Burned by Passion(4)

Blake found himself smiling wryly. “Well I did consider starting up as a bassist in a rock band but I guess I needed something more challenging.”

There it was; the token dry joke to set things even more at ease, thought Blake as his father chuckled.

“I’m glad for you anyway. Glad you seem to be doing well,” Bretton said with a nod. “So now that you’re back – how long do you intend to stay? For a while I hope.”

Blake paused thoughtfully. “Didn’t exactly have it all planned out. So I’m not really sure.”

“Hmm. And your mother? What did she think about your return?”

“Mom died six months ago,” Blake said simply. Just like that.

There was a resounding crash when the half-empty glass of scotch his father held slipped from his limp grasp, fell and smashed on the polished floor. Some of the liquid spilled onto the hem of his father’s pants, but he didn’t seem to notice as he sat there, still as a stone.

“Dad?” Blake sprang to his feet in concern.

“No...,” Bretton was saying as if from far away, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes seemed glazed in his drawn face, before his gaze focused on the worried-looking Blake.

“Where...how?”

Feeling like such an insensitive bastard for the thoughtless way he’d broken the news, Blake said quietly, “In a hospital in Kent. She’d been suffering from cancer for months...”

“But you wrote to me a few months ago and never mentioned this.” His father’s voice was firmer now, and angry.

Blake shrugged. “I guess I couldn’t bring myself to break such a delicate piece of news in a letter. Besides....” Blake paused, and then said deeply, “I didn’t realize you’d care.”

Blake thought he saw his father flinch, before they both turned as a burly and bald-headed man in a uniform of black shirt and matching trousers rushed in saying, “Did I hear glass breaking...?”

“Yes,” Blake said quickly, thankful for the interruption. “My dad dropped something.”

“Very unlike you, sir,” the bulky man said worriedly.

“I know, Wellman. Help me clear up the mess, will you?” Bretton said in a controlled tone. He rose to his feet and carefully stepped around the shards of broken glass.

As Wellman disappeared, father and son looked expressionlessly at each other and the moments ticked by. “I’d better go up and change my pants,” Bretton said at last. “When I come back down, we’ll eat.” And without another word, he left the room.


Blake let out a sigh, his fingers raking into his hair as he felt a strange heaviness. He’d really acted out of turn. Blurting out his mother’s demise like that hadn’t been planned but he couldn’t help admitting that he liked that it had an effect. Let the old man get to feel something for once. Bretton Carter’s trademark cool had been shattered along with that crystal tumbler, if only for a moment.

Blake had meant it when he’d said he didn’t think his father cared. Blake had been so certain his father had forgotten them – a faded memory from photos in a forgotten album. Hell, the man had practically ignored them for almost twenty years. The main reason Blake had even decided to come back was because he’d sensed that it was his mother’s wish for him. Why should Blake feel sorry for his father now just because the man had suddenly been taken over by emotions? Bretton’s shock, dismay and pain had been palpable. But Blake was ready to put it all down to guilt. That’s all it really was. And that’s why Blake felt no pity for him.





***

Dinner was delicious. A balance of rich and simple dishes with the flavors combined perfectly using fresh, seasonal foods. Blake was pleasantly surprised considering what he’d heard and remembered about American cooking. The meal was world-class and he didn’t hesitate to tell this to the private chef who served the meal.

His father made no more mention of his mother, nor about anything they’d spoken about earlier. Conversation was focused on comments about the food, light topics such as the cooling weather and some current world affairs. Bretton Carter was quite composed and back to his normal self by all indications.

“What exactly do you intend to do during your stay?” Bretton finally asked over after-dinner coffee. “You left your job in London, I presume?”

Blake shrugged. “I used to work for a major IT consulting firm but now I’m mostly independent. But I’ve taken time off work, actually. However if I decided to, I’m sure I could easily find work here as well.”

“You would,” Bretton agreed. “In fact, you could come and work for me.”

Blake smiled faintly. “I barely know anything about your line of business. I’m no investment whiz nor do I know a hell of a lot about mergers and acquisitions.”

“You don’t have to. I’m into a lot of things now. I even recently acquired a software company that’s been doing fantastic. Your skills would come in handy there...”

“Thanks but no, Dad,” Blake said firmly, hiding a grimace. He had to lay it on the line then and there. “You don’t have to work things out for me. If I decided to stay here in New York, I’d like to make my own way.”

Bretton lifted a slightly taunting brow as he smiled. “Independent as always I see.”