Page 1 of Darling
Prologue
The Guardian, Monday 28th April
Prime Minister Wanted
With four months until the election and approval ratings at their lowest, Nish Patel has faced (and lost) a no-confidence vote within his own party. The prime minister is expected to give way to the new leader as early as next month. With the shock exit of Sir Christian Darling from the cabinet last month—bizarrely reassigned to the American Embassy—there seems to be no front-runner in the Conservative Party lineup. Jasmine Thewliss, Cameron Thorpe, and Femi Boutellah are all said to be throwing their hats in the ring, and even the party whip, Adrian Brooke’s name has been mentioned. The MP for Louth and Westonfield has always remained outside of any leadership race and has repeatedly said he has no interest in the top job, but who knows what this latest shake-up will bring. Members are expected to vote on it in the next fortnight. How long will Patel’s successor last?
One
Christian
“Should I take this and unpack it for you, Ambassador?” Gael Cazalla asks. He’s distractingly good-looking, athletic, and has a bright, warm smile that reminds me a little of Felix’s. The set-up of this house should make it so that a single, widowed, ‘straight’ man should have no issues with his handsome live-in male aide. I’m having issues. “Ah, yes, thank you, Gael. Is Mrs Kennedy around?”
“Yes, in the kitchen, sir. Shall I fetch her?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go in there and say hello.”
Gael nods and turns to head for the stairs.
Mrs Kennedy is my housekeeper and sometimes cook, who, thankfully, also lives in. There are a handful of staff who live here. Staff I met the day I arrived and have yet to cross paths with again. Regardless, being in such close quarters with someone as attractive as Gael only reminds me of how alone I am. I suppose what I need is to get laid, as the locals say. Though it’s decidedly more difficult to make that happen than I appreciated when I said yes to this. Not that I said yes, exactly. It was more like I was bundled out of my office in Whitehall and into an already-moving vehicle.
Adrian Brooke’s face flashes before my eyes. The cruel smirkthat I’d seen turned on others, Felix included, had finally landed on me.
You are going to regret putting your cock inside my son, Chris, I promise you that.
Let me be clear, Adrian did not get rid of me because of any kind of fatherly notions he has for his son—that, I would understand and respect—or because he cares about Felix. I’m not sure Adrian cares about anyone except perhaps his investment banker. Adrian wanted me out of Whitehall because I had dared to undermine his authority. Adrian Brooke saw the world around him as his, and people should be far too afraid of him to risk touching anything of his. And Felix was, in Adrian’s view, his. A possession. Something to show off when it suited him and hide away when it didn’t. I loathed the man. Always had. But I also knew the sort of power he wielded, and since he’d threatened to tell my own son what had been going on if I didn’t shake his hand and thank him for my new job, I did just as I was told.
I don’t regret Felix. Firstly, because he’d been one of the most heavenly places I’d ever been, and secondly DC isn’t the worst place Adrian could have had me shipped off to – we still had an embassy in Tehran the last time I looked. And lastly, because Westminster was destroying me; eating away at me bit by bit, and I’d had to get out before the rot took hold completely. A change of scenery was going to do me good. Because seeing Felix happy and in love had been harder than I expected it would ever be. I was happy he was happy, of course, I’d encouraged him to follow his heart with Nico, but it had made me wonder. What if I’d been braver… What if I’d treated him how he deserved… What if I’d been less frightened of the opinions of others, less focussed on a career that could, ultimately, be ripped away so easily?
Could I have made him as happy as Nicoló does? I’ll neverknow the answer to that.
But Christ, do I miss him. His humour and his wit and his perfectly conditioned body. His heart, so big and warm and desperate for love. Perhaps I could have tried to love him… I certainly cared about him.
But I only had to look at him with Nicoló to understand that he now had everything he needed and more. Nico was everything I could never be to him. I could never be that to anyone.
Which left me with what? One-night stands who don’t know my name for the rest of my bloody life. Pathetic. I look at Gael again; perfect arse visible as he climbs the stairs. I’m not even sure if he likes men. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring and has never mentioned a girlfriend, and so it’s easy for me to presume something about him. Not that it makes any difference whatsoever, because that will not be something I pursue.
Mrs Kennedy, Grace, is by the large hob stirring something in a pot, which I assume to be soup. She’s taken to making me soup every week because I told her how much I missed it.
“Well that smells lovely,” I say gently, trying not to startle her.
“Ah, Sir Christian, you’re back!” She turns, smiling at me.
“Christian is fine, Grace. We’ve talked about this.”
“Well, I still feel like I should be calling you ‘Ambassador’, so let me have this.”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s chicken with carrot and some rice.”
“Gosh, sounds wonderful.”
“I found the recipe online. Lady was British.” She says ‘British’ like someone might say ‘royalty’, and scoops some out with a spoon and offers it for me to taste. After blowing, I sip some. It’s delicious.
“Perfection. I’ll take two bowls, please.”
She beams wider. “It still has a while to go. I’ll bring some to you when it’s ready, sir. So how was the ballet?”