For Alice, With Love

Chapter 16 - Confessions

Chris's mother took a pointed sip of tea out of a perfect, gold-rimmed teacup, and levelled her gaze at him over the remains of their lunch. He'd caught her up on the entire Gillian-painting drama over the soup, the status of his embarrassing divorce while they were served sandwiches, and of course, how things were going out at the estate as her house staff served tea. He felt like he was six years old, and rubbed at his knees, half believing he was back in short pants again, scraped from some sort of adventure.

His mother had the power to bring him down a peg like none other. He listened to the tick-tock of the large mantel clock on the wall, brass parts swinging the passage of time. He waited for the lecture, the disapproving frowns, the "I am so disappointed in you" subtext.

"So," she crisped, and lowered the cup back to its saucer, "You are telling me that for all this time, you had no idea that there were stolen paintings in your house?"

Chris sighed. "No, mom. I was not aware. I rarely went into the guest bathroom, and wouldn't have looked at the paintings closely. I wish to He— Well, I wish I had, now."

"I see," came the clipped reply. Chris let out another sigh and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Look. Don't give me the sanctimonious 'you screwed up' talk, please. I already feel guilty enough. Mel was in tears last night, Gillian was an absolute bitch—as usual—and now I have more shit to deal with when I just want this goddamned divorce done," he griped, and put his head into his hands.

"Christopher! Language!" his mother admonished, then cleared her throat. "I understand this has been extremely difficult for you, son. I'm sorry if I come off cold. I am still very upset with your ex-wife for dragging us all into the mud with her."

"I know," he replied. "I'm sorry. My attitude needed adjusting too."

"Has taking time away out at the estate helped?"

"It has. Really noticed it after being in the office today," he said. "Kind of prefer working out of dad's study, if I'm being honest."

After his tilt-a-whirl thoughts of this morning, he did conclude that living out there had really helped. The quiet, the added time away from the rat race... It had cleared his head to tackle dealing with the guilt and grief, and shown him something different in his life, that he liked.

And there was Mel. A big part of that was her.

"Amelia is keeping you in line, I suppose," his mother said, reading his mind. "She's very efficient, that one. Like her mother in so many ways. I am so glad she can handle helping you as well as her regular duties."

Chris caught a hint of a smile on his mother's face, hidden as she quickly took a sip of her tea. What on earth was amusing about that statement? He shook his head.

"She is. I was pretty awful to her until we cleared the air, and we're becoming friends again now. I swear sometimes she wants to throw things at me, and last night, I wasn't sure she was going to kiss me or..."

Chris stopped and swallowed. Yeah. That.

"Or kill me, when I told her about the paintings. I ended up settling on kill. She was pretty mad."

He watched his mother's response to his slip, and all she did was look out the window and that funny smile came to her face again. Odd.

Chris' phone buzzed, and he grabbed it, stepping away from the table, his apology face on. She shooed him away with her hands. "Just like your father," uttered under her breath.

"Chris Smith," he said quickly, walking away into the next room, letting her jab about him being like dad slide off. He didn't want to even go there right now..