Page 23 of A Family Affair
Tristan waved over to the waiter and, with two fingers, indicated that they required more drinks. After the introductions had been made, Chuck acquitting himself admirably in the firm handshake department, he hadn’t stopped talking about the flight and the food and the limo, how swanky his room was and how many times he went back to the buffet table at breakfast. Apparently, Chuck thought he could get used to a life like that.
Excellent.
Still, as much as he’d been amused by Chuck’s boyish wonder, they had business to discuss.
‘So, you understand how important tomorrow’s meeting is. We need to tread very carefully at first and treat Clarissa with kid gloves. Gain her trust for a start. She’s very old but wily, and she doesn’t suffer fools.’
Chuck stretched out his legs and crossed his arms behind his head, oblivious to the odd looks he was attracting.
‘Dude, how am I going to do that? She’s like, related to the King so how the heck can I impress her? She’s royalty. And anyway, just because we’re distant relations it doesn’t mean she has to leave me anything… or does she? Like, is it the law over here?’
Tristan sucked in his irritation. ‘Actually, for a start, she’s not related to the king, so I don’t know where you got that idea from.’
Chuck shrugged and gave a thumbs up sign to the waiter who brought over his beer, whipping it off the tray before he’d had chance to put it on the table.
‘Seriously! I thought she was a lady or something and anyone who lived in a castle was related to the king.’
‘No. Well I mean yes. Her mother was a lady but the title died with her although Clarissa is descended from those very well connected to royalty. However, Chamberlain Manor isn’t a castle, even though the surrounding walls and façade – the front of the building – do give it that appearance.’ Tristan took a slug of his whisky then, ‘And it’s entirely up to Clarissa who she leaves her estate to because she was the sole beneficiary when her mother died many years ago. You would only have a legal claim if she died intestate – that means without making a will – and there’s no chance that is going to happen. That woman is nothing if not meticulous.’
‘So who is she going to leave it to, if not me?’ Chuck was about to put one of his cowboy boots on the table until the withering look Tristan gave him registered.
‘Truthfully, I’m not sure because she changes her mind like the blasted weather, but last time it was amended it was various charities and that would be a crying shame in my opinion.’
‘Jeez. Sure would be a wasted trip if that happened. I ain’t had no fun yet.’
Acknowledging the understatement of the year, and Chuck’s hint about having a good time, Tristan moved on. ‘Don’t you worry about that for now. You just have to focus on being polite and friendly. Get her to think you’re genuinely interested in your heritage, and her, obviously. Can you manage that?’
Chuck drank and nodded his head once he’d swallowed his beer. ‘I can certainly do that for you, dude, and hey, I am interested. Until that PI gave me the fright of my life I had no idea I was related to any Brits. Hell, I had no idea about nothin’ if I’m honest. And I’m a lone wolf. My daddy’s dead and my mama’s gone nuts so I like the idea of havin’ family somewhere in the world.’
Well there’s a big surprise, that your mother is a lunatic and you are an annoying ignoramus!
Tristan held that thought and his temper then wondered whether he should broach the subject of Chuck’s attire. At least get him to ditch the hat.
Then an idea. ‘Do you have any formal clothing with you?’
Chuck looked downwards at his shirt and jeans. ‘This is formal. These are my best. Bought ’em for the trip. Not the Stetson. Had this beauty for years.’
God give me strength.Tristan tried to curb his sarcasm, but it was a big ask. ‘Hmm. I was thinking something less… ranch-like; you know, ditch the cowboy look when we go for lunch with Clarissa tomorrow.’
‘Oh, I get ya. Like a suit. Nope. Don’t own a suit. Sorry man.’
Tristan puffed out his cheeks and resigned himself to the inevitable. ‘Well, in that case drink up. It looks like you and I are going shopping.’
CHAPTER18
Tristan’s temples throbbed. His anxiety levels were through the roof. The urge to throttle Chuck was increasing by the minute. Their luncheon with Clarissa and the ever-watchful Jennifer reminded him of similar afternoons when his boys were toddlers.
He and Diana would take them to a local but very upmarket carvery for Sunday lunch. Carnage, that’s how he’d describe it. Stuck in a heaving restaurant with other foolish parents who’d also believed that their little darlings would sit nicely, eat with a knife and fork, and not have a tantrum because they couldn’t have ice-cream before their main.
For the past hour and a half, Tristan had skilfully guided conversation, kept the subject matter jolly, given Chuck the evils when he knocked over a crystal glass as he fumbled for the salt and pepper, and wanted to die when he’d dipped his bread into his soup. How he’d resisted rapping him on the knuckles when he asked for a beer instead of wine, Tristan had no clue. It was exhausting.
As was the trip to Cheshire Oaks, the designer outlet village where Tristan had bought Chuck some new clothes. He’d objected at first, to the smart casual blazer, shirt and slacks, and outright refused to wear a tie but, in the end, Tristan cajoled and bribed, and Chuck had seen sense. First impressions counted so even if the loafers pinched a little, all he had to do was grin and bear it then he could go back to his cowboy boots. Tristan would have to endure a trip to a karaoke bar, that was the bribe. While the incentive of bagging a fortune had not only worked on Chuck, it had helped steel Tristan’s resolve. He could do this. It would be worth it.
To be fair, Chuck had scrubbed up well. If only he’d stop fidgeting with his collar and tie, like it was his first day in school uniform. God, the man was irritating.
And to her credit, Clarissa had been the perfect hostess: greeting Chuck warmly with a smile and handshake when they arrived; putting him at ease when he asked how he should address her. Tristan had advised going for overkill, and using the title, Lady Chamberlain, even though by rights she wasn’t actually a lady, just acted like one. Chuck, overcome by nerves or amnesia, had ignored this, despite practising in the car on the way over. Instead, in his lazy drawling way he called her ma’am while Tristan cringed as he listened to vowels that he thought would go on forever.
She’d insisted he call her Clarissa, thank goodness. And as Tristan orchestrated, winced, glared, and gritted his teeth, he’d also observed. By the time the meal was at an end and Jennifer served coffee, a blessed relief in Tristan’s opinion, he was somewhat assured that their host was neither offended nor bored by her guest. In fact, she appeared to be amused. He hoped this was a positive sign.
