Page 92

“Not since my last year of high school when, after a tense conversation, which you mediated, Dad accepted that I’d do a business degree, with specialisation in marketing and graphic design.”

“He was concerned. Making a living from art, any artistic endeavour, is hard. Think music, think performance, and textile design is a contested space.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t pushing for me to take over? Most of the skills in my business degree translate.”

An old niggle, one Cas had thought he’d put to bed. But Beatriz’s situation had him questioning everything, and joining the family business would free up his savings.

“I’d have said Raed Hariri’s one of the most clear-sighted people I know. He might be questioning your commitment these days because you’ve achieved success in advertising. Hewondersif you’ve abandoned textile design, and you leave him in ignorance.”

Cas noted Hunt’s emphasis onwonders.

“Maybe you should invite him up here and show him my bed linen.” Cas opted for flippancy while he shifted arguments in his head.

“Maybe you should design some for him and your mum.” Hunt watched him with the same intensity he’d watched him when they first met, deciding what lay behind the words, familiar with words not matching intentions. “If anyone is suited to take over, it’s Maha. She hides her business genius behind her second love—childcare. She’s also as bad as you at asking for help.”

Cas never had, because his goals were so far from the family’s natural trajectory.

“Maha was ready to open a second centre, desperate to help your dad, yet I had to ask if she’d like to move into The Hariri.”

“I missed that.”

Although he remembered the ease with which Maha had joined the business conversation, talking about costs and benefits, depreciation on capital, ongoing maintenance of the building, refurbishment, and so much more that Cas was only absorbing in his most recent studies.

“You had a lot going on. And you were worried about your dad andme. Business runs through her veins, like design runs through yours.”

“You got both.”

“What can I say? I’m a Renaissance man.” Hunter was gently mocking him.

“But you’ve ended up at the business end of the scale. How do you feel about that?”

“I’m changing direction again,” said Hunter. “More project management, matching the right people to the right projects.”

“Maybe you should manage me?” Cas was only half-joking.

“Except we confront the Hariri family problem of struggling to ask for help. You’ve never asked for help for yourself, Cas.” Hunter’s phone sounded. “That’ll be the pizza. I’ll go down and get it.”

Cas paced for the few minutes Hunter was gone. Better just to get it out there. He pivoted on his heels when he heard his friend re-enter the room.

“I’m considering putting my business plans on hold.” Cas had drafted their eulogy.

“Why now? And sit, will you? You’ve got the funds you need.”

“I should have seen it coming.” Cas threw himself onto a sofa.

“What? The attack on your dad? I didn’t.” Hunt set the pizza box on the table and sank into the opposite sofa. “What makes you a better barometer for Nick Richardson’s vicious plots than me?”

“I’d stopped paying attention. I only half-listened when Dad mentioned odd patterns, graffiti on buildings, petty vandalism, tenants saying questions hadn’t been answered when Dad said he hadn’t received any questions.”

“You’re claiming responsibility for Nick’s sins now. Where the hell is this coming from, Cas?”

“It’s not the money. Or not just being bested in business. Dad’s in retreat. He hunkers in his office all day, but he won’t talk to me.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“I’m a failure as a son.” Cas bounced back to his feet and started pacing.

“That’s pretty comprehensive. Why?”