He was waiting in front of the building on Threadneedle Street at just after six when James emerged. Of course, there was bantering and shoulder-clapping and handshaking and all of that usual businessman bullshit, but Cal waited patiently beside the car door.
Seeing James still hurt, but knowing there was an end in sight made it all easier. He felt oddly at peace now. It would all be over soon. Then he could move on, and maybe get hung up on someone who’d be equally hung up on him. Stranger things had happened.
James finally broke away from the group of suits, and came down the steps. As the distance between him and Cal narrowed, his good spirits seemed to fade a bit.
“Callum,” he said with a slight nod.
“Sir.” Cal had never thought a single word could taste quite so bitter. As James stepped into the car, Cal said, “I wanted to give you a heads-up, sir.”
James froze, and turned to Cal. “About?”
Cal forced back his nerves. “I’ll be training a new driver soon.”
“Oh. I see.”
No, I don’t think you do.
“As my replacement, sir.”
James didn’t respond. Cal wasn’t sure what he’d expected, though the silence didn’t surprise him. The walls were up, all the little boxes carefully locked and stashed away. Cal closed the door behind him and got into the driver seat, glanced over his shoulder and wove into traffic.
He’d driven the route “home” hundreds of times, so he could rely on routine to carry him through. The privacy screen remained up, too.
So that was that.
But at least now he knew it wouldn’t go on like this forever. Light at the end of the tunnel, and it wasn’t a damned freight train.
Once at the house, he opened the door for James again.
“I’ll just grab a shower and change. We’re leaving after that again.”
“Of course, sir.”
Cal was getting pretty good at looking just past James’s temple. “Where to after that?”
“Drinks at Hawksmoor. I’ll have a client with me. He’s a CEO we want to get on our side. It’s important, a big deal, a lot of money.”
Cal nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Why are you telling me that? I know you shuffle around hundreds of millions of pounds. You’re good at that. That’s why you’re rich. That’s why you have a driver.
James glanced towards the house. He looked as if he were about to say something else, but then he turned away and went inside.
Cal deflated and sat down on the driver’s side, door open, one foot on the gravel.
It’s important, a big deal, a lot of money.
Yes, because nothing but a deal to buy a company or a lot of money could possibly be important.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Things between them would never turn nearly as ugly as the Harcourts’ marriage eventually had. James would get decent service at Market Garden. He could afford to. If the guys were half as professional and caring as Nick was, then James was in good hands. He still wanted James to be taken care of. And if the guy who did it got paid for it, that wouldn’t hurt anybody.
The door closed. Cal stood and walked around the side to open the car for James, who was now wearing the dark blue suit and a tie somewhere between blood red and blue-balls purple. “To the Hawksmoor, sir?”
James nodded to him.
A minute later they were back on the road. Hawksmoor was popular with the finance crowd for cocktails and steaks. It was one of James’s regular haunts. Not that Cal had to care about that anymore.
He dropped James off there and then found a side street, where he waited. Writing was entirely out of the question. Maybe he’d found some peace in their situation, but he was still processing things. Too many thoughts and feelings going through his head right now, so he just listened to the audiobook of a novel his tutor had recommended, though he didn’t really pay attention, nor could he have told anybody what it had been about. The beautiful prose washed right through him without leaving a trace.
Two hours later, he got a text. We’re done.
So he pulled back out in front of the bar, where a couple bankers stood smoking. James seemed to be in high spirits, his practiced charm cranked up to the maximum, and just watching him smile and laugh with another older, greyer businessman made Cal’s chest hurt. Then James touched the man’s arm and pointed briefly at Cal.
Cal opened the door for them, forced himself to give the slightest, friendly smile—the kind of meaningless expression the serving population had to master to make a living—and closed the door behind them.
Sliding back into his seat, he noticed the privacy screen was down. “Where to, sir?”
“Well, Patrick?” James asked with a smile.
“Ah, why the hell not,” Patrick said. “I’ll trust you.”
You poor idiot.