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Chapter Sixteen
OCTOBER 2087
Alex
Alex sat outside his father’s office, his portfolio clutched under one arm, his legs bouncing anxiously.
He felt like an idiot for being so nervous about a meeting with his father of all people, but this was important, and he didn’t want to screw it up.
It was late, and although he’d already worked a full day in the factory, he’d showered and changed into his smartest suit.
Spencer, faithful guardian of his father’s inner sanctum, glanced at him curiously, but Alex ignored him the way he’d been ignoring him ever since that evening, a little over a year ago.
He wasn’t proud of himself for what had happened that night, but he’d done his best to turn his life around since then. He’d been a virtual monk, working hard at Lytton AV by day and on his designs by night.
The intercom on Spencer’s desk buzzed, and he nodded at Alex. “Your father is free now, sir; you can go in.”
Alex stood up and took a deep breath before venturing into the lion’s den.
His father glanced up irritably. “Alex – what’s all this about? You don’t have to book a meeting in the diary to see me, you know. You could come over to dinner once in a while. The door’s always open, and Charles loves seeing you.”
“I do see Charles. We go out once a month,” Alex replied, feeling a little stung.
“Oh.” His father looked stung in return. “Well, I’d like to see you, too, you know. Not here, I mean – socially… for a nice family meal.”
Alex couldn’t remember the last time a family meal had been “nice”, but he managed a tight smile.
“I’ll come around for dinner, then – soon, I promise. But I asked for a meeting with you because I want to talk about business.”
His father’s expression immediately turned into that particular combination of weary and brusque he’d become familiar with every time he tried to talk to him about the future of Lytton AV.
“I know you want me to work in all the different departments first, but I want to be more involved in the design side.”
The mind-numbingly boring weeks that he’d recently spent in the accounts department, where he’d endured the added indignity of being placed under Neil’s tutelage, sprang to mind.
Noah sighed. “Look, Alex – I want you to take over one day, but you still have a lot to learn.”
“I know, but I want to show you something.” He placed his portfolio on his father’s desk and unzipped it. “It’s something I’ve been working on. Just look at it – please?”
He pulled out several drawings and laid them on the desk’s surface. “I have them in different tech formats, but I know you prefer things old school.”
Noah picked one up. “What are these?”
“My designs for a prototype of the next-generation Lytton duck.” He waved his hands around excitedly.
“The basic design of our ducks has barely changed since Will Tyler designed it in the aftermath of the Rising, and I understand why. It’s tried and tested and, until recently, very few people had the money to aspire to buy something more impressive. The Lytton Classic is practical and efficient, but it’s time we moved on. So, I’ve come up with a duck that doesn’t go through the water – it skims the surface, and is much faster and sleeker. ”
“A flying duck?” His father’s voice dripped with scepticism.
Alex ploughed on, regardless. “It doesn’t fly, exactly – it’s more like skimming. My design might take some tweaking, but I believe it can work. It’s time for Lytton AV to innovate, Dad – to be the first again, the way we were in Grandfather’s day. If we don’t do it, someone else will. People have more money these days, and they want something less utilitarian. My ducks are beautiful objects in their own right, and they’re not just for the rich. They’re for parents doing the school run, and for businesspeople to zip around between these new floating cities they’re building. We could use the Lytton Classic engine, as that’s been shown to be reliable; with some small modifications, I think it would work with these designs.”
His father glanced at the drawings and then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Alex, you came in here to talk about business, but business is the last thing you understand. You are artistic, I appreciate that, and you’re a promising designer.” He waved his hand at the drawings. “But running Lytton AV isn’t just about drawing a pretty new duck. It’s about marketing, accounts, sales, running Lytton Village, managing the indentured servants, and making the bloody figures add up at the end of the day, too.”
“I understand that.” Alex clenched his hands into fists to try and keep from exploding; it seemed like they’d been having the same argument his entire life.
“No, you don’t – not really. In the past year, you’ve never once shown an interest in anything other than design. You’ve never asked to sit in a board meeting, or to attend marketing meetings.”
“I didn’t know I could?—”
“You didn’t know you could sit in the design studio, either, but you’ve found your way in there most days.”
“It’s been a year, Dad. I’ve done everything you asked of me, but it still feels like you don’t trust me.”
“Of course I trust you. You’re my son, and you’re going to take over here one day, which is why… Look, I was going to invite you over to dinner for this and do it properly, but you may as well have it now.” Noah pinged something to him from his nanopad.
“What is it?” Alex asked .
“I’ve made you a director – just a junior director, mind, but you’ll see it includes a small pay rise. Now you have banking authorisation and are required to attend board meetings. See, I do trust you. You’ve worked hard over the past year. You still have a long way to go, but you’ve done well.” He patted his arm.
Alex glanced at the formal documentation on his nanopad despondently. He knew that Noah viewed this as a display of faith, but to him it was an irrelevance. He wasn’t interested in board meetings, or banking authorisation, or anything else to do with the dull end of the business. For him, it was all about the design studio. He looked at his father’s expectant face and managed to muster a smile.
“Thanks,” he said.
Noah sighed. “Your designs are beautiful, Alex – you’ve always had an eye for beauty, even as a little boy. I remember how you once studied a single bluebell down in the wood for hours on end – I wondered what on earth you were looking at for so long. When I asked, you told me how you saw it, and you made it sound so perfect that I wished I could see the whole world through your eyes.”
His voice was soft and nostalgic, but Alex could sense there was a great big “but” coming.
“But you’re not a businessman. Do you have any idea how much it would cost to build this flying duck?” Noah picked up one of his designs.
“Do you think we plan new product development on a whim? We have to budget for it well in advance and prepare for it – we don’t just wake up one day, take a look at some pretty pictures, and decide to make a product. Our market research doesn’t support this kind of frivolous leisure vehicle. People want sturdy vehicles they can trust not to drown them while they’re crossing a lost zone, not something that suspends them in the air and makes them feel vulnerable.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t suspend them in the air – it skims,” Alex said stubbornly. “And people do want flashier, prettier vehicles now. The world has moved on, and people are tired of the dull old stuff we keep churning out.”
“Damn it, Alex – listen to what I’m trying to tell you. We can’t bloody well afford it! ”
Alex took a step back, shocked by the outburst.
Noah looked away, rubbing his forehead distractedly. “Look, I’ve probably shielded you from this for too long, but the company’s in trouble, son – much bigger trouble than you realise. We simply don’t have the money to develop anything like this.”
“If people aren’t buying the Lytton Classic, then surely that’s all the more reason to invest in something new?”
“If that was the problem, then maybe that would be the solution, but that’s not it.” Suddenly, his father looked old and defeated.
“You see, I’ve always had certain principles. I don’t cut corners – we look after our indentured servants well, and make sure they have everything they need, but that costs money.”
“Then why don’t you hire free workers?”
“Because they cost even more!”
“I don’t see the issue,” Alex said, frowning. “The company now only employs IS labour, which you’ve said is cheaper, so?—”
“The issue” – Noah looked as if he was struggling to keep a grip on his temper – “is that our competitors don’t have the same values that I do, Alex. They don’t treat their indentured servants like we treat ours. Their servants don’t have a nice village, or good childcare, or first-class medical insurance like ours – but all that costs, so our margins are being squeezed all the time, and we’re losing money, year on year.”
“I still think it’s the product,” Alex said stubbornly. “If that was better we could sell more AVs, and?—”
“Shut up about the bloody product!” his father roared. “For the past few years, all I’ve heard from you is complaints about the Lytton Classic. You make no effort to understand any other aspect of the business – you’re just obsessed with your designs. Let me tell you, this entire company was built on the success of the Classic. After the Rising, when people needed cheap, reliable AVs to get around, it was my father who saw that need and gave them what they wanted. That design is the foundation on which this company is built.”
“That foundation is crumbling. People aren’t grateful for any old duck that’ll get them from A to B anymore. The world is moving on, old man, and if you don’t move on with it, then Lytton AV won’t survive. ”
Alex gathered up his designs, shoved them back into his portfolio, and strode from the room, feeling as angry as only his father could make him feel.
“That went well,” he muttered to himself, ignoring the scared look Spencer shot his way as he marched towards the exit.
He threw the portfolio into the back of his duck and made straight for his favourite pub: a small dark place, dating back centuries, where there was no chance of ever bumping into anyone from Lytton AV. It had crooked doorways, creaky floorboards, and nooks and crannies where he could sit and nurse a drink in peace without anyone bothering him.
That worked until the pressure in his bladder forced him to visit the toilet. As he weaved his way back to his table, via a trip to the bar to buy his fourth pint, he stumbled into someone and his drink spilled – all over her pristine white tee-shirt.
“Shit… sorry,” he mumbled, reaching out to mop up the liquid with his shirtsleeve.
“It’s fine, leave it… wait… Alex?”
He looked up into a pair of golden eyes and caught a glimpse of warm brown skin and tight curls before he was enveloped in a damp hug. “Alex!”
“Solange?” He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, burying his face in her magnificent hair. “Solange! You have no idea how good it is to see you tonight.”
“You too.” She pushed him back and looked him up and down. “You look like shit.”
“Having a bad day.” He made a face at her. “Hey, come and join me. I want to know what you’re up to these days, what you’re doing here, and everything there is to know.”
Taking her by the hand, he led her back to his table and sat there, gazing at her. She was as beautiful as ever, wearing a pair of tight red jeans and the white tee that was now decorated with a beer stain over one of her small pert breasts.
“Remind me – why did we split up?” he asked. Why hadn’t he clung on to something this beautiful when he’d had the chance?
“You told me to fuck off. ”
“Did I? I’m such an arse.” He grinned at her, and she laughed.
“I knew you were more pissed off with Neil than me, though. Nobody likes being saved by someone they hate.”
“Ah, yes – Neil – the ever-present troll of doom.” Alex stuck out his tongue and pulled the sides of his lips open wide, creating a vision of trollness ugly enough to sum up his feelings about Neil.
“He’s still around, then?”
“Yeah, but I pretty much ignore him these days. We don’t sleep together anymore, and he knows I want him to fuck off and die.”
“Sounds just like old times.” She gave a wry grin.
“Do you have any croc?” he asked suddenly, remembering the afternoons spent in her room, inhaling the drug off her beautiful brown belly. “I haven’t taken any since I started working with my father, but I’m in the mood to do some tonight.”
“You’ve been clean for that long?” She raised an eyebrow. “I never thought that you, of all people, would be able to give it up.”
“It was easy. See, I have hidden depths.”
“Then why start up again now, if you’ve kicked it?”
Alex sighed. “I tried, Solange. I’ve given it a year, and I did my best, I really did, but Dad refuses to believe in me. I’m tired of being a good boy all the time to win back his love. It’s never going to happen.”
“Win back his love?” She put her hand over his and stroked, gently. “Are you sure you ever lost it?”
“Yeah, I lost it. He’s never forgiven me for what happened to Mum and Charles, and he’s never going to. He tolerates having me around, but he doesn’t love me. I’m his son, and that makes me his duty, but he doesn’t even like me. I can see it in his eyes.”
“Maybe he needs more time.”
“How much more? The accident was five years ago. Since then, I’ve taken the degree he wanted, got a first, and worked at his company doing whatever shitty jobs he asked. Nothing will ever be enough. So yeah, I want to start taking croc again. Got any?”
She gave a sad little sigh. “Yes, I have – back at my place.”
“Is that nearby?”
“Yup. ”
“Then what are we waiting for?” He jumped up, grabbed her hand, and led her towards the door.
Croc and sex, sex and croc… He’d forgotten how good that particular combination was. He kissed every inch of Solange’s beautiful body as the tears flowed gently down his face. Afterwards, he lay in her arms, stroking her hair.
“You’re an angel. You have no idea how much I needed this tonight. How much I needed you.” He kissed the tip of one perfect golden-brown nipple. “Thank you,” he whispered solemnly to it.
Solange laughed and squeezed him in her arms.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he said. “What, where, why – the whole thing. I want to know what’s been going on for you, Solange.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” She ran the tips of her fingers down his arm. “I left Oxford after we split up, and I’ve been living here, working on my paintings ever since.”
He looked around the room and saw a stack of art piled up against one of the walls.
“Finally – I get to see your work. You got over your inhibitions about having them around, then?”
Sliding off the bed, he went eagerly over to the canvasses and began sorting through them. They were covered in broad splashes of colour – bright, cheerful studies of flowers and landscapes. Coming up behind him, she put her arms around his waist.
“So – what do you think?” She rested her chin on his shoulder.
“They’re good…”
“But? I can hear a ‘but’ in your voice.”
He turned to look at her. “They aren’t what I expected. I mean, they’re good… technically, they’re excellent.” He glanced at them again. “But I don’t see you in any of them.”
Biting her lip, she looked away. “You could be right. I don’t like putting myself on display.”
“You should try. You’re unique – and you have your own story to tell.” He lifted her chin and kissed her. Smiling, she snuggled into him.
“This is my studio as well as my home. I’m hoping to hold an exhibition soon, if I can convince a gallery to take me on.”
“Can you afford that? ”
“My godfather is paying. He believes in me.”
“You’re lucky,” Alex said moodily. “My father wants me sorting screws into boxes for the rest of my life. He couldn’t give a fuck about my designs.”
“Your designs?” She looked at him sharply. “Are you talking about the flying ducks?”
“Well, they don’t exactly fly.” He rolled his eyes. “But yes.”
“I remember you doodling your ideas on the backs of napkins when you were bored. Did you turn them into something more?”
“Yeah, not that it’s any bloody use. Dad won’t give me the money to develop a prototype. This is the future, Solange, but the idiot doesn’t see that. He’s stuck in the past. He doesn’t see how fast the world is changing.”
“Then find another investor,” she responded unexpectedly.
“What?”
She shrugged. “You don’t have to be held back by your father. If your designs are good, and if you really believe in them, then find another backer. You could set up your own company.”
“My own company?” He pulled away from her, his mind racing.
“Why not?”
“Who would invest in my designs, though?” he asked doubtfully. “I’m a complete unknown – why would anyone take that risk?”
“I could ask my godfather, if you like,” she offered. “He has pots of money. He might be interested – if I recommend you.”
“Really?” He sat on the side of the bed, in shock. “Do you mean it, Solange?”
“Absolutely. He’d probably be able to set you up with a workshop to develop a prototype if you want.”
She was offering him the world, but she said it in such an offhand way that he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.
“If I want…” Alex gazed at her in bewilderment. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He imagined building the duck, showing it to his father, and making him see how wrong he was. It could be the one thing he finally did right, that would make Noah forgive him for that day on a country lane five years ago that had torn their family apart .
Grabbing Solange, he danced around the room with her, her cloud of curls bouncing, kissing her repeatedly. Finally, they ran out of breath and collapsed on the bed, giggling. He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face.
“Who is this godfather of yours, Solange? This fairy godfather who’s going to wave his magic wand and transform my life?”
“You’ve met him,” she said. “At our graduation day, remember? I saw you talking to him but couldn’t introduce you, because you said I wasn’t to talk to you as the camera crew was there. He’s?—”
“George Tyler,” Alex said slowly. “Your godfather is George Tyler.” His father’s old enemy and the son of the man who had designed the original Lytton Classic all those years ago. “That’s why he was at Oxford that day.”
“That’s right. He’d come to see me graduate” She smiled up at him happily. “He’ll help you, Alex, I know he will. You only have to ask.”