Page 3 of The Best of Times

“He was angry because he’d planned on inviting you to their family home for Christmas.”

Calvin and his wife, Imani, had a huge apartment on the Upper East Side as well as a sprawling log cabin in New York State. The rumour was she had come from money and Calvin had married up. An invite to their home was quite the feather in his cap.

Aron took a step back. “Really? I had no idea.”

Typical, I spend two years trying to get into the inner circle only to leap straight out again.

“Yeah. I’m going too,” Theo said, staring him directly in the eye. “Think of it. You and me under the same roof. We might have toasted marshmallows on the fire when they’d gone to bed. Or whatever else came to mind.”

Aron reddened.

“I’ll stop asking one day, you know,” Theo continued.

Theo was gorgeous. On paper he had everything that Aron should want. Yet, something stopped him from taking the leap. He told himself it would be foolish to date someone from work.

That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

“Maybe ask me one last time in the new year,” Aron replied.

Theo shrugged. “Tell you what. If I’m available, then you can ask me.”

“Deal.”

“Theo!”

Calvin’s voice boomed throughout the hall.

“I’d better go. Have a merry Christmas.”

Aron watched him run after their boss as he strode toward the elevator.

“He would be the sensible choice,” he muttered to himself.

When had he ever taken that?

Thankfully, the first-class lounge at JFK Airport was quiet. As it should be. Aron had chosen to fly on the red eye overnight to London. If he slept most of the way, he would arrive refreshed and fabulous. As the prodigal son returning to the fold, he had every intention of radiating confidence.

Who for?

He knew the answer to that question although he’d tried to push it out of his mind as best he could. His nerves were jangling as though he were the bride-to-be instead of Granny.

“Aron Wimpole?”

He glanced up from his Kindle. There stood Madeline Morrison. Celebrated movie star and neighbour of his grandmother.

“Madeline. Gosh. How good to see you.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

Aron gestured to the seat next to him. It wasn’t every day he had a chat with one of the most famous women on the planet. Not that his grandmother would be impressed. She and Madeline rarely saw eye-to-eye. She featured heavily in their weekly phone calls and none of it complimentary.

Madeline’s son, Mercury, was a friend of Aron’s. Well he had been when Aron had been staying on Queens Crescent. So had Alexander Fitzwilliam. Aron was looking forward to catching up with them. According to Granny, their lives had been far more exciting than his own. Which wasn’t exactly difficult, admittedly.

“Two glasses of champagne, please,” she said to the waiter who seemed to appear from nowhere. “Thank you.”

She punctuated it with her kilowatt smile. The one that had shone down from billboards since Aron had been a child. The waiter reddened and scuttled off.