Blake figured they’d jumped one hurdle – at least they’d shared their first civil conversation even if it was over the phone. They might not get along so well face to face. But Blake decided to cross that bridge when he got there.
Opening his closet, he picked out what to wear from the newly unpacked clothes hanging there.
***
It was a ten minutes to seven when Blake descended the circling stairway to the living room which matched the lavish vastness of the whole villa. It was grandly furnished and stately. In the middle stood a tall, broad shouldered man dressed in an open-necked dress shirt and trousers, his hair a distinguishing grey at the corners. Blake recognized him instantly.
“Evening, Dad,” he said and his father turned fully to face him. They both regarded each other from the distance separating them. For several moments they simply stood and studied each other. Blake didn’t know what his father saw, but as for him what he saw was the same man he’d known eighteen years ago – except this one had more grey in his hair, a few lines etched into his still-handsome face…and perhaps a little more waist. He still had that self-contained, aristocratic bearing Blake remembered him for.
Sometimes it amazed Blake that he remembered anything at all.
“What would you like to drink before dinner?” asked his father at last. He turned to the drinks bar. “How about some scotch?”
“Thanks; that sounds fine,” Blake replied; unbuttoning the jacket he’d worn over his shirt and slacks. Moments later his father handed him his drink.
“We’ll go in to dinner in a minute,” said Bretton. “I thought we’d talk a while. Take a seat, son.”
“Sure,” Blake said dryly, feeling more like a guest than a son in his own father’s home. Settling into one of the plush leather seats, he watched his father silently as the older man took the chair opposite.
“So, what is it you do now?” His father asked, sitting back.
“I’m into IT consulting and software development.”
“I should have guessed. You always were good with computers and all that stuff even at a young age. Would’ve been surprised if you got into anything else.”
Blake found himself smiling wryly. “Well I did consider starting up as a bassist in a rock band but I guess I needed something more challenging.”
There it was; the token dry joke to set things even more at ease, thought Blake as his father chuckled.
“I’m glad for you anyway. Glad you seem to be doing well,” Bretton said with a nod. “So now that you’re back – how long do you intend to stay? For a while I hope.”
Blake paused thoughtfully. “Didn’t exactly have it all planned out. So I’m not really sure.”
“Hmm. And your mother? What did she think about your return?”
“Mom died six months ago,” Blake said simply. Just like that.
There was a resounding crash when the half-empty glass of scotch his father held slipped from his limp grasp, fell and smashed on the polished floor. Some of the liquid spilled onto the hem of his father’s pants, but he didn’t seem to notice as he sat there, still as a stone.
“Dad?” Blake sprang to his feet in concern.
“No…,” Bretton was saying as if from far away, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes seemed glazed in his drawn face, before his gaze focused on the worried-looking Blake.
“Where…how?”
Feeling like such an insensitive bastard for the thoughtless way he’d broken the news, Blake said quietly, “In a hospital in Kent. She’d been suffering from cancer for months…”
“But you wrote to me a few months ago and never mentioned this.” His father’s voice was firmer now, and angry.
Blake shrugged. “I guess I couldn’t bring myself to break such a delicate piece of news in a letter. Besides….” Blake paused, and then said deeply, “I didn’t realize you’d care.”
Blake thought he saw his father flinch, before they both turned as a burly and bald-headed man in a uniform of black shirt and matching trousers rushed in saying, “Did I hear glass breaking…?”
“Yes,” Blake said quickly, thankful for the interruption. “My dad dropped something.”
“Very unlike you, sir,” the bulky man said worriedly.
“I know, Wellman. Help me clear up the mess, will you?” Bretton said in a controlled tone. He rose to his feet and carefully stepped around the shards of broken glass.
As Wellman disappeared, father and son looked expressionlessly at each other and the moments ticked by. “I’d better go up and change my pants,” Bretton said at last. “When I come back down, we’ll eat.” And without another word, he left the room.