Page 28 of Cross My Heart
“Here he is, the most eligible professor in all of Oxford!” My friend, Max Lancaster, greets me with a whoop, drawing looks from all the other staid, older men drinking in the room.
I snort with amusement, joining his table. “That’s hardly an achievement. The average age of the tutors here is pushing eighty.”
“But still, you have those silver foxes beat.” Max grins from under a shock of blonde hair and pushes a glass of scotch over to me. “You have to try this. Thirty year, barrel-smoked. My father loved the distillery so much, he bought the whole place.”
“What’s a newspaper man doing making scotch?” our other friend, Hugh Ambrose, asks. He’s wearing his trademark spectacles, dressed down in battered corduroy trousers and a casual sweater, just the way he always looked when we were students, haunting the library and drinking late at every pub in town.
“Hell if I know,” Max shrugs. “You know my father. It’s not enough to admire something from afar, the man has to own it, every last drop.”
‘Newspaper man’ is an understatement. Max’s father, Cyrus Lancaster, is a powerful media mogul whose empire that spans the globe. Magazines, TV news, movie studios, and more. He can move markets, and bring down governments, all before breakfast—which is why Max can whoop it up like an overexcited playboy, and nobody here will voice a word of complaint. Still, I remind him to keep it down as I take a sip. The scotch is smoky and rich, burning my throat with a pleasant glow. “Nice,” I nod approvingly, and fill the glass higher.
“Aww, is life as a brooding academic getting stressful?” Max teases. I give him a look.
“And what is it you do all day, exactly?” I banter back. “Didn’t your father dump you in some godforsaken local news division to keep you out of trouble?”
“I don’t need to follow the news,” Max brags. “I make it.”
Hugh and I snort with laughter. “I thought your PR team was trying to keep yououtof the headlines,” Hugh jokes. “Funny how that story about you and the Vice President’s daughter was magically wiped offline…”
“What did Annabelle say about that?” I tease, naming Max’s perky society fiancée.
“What ‘Belle doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Max raises his glass. “Isn’t that right, boys?”
Hugh and I exchange an exasperated look. But Max has always been like this. He makes no secret of his playboy ways, and Annabelle has to know what she’s marrying by now. Their families have known each other forever.
We all have, from boarding school to winters skiing in the Swiss Alps, and summers at each other’s family estates in Barbados and St Tropez. Our aristocratic circles are small and rarefied, and everyone has history. We’ve fallen in and out of love, shared first illicit drinks and joints, and supported each other through every success and quiet tragedy. Max and Hugh were at my side the day I buried my brother—and that night as I drank myself to oblivion in the VIP section of a Mayfair club. They’ve always had my back, and even though we’ve gone our separate ways in the world now as grown men, we’re all still connected, as if by blood.
“So tell us, Professor, who’s this term’s tasty treat?” Max asks with a smirk.
“My cousin is a fresher, and she says all the girls are positively swooning after you,” Hugh adds, teasing. “As per usual, of course.”
I give a careless shrug. Nobody can compare to Tessa now, but I’m not about to draw her into our banter, so I just give a vague smile. “Not sure yet. To be honest, the whole scene here is getting pretty stale.”
“So, what, you’re finally going to join Ashford Pharma?” Hugh asks, looking interested. “It’s a great time for the company, exciting stuff ahead. My father can’t shut up about it. Ashford is a shining example of British innovation,” he quotes.
“I heard that… A dozen times, in every speech he gives,” I laugh—avoiding the question. “How long now until the election?”
“Another couple of months,” Hugh says, sighing. His father, Lionel, is a respected politician in Parliament, and in the running to become the next leader of the party—and Prime Minister. “I can’t wait for it to be over, to be honest. All these reporters sniffing around, trying to find a scandal. You want to have your Lancaster Media people give us a break?” he asks Max lightly. “They ran our old holiday pics on the front page, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need to see my mother in a bikini before breakfast. Or after it.”
Max chuckles. “Easy there. We have to pretend to be fair and balanced. But Lionel’s got it sewn up. All the polling says so.”
“Still, he’s wound tighter than ever these days. Lecturing us all about keeping our noses clean, as if any whisper of a scandal will keep him out of the top spot.” Hugh rolls his eyes.
“To fathers, and their eternal disappointment,” I say, raising my glass, and we toast. All three of us know what it’s like to live with the weight of family expectations. I drain my drink and look around. “Another?”
“Sure. The night’s just getting started.”
I head for the bar, but I’m intercepted by a woman in a chic knit dress. She’s tall, brunette, and leggy, with familiar-looking features. “If it isn’t the sinner himself,” she greets me with a lingering kiss on both cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“I’ve been busy, causing trouble,” I reply lightly, searching for her name.
“Vivian,” she supplies, looking amused. “You dated my sister back in school. Well, dated might be stretching it, but you certainly broke her heart.”
“Vivian Prescott.” I snap my fingers, finally placing her. “Wow. You’ve certainly grown up. The last time I saw you, you were in pigtails, on that pony of yours.”
“I ride in the English Olympic team now,” she says, tossing her glossy hair back. She gives me a sultry smile. “I’m just in town for a while before heading off on training again. I don’t suppose you’d get a drink, catch up… Keep me entertained?”
There’s no question what kind of entertainment she’s suggesting, not with the flirty sparkle in her eye.