Blake let out a sigh, his fingers raking into his hair as he felt a strange heaviness. He’d really acted out of turn. Blurting out his mother’s demise like that hadn’t been planned but he couldn’t help admitting that he liked that it had an effect. Let the old man get to feel something for once. Bretton Carter’s trademark cool had been shattered along with that crystal tumbler, if only for a moment.
Blake had meant it when he’d said he didn’t think his father cared. Blake had been so certain his father had forgotten them – a faded memory from photos in a forgotten album. Hell, the man had practically ignored them for almost twenty years. The main reason Blake had even decided to come back was because he’d sensed that it was his mother’s wish for him. Why should Blake feel sorry for his father now just because the man had suddenly been taken over by emotions? Bretton’s shock, dismay and pain had been palpable. But Blake was ready to put it all down to guilt. That’s all it really was. And that’s why Blake felt no pity for him.
***
Dinner was delicious. A balance of rich and simple dishes with the flavors combined perfectly using fresh, seasonal foods. Blake was pleasantly surprised considering what he’d heard and remembered about American cooking. The meal was world-class and he didn’t hesitate to tell this to the private chef who served the meal.
His father made no more mention of his mother, nor about anything they’d spoken about earlier. Conversation was focused on comments about the food, light topics such as the cooling weather and some current world affairs. Bretton Carter was quite composed and back to his normal self by all indications.
“What exactly do you intend to do during your stay?” Bretton finally asked over after-dinner coffee. “You left your job in London, I presume?”
Blake shrugged. “I used to work for a major IT consulting firm but now I’m mostly independent. But I’ve taken time off work, actually. However if I decided to, I’m sure I could easily find work here as well.”
“You would,” Bretton agreed. “In fact, you could come and work for me.”
Blake smiled faintly. “I barely know anything about your line of business. I’m no investment whiz nor do I know a hell of a lot about mergers and acquisitions.”
“You don’t have to. I’m into a lot of things now. I even recently acquired a software company that’s been doing fantastic. Your skills would come in handy there…”
“Thanks but no, Dad,” Blake said firmly, hiding a grimace. He had to lay it on the line then and there. “You don’t have to work things out for me. If I decided to stay here in New York, I’d like to make my own way.”
Bretton lifted a slightly taunting brow as he smiled. “Independent as always I see.”
“Always,” Blake replied very seriously. And saw, for the first time, a flicker of real humor in his father’s eyes.
“Well I hope that at least you’ll agree to be present at the welcome home party I’ve organized for you later this week,” Bretton said casually as he lifted his cup of coffee to his lips.
Meanwhile, Blake was almost choking over his. “Party? What party?”
“You didn’t really think I’d let your return go without a little fanfare, did you?” his father asked in surprise. “You’re my only son back home again – I think the whole world should celebrate that with me.”
Blake groaned inwardly. No way. He hated parties. Especially when he was the center of attention. He started to outright refuse. “Dad…”
“Please,” Bretton said stiffly. “I want you to meet my friends – and I want them to meet you.” Especially one, Bretton added silently to himself. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse me this one request?”
Blake sighed away his obvious annoyance as he looked across at his father. “No,” he said at last with resignation. “I guess I can’t.”
***
Kira knew about the forthcoming welcome party, of course. After all she’d given a hand seeing to organizing it; sending invites and making orders. The guest list consisted of her boss’s close friends and associates; a pretty close-knit affair. So when the Friday before the party came, Kira balked when Mr. Carter asked her to attend as well.
“But sir…I can’t,” she said haltingly, clutching the files she held to her chest as she straightened in the chair in front of his desk where she’d been taking notes.
“Why not?” Bretton Carter inquired. “Don’t you have anything suitable to wear? If that’s an issue then go out and get something nice and have it charged to me. I insist.”