little bit open and the light on outside.” Libby had closed her eyes again, tucking her pillow between her head and shoulder.
“Love you, Auntie Lacey.” The sleepy words came as Lacey flicked off the light, and her breath caught. When was the last time anyone had said they loved her?
Driving from London to Oxford was soul-destroying on a Friday night, but Victor had figured he had might as well sit in traffic. He had nothing better to do.
The rest of the office had retreated to their local pub to speculate about Meredith’s plans for the company. Ordinarily, Victor would have joined them. The first rule of being an alcoholic working in London was the acceptance that you would always be surrounded by alcohol the same way Bodiam Castle was surrounded by a moat.
But between yesterday’s grilling by the sergeant and the news that his job might be under threat, he didn’t trust himself not to give in to the pull of a glass of good whisky. On the rocks.
Sitting in Friday night traffic for two hours with no access to liquor was the perfect solution. He’d made it past the gridlock that was the M40 and A40, and finally managed to get some speed as he covered the last twenty minutes to his parent’s home.
The scenery outside his window changed from a concrete jungle into the hedgerows and pastoral settings most people associated with the English countryside. Most people would probably also find the fields and greenery relaxing, but Victor’s fuse felt like it shortened a little more with every passing mile.
He was sober. He had a job. He led a functional—some might even say contributing—life. Yet returning home always felt like the return trip of the prodigal son.
Except, in his case, it was the younger brother who had stayed and never put a foot wrong. The brother who—if life was fair—would be heir to the Downley estate.
But there was one thing the archaic rules surrounding nobility had never been—fair.
His phone beeped from its hands-free attachment to the dashboard, and a message popped up on his screen from the team’s assistant saying he was busy researching Langham & Co.
By the time he got back into the office on Sunday, Sean will have probably assembled a dossier on their newly discovered American half-sister. It was like discovering you had a sibling no one had told you about. No doubt the feeling across the Atlantic was mutual. The arranged marriage nobody wanted.
His phone trilled, signaling an incoming call. Mark Holden. The conversation he had been chasing—dreading—since this whole debacle started. The account he’d been chasing for months. The one he’d work for free if that was what was required.
“Evening, Mark.” Victor slowed the car down and pulled onto the side of the road. His voice was steady, not belying how much rode on the next few minutes.
“Victor! Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get back to you.” The government relations manager of Enrite Pharmaceuticals sounded in a good mood.
“No problem at all. Sorry if there’s some background noise. I’m in the car.” As if on cue, a lorry roared past his window.
“Off for a romantic rendezvous, huh. Who’s this week’s lady?” Victor closed his eyes at the innuendo in Mark’s voice, thankful he didn’t have anyone sitting in the passenger seat. He’d long left his playboy lifestyle behind, but—London society being what it was—his past would probably shadow him into his dotage.
“No one. Just heading home to see the parents.”
“Right. Well, I won’t keep you.” Mark cleared his throat, and Victor sensed the shadow of bad news approaching.
News he couldn’t accept. Even though he knew there was no logical reason why Enrite would attach their business to the scandal-plagued Wyndham brand.
“I have some good news and some bad news.”
Victor’s hopes lifted. “Go on.”
“For obvious reasons, the executive team are reluctant to give Wyndham House the account.”
“It was one bad egg. We’ve had the coppers crawling all over us ever since this broke, and they haven’t found any evidence that anyone else was involved, let alone there being some kind of company-wide practice.” Darn Garrett for tarring them all with his brush.
“I know. But you know as well as I do that perception is more important than reality in this business. And it’s not just that. We’ve heard the news about Meredith merging Wyndham House which brings in another aspect of instability. Why would we give you the account when you might not even be there once Meredith is through?”