Chapter 218

[ 1,003 words ]

Julian’s POV

Aiden looked at Christopher. Christopher was saying something to Katia about a recent trip to somewhere that was clearly chosen to be impressive. Katia was nodding with the polite attention she gave things that did not interest her.

“What does he do?” Aiden asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I’ll find out,” Aiden said.

“Aiden p>

But he had already turned in his chair.

“Excuse me,” Aiden said. His voice carried. The table went slightly quiet. “Christopher p>

Christopher looked at the six-year-old, addressing him with the gravity of a High Court judge.

“Yes?” Christopher said.

“What do you do?” Aiden asked.

Christopher blinked. “I’m in finance. Private equity p>

“Which fund?” Aiden asked.

Christopher stared at him. “Sorry p>

“Which fund?” Aiden said again, patiently. “There are different kinds of private equity funds. Which one are you in p>

I pressed my lips together. Oh, he’s good!

“I — Meridian Capital,” Christopher said.

“Is that the one that had the regulatory issue in 2019?” Aiden asked.

The table was completely silent.

Christopher looked at this child.

“I’m not — that was a different Meridian,” Christopher said.

“Okay,” Aiden said. He turned back to his food, apparently satisfied. Then he turned back. “Do you have a jet p>

“Aiden,” I said.

“It’s a reasonable question,” Aiden said to me. Then back to Christopher: “Do you p>

“I — I use a charter service,” Christopher said.

Aiden nodded. Slowly. The nod of someone filing information and finding it adequate but not impressive.

“Mr. Windsor has four hangars,” Aiden said.

I looked at the ceiling.

Martha recovered admirably.

She redirected the conversation to something about the Kensington summer house, and Christopher found his footing again and began talking to Katia about sailing, which was either a genuine interest or something Martha had told him to mention because it sounded appropriately affluent.

I ate my lamb.

Christopher leaned toward Katia slightly when he laughed. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to communicate intent to anyone paying attention.

I was paying attention.

I was paying attention with the focused, controlled attention of a man who had decided he was not going to react and was executing that decision with the full force of his considerable self-discipline. My jaw was fine. My hands were fine. The knife I was holding was fine. Everything was completely fine.

Gail looked at me from across the table.

She looked away.

Smart woman.

“Dad,” Aiden whispered again.

“Yes p>

“He laughed at something Mummy said, but it wasn’t funny p>

I looked at my son.

“I know,” I said.

“Why do adults do that?” Aiden asked.

“It is complicated,” I said.

Aiden considered this. “Is it because he likes her p>

“Eat your food,” I said.

“I think he likes her,” Aiden said. He looked at Christopher with the clear, unimpressed eyes of a child who had already decided something. “I don’t think she likes him back, though. She has a different face when she likes someone p>

I looked at my son.

“What face?” I said. Despite myself.

“The face she makes at you,” Aiden said simply. Then he ate a roast potato. “Do you like my mom p>

I looked at the centerpiece, and I answered. “Yes, but it’s between you and me.” Aiden nodded.

After the main course Christopher made the mistake of asking Aiden what he wanted to be when he grew up.

This was a mistake because Aiden did not have a single answer to this question. He had a list.

“Aerospace engineer,” Aiden said. “Or a racing driver. Or a pilot. Julian is teaching me to fly.” He paused. “Or a lawyer, because I think I would be good at asking questions. Or a mathematician. I haven’t decided on the mathematics yet because I want to see if the advanced theory stays interesting. What did you want to be p>

Christopher looked at this child.

“I wanted to be a footballer,” Christopher said.

Aiden looked at him.

“But you went into finance,” Aiden said.

“Yes,” Christopher said.

“That’s a very big change,” Aiden said. The tone was not unkind. It was the tone of a scientist noting an anomaly.

Gail made a sound into her napkin.

Martha looked at Gail.

Gail looked at the ceiling.

I drank my water.

Dessert arrived.

Christopher had pivoted to talking to Katia about something cultural—an exhibition, a gallery, the kind of conversation that was designed to establish shared aesthetic taste. Katia was engaging with it properly now, the way she engaged with things she found genuinely interesting, and I watched her lean forward slightly the way she did when something had caught her attention and felt the particular temperature of a man who is not jealous sitting very still at a dinner table.

I was not jealous.

I was simply noting that the exhibition he was describing was one I knew for a fact Katia had already seen because she had told me about it three weeks ago in the car after the board meeting and had described it in enough detail that I could have given the tour myself.

She knew she had already seen it.

She was letting him talk.

She glanced at me.

Just once. A quarter of a second. Then back to Christopher.

I picked up my dessert fork.

“Dad,” Aiden whispered again just for me to hear him call me ’Dad’; this boy was smart.

“Yes p>

“Are you okay p>

“I am fine,” I said.

“You have the face,” Aiden said.

“What face?” I said.

“The face you make,” Aiden said, “when you are pretending to be fine p>

I looked at my son.

He looked back at me with the clear, kind, entirely unsparing attention of a child who loved you and was not going to lie to you about what he could see.

“Eat your dessert,” I said.

“Okay,” Aiden said.

He ate his dessert.

I ate mine.

Across the table, Christopher said something, and Katia laughed, and I cut through my chocolate tart like a man who was completely and entirely fine.

Completely.

Fine.

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