Private Player

“Well, it was,” John said. “We thought it was the start of a peaceful life together. We thought we were empty-nesters. That we were going to be able to spend the weekends naked and having a bit of rumpy pumpy on the dining table.”

I bit back a smile—either at his father’s story or the way Nathan had covered his face with his hands, I couldn’t be sure.

“No such luck,” he said. “Do you have children, Madison?”

“No, not yet,” I replied.

“Keep it that way. You think you’ve got them for eighteen years—Jacob’s thirty-bloody-four and I see him more than I see my dog.”

“Dad, the dog is dead,” Jacob said as he entered the kitchen and headed to the fridge. “Do you have any leftover potato?”

“The roast ones?” Carole asked him. “In the back on the top shelf.”

“You see?” Mr. Cove said. “They’re like woodworm. Can’t get rid of them.”

“You can get rid of woodworm,” Carole said, a puzzled expression on her face as she pulled a bowl of carrots from the side onto the table in front of me. “Do you mind?” she asked, handing me the peeler. She didn’t wait for a response and I was happy to help, grateful I wasn’t being treated with kid gloves. “Jacob, go and pick some mint and send one of your brothers in to help me do this chicken. And then you can set the table.”

“Worse than woodworm,” Mr. Cove said. “That’s what children are.”

I picked up a carrot as Jacob swallowed his mouthful of cold roast potato, grabbed his dad’s face in his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. John’s smile was full of warmth as Jacob swept out, presumably to find the mint.

Diligently, I began to peel the carrots. Nathan rose and found a bag of potatoes and a spare peeler, and we sat among the chaos, skinning our vegetables.

“I bet you’re regretting wanting to come now,” he said, quietly so no one could hear but me.

I grinned. “I was thinking the exact opposite.” I loved the hurly burly of it all. The way Jacob brushed off what his dad said, the way they’d heard Mr. Cove’s complaints a thousand times before and rather than chastise him, they either left him to it or finished his sentences. “Your family is wonderful.”

“You only have them for a weekend. I get them for a lifetime. I have no idea why you would want to put yourself through it.”

“I told you—I have to make this article as good as it can be. Last week one of my colleagues got asked to lunch by you through Christine. He’s been trying to steal this story from me ever since.” I set a carrot down and picked up another. “He’s got a ton more experience, plus he’s a permanent staff member. Coming to Norfolk saved my arse.”

“Really? Even though you’ve put in all these hours, someone is still trying to wrestle this profile off you? I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Journalism’s competitive,” I replied. “And everyone wants a job at the Post. Or if they’re already at the Post, they’re fighting to keep their job.”

Nathan nodded as he continued peeling his potatoes.

In the momentary silence that hung over the kitchen—punctuated only by the sounds of peeling and chopping, dishware clacking and tea being poured—I considered another reason to be glad I was in Norfolk. The truth was, I wanted to know who Nathan really was. And I wanted the world to see it, too—to let go of the idea that he was no more than a wealthy flirt with a penchant for nights on the town. He was so much more, and it was time for the world to know.

“Will someone call Beau and see what time he’s due to arrive?” Carole called out to no one in particular. “Or is that him pulling up? Zach, can you take a look. Someone’s just pulled into the drive.”

“No,” Zach called out. “The car’s too posh.”

“Not another one,” John said as he pulled out his phone from his pocket. “Who is it?”

I grinned at Nathan as his parents proved my point on cue.

I was completely charmed by the noisy love they all seemed to have for each other. It all seemed so normal. Better than normal—how normal is meant to be but never turns out. But if that was really the case, how did they produce someone as exceptional as Nathan? Why hadn’t he become a doctor and did that have something to do with his success?

“It’s Audrey and Mark,” Jacob said.

Nathan’s eyes locked with mine as if he was waiting to see if I’d jump to my feet and pepper Mark with questions about his wife’s fidelity.

I was happy to sit back and watch all this unfold. What were Audrey Alpern—the woman the Sunday papers accused Nathan of having an affair with—and her husband doing here? Clearly Nathan was wondering the same thing.