” Seb sneered and was undecided whether he should sit or knock this all on the head—Stephen’s head.
“You must have a stake in all that now, hmm?” Stephen raised his eyebrows.
“In what?”
“The redevelopment of the East London area. Didn’t you go over to the dark side?”
Seb snorted, glancing away but noted the side of Stephen’s mouth twitching amusedly. That scar trailing his left lip still produced more of a lopsided smirk than a comforting smile.
“Please do sit down, Sebastian. You are causing an unnecessary scene. Especially with your heightened celebrity status this morning.”
Seb looked around at all the other diners. At least the clientele was sophisticated enough not to produce their iPhones and take a few snaps. Half those in here were celebrity in one way or another.
“What can I get for you, sir?” A waiter rushed over, obviously trying to diffuse the obvious animosity.
“Glass of the Margaux.” Seb yanked out the chair and sat, folding his arms. Might as well order the overpriced wine considering it wouldn’t be him footing the bill.
Nodding, the waiter trundled off.
“Still have expensive taste, I see.” Stephen brushed down his silken tie, firmly knotted in the classic Windsor.
Seb had a sudden urge to yank it and peanut the man. Instead, he wriggled out of his jacket, draped it over the back of the chair and clasped his hands on the table top all while Stephen’s lecherous gaze roamed over him to the point it was invasive.
“You look good, Sparky.”
Seb snorted. “Success suits me.”
“I had no doubt that it wouldn’t.”
Stephen’s smile brightened his dark eyes and Seb had to shift in the seat. He hadn’t seen or heard from Stephen in two years, the last being when Jay had chucked him out of Seb’s New York apartment declaring he should inform Seb’s father of the multitude of reasons why Seb would want to leave the company—aka, because Stephen had fucked over the boss’s son in more ways than one. And whilst Seb had written a resignation email to his father, he’d left out any of the details pertaining to his unconventional relationship with his business partner. He hadn’t thought it necessary. What would be the point of dragging all that back up again? Stephen would have wormed his way out of any wrongdoing and smeared Seb’s name in the mud as he’d done it, which, in turn, would have affected Jay. It had all been best left unsaid.
“How is the cohabiting?” Stephen added a sugar lump to his cup and stirred, the spoon clanging against the china.
“Blissful.” Seb couldn’t help but silently add ‘for the most part’, until Jay’s injury had got between them, but it wasn’t like he would be admitting that to the man in front of him. Or anyone for that matter.
“So I saw. I’m quite surprised the FT didn’t cash in on the happy couple’s first stint in the public eye.”
“Jealous?” Seb elevated his voice in mockery.
“On the contrary, Sebastian. Where is it you live, now? Just so I know where not to direct our property plans in the east.”
Seb cocked his head. “If you’re getting in on the Olympic development, you must be moving back here? Lisbeth will be delighted.” Seb wasn’t.
Stephen gave off that smile again, the one where it could be misconstrued as serene. Or perhaps it was? “Undecided. I’m interested in the opportunity. Who wouldn’t be? But I have a life in New York, one I like.”
“Screw Lisbeth and your daughter, then?”
Stephen sipped from his cup, eyes fixed on Seb. “I do believe it is the other way around.”
Seb moved his elbow for the returning waiter to place his glass of wine on the table. He must have accidentally given the faintest intrigued expression, as Stephen sighed and placed the cup on the surface to elaborate.
“She has been having an affair for quite some time.”
Seb nearly choked on the wine he’d sipped and grabbed for the napkin to dab at his lips. “Really? How do you know?”
“She fell pregnant.”
“Ah.” Seb rested his lips against the glass, attempting to curtail his amused grin. “Not yours then, I take it?”
“Not when I was in New York and she here.”
Seb couldn’t help it: the laughter burst out unannounced. “Oh, that is fantastic news. I think I love her after all. An absolute darling.” He held up his glass in cheers. “Was it anyone we know?”
“Monty’s son.”
“The mayor?”
“Yes.”
Seb furrowed his brow. He’d been out of these circles too long to remember all the old high society elite. “Jude!” He slapped his leg in recollection. “Fuck. Wasn’t he about seventeen?”
“When you were, yes.”
Seb chuckled. “And the baby?”
“She lost it.”
Seb twisted the stem of the wine glass and didn’t falter under Stephen’s gaze. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that meant she’d been forced to terminate. Poor Lisbeth. At least Ann can make her own decision.
“Well.” Seb took a sip of wine. “That all sounds like a terrible bind.”
“Indeed.”
Seb winced. “The divorce could set you back quite a bit, eh?”
Stephen laughed, the deep chortle ringing around the restaurant. “What makes you think we’ll divorce?”
“Adultery? Sex scandal among the high society? Cheating?” Seb waved a nonchalant hand.
“As I keep telling you, Sebastian, love and sex are two different things.”
“Not to me, they aren’t.”
“Really? You? Sparky, the man who slept his way through London and then started on New York—”
“One man in New York. One!” Seb pointed an angry finger. He knew the outburst came mostly from his guilt at having slept with anyone when estranged from Jay. But back then, he’d been a different person. One who could still be influenced by the utter arsehole in front of him.
“Whilst claiming to be in love with another? I think that proves my point, does it not?” Stephen gave a triumphant wink, twirling the contents in his espresso cup.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” It wasn’t a compliment, even if Stephen’s smirk suggested as much. “Actually, you have. You’ve gone grey.”
Stephen laughed. Guffawed, rather. “Come on, Sparky. You used to insult me far better than that. If this is what love does to you, you can keep it.”
Seb opened his mouth to refute, to argue, to say something, anything to prove he hadn’t lost his edge, but nothing came to the forefront and a hand clamping down on his shoulder from above prevented any comeback either way.
“Apologies, Sebastian.” Will Saunders unfastened the last button on his fitted blazer and gave a curt nod of greeting to both table occupants.
He hadn’t changed much either. Slightly more silvery flecks, possibly a few more lines around the eyes, but mostly he was still the same nondescript persona. Cardboard cut-out.
“I had to take that call.” Will slipped into the seat between Seb and Stephen and tucked himself under the table. “Thank you for waiting. And for coming.”
Seb’s mouth had gone dry and he found it difficult to form words. So he nodded and sipped from his glass of wine. He’d need the alcohol to get through whatever was coming next.
“I suspect you are eager to learn of my reasons for extending this invitation to you?” Will reached for the pot of coffee in front of Stephen and poured himself a cup, seeming to forget to refill Stephen’s. Perhaps it was a boss thing. Never pour beverages for those below you on the company chart.
Seb had to clear his throat to speak. “It was rather a surprise to hear from you. Well, not you exactly.” He drifted his scornful gaze to Stephen.
“Yes, initially I had thought you would be persuaded more by him than by me.”
It really was a marvel how little his father had picked up on over the years, from the once lingering looks between his son and his executive assistant, to the behind-the-back laughing about their secret liaisons, to the final argument and following years of Seb’s utter contempt for the man his father had bestowed his international business venture on.
“I have since discovered that not to be quite true. So once again, I am grateful for your attendance.”
Seb furrowed his brow and noted Stephen’s slight twitch opposite him. Had his father overheard their conversation?
“I think it’s best all round if I just cut to the chase? Sweep over the pleasantries?”
“Please do.” Seb toyed with his wine at his lips, the taste of wild berries bursting on his tongue. He had a sudden urge to knock the whole lot back.
“I had been informed that you had an infatuation with Stephen.” Will met Seb’s gaze, unfaltering. And he spoke as if he was reciting the evening news, not declaring something so profoundly ridiculous. “On first sighting, I believed you to be a young boy with a first crush.”
“What? I’m not—”
Will held up a hand. “Let me finish.”
“Sir?” Stephen wriggled forward.
“Not now, Stephen. I am discussing things with my son.”
“Perhaps I should leave you two to it.” Stephen pushed his chair back and made to stand.
“On the contrary. Please, sit. I will need your input.”
Stephen lowered back into the chair, albeit reluctantly, and Seb slid his confused gaze from Stephen to his father.
“Now, where was we?” Will sipped his coffee. “You were, what, a seventeen-year-old boy when I hired Stephen? And even though it was obvious from the outset, you were living openly as a…homosexual. Well, you couldn’t not after that disastrous incident at Winchester, no?”
Seb bit his lip. His first kiss, back at boarding school, with the Head Boy. Fond memories.
“So I believed your interest in Stephen came from simply being more open to your attractions. I discussed this with Stephen, in fact. Did I not, Mr. Coles?”
Stephen inhaled, sharply. “Yes, I do seem to recall—”
“I’d said, ‘be careful, dear chap, I think my son may have taken a shine to you’. We didn’t want to cause you any unnecessary angst, so I suggested he be more…” Will wafted his cup in the air. “Avuncular.”
Seb snorted at the word. And it was only being intrigued at where this was all going that kept him listening.
“Yulia had said you two were getting closer.” Will sipped his coffee, his oversized hands almost burying the cup. “She relayed that Stephen had been in your room. That garments had been found there. On confrontation, Stephen had convinced me it was all platonic. A friendship. You were borrowing his clothes. But I felt we needed to put up a barrier. For your protection. Because I knew you were in a vulnerable position, and it was common knowledge that Stephen was not, how do you say? Batting for your team?”
Seb shook his head. He wasn’t sure how much more he wanted to hear and now wished he’d stuck to his guns and not bothered coming. If this was all so his father could declare he’d found out about Seb and Stephen’s affair, then Seb had no interest in being there for the explosion. It made no odds to him anymore. Nothing at all. Stephen was a mere fleck on his distant past. No, worse than that. The leftover scar from a skin blemish that had now been treated, to never return.
“So we encouraged the wedding,” his father continued on, oblivious to Seb’s reluctance to offer any contribution to the conversation. “And, well, I thought that would be the end of it.” Will leaned back, waving a hand to a waiter. “We’ll have a bottle of the Margaux, thank you.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Good man.” Will tapped the waiter’s back then readdressed the table, his polished smile diminishing. “Little did I know how far back this thing between the two of you went. Infatuation?” Will’s deep gruff vibrated through Seb’s chest, and by the looks of it he wasn’t the only one affected. “What was it you said, Stephen? That Sebastian found it impossible to work with you due to his infatuation? That your continued rejection of his advances had caused him to go ‘off the rails?’”
“You said what?” Seb gripped his empty glass, his fingernails whitening.
“Sir, I—” Stephen’s cheeks reddened beneath his dark stubble.
“And yet on clearing the house this morning, I find these.” Will pulled an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and threw it onto the table.
Seb stared at it. Distressed edges, ripped fold, his own scrawled handwriting on the front, private shit. He closed his eyes in realisation.
“I don’t know about you, Stephen, but I haven’t seen my son naked in a fair few years, so I had to keep checking it was him. Feel free to peruse at your leisure.” Will pushed the envelope closer to Stephen. “The ones of you together were particularly off putting. One wasn’t aware you were that bendy.”
“Sir, allow me to—”
Will held up a hand, and nearly struck the returning waiter. “Apologies, dear boy. Please, pour.” He gestured to his and Seb’s glasses.
The waiter did, then scurried off as silently as he arrived.
“One can assume from those developed photographs that an infatuation could only have come by encouragement?” Will raised his glass to his lips, his eyebrows scaling his forehead. “Would you agree, Stephen?” He stared, unflinching. Seb knew that authoritative glare, having been on the receiving end of it many a time. He held his breath in wait.
“We had a relationship.” Stephen swallowed.
“So I saw.” Will nodded to the envelope. “A rather active one. Paris, Edinburgh, Milan. And on cross checking, all on company time and credit. What a marvellous time you must have had on Saunders & Son.” Will sipped from his wine. “Quite literally.”
“We deemed it unnecessary to tell you at the time.”
Stephen might as well dig himself a massive hole, one he would hopefully go bury himself in. Will had that knack, keeping up the stare until the recipient spilled all and everything, and threw in a false confession for good measure. Will Saunders should have been a detective.
“One rather would.” Will nodded. “He is your employer’s son. And barely legal at that.”
“He was eighteen when it started.”
“Well, that is jolly good to know.”
Seb felt like he was at tennis match, snapping his gaze from one to the other and having no clue what the score was, or if he should cut in at any time.
“Of course I ended things when I got with Lisbeth.”
“As one should.” Will plonked the wine glass back on the table. “But, you see, Stephen, what I find an awfully perplexing conundrum, is why you would continue to harass him after your marriage, and the birth of your daughter?”
Stephen furrowed his brow.
“Yes. That’s in there too.” Will pointed to the unopened envelope. “Or did you forget that my son is a poet and a dreamer? Surely, with how close you both were, you would know he writes things down, often turning those words into song and verse?”
Stephen breathed out a laugh, if a nervous one. “Sir, with all due respect, they are the ramblings of a heartbroken teenager. I wouldn’t put too much faith into what he writes in his songs.”
“Oh, you are absolutely right.” Chuckling, Will snatched his glass and took a lingering sip. “But forgive me if I am misunderstanding. I’m just trying to get my head around all this new information. Why would you have requested the New York position? I gave you the option to be promoted here, London, where your wife and child reside, or to New York, where my son was taking over. Where was it you chose again?”
“It was simply a matter of where I felt I could achieve more.”
“Yes, of course. And nothing to do with wanting to seduce my son for your own gains?”
“No, sir. Like I said, it was a relationship. One I ended. One I deeply regret. I guess it was a matter of giving in to his continued advances. I thought we could have been friends. I guess Sebastian was my experiment, and for that I am sorry that his feelings ran deeper than mine.”
“Go fuck yourself, Stephen,” Seb scoffed.
Will held up a finger, settling the unrest. “Experiment? My son was an experiment to you?”
“For want of a better word, sir.”
“And is my accountant an experiment? My new architect?”
“What?” Seb slammed his glass on the surface. “You didn’t?”
“Oh, he did, Sebastian.” Will nodded. “I have a sexual harassment complaint on my hands from one Xavier Konchetsky. It is the reason why I flew Stephen back here. Truth be told, I suspected that perhaps this wasn’t Stephen’s first homosexual relationship turned sour. On finding these”—he pointed to the envelope—“I suspected correctly. I just didn’t want to believe that I could have missed it. Or that you wouldn’t have told me.”
First off, Seb was a little stunned at how his father had gone through the entire contents of his bedroom back in Kensington and not just bulldozed it to shreds like Seb had expected. That envelope had been discarded at the back of his wardrobe some time ago. The only reason he hadn’t set fire to those photographs, or the several letters he’d written but never sent to Stephen explaining how much of an arsehole he was, was all down to good old-fashioned blackmailing possibilities.
Second of all, Seb wasn’t here to relive the past. To explain himself. To explain Stephen. So, he stood.
“I thought this would be about the house. Or Yulia. Or something else. Something I care about.” Seb waved a hand at Stephen. “I have no interest in this.” He scraped his jacket from the back of the chair.
“Sebastian, please.” Will leaned forward, hand spread on the table.
Having never heard the man beg before, Seb was a little startled to hear his father’s plea.
“I have more to say and I would like you to hear it.”
I should walk out. I don’t need this. I have my own life now. He was free of all the high society scandals, suffocating Saunders wealth and birthright nonsense. But something in his father’s eyes made him sit back down, hugging his jacket to his lap.
“Thank you.” Will turned to Stephen. “Lisbeth will be requesting a divorce, handled by my lawyers. I don’t see you having an awful lot of your assets left after they are finished with you.”
“With all due respect, sir, that would be Lisbeth’s decision.”
“Which she has already made. I was aware of her seeking out a private solicitor some time back. I urged her to rethink. However, in light of things now, I have given her full access to Saunders & Son’s legal team.”
Stephen’s chest rose with the force of his harried inhalation.
“I would also suggest you search for new employment, because as of today you are suspended from Saunders & Son, pending an investigation into the allegation from Xavier Konchestsky.”
“Xavier came onto me. Whatever he has insinuated, he’s lying.” Stephen’s usual calm composure diminished with every word spoken.
“Like my son did?”
Stephen darted his gaze to Seb. “It was a platonic relationship.”
“For some of the time.” Seb shrugged. “But, honestly, I don’t care anymore. I’m beyond caring.”
“I am sure you can appreciate my predicament here, Stephen. I fail to know if what is coming out of your mouth is truth or lies. Therefore, I suggest you find a reputable solicitor, as this could be a lengthy proceeding. All your security clearances for the business accounts have been revoked, as per my instructions to the IT department—that very important phone call I had to take. I have also arranged for Natalie to clear your desk and your New York apartment will be rescinded forthwith.” Will shot back a glug of wine. “Please do not let us keep you any further, Mr. Coles. I am sure you have a frightfully long day ahead of you.”
Seb had to bite his lip to hide the smile. His father could be an absolute brick when he wanted to. Yeah, I said brick. This time. Seb chuckled.
“Sir, if I could just have one minute to explain my side of things?” Stephen shuffled forward in an attempt to come across less threatening, less evasive, Seb assumed. It wouldn’t work on Will Saunders. He’d clearly already made up his mind.
“No. You had your chance when I asked you why Sebastian had fled, why he didn’t talk to me first about leaving. That cock-and-bull story you told me back then leaves this bitter taste in my mouth that I cannot seem to be rid of, even drinking this delightful tipple. You betrayed my trust. And that isn’t something you can gain back, regardless of what beastly, vile lie comes out of your mouth next.”
“I love him.”
Seb widened his eyes so much that the air conditioning dried out his pupils. Will sighed. Then he laughed but composed himself quickly enough.
“Which one? Sebastian or Xavier? Leave, Stephen. Now. Please don’t make me ask Cuthbert to call security.” Will leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a hushed baritone. “We really would like to keep up appearances here. Let us not cause an unnecessary scene.”
Seb watched Stephen’s rise from his seat, but he didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t any more to be said between them. It had all been over and done with some time ago. Seb had never had any intention of calling it all out to his father. Perhaps if he had, Xavier would have been spared the same treatment. But he didn’t know the truth of that one, either. Nor did he really care to.
Will grabbed the bottle of red and refilled their glasses, remaining silent until Stephen had vacated the dining area.
“I think we need this, don’t you?”
Seb breathed through a nervous laugh. Not through fear of anything his father could say or do to him. Seb had already relinquished everything he ever had a right to, and he still didn’t want any of it.
“I wish you’d told me.” Will picked up his glass.
“You would never have listened.”
“Quite possibly true. But I wish you had.”
Seb nodded. “I sometimes wish I had too. Then I could lay most of the blame on you rather than my own bad judgement and weak will.”
His father took his time to swallow the wine, gazing up at the ceiling in pensive thought. “Were you in love with him?”
“No.” Seb picked his thumb nail. “I think at the start I confused what I felt for love. But I now know what real love is, and no, Stephen neither deserved nor ever had my love. He took every bit of my hope that there could ever be love in my life each and every time he came into my room and left straight after. It was Jay who gave it back to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Will stared Seb in the eye. “I have always been able to admit my failings to do with business affairs. But with you, I really did fail terribly.”
Seb couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His father admitting a mistake, and not just any mistake but that his nonchalant, and often disregarded, treatment of Seb had been a failing. Seb hadn’t ever believed that his father would even care enough to think that their strained relationship had been his fault. Seb ran finger around the rim of his glass and all the hurt, the bitterness, the anger and resentment left him. All he had left was pity.
“It’s understandable.” Seb threw half the wine down his throat. “You were, what, my age, late twenties, when Mum walked out and you were left to raise a son you didn’t have a single thing in common with? I can understand why you gave me to Yulia, and why when Stephen turned up and levelled me out a little, you couldn’t bear for anything to rock the boat again. That’s probably why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
Will tapped a fingernail on the glass, the rhythmic ting like a metronome to the conversation. After a moment, he nodded.
“How very observant, Sebastian.”
Seb shrugged. “I write crappy songs about the human condition. Observing people and emotions are all part of the music.”
“I hardly think sixteen million copies sold of your last album constitute you calling the songs crappy.” Will smiled, and his whole face lifted to the point Seb could have mistaken it for pride. “Yes, I follow your career. And, maybe, I can take a little credit for who you have become. Us Saunders are always a success. Perhaps you took a different path, but you are a success nonetheless. So we’ll have less of the crappy, thank you.”
“I’ll let you into a secret. A few of them are crappy. Especially when you’re told to write two more to complete an album and you’ve got an hour to do it. Jay will never forgive me for the Fuck Me Blue Eyes B-side.” Seb chuckled, but his face soon dropped.
“How is he?”
“In recovery. It’s hard. All he’s known is playing football. Imagine if you couldn’t run your business, or I couldn’t play guitar. That’s got to hit where it hurts, right?”
“I believe so.”
“He’ll bounce back, I’m sure of it.” He wasn’t totally convinced, but he was getting there.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“Falling from grace often drags others along for the ride. Are you prepared for that? To be the one out front? Alone?”
Seb chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t entirely sure what his father was getting at. That Seb should discard Jay if he ends up retired from football? That being with an injured ex-professional would drag his career down?
“Just be careful, Sebastian. One-sided success can often make the injured party quite bitter.”
“Are you talking from experience there?”
“Why do you think your mother left? She needed her own success. Being with me prevented that.” Will had a wistful gaze in his eye, but it soon levelled out to his more accustomed austerity. “I should probably explain. This reunion was never meant to be about Stephen. It’s about the house. I’m selling it. I was offering for you to come and collect anything you want. I apologise about my hasty treatment of you after leaving the business.”
“Where are you going?”
“New York. I’ll be taking the helm over there. Originally, I was bringing Stephen back here to give him the twenty-twelve development in order to work things out with his wife. New York now clearly needs me in the driving seat.”
“What about the Olympic development? Who’ll take that on?”
“I will have to pass that opportunity up. Unless, of course, you would like a side project?”
“No.” Seb rushed that out.
Smiling, Will stood and brushed down his tie. “Come by the house whenever you would like. I’m selling privately, so no rush.” He buttoned his jacket, then laid a hand on Seb’s shoulder. “I know our relationship can never be fully repaired, but I am willing to listen to you. Any time. You are always my son.”
Peering up, Seb met with sincere eyes. “Thank you.”
Will tapped twice. “Perhaps you’ve even shown me that there is a little room in my life for a love story. If there’s still time, of course.”
Seb breathed through a laugh. “You know Sylvia never remarried either.”
“Is that a fact?” Will smiled. “Take care, Sebastian.”
His father took off and shook hands with the maître d’, no doubt footing the bill, then vacated the restaurant. Seb felt as if he’d been whacked in the head with a sledgehammer and wondered if the cigarette he’d chugged earlier was actually something more, because everything that had just happened felt as surreal as that time he, Martin and Noah had got stoned before the Winchester gig.
“Fuck,” he mumbled to his lap.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” the waiter asked, clearing up the empty cups and glasses.
“Sorry, nothing.” Standing, Seb clipped out a tenner from his wallet and handed it to the waiter, then made his way out of the restaurant, through the grand lobby, toward the foyer and excited the Royal for what he promised himself would be the last ever time.
The fresh air stung his heated cheeks, and he inhaled a deep breath. Euphoria. Total freedom. Chuckling, he held out a hand to the oncoming black cab.