Chapter 11: The Investor Dinner
An investor dinner at the estate forced the old layout back for one evening: catering, formal wear, children presented and then dismissed upstairs.
Julian stood in the foyer between courses and heard, faintly, the guitar from the upper landing. He excused himself, climbed the stairs, and found Clara and the boys in the playroom with the door half open, volume low, the song a thread under the adult voices below.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said, without weight.
“We are quieter than the dinner,” Leo whispered.
Julian sat on the floor in his suit and listened for one full verse. Then he went back down, closed the deal conversation that needed closing, and ended the evening early enough to go upstairs again before the boys were fully asleep.
Toby mumbled, “You smell like other people’s perfume.”
“I’ll shower. Tomorrow we’ll do the song properly.”
“Okay.”
May you like
Clara met him in the hall, apron gone, expression unreadable.
“They held the line,” she said. “You came back up. That’s the part that matters.”
