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I love my cousin, he’s the nicest man I know and backs me one hundred percent. I put him in as caretaker on the estate when the family in Ireland had fallen on harder times and there was no room for Anthony as the second son. He’d spent many holidays with me and he jumped at the chance to bring his wife and young family to England for a stable home and work. Even if it was at the family estate he would never inherit.
That had been my fate, and I had passed the ball to Anthony knowing he would do everything to keep things ticking along.
I turn around and pull my cousin in for a massive hug and smack on the back. “You look well, my brother.” His muscular frame is squeezed into his usual style country-check shirt and Schoffel fleece waistcoat. Jeans and boots. His mid-brown hair messy, his face ruddy from being outdoors on a regular basis. His eyes vibrant, his spirit as always lighting the room up. He looks like he’s just parked his tractor outside our door and come inside.
“Marcus, so do you. Better than I’ve seen you for a while. Things must be going well?” Anthony says, looking me up and down.
“You could say that,” drops in Xander as he sidles past, “you really could.”
Anthony, who is so used to Xander, just smiles at him. “Xander, as cryptic as ever.” He pulls Xander into a hug then smacks him so hard on the back, Xander shoots forward, coughing.
“Careful there, Bug. You could do me a damage. I need my muscles for my guitar, you know.” He does a bit of a shimmy and moves towards the morning room.
“Bug?” Anthony mouths at me. “Is he regressing to our teenage years?”
“You could say that as well. Let’s get in before Rowena gets in a flap.”
I walk into the morning room and look around the large mahogany dining table, set for brunch of course, and lo and behold I see a space left for me next to Isobel. I don’t even bother trying to hide my massive sigh of contempt.
Rowena is staring at me like she doesn’t recognise me. And to be honest, I’m not sure I do either.
Everyone is glancing at me oddly for different reasons. Xander, however, is trying to contain his glee at my behaviour. It's atrocious—my father would be turning in his grave—but by the second course, I really don’t give a fuck. Rowena, Isobel, and Chrissie, all try to start conversations with me like a tag team. I knock one down and the next pops up into the ring to start all over again. I ignore them as much as possible, only animated when Xander or Anthony are discussing estate matters, or telling funny stories about LA and Yorkshire.
The tag team starts up again, with Isobel trying to wrangle tickets to the tour starting in January. No thanks to my mother for that bit of obvious insider trading. Again, no joy. Not a chance in hell she is getting anywhere near LA or my tour.
“I think we have a problem Marcus.”
And there he is.
“Really Giles, what have you done? You’ve not been interfering with Anthony again, have you? I thought we sorted out who runs the estate last year. Just for clarity, it's Anthony.” I nod my head towards the big Irish man.
My mother looks at me incredulously, aghast that I would say something like that about Giles in front of people.
Xander spits out his tea.
“Marcus,” Rowena huffs out, “what is wrong with you? Giles is just trying to be supportive.”
“About what?” I deadpan.
“We have a claim on the estate,” he says, full of indignation now, “and I’ve sought legal help to remove them.”
“Get the DNA tests done. Tell them if they’ve got twenty million they can have it. Oh, and it costs fifteen million a year to run, so, good luck.” Everyone gapes at me, I’m quite enjoying myself at this point.
“Marcus!” My mother cries, literally clutching her pearls. “Your father would be devastated if he heard you talk about the Estate like that.”
“Would he?” I ask her. “Because last time I saw him, he told me to do what I wanted. To not be weighed down by it all. So, not devastated at all.” I quirk my brows at her and cockily look round at them all.
Giles clears his throat, clearly aware his plans are going astray. “Well, I think it’s a bit more serious than that. They want the title, not the estate.”
“Well they’ll have to wait ‘til I drink myself to death being a rock star for that,” I tell him and return to eating my brunch, ignoring them. I try to start a conversation with Anthony about some new farming techniques from the states when Giles yet again clears his throat.
“You need to get that looked at, Giles,” I say, pointing at his throat, “could be throat cancer.” My mother gasps and grabs said pearls again. She’s not going to have any left at this rate. Xander has tears in his eyes and is looking at Anthony, who is also struggling to hang onto his laughter.
“Well,” goes on Giles valiantly, “I can explain. I’ll get all the information together.”
“Are you going to do a presentation?” I ask with a bored look on my face. Giles looks at Rowena to intervene.
“Marcus, please,” she chirps, “this is really serious.”
