Page 4 of Worth Every Penny
Ooh. What’s he so excited about?
If Mum gets here soon, I won’t have to wait long to find out. I’m only minutes from the venue. I can see it from here: a rooftop cocktail bar on Regent Street, Union Jack flag rippling proudly from the balcony of the six-storey Portland stone building.
I fire back a message.
Me:Patience, birthday boy. I’m waiting for Mum.Are we celebrating something other than your descent into old age? You’re not getting engaged, are you?
He responds instantly.
Jack: Fuck no. Just get up here.
My brother is the eternal bachelor. There’s always a woman in his life, but he treats them like disposable contact lenses. In, out, and onto the next. I don’t think he's ever had a serious relationship, and he’s turning thirty-five. Then again, I haven’t either, but not for the same reasons. My work is my priority, not men.
I put my phone away just as my mother appears through the crowd of London commuters. She’s wearing a fuchsia evening gown with a matching coat, and she stands out like a flamingo in a field of penguins.
“Kate, darling.” My vertebrae contract at the way she shrieks the word ‘darling’. Only Mum could make a term of endearment sound like a reprimand.
When she reaches me, she air kisses me on both cheeks. Commuters part around us like the Red Sea, casting irritated glances our way. It’s poor form to stop in the middle of the pavement, but Mum doesn’t care and I can’t escape her now.
I step back and cast an exaggeratedly admiring glance over my mother. “Wow. You look sensational.” It’s not a lie—for a woman of sixty-two, she looks fabulous—but it’s also expected, like throwing money into the offering bowl at church. If you don’tcompliment Mum as soon as you see her, you’re going straight to hell.
She strokes a bejewelled hand down her dress before primping her coiffed ash blonde hair. “I do, don’t I?” She smiles, but it drops as she looks me up and down. “Your dress is very plain. Did you come from the office?”
Sadly, the compliment giving is a one-way street. I glance down at my dress. It’s sleek, black, with a touch of lace at the neck and sleeves. Subtle, but I thought it worked. Now I’m doubting myself and wishing I’d worn something else. “I did, but I got changed for the party.”
“Poor choice, Kate. You look like a crow. It’s a birthday party, not a funeral.” Mum pauses in her admonishments to inspect me again, making my stomach tighten. “Did you even fix your make-up? What kept you so long in the office, anyway?”
At this last question, a frisson of excitement bursts through me and I forget to be annoyed by her insults. I’ve made huge strides on my project today, and although I’d rather Jack was the first person I shared my news with, Mum is standing right here, asking why I’ve been working late, and my enthusiasm has it all spilling out.
“The Knightsbridge Spa project.” My voice is feverish with delight. “I’ve finally convinced David Webster at Argentum to partner with Lansen.”
Mum looks at me blankly, and I feel like a boat with a leak slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean. She doesn’t care about my work; she cares that my focus on it prevented me looking my best tonight, as though my lack of freshly applied make-up might reflect badly on her.
It was stupid to think she’d care enough to remember that the Knightsbridge Spa project was Dad’s last project before he died. He was obsessed with it, and although he left the family business—Lansen Luxury Hotels, the best boutique hotel chain in theUK—to my brother, the spa project is all mine. My shrine to a beloved father, who I miss every single day. I’ve toiled on it for years,so the news I got today is a huge win.
“It was Dad’s last project,” I remind Mum, but she’s still staring at me as though I’m speaking a language she doesn’t understand. Any hope I had of gaining some recognition for all my hard work is quickly seeping away. “His dream. He was always jotting down notes about it on napkins around the house. Don’t you remember?”
Mum flaps a hand. “That ridiculous scheme to build a luxury spa in the style of ancient Roman baths?”
Her words wound me. The project isnotridiculous. “Yes, and Scandinavian hot pools, right in the centre of London.”
Mum lets out a dismissive laugh. “Your father was always a dreamer. He ought to have stuck to hotels.” A flash of understanding crosses her face, and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me that’s why you look like this?”
I bristle. She doesn’t care about my attempt to fulfil Dad’s dream. And she doesn’t care that I love my job, either.
Mum, failing to notice that she has offended me, hooks her arm into the crook of my elbow, and together we make our way towards the party venue like we’re the best of friends, all while I repress the urge to shove her into the middle of the road and leave her there.
She gives my arm a squeeze and leans conspiratorially close. I can sense anticipation wafting off her, and I know she’s about to gossip. “Speaking of the hotel business, did you hear that Nico Hawkston’s back in town?”
Butterflies erupt in my lower abdomen at the mention of his name. I mentally climb down there and snap their wings off. My feelings for my brother’s best friend are complicated, but I would rather die than share any of them with my mother. “I did.”
Of course, I knew Nico was back in London. I couldn’t have missed it. Not only is he all over the business pages, but Elly, my best friend and flatmate, has taken to leaving glossy magazines all over our flat with the society pages flicked open to pictures of Nico exiting a club or a limo, some gorgeous woman hanging off his arm. I don’t know if she’s trying to torture me or tempt me.
Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor Returns to the UK, and this time he’s here to stay.
Mum, in an unusual moment of awareness, seems to have noticed that my thoughts have drifted, because she shakes my arm. “There was a spread on him inTheSunday Times. Hawkston’s the biggest corporate hotel chain in the world, and Nico’s here to grow their presence in the UK.” Mum lets out a wistful sigh. “And he’s looking so handsome. I don’t know what the Americans have been doing to him, but… dear Lord, he’s quite something. Not that he wasn’t before, but he’s”—she puckers her lips and puts her fingertips to them, making a lip-smacking kissing sound—“like a movie star. The absolute epitome of a real man.”
I cannot stomach the way Mum worships him, especially after how he treated my father. Just before he died, Dad struck a deal with Nico to sell him our family company. Dad was so excited. Desperate for Lansen Luxury Hotels to become part of the Hawkston Hotels Group. Then, with no explanation, and for no discernible reason, Nico pulled the plug.