Page 11 of Choosing Hope
As he sees me approaching, my driver, Tony, hops out to open the rear door. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’vetold him I’m more than capable of opening the door myself. But Tony’s old-school, he sees it as his job and he takes his role seriously.
I’ve known Tony for years. He used to work for my parents; it was he who usually collected Carlo and me from school. Once my investment business took off, I stole him. He’s a fucking good bloke but like the others close to me, recently when he looks at me, I can see the disapproval in his eyes.
I slide onto the leather seats, flopping my head back onto the headrest behind me.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror as my shoulders rise into a shrug.
“Carlo’s been trying to get hold of you. He’s called Maggie and me several times looking for you.”
“Did you tell him where I was?”
My clipped words tumbled from my mouth before I had the chance to check them.
“No. You told me your meeting was private,” he replies, but not before I’ve noticed the slight dark cloud passing over his eyes.
“Sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to question you.”
I’ve tested Tony’s loyalty too many times, in so many ways, and he’s never betrayed my trust. Not even to my parents when I was a child.
“I’ll call Carlo. Can you head back into town, please? I haven’t decided whether to go back to the office or to the hotel.”
“It’s eight o’clock, Spencer. Wouldn’t you prefer to go home?”
The question was like a bee’s sting. The answer was yes. I longed to go home to my wife, to wrap her in my arms and hold her, but Icouldn’t yet. Not until I’ve found a solution that will fix our marriage once and for all.
“Not yet,” I reply without looking at him.
I tap the direct dial number on my phone to connect my call with Carlo.
“Compagno. Where have you been?” his warm voice asks.
Carlo and I speak several times a day. It’s rare for either of us to be unavailable to the other, and historically, we have not had secrets. At least not until recently.
“A meeting. Do I have to tell you everything?” I snap.
“It’s never been an obligation, but you always have before.”
There’s a slight barb in his tone. He’s not stupid. He’s suspicious. I’ll tell him eventually, however for now I just need to get things straight in my mind.
“I’m coming home this weekend. Have you remembered your daughter’s birthday?” he unnecessarily questions me.
“Don’t be a twat, Carlo. Of course I’m aware it’s Lily’s birthday. Sophie has organized a party for her on Saturday afternoon. When our house will be besieged by other three-year-olds.”
“And their hot mothers, or so I’m hoping,” Carlo quips, seeming to have gotten over his previous bad mood.
I roll my eyes at my friend’s typical remark.
“You’d have to ask Sophie about that; I haven’t met any of them. I assume the majority will be married though.”
“Ugh. Don’t say that. I don’t do married.”
“Carlo, you wouldn’t do a mother either, not knowingly anyway. Too much chance of them clinging.”
He chuckles darkly.
“Ask Sophie when you see her tonight if there are any suitable candidates.”
