Page 76 of Vivacity
‘It’s a disgusting lack of respect,’ he’s blustering now from across the sea of flowers. ‘I can barely see the screen! It really does show their true colours. Should be bloody ashamed of themselves. It was probably that joker Theo’s idea.’
I press my lips together and try not to laugh. I’d put money on Richard being right (clearly, I’m in a betting mood tonight). It’s totally a Theo move. With every toy his father throws, a stick rams itself further up Ethan’s arse, but I’m finding it all rather amusing, actually. There’s nothing I adore more than a roomful of people wearing beautiful clothes and drinking expensive champagne and acting like toddlers. Nothing at all. The gowns and tuxedos may be decidedly grownup, but people’s younger parts will be out in full force at an event like this, and it’ll be a hoot to watch.
I will say at this point that my general prophecies about Ethan’s mum, Imogen, were right. She’s beautiful, firstly—think perfectly styled ash-blonde hair and Faye Dunaway-level cheekbones. She’s in what I know to be a current season beige Armani Privé column dress, which is pretty badass when you’re in your sixties, and looks fucking knockout, with a black pearlnecklace that has to be Mikimoto. I bet she and Elena always twinned aesthetically—says the literal scarlet woman.
Secondly, she’s openly hyperviligant, especially where Richard is concerned. His unhappiness is causing her anxiety levels to ratchet up notably, and we’re still on our starters—a lovely crab, radish and apple salad, if you must know. If the Enneagram was a roulette wheel, I’d be throwing all my chips down on Six.
Earlier I suspected she might be a Nine—the Peacekeeper—but that’s not it at all. As a Nine, she would have emotionally checked out of this little scene, but she’s actively trying to manage the situation. Healthy Sixes value connection, security, and family, but there’s no way this woman is healthy. Not when she’s stood there all these years and allowed her husband to fuck up her son to the extent that she has. Nope, Imogen is absolutely prioritising how things look over how they feel. She’s absorbed Richard’s toxic Three behaviours, and all she cares about right now is optics. Keep him happy. Keep him quiet. Smooth things over. Who gives a fuck how badly her son has spiralled out of control all these years; who cares that her former daughter-in-law has had to physically remove her son from the family circle to protect him.
God, no.
All that matters to Imogen is maintaining appearances. I suspect she lost touch with her true feelings a long time ago.
Some old fart with a combover stops by and slaps Richard heartily on the shoulder. ‘Oh my! You’ve been put on the naughty table, Dickie boy! Haven’t you just! Someone’s set the cat among the pigeons, haven’t they?!’
Richard plasters a smile on his face and pushes his chair back, the picture of jovial tolerance as he stands and shakes the man’s hand. ‘Crispin! My man! How the hell are you. Yes, it’s rather cheeky of them, isn’t it?’
‘Well, very sporting of you, old chap. Very sporting indeed. You’ll be front and centre next year, mark my words.’
After he’s bidden the old codger farewell and sent him on his way, he takes his seat, smile erased and face like thunder. The about-turn is extraordinary, and I can see, in a way I haven’t properly been able to appreciate during our work interactions, just how infectious his mood must have been when Ethan was growing up, how easy it would have been for Richard to hold his family emotionally hostage.
‘Everyone has noticed. We’re a laughingstock.’
Imogen lays a hand on his arm. ‘They’rea laughingstock. Like you said, it’s infantile behaviour.’
He shakes out his napkin and lays it back on his lap. ‘They will rue the day they pulled a stunt like this. The Kingsleys will take no prisoners, and they should know that.’
Across the table, the company’s finance director, Theresa, shudders. I like her. She’s extremely direct and terrifyingly competent. I’m glad Ethan has her as his number two.
‘You and Ethan will show them, darling,’ Imogen says. Her tone is one you might use with a truculent toddler. ‘Of course you will. Now’—she flashes her megawatt smile at her son—‘tell me how my lovely grandson is. I haven’t seen him for ages!’
Theresa and the other members of the board who’ve joined the Kingsley delegation tonight take this as a signal to chat amongst themselves. She turns to Frank Taylor, one of the non exec directors, and engages him in conversation, and it strikes me that I have no real business being here. I’m the only guest at the table who’s neither board nor spouse. I suspect I’m here purely to distract and morally support Ethan, and the thought makes my heart squeeze a little.
I glance at him as he answers his mum. His posture is perfect, shoulders tense.
‘Jamie is fine. We’ve—ahh—we’ve actually been working together on his Christmas list, because he wants to build his own computer as his Christmas present.’
His mother’s face goes blank. ‘I don’t know what you mean, darling. How on earth could he build a computer?’
‘It’s a hard drive. They’re modular. You buy a glass case and you choose the components and assemble them. It means if you want to upgrade the RAM or the graphics card at some point, you can just replace that single part. It’s all quite clever, actually.’
‘It certainly is! How did he get interested in that?’
‘His Computer Science teacher, apparently. They’ve been watching YouTube videos together. His teacher built one and told the class about it, and they’ve all got the bug. He’s going to spend Christmas morning with Elena, but she’ll drop him off with me for the afternoon so we can work on it—she said she’s not touching it with a bargepole.’
I smile to myself. Ethan’s actually pretty excited about this gift—by his standards, at least. He hasn’t divulged much to me about his sessions with Philip, but I know he feels like he’s making progress and is ready to start taking bigger steps with Jamie. This computer strikes me as a fun project for them to get stuck into together.
Imogen smiles fondly. Whatever her issues, she seems to genuinely adore Jamie. ‘What a clever boy. My goodness! Building his own computer!’
‘That’s all well and good,’ Richard snarls. ‘But you really ought to be grooming him to get involved with the family business. He’s shown zero interest so far, and it’s not good enough.’
‘The wordgroominghas pretty different connotations these days, Dad,’ Ethan says, and I press my lips together to stop myself from smirking.
‘Don’t be flippant. You know what I mean. The boy hasn’t a commercial bone in his body, and that has to change. When you were his age, I had you analysing our monthly P&Ls to spot trends. And we started you with that investment club aged seven. Do you remember? You’re just lucky I didn’t beat your lessons into you. My old man was far too partial to the philosophy of sparing the rod and spoiling the child.’
Ethan’s entire body goes from stiff to downright rigid, and he stares at his father like he could happily strangle him with his bare hands.
‘I remember.’ He spits the words out. ‘And Jamie will choose the career he wants. He’ll follow his own path. I have no intention of letting history repeat itself. Do you understand?’
