The Glass House Read online

  "What did she say?" Alice excitedly inquired.

  "I wasn't listening; I'm sure he'll tell you later."

  "Uncle Bennett's coming to dinner?"

  "He's inside now with your father."

  Alice was nearly a head shorter than Elisabeth, and the girls looked perfectly sweet in their smart woollen coats, tights and patent shoes visible from beneath their formal winter bundle-ups and although there was only a one year age difference between them, there was a ten year implied age gap. Alice's beret was red to match her smart red woollen coat, but her mittens were ivory, which got dirty every time she went for a walk in the gardens.

  "Oh Elisabeth, please don't say, 'your father.' You sound so grown up. He's still your uncle."

  "Yes, he's still Uncle Brayden, but pretty soon I'm going to be your Aunty Elisabeth." She leaned into Alice and gave her a pinch on her cheek through the fluffy woollen mitten.

  "Please!" Alice rolled her eyes.

  "Please and thank you, young lady," Elisabeth said, still teasing her.

  "Ugh," Alice moaned.

  "I'm sorry. It's just so tempting." Elisabeth put her arm around Alice as they turned a corner of the hedge and carried on walking.

  "Speaking of the inevitable, have you set a date yet?"

  "Not really. We tried to talk about it this morning, but Evelyn got a bit pushy. Bennett wasn't amused." Elisabeth raised her eyebrows as she pushed stray hairs out of her face.

  "Why? It's not really any of her business. It's your wedding."

  Elisabeth smiled. "Precisely why she was pushy."

  Alice and Elisabeth abruptly stopped walking when they nearly ran into a hedge wall in front of them.

  "Oops, I think the turn was back that way. Sorry," Alice said, and led them back a good twenty feet.

  "How do you remember where to turn amongst all these hedge walls? This is a proper labyrinth. I still haven't figured it out."

  "I've walked these hedge walls a million times in the last year. Pretty much every day, twice a day, for that long. I could do it with my eyes closed."

  "Except for just then."

  "Yes, well, we're having an important conversation. I never said I could multi-task," Alice replied, as they approached the opening in the maze she'd missed earlier. "Here it is," as they turned the corner. "Carry on," she encouraged, once they had a long, clear path in front of them.

  "Anyway, Evelyn tried to get me to make decisions and suggestions, but I wasn't comfortable just taking over. It's my wedding, but I have barely any family or friends coming and I'm not contributing anything to it financially. I just feel a little awkward about it. I don't think she liked the fact Bennett had the final say. I could tell it bothered her."

  "Of course it would. Aunt Evelyn's always in charge. She doesn't like the idea of female submission."

  Elisabeth laughed. "Okay, this conversation is over."

  "Why?" Alice asked, keeping her eye on the next opening along the hedge wall where they would turn left.

  "Because, your father doesn't want me speaking about my relationship with your Uncle Bennett to you, and he would have an absolute fit if he knew I commented on my future mother-in-law whilst I was at it. Trust me."

  "It's not like I don't already know all this. I'm fully aware of what my Aunty Evelyn is like by this point."

  "Yes, but it doesn't feel right because she's going to be my mother-in-law, and we have a very different relationship to the one you two have. I don't want to spoil anything for you."

  "The difference being that she pinches my cheeks and straightens my hair ribbons," Alice lamented.

  "Well, after the tension this morning, I'd much rather her do those things than pressure me to say and do things which will only cause trouble between Bennett and me. I hate being at odds with him. It makes me so upset."

  "Okay, you're right, I don't want to hear anything. I love my Uncle Bennett, but it's a little nauseating to hear you speak so keenly about him."

  "Do you want to know how good of a kisser he is?" Elisabeth teased, hugging Alice around her shoulder as they carried on walking.

  "I'm boiling my ear canals when we get back inside."

  * * * * *

  That evening, Bennett stayed at Waldorf for dinner and no sooner had they been seated did Alice wait for the first opportunity to bring up Anabelle Greyson.

  "Uncle Bennett?" Alice politely inquired.

  "Yes, Darling," he said, glancing up at his niece across the formal dining table. As usual, Elisabeth sat beside Bennett with Alice across from them and Brayden at the head.

  "May I ask the temperament of Miss Greyson?" Alice inquired. She was using her grown-up sentence structure and trying to extract a few chuckles.

  "That'll do, Darling." Brayden glanced at his daughter. He didn't like Alice emulating politeness; he wanted her to actually mean it.

  "No, really. Did you send her my loveliest regards?"

  "I did, Alice, and she returns her own loveliest regards," Bennett replied in a straight and factual tone.

  "Anabelle used those exact words?"

  Brayden swallowed his wine and replaced the glass above his plate. Anabelle Greyson always maintained a proper and professional demeanour around her clients, so it rather pleasantly surprised Brayden to think she would reply so casually. It signalled to him that Anabelle rather liked Alice – and that was a good sign.

  "She did," Bennett replied, refusing to be amused.

  Brayden returned his eyes to his meal as he carried on gracefully slicing through the beef on his plate. The first thought in his mind was how Anabelle appealed to his daughter's youthful charm. He was quite sure if any other woman had been told such a thing, she might rather send back 'kind regards' or 'best wishes', but Anabelle made a point of phrasing her own greeting to reflect affections Alice would appreciate. What she didn't realise was that Brayden appreciated it, too; it confirmed his earlier suspicions that Anabelle was not at all put off by the adult adoption and mild regression of Alice. It was precisely another small bit of evidence that pushed Brayden to consider Anabelle Greyson as a woman he might pursue. His heart had more than considered her; it was his mind, his protective and fatherly role that needed further convincing.

  Alice chewed her dinner quietly behind closed lips fully knowing she should avoid going on a tangent about how lovely and beautiful Anabelle was. She'd already had a disagreement with Brayden on the subject of Anabelle Greyson. Alice wanted them to be together, but he sharply reminded her that she was a child, and his personal affections were not her business. Also, Brayden didn't date. He courted. Courting meant that he needed to know she was the woman to whom he would eventually propose. Alice knew she was the one. Why didn't he?

  "My parents insisted that the engagement party was planned entirely by them and by them I mean Mother, which I allowed. She and Anabelle have been going back and forth practically since the day after I proposed. I would have been happy to forgo the engagement party altogether, but I figured it was something Mother could sink her teeth into," Bennett said.

  "Poor Anabelle," Elisabeth tentatively offered. "She's gone right from planning the engagement party to our wedding. I don't think she had much of a Christmas holiday either."

  Brayden took another sip of wine.

  "Yes, well, my mother seems to think event coordinators don't require holidays, and they'll drop everything to hear from a client. I know she rang Anabelle on Boxing Day. She shouldn't have answered her phone," Bennett said, feeling rather irritated at his mother's assertiveness, knowing full well Anabelle would drop anything for The Mrs. Fowler.

  Brayden watched Bennett and Elisabeth carry on a rather factual conversation regarding the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. Part of him wanted to ask them to stop speaking about Anabelle, and the other part wanted to phone the girl. He wanted to hear her voice, but he also wanted to tell her off for overworking herself. Brayden hadn't any right to do the latter; Anabelle Greyson was not his to tell off or discipline, alt
hough he wished she were. She had clearly displayed behaviour and reactions that communicated a love to be led as much as she could in her professional capacity the night of his birthday ball. Brayden hadn't followed up on it because it would have been entirely inappropriate. Since then, however, being that both the engagement party and wedding had nothing to do with him because the Fowlers had obviously hired her, Brayden could phone her whenever he wanted. But he hadn't.

  "I told her when she was here in December that it wasn't healthy to work all the time without proper breaks and drawing a boundary," Brayden remarked, as he paired food on his fork as though he were telling her off.

  Bennett, Elisabeth, and Alice all looked at Brayden; it was clear that he was annoyed at the lack of care being afforded to Anabelle in her career. Brayden was part of a high-class social circle and had been his entire life. What did he expect from a private schoolgirl without a trust fund who worked right beside clients and families who knew nothing else? Anabelle had learned reputation was everything and good reputation came from sacrificing her evenings, weekends, and every free minute for clients and their events – especially when Evelyn Fowler phoned.

  Bennett cleared his throat, catching his best friend's attention. He realised his private thoughts had just been broadcast.

  "I apologise," he offered, then returned to his meal.

  Alice's eyes widened, and she glanced across the table at Elisabeth. It was made even clearer to her that Brayden liked Anabelle Greyson, although she daren't speak on the matter. It was well and truly not her place to question her father on how he felt about a woman. However, it was certainly Alice's place to like the woman, and she adored Anabelle Greyson. Even as an eighteen-year-old being re-raised by Brayden as his ten-year-old daughter, Alice surprised herself by wanting Anabelle to become her new mother. However that would work, she neither knew nor cared.

  After dessert, Brayden excused Alice to the music room for another hour of piano practise in anticipation of the impending recital.

  "Do you mind if I go along?" Elisabeth asked Bennett.

  "Not at all," he replied.

  "How are you?" Bennett asked, when he and Brayden settled into adjacent wing chairs in the sitting room and simultaneously crossed their well-tailored trouser legs one over the other.

  "I'm well," Brayden replied.

  "Yes?"

  "Why?" Brayden asked.

  Bennett shook his head slowly and rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "There's a lot of change happening. I want to be sure you and I are on the same page."

  Brayden looked over at the man with whom he'd been best friends since he was eight years old. "We're always on the same page."

  Bennett sat up and uncrossed his leg as he folded his hands.

  "I never did properly thank you, for introducing Elisabeth to me."

  Brayden looked at his friend.

  "If you hadn't searched for Alice, if you hadn't made a shortlist, if you hadn't emailed Elisabeth…." Bennett's voice trailed off. It was most unlike him to be so pensive. Bennett Fowler was rigid and never very reflective. He certainly had feelings, he just hid them well.

  "Don't be silly, Bennett. It's nothing to do with me. You and Elisabeth are meant to be together."

  Bennett looked up at Brayden and declined to smile or nod. He knew it was true. "I don't like to get emotional over things, James, but there it is. Thank you."

  Brayden pressed his lips together in a humble non-verbal acknowledgment of the compliment. Bennett had used Brayden's last name to emphasise his point; they previously used last names at boarding school more than a decade before, although sometimes they slipped into boyhood camaraderie under the guise of the well-polished gentlemen they'd since fully grown into.

  "For what it's worth, I'm glad to be part of it. I couldn't be more pleased for you," Brayden said.

  Bennett allowed a small smile from the corner of his mouth as he looked down at his perfectly shined shoes. He waited a moment before making eye contact. "I hope I can say the same for you one day."

  Brayden looked back at his best friend and managed an amused exhale. "Still bullying me about Anabelle Greyson, are you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Bennett's rarely shown smile faded. "Still pretending you don't feel a thing for her, are you?" he asked.

  Brayden uncrossed his legs and rose from the wing chair. "Brandy?"

  "Please," Bennett said, and listened as Brayden's footsteps faded across the length of the formal sitting room to the drinks cabinet tucked inside of a mahogany and glass cabinet. Bennett closed his eyes and put his lean fingers across the bridge of his nose. He'd tried to bring up the subject of Anabelle lightly, but Brayden was still being standoffish about her.

  "I apologise," Bennett said, when Brayden returned and offered the crystal cut tumbler.

  Brayden put one hand in his trouser pocket and his other lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips as he took a few steps toward the crackling fire before them.

  "I'm not pretending," Brayden replied, gently. "I don't pretend that I feel nothing for her."

  Bennett rested the tumbler on the arm of the leather wing chair. The light of the fire seemed to dance its tribal light right through the glass and spray shadows over his face.

  "I can't be certain the way you're certain about Elisabeth," Brayden said.

  Bennett stood up and left his own drink on the marble-topped table beside the chair. "You aren't certain that Anabelle Greyson is a woman who is attractive and interesting to you?" Bennett challenged.

  "Of course I am," Brayden replied.

  "Then what is the pause for?"

  Brayden placed his brandy on the mantle and put his other hand in his trouser pocket. "Alice."

  Bennett stifled a laugh and folded his arms across his blazer and waistcoat. "Anabelle adores her."

  "You can't know that." Brayden was serious. Bennett rarely laughed, and he seemed to have chosen a difficult subject during which to demonstrate his amusement.

  "How could I not? Anabelle has offered to spend time with her. She blindly accepts Alice's position in this house as your school-aged child, and what's more, she thinks you're a better man because of what you've done for the girl. What further confidence do you need?"

  Brayden looked at his friend, not often hearing the challenging tone from him.

  "It isn't that simple. I barely know Miss Greyson."

  "Now you're calling her Miss Greyson," Bennett said, returning to the wing chair and grabbing his brandy. "You're the one closing the door."

  "If I recall, you were on the phone to me only before Christmas asking what to do about Elisabeth and how to tell her that you wanted to court her. Could you perhaps offer the same understanding?" Brayden asked, in a polite but firm tone.

  Bennett took a sip of his brandy and shook his head from side to side slowly, a few times. "Yes, but I knew that I would pursue Elisabeth. I've not heard two words from you about Anabelle. We shared a dormitory together for ten years; we were Prefects, our mothers best friends; we are best friends, and I am your daughter's uncle and executor of your estate. Why can you trust me with all that you have, but not the woman who might one day become my sister-in-law?"

  "It's not that I don't trust you. It's that I don't know, Bennett." The silence grew between them.

  "I apologise."

  "Never mind. How is Damian settling back in, anyway?" Brayden asked, as he turned to the mantle and reached for his brandy.

  Bennett looked up at the ceiling but avoided calling Brayden out on his very obvious avoidance of the subject. He clearly didn't wish to continue speaking about Anabelle Greyson.

  "I don't know. He's been in Germany since Boxing Day," Bennett replied, finishing his brandy. He'd been grateful for a very small amount of drink, considering the girls would join them shortly, and the tea trolley always arrived with far too many extravagant biscuits and pastries, which nobody ever finished.

  "Still?" Brayden asked, turning from the fireplace in a
tone and confidence that clearly communicated he felt less defensive on the topic of conversation he'd strategically altered.

  "He only cut his trip short because I asked him to be here when I proposed to Elisabeth. It was Mother's idea to make him play Father Christmas, but he was part of it, so I can't complain, I suppose."

  "I'm surprised he didn't fly back out to meet his cruise and carry on. Is he still trying to find his purpose in life?"

  Bennett looked up at Brayden and raised his eyebrows. "My twenty-six-year-old brother would find his place rather easily if I took my belt to his backside and reminded him that he's a Fowler. Mother wouldn't hesitate because he technically still lives at Greystone. Perhaps that's why he's run off to Germany until the wedding," Bennett replied.

  "He's not coming back for the engagement party?" Brayden returned to the wing chair he'd occupied before matters of his heart had been discussed.

  "I don't know," Bennett exhaled, obviously not amused at the prospect. "Damian was beside himself when I phoned to tell him about Elisabeth and booked a flight home from his holiday. He was just as enthusiastic to get back on a plane to Germany and skip the rest of the cruise to visit his mate from boarding school the day after Christmas when the proposal had finished."

  Brayden shook his head.

  "Speak of the devil," Bennett said, frowning, when he pulled his vibrating iPhone out of his inside blazer pocket. "Damian," he answered, as he looked at Brayden.

  Bennett assumed his dominant posture by crossing his leg over the other and sitting up in the leather wing chair.

  "I wanted to chat to you about that, actually," he said into the phone with another glance in Brayden's direction.

  Chapter Four:

  Damian sat in the back of the limo in his trousers and blazer, his tie loosened and topcoat on the leather seat beside him. He chewed a piece of gum behind closed lips and scrolled through his Facebook page on his iPhone with one hand.

  "Sir, we're five miles from Barton-Court," Bennett's driver announced from the front of the limo.