Page 6

Jack

I shut the taxi door and took the short journey to the entrance to The Prestige in my burgundy velvet dinner jacket, black shirt and black bow tie, black pressed trousers and black, shined shoes.

I was reliably informed by Frannie, my twenty-two-year-old daughter, that deviating from a basic black dinner jacket was very in . I was thankful for a child who was clued up in design, even if her professional focus was interior design over fashion, she still knew her stuff.

I entered the foyer of the hotel, thankful for the heating system. Black and white tiles covered the floor of the reception, with communal green chesterfield sofas in the centre, and modern black chandeliers glowed. There were large potted monsteras and birds of paradise plants everywhere.

If she were here, Frannie would be spinning on her heels squealing at the ‘contrast between the harsh lines in the furniture and the unpredictable shapes of the indoor plants’.

I was proud of her, so incredibly proud, but I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, and she knew that.

It meant she had free reign over any interior design choices in my life.

My attention was pulled by the welcome sign for the Estates Gala, and I entered the double doors of the conference room. I stopped in my tracks.

Structurally, the room was tall with windows on the roof like an orangery.

Each window pane was lined with fairy lights, the sky beyond clear enough to have a perfect view of the crescent moon.

From the roof, the stone wall curved down until it hit the floor, replicating that of an old cathedral.

Fifteen circular tables were dotted around the room, tablecloths alternating between opulent green and black, reflecting the colour scheme of the hotel with simple, black candelabras in the middle.

At the far end of the room, there was a tiered stage for speeches, awards and the silent auction announcements, a large foliage arch in the centre and a large dance floor, ready to beg tipsy attendees at the end of the night.

At the entrance to the room, there were tables with signs advising of the silent auction prizes and clipboards in front for sign-ups. Attendees were already milling around the clipboards, keen to win the best for themselves or their partners.

I was impressed. I had no influence on these events. Willow took on the planning for each one, and I truly didn’t know what I’d do without her, nor where the ideas came from. The events would never come to fruition if it wasn’t for her hard work and commitment.

“We really need to give Willow a pay rise,” the familiar voice of my best friend and co-owner of Lambert and Johnson, Mike Johnson said.

I snorted. He was right.

“Don’t I know it. Every time I suggest it, she turns me down.”

I turned to him and found him dressed in a dapper black dinner jacket and trousers with a forest green bow tie. I pinged the bow tie with my fore finger, goading him like we always had.

“Don’t you look snazzy tonight, Mikey.”

We’d been friends since freshers’ night at the University of Glasgow, pulled to one another like magnets as we drank endless pints of Guinness.

We’d graduated in business management, found our soulmates together and been each other’s best man at respective weddings.

We were godfathers to the other’s children – he had three sons, and I was godfather to each of them, Mike argued that there wasn’t anyone better suited for the role.

We set up Lambert & Johnson together sixteen years ago after all the children were born and we were both in corporate jobs we hated.

I’d received a large inheritance, and he was just simply rolling in it, being the only child of a wealthy family.

Over a pint one night, we’d realised we both enjoyed buying, renovating and selling properties and suddenly we were co-parents of a business.

He was the brother I’d never had, and I was his.

Looking at him now, I was struck at how proud I was of us. Lambert & Johnson had never been an easy project. There were many late nights, frustrated wives and children missing their dads – but we’d exceeded every expectation.

He’d grown from the round-baby faced snob he was at university into a humble adult. He was unashamedly bald, having started balding in his late twenties and instead of trying to hold on to the leftovers of his hair, he’d shaved out of choice, and had a wicked smile to reflect his sense of humour.

“Oh, fuck off, you act like my grandmother angling for a kiss.” He shoved me away and I laughed.

The beauty of working with your best friend – you could spend hours in silence, telepathically making decisions together whilst ripping the shit out of each other and still remain in business.

“Is Lucille joining you tonight?” I glanced around us looking for Mike’s wife of twenty-two years .

“No. You know Lu, this isn’t her scene. Can’t say I blame her, I’d rather be reading with a nice dark rum.”

Of the two of us, I was the social butterfly, usually the one to attend meetings where Mike preferred to remain in the background.

“Drink?” he offered. Together, we joined the queue for the bar and watched the room fill.

Mike and I were discussing the property market with sector-based solicitors when I was automatically drawn to the entrance. Turning to find the source, air caught in my lungs.

A black, beaded, floor-length dress perfectly fitting up and around curves, covering slim arms with tight sleeves, leading to the elegant neck and slick up-do. The woman was facing away from me, looking around the hall as if searching for something or someone.

Eventually, she turned, and my mouth dropped open, realising the elegant, beautiful woman was none other than my assistant, Willow.

It was always Willow. At every event she stood out from the crowd.

She finally found us and her face lit up with a radiant smile as she moved towards the group. The solicitors had dispersed, and Mike and I awaited her arrival. Making it only a few steps, she was stopped in her tracks by a tall man.

He’d blocked her path with his shoulder, his face turned into hers.

Her face dropped instantly as she listened to whatever he was muttering.

Her smile soon returned, though its brightness lacking.

He turned on his heel and in unison they moved towards us, his arm snaked around her waist and into his side.

Glancing briefly at Willow, her smile had reduced to a tight line.

“Mike, Jack. Nice to see you,” Willow politely greeted us.

The man did nothing to hide his fingers squeezing into her waist, she glanced in surprise at him while he stared ahead at us. “Oh, uh, I don’t think you know my uh, partner, Cain Heller. Cain, Mike and Jack are my bosses.” I’d never seen Willow so… nervous? Unsure?

Forcing a smile, I turned my focus to him – Cain.

“Cain,” I replied courteously. I held out my right hand to ensure he’d take his off Willow. After a beat, he removed his arm from around my assistant and grasped my hand in his, a singular sharp shake .

“A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you and Lambert & Johnson.” His voice was gravelly.

Willow had paled, her eyes zoned out and staring through the gap between me and Mike.

“Oh?” Mike questioned. Cain turned his attention to him and hummed.

“I work for KeyChain Properties, you might have heard of them.”

Of course we had. They were nationwide estate agents, focusing on the rental market. It was successful in its field, hence the popularity for branches across the UK. Mike took the lead for the conversation, and I was thankful for it.

“Ah yes. The Kenton branch?”

“That’s the one. Though, I’m rarely on-site. You’ll find me at property visits or working from home these days, KeyChain trusts their employees like that.”

Was he bragging or accusing us of something? I couldn’t tell. My eyes were trained on him, as his were on me. He looked gaunt but not like he didn’t look after himself - more like a flower that never got to see the sun and didn’t try to find it either. It felt like he was sizing me up.

Just as I was about to turn my focus to Willow, to comment on her successful event, his fingers curled around her wrist, forming a tight grip.

“If you don’t mind, we’re going to grab a drink.”

He strode away from us, tugging Willow behind him. I moved to stop them, but Mike’s hand landed on my arm to stop me. We both watched as Cain ordered drinks at the bar.

“You feel it too, right?” Mike asked. I swallowed the remainder of my rum in one.

“Yup,” I replied concisely. “Something isn’t right.”