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His fingers clutched the upholstered armrest. Behind closed doors there had always been a distance between his parents so in some ways his father’s infidelity should not have been that much of a surprise. But Henry Winslow II had led a note-perfect life, famously intolerant and unforgiving of failure in others, particularly in his youngest son. And yet, all along, he had been breaking the rules, lying, cheating, deceiving...
Was it any surprise Trip’s world had tilted on its axis when he’d found out the truth?
‘Mr Winslow?’
The driver’s voice bumped into his thoughts and he dragged his gaze back to the photographers. Like all paparazzi, they looked hungry and determined. ‘Let’s go in the front.’ He gestured to the car gliding to a halt in front of them. ‘Security can handle them.’
It was the opposite of what his father would have done. Or maybe it wasn’t. Having read those letters from his father’s mistress, he wasn’t sure he even knew who Henry Winslow II was any more.
As the driver opened the door, the heat hit him like a wall but he barely had time to register it before the photographers turned and saw him.
Their mouths collectively dropped open and there was a tiny suspension of air and noise as if the whole city were taken aback by his sudden appearance.
But then, it wasn’t often someone came back from the dead.
‘It’s him,’ he heard someone shout. ‘It’s Trip!’
And then, like fire ants sensing a juicy meal, they began swarming towards the car.
‘Mr Winslow, is it true you were shot?’
‘Did you lose your memory, Trip?’
‘Were you hiding or lost?’
‘Over here, over here, Mr Winslow—’
He was used to press attention, had grown up playing hide and seek with the paparazzi, but as the voice recorders and cameras rose like a wave he felt his heartbeat accelerate.
But the security detail was good and they held back the heaving, baying pack so he could make his way up the flight of steps into the office.
It was part of his father’s world-conquering ethos that nature didn’t intrude on the day-to-day running of his business. It didn’t matter if New York was melting or buried under three feet of snow, the building was always the same unobtrusive, ambient temperature. And yet today the gleaming marble and wood panelled foyer felt somehow different. Cooler, familiar and yet altered in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He felt different too. Which was no doubt why everyone was looking at him as if they’d seen a ghost. But then in a way they had.
‘Mr Winslow.’ The receptionist—Carole? Was that her name?—got to her feet, her eyes wide and stunned. Her colleague simply stared at him, slack-jawed.
‘You’re back. You’re here—’ Carole was blinking at him as if she had malfunctioned.
‘Yes, I am.’ He gave her a quick, dazzling smile that snapped off as he jerked his head towards the ceiling. ‘Are they in?’
By ‘they’, he meant the C-suite and it was a rhetorical question. They were paid to be here, to manage the ship while he was away, so where else would they be?
‘Yes, Mr Mason is holding an extraordinary meeting of the board this morning.’
‘Good. Then let me go make sure it really is extraordinary.’
He felt rather than saw her reach for the phone as he walked towards the lifts. But that was okay. It would give them time to roll out the red carpet. Hail, the conquering hero, he thought, stepping into the elevator.
As it rose upwards, he shivered. Was it him, or was the air in the building growing colder the higher they went? But that question stayed unanswered as the lift doors opened and Mason Cooper, Winslow’s CFO and Trip’s godfather, strode towards him, arms outstretched.
‘Trip—’
He grunted as the older man pulled him into a bear hug. Mason was a firm believer in tough love and over the years he had often taken an unwilling Trip aside for pep talks. Trip felt a sudden urge to lean into the older man.
‘I don’t understand.’ Mason was patting his shoulders and arms as if to prove to himself that Trip was not a figment of his imagination. ‘How did you get here? How are you? What happened? Where have you been?’
‘I can fill you in another time.’ He clapped Mason on the back to stop the spate of questions that he had no intention of answering. ‘It’s a long and convoluted story and right now I just want things to get back to normal.’ The trouble was he no longer knew what that was, Trip thought, his gaze snagging on his father’s portrait as they walked past the boardroom.
