Michael
He reserved the terrace table at Saldings on the Waterfront, dressed in a suit and tie, ordered the finest bottle of wine, and arrived early to nervously wait for Mum, not wanting her to catch him out in any way.
Saldings, one of the finest restaurants in all of Lauchtenland, maybe among the North Sea Island Nations, was not ten minutes from Pratt Printing.Mum often wined and dined prospective clients and employees here.
When Michael called to book the reservation, the reservationist knew exactly who he was and suggested Mum’s favorite table.
A server brought a basket of bread.Michael reached under the cloth for a piece.He’d skipped breakfast for an early meeting with Dad.They’d spent the last three days digging through archives, another trip up to Wenthelen Chapel while Lady Royal spent time with her family, then piecing together the two-hundred-year-old event that caused the House of Blue to revoke the rights and privileges of the Fickles.
“You’re here.”Mum floated up the steps into the exclusive dining corner.
“Where else would I be?”Michael rose to kiss her cheek and hold her chair.She was, like it or not, a force to be reckoned with.Beautiful, stylish, brilliant.But Michael knew things too, didn’t he?Like how it felt to be abandoned by one so elegant and fierce as if he and Evan were not good enough.
“I was on my way out when Liv Collier caught me in the hall,” Mum said, reaching for the folded linen napkin.“If that girl, woman I should say, used her wits on the job as much as she used them to film her makeup tutorials for social media, she’d probably solve world hunger.How are you?Oh, a bottle of Lauchtenland grapes.From The Haskells.Nineteen sixty-one.Very nice.”
“I’m not a total oaf.Are you hungry?”Michael held up his menu, nodding for the sommelier to pour the wine.
“I’m famished, but more with curiosity as to why you set this luncheon.I nearly shouted for joy, but Evan warned me not to get my hopes up.”
“This isn’t about me joining Pratt, Mum.”
“Not yet but give me the length of our luncheon.”She swirled the wine in her glass, breathed the aroma, then took a taste.“Excellent.”She opened her menu, read a few columns, then closed it, giving her attention to Michael.“So what is your purpose today?I can’t imagine.”
Her posture, expression, and lack of imagination almost made him abandon his mission.Yet this wasn’t about his mother.It was about him and the moment on the mountain that had changed him.
“Scottie and I trekked to Wenthelen Chapel.”
Granddad Cross used to say,“If you don’t know where to begin, anywhere will do.”
“Really?And where is your royal charge today?”
“Hadsby Castle.With the Family.”
“I’ve never been to Wenthelen Chapel,” Mum said.“I’m not sure I believed it was real.Did Lady Royal take you exploring or were you on some royal mission?Was the chapel falling down round your ears?”
“The chapel is very beautiful and carefully preserved.”
The waiter arrived to take their order.Mum chose a watercress salad with grilled sea bass.Michael selected the Caesar salmon with a side of parmesan potatoes.
“How is Lady Royal?”Mum said.“She’s kept herself out of trouble for the week.”
“She’s well, thank you, and she’s never sought trouble.It finds her.”
“Is there a difference, Mick?Trouble finds you.You find trouble.Same coin, different sides.”
“Are you attending the Rose Ball?”Michael raised his wine glass to his lips, backing away from the end of the story to small talk.“The king consort, Prince John, and Prince Gus have arrived home from their holidays.Lady Royal is rather caught up in the hustle and bustle.”Emmanuel help him—he’d reverted to small talk.
“I am attending, yes.Bought a frightfully expensive dress.How’s the queen?Has she recovered?GBS is a tricky virus.”
“Mum, you know I cannot talk about intimate details of the Family.”
“Then talk to me about intimate details of our family.What are we doing here, Mick?”
Here we go.Chin up, lad.Michael shifted about, took another taste of wine, and debated where to start since beginning at the end didn’t get him very far.
“Mum, after you left,” he said, setting down his glass, fiddling with the perfect alignment of silverware, “you took all the love and warmth of our home.Dad tried, but he was lost and hurting.Evan and I were scared, coming home every afternoon to a nanny who looked at us as if all the puppies in the world had died.For six months, Dad served takeaway as dinner.We were two little boys and a broken man trying to make sense of their lives.”He braved a glance in her direction.“Dad might have been hoping you’d return soon.”
Mom stared toward the window and the view of the Port Fressa port.“He knew I wasn’t.”
