Page 137 of The Unlikely Pair
It’s like a hunger, only it feels more unbearable than any of the hunger pangs I endured in the last forty-two days.
My need is overwhelming.
I pull on my clothes before I can question myself too closely about what I’m doing. Once I’m outside my room, I ask an officer where Harry’s room is, then stumble down the corridor.
When I reach Harry’s room, his door is ajar.
But Harry is not alone inside. He’s sitting in a chair chatting quietly with another man, an older version of himself.
His father.
I stop still.
Harry has shaved off his beard, and his hair is back under control. He looks exactly like the Harry I used to know and loathe.
They’re so alike, the two Matheson men. These two men of the aristocracy, whose breeding goes back generations, have the same tall blond haughtiness, the same stiff posture that exudes authority and control.
It feels like a punch to my gut, so hard I’m unable to breathe.
The flippant comment I made after Harry and my first sexual encounter echoes in my head,“What happens in the Scandinavian wilderness stays in the Scandinavian wilderness.”
I need to adopt that motto starting right now.
I take a step backward.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Harry
The next morning, I receive psychological clearance to leave Birmingham.
I get the feeling there was significant pressure applied by the Conservative Party to make sure it happened speedily. We dipped in the polls while I was away, and they believe they need me back at the helm if we’re going to win this election. Which I guess is a good thing, given my concerns about my position being usurped by Rupert.
My emotional state doesn’t matter as long as I can give a good soundbite.
Prunella has put her foot down and insisted I not head straight to London but rather to our country estate in Ashbury to convalesce.
I listen as my father and Amanda, the Conservative Party chairperson, discuss this on a conference call.
“A joint media statement agreed to by both parties has been issued this morning with the basic details to quell wild speculation. But we’ll have to discuss a communication strategy going forward,” Amanda says.
“I’m sure Harry will be ready for the media in a few days. He understands what a crucial time this is with the election in only a few months,” my father replies.
I definitely understand the stakes in this.
My family needs me. My party needs me. My country needs me.
But there’s one more thing I must do before I can fully step back into my old life, one last piece of unfinished business.
I have to say goodbye to Toby.
The hospital corridors seem endless as I make my way to his room. I’ve been rehearsing this conversation for hours, trying to find the right words to express the maelstrom of emotions that threatens to overwhelm me.
I pause outside his door, my hand hovering over the handle. I close my eyes, gathering my courage, and knock softly.
“Come in.”
I enter the room, my steps measured and slow. Toby is perched on a chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed. He looks up as I approach.
