The Heir Affair

telegraphing, All is well, nothing to see here. But please, do see the nothing that there is to see.
“Happy birthday, mate,” Gaz said, clapping Nick on the back. “Please thank old Dick for the invitation. It was kind of him.”
“Kind would’ve been scheduling this for tomorrow,” I muttered.
“But at least we get to raise a glass together,” Cilla soothed me. “And please tell Gaz we don’t need to bid four hundred pounds for an artist’s rendering of a dirt road.”
Nick laughed. “Gaz, in fine form as usual,” he said. Then he lowered his voice. “This evening was meant to suck dry the hopelessly rich viscounts of such and such, not people we actually like.”
“It’s not just any dirt road. It’s Knightsbridge, right by our flat!” Gaz said. “Happy memories, my love.”
“It says they think it’s Knightsbridge. It could be any old grubby strip,” said Freddie, appearing between them and wrapping an arm around each shoulder. “All ancient dirt roads look a bit the same, don’t they?”
Gaz sucked in some air. “Hopefully someone will outbid me, then,” he said.
Cilla smacked him in the chest. “You didn’t tell me you’d already bid,” she exclaimed. “You know, my great-grandfather’s cousin was a cartographer. They say he was fired from every job he had because he’d draw all the maps wrong if he had a vendetta against anyone in the area.” She grinned. “As you might imagine, that was rather a lot.”
The five of us bantered so comfortably even Eleanor would have been fooled into thinking there was no fire where there had once been smoke. But then Cilla got too deep in her cups and developed a competitive urge for Gaz to lock down the Knightsbridge etching, and an old Naval admiral pulled Nick away into a conversation about submarines that I was more than happy to miss. Suddenly, it was just me and Freddie.
“My, won’t people talk?” he quipped.
“I think that’s the idea,” I said. “Try to look like I’m not interesting. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
He laughed. “But it’s been such a stimulating few weeks,” he said. “Your endless small talk had me about ready to move out until I realized I’d started to depend on your pastry deliveries.” He tried to look nonchalant. “You’ll be pleased to know I’d planned for you to meet Hannah tonight.”
I brightened. “We’re talking about this now?”
“Seemed about time.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Or maybe you’ve simply nattered me into submission. For the love of God, either write that Sheffield Wednesday detective series or don’t.”
I craned my neck as if I’d recognize Hannah in a crowd, or even at all. “Is she here?”
“Alas, no,” he said. “She’s stuck at work. She’s a barrister, a very fancy one, actually. Human rights. Makes me feel like a lazy tosser by comparison.”
“Freddie!” I clasped my hands together in what was as subtle a gesture of glee as I could manage. “She sounds…”
“Out of my league?”
“I was going to say cool as hell,” I said. “Has she met Richard?”
Freddie shook his head. “I think she’ll impress the socks off him, but it’s been tricky enough getting me into her datebook,” he says. “And I don’t want her to feel pressured. It’s hard to find the right time to go public, and meeting Father could be even harder.”
I nodded. “Tell her your brother married a ne’er-do-well former greeting card artist. Richard will be delighted for someone with a real job to raise the level of discourse.”
He grinned at me, the most genuine one I’d seen in far too long. “Wise as ever, Killer.”
The sun had dipped below the horizon line, leaving only a last pulse of gold and an electric-blue sky swirled with pink clouds. The light flared with eerily cinematic timing as he said my old nickname, and it felt so good, I almost hugged him. But a halo of space was beginning to form around Richard, which was Freddie’s and Nick’s cue to join him. They nearly bumped into each other as they arranged themselves on either side of their father; Freddie gave an extra-jovial “after you” gesture. Unusually, I couldn’t read Nick’s face.
“Thank you for joining us to honor the important work of the Royal Geographical Society, one of my favorite patronages,” Richard said. “I’m told we’ve raised, conservatively, five million pounds towards the Antarctic mission. The anthropological and environmental impact of these grants is immense, and I’ve learnt more in my close meetings about RGS projects than I ever did at Oxford. Though don’t tell Oxford I said that.”
The room laughed politely.
“Which is why what I’m about to say is so bittersweet,” Richard continued. “Being a young patron of this society was formative for me, and it would be selfish to keep that experience from my own sons. My father held it before he passed, then my mother handed it down to me, and I’m delighted to continue the tradition by passing along this patronage to someone whose professional dedication has recently been on impressive display. So please, a round of applause for the RGS’s new patron, Prince Frederick.”
Richard put a hand on his younger son’s shoulder as he continued to wax proud. Freddie lapped up every word, unable to hide his delight, but all I saw was a mirage. Richard had taken oratorical pains to trace the patronage through the line of succession before skipping Nick—a slight the general public might not notice but Nick obviously would. What can look like a small twist of the knife often does the most harm; while Nick held it together admirably, it was the second time he’d been passed over for Freddie since our return, and I knew by the tension in his jaw that he felt the stab.
As the crowd thinned out, Nick took refuge in a corner of the viewing gallery. I joined him and we stared at the Millennium Wheel in the distance, framed by the last of the pink and purple sky.
“Do you think Father even remembers that my degree is in