A Loving Light
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 12: A Fruitful Relationship
There’s no question about it, international travel messes with your body clock.
We took off at eight in the evening, UK time. But despite the nine-and-a-half-hour flight time, it was half-past midnight local time when we landed.
We were in Business Class, so we all had our own ‘flight pods’ that converted into lie-flat beds, and three hours into the flight, Ben and Maddie had converted their pods and were fast asleep.
Meanwhile, I was in the plane’s bar with Marie and Lana, sipping Champagne.
Well, Lana and I were sipping Champagne. Marie had a flute of sparkling apple juice.
I caught her watching Lana as she sipped from her flute and asked, “Are you sure you won’t have a glass of the proper stuff?”
Marie shook her head. “No. I’m not breaking my promise.”
“Promise?” Lana asked.
Marie nodded. Then she looked down. It felt to me like she was deciding whether to go further. Whether she could go further.
She lifted her head and looked at Lana. “You were there when I told Paul that he saved me from myself. That wasn’t just me saying something that sounded good at the time—I genuinely believe it. Before Paul came into my life, when he started eating at Mum’s place, I...” She blinked, took a shallow breath and frowned. “I was in a dark place. Very dark. Mostly because of the people I was hanging around with back home before we moved to Westmouth. Actually, that’s part of the reason we moved to Westmouth—to get me away from those people. A big part of it was booze. I did other stuff too, but booze was the biggest. Hard booze as well, not just beer. Voddy, whisky, the whole lot. I wouldn’t say I was ... you know ... addicted, but ... Yeah, I was drinking more than I should have been and getting into trouble because of it. I dabbled with ... other stuff, as well, but nothing too hard.”
She sighed.
“Marie, I—”
She held up her hand to stop Lana and gently shook her head.
“I was on the path to the hard stuff when we left. I’m sure I was. Moving me down here got me away from the people, but not the booze. And I was miserable as fuck. That’s why I failed my A levels the first time around.” She smiled. “Then I met Paul.”
I reached out to rub her upper arm, and her smile widened.
“When I got the job with David—which I only got because of Paul, I never would have even gone for a job like that if he hadn’t set it up—then I promised myself I would not mess it up. Not let Paul down. So, I vowed not to do anything that might lead to my messing it up. The first step was to cut out alcohol. All of it.” She took another breath. “So as much as I want a glass of Champagne right now, as much as I crave that feeling when the alcohol hits my system, I’m not willing to break my promise. It’s too important. There’s too much at stake.”
“Marie, that’s ... That’s really brave,” Lana said.
Marie shrugged.
“It’s not forever. It’s for now. When I know I can trust myself, when I’ve proven to myself that I can do without it, have a good time without it, then I might decide to let myself have the very occasional drink. For special occasions. But for now ... Coke, mocktails and sparkling fruit juice.”
I nodded. “I’ll try and stop asking.”
She shook her head. “No, feel free to ask. You never know, it might be the occasion I decide is special enough to let go of my promise. Just ... Don’t be surprised if I keep saying no.”
Half an hour later, the three of us headed back to our pods, converted them into beds and tried to get some sleep. We had a long weekend ahead.
Have you ever tried to go back to sleep at seven in the morning after you’ve woken up at five and stayed awake for two hours? It’s not easy. Your body and mind are both tired and crying out for some sleep, but your body’s clock is telling you it’s time to get up and get ready for the day.
That’s how it was by the time I closed the curtains of my seventeenth-floor room in Midtown Atlanta. Only ... It wasn’t seven when I climbed into bed, it was two. I was ready for breakfast, not sleep.
So, when the alarm I’d set on my phone went off at seven local time, midday at home, I was feeling decidedly ‘out of sorts.’
Still, I had a couple of hours to sort myself out. I was meeting my girls for breakfast at eight, so I had an hour to wake up properly, shower and get dressed in something casual. I’d come back up to my room and change into my suit—the dark grey Italian suit I’d bought before Carly’s concert from the Bull Ring Centre in Birmingham—after breakfast.
I got out of bed, went over to the window to open the curtains and gasped. It really was quite a view of the city from up here. I stood there and took it in for a second, then went over to the coffee machine on the counter, popped a pod into it and hit the button to make an espresso. There’s nothing quite like an intense hit of caffeine to get you going in the morning.
An hour later, I took a seat in the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast, sitting next to Lana and opposite Marie.
“It’s all so ... posh,” Lana said after the waiter had taken our orders.
“It’s a five-star hotel,” I said with a wry smile. “What did you expect? An all-you-can-eat buffet?”
She shrugged. “Did you see the coffee machine in the room? It’s amazing. I’ve always wanted one of those, but they’re so expensive. The coffee’s amazing, though. A-Maze-Ing!”
I shook my head. She was usually so serious, but at times, I was reminded she was just an eighteen-year-old girl. Or was she nineteen now? I didn’t know when her birthday was.
“Maybe someone will buy you one for your birthday. When is that, by the way?”
“Don’t even think about it,” she said with a smirk. Then she added, “It was in October. You missed it.”
“Well, there’s always next year.”
Now she shook her head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I think we should run through it one more time,” Marie said. She opened the leather folder she’d brought to breakfast with her.
“There’s no need, really,” I said. “It’s all up here.” I tapped my temple.
She stared at me for a moment, then down at her folder. “Okay, so, you’re due to meet Maddie and Ben in the lobby at nine-thirty. It’s just a short walk to the Symphony Tower, but Maddie says you’ll need to check in at reception and go through security. The bank is on the thirty-fifth floor.” She looked back up at me. “Thirty-fifth floor. And that’s not even the top of the building.”
“The Shard’s higher,” I said. “And I’ve been to the top of that one.”
To my right, I could feel Lana roll her eyes.
“Your meeting is at ten and scheduled for two hours, but Maddie says it shouldn’t really take that long. No more than ninety minutes—”
“Why is it going to take an hour and a half to open a bank account?” Lana said.
“Actually, Maddie thinks that checking your identity documents and opening the account shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes.”
“So, what’s the rest of the meeting for?”
Marie grinned. “Client Relationship Management—that’s what Maddie called it. Anyway, after that, I’ve got a lunch reservation for you, Maddie and Ben here at the hotel. It’ll be, like a debrief—assess how well the meeting went. Then a car is picking you up from here to—”
“Marie,” I snapped. “I’ve read the itinerary, okay. I’ve read it a hundred times. I know—”
“Paul!” Lana said. “There’s no need to be rude. Marie’s just trying to help. Just doing her job.”
I closed my eyes. “I know.” Then I took a deep breath. “I know.” I opened my eyes and looked at Marie. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m still tired from the flight and everything. Jetlag, you know?”
“Paul?” Lana put her hand on my arm. I looked at her. “What’s wrong? Really wrong, I mean. Because it’s not jetlag.”
I shook my head. “I just ... These are all serious people. This is serious stuff. And I’m just ... I’m just Paul.” I shook my head again. “I don’t know if I can do this. I mean ... Look at me. I’m a twenty-one-year-old kid from the wrong side of a one-factory town in England, playing at being a ‘businessman’ with someone else’s money.”
“Paul ... You’re not playing. And it’s not someone else’s money.”
“Lana, it will always be someone else’s money. Clarissa’s money. And do you really think Charles Fucking Wentworth, with his Harvard education or whatever, isn’t going to take one look at me and see right through me? See a kid from a working-class town in a Halloween costume?”
Lana still had her hand on my arm, and she squeezed it gently. I stared at her as she stared at me, her big, beautiful, blue eyes wide.
“Stop it,” she said, quietly but firmly. “Stop it, okay?”
I stared at her.
“So what if you’re not a fifty-year-old experienced CEO? You are a twenty-one-year-old kid. But you’re a twenty-one-year-old kid who is trying to make a difference in the world—even if just a small one. Your age is only a weakness if you let it be. So don’t let it.” She smiled. “Youth is the one thing in that room that they don’t have. So, play to it as a strength.”
I took a deep breath and blinked, but didn’t say anything.
“Everyone who meets you and talks to you can see how real you are and how important The Mission is to you.”
“You think so?”
She nodded. “I know so. So when you go up there and meet the guy, don’t try to be someone you’re not. Don’t try to impress him with business jargon you never use. If you do, that’s when he’ll see through you. Just be you. Put on a ‘game face’ if you need to. But let your true self shine through the mask. Be yourself. Be Paul, okay? He’s the only person you ever need to be. You are not a fraud. And you’re not playing dress-up.”
I smiled at her, then reached over to tap her hand, which was still resting on my arm.
“I knew there was a reason I brought you on this trip.”
“Well, don’t you look smart, Mr Robertson,” Maddie said, with a smile.
“He looks awesome,” said Marie.
“It’s a really nice suit,” Lana said. “Is it the same design as the one you wore to the trust launch, just a different colour?”
I nodded. “I couldn’t decide between the light grey and dark grey, so Carly made me buy them both.”
“Made you?” Maddie said, raising that ridiculously perfect eyebrow. Seriously, how did she get them so ... perfect?
“Yes,” I said. “She made me do it.”
“Oh, looking sharp,” Ben said as he joined us in the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel.
“So are you,” I said.
“Armour’s in place.” He opened his jacket and showed me the pen I’d bought him stowed in his inside pocket. “And I got my sword at the ready.”
I grinned and opened my jacket to show him the pen I’d got for myself, too. I’d bought him a classic black one with gold accents, but mine was brushed aluminium.
Ben nodded in appreciation. “All for one,” he said with a grin.
“And one for all,” I replied.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maddie shaking her head. I looked at her.
“If you boys have finished playing musketeers, we have work to do. Are you ready?”
I put on a serious face. “Ready, Ma’am.”
She chuckled.
“Come on, it’s about a ten-minute walk.”
“Yep, let’s go.” I turned to Marie and Lana. “Have fun. Buy yourselves at least one nice thing each and don’t worry about spending too much. Just ... Don’t come back with a hundred pairs of shoes or something.”
“Yes, boss,” Marie said with a grin.
I looked at Ben. “Game face on. Let’s go to work.”
We strode towards the hotel entrance, Maddie shaking her head again.
It was a beautiful spring morning—comfortably warm but not so hot as to be unpleasant in my three-piece suit. Walking along the tree-lined 14th Street in Midtown Atlanta felt different from wandering through London. I hadn’t visited Atlanta during my year-long trip across this vast country. I don’t know why. I just hadn’t.
London was a contradictory mix of sleek, modern buildings, like The Shard and The Gherkin, sitting alongside centuries-old structures, such as St Paul’s or The Old Bailey, all within a tight, winding, unplanned street layout of a city several hundred years older than the United States. In contrast, Atlanta, at least this part of it, was unmistakably and unashamedly modern.
A blast of air conditioning hit us as we entered the lobby. After checking in at reception and passing a quick, discreet security check, we were directed to a high-speed elevator.
Ben and Maddie both carried small, stylish, modern briefcases. I held the new zip-around document wallet that I’d bought at the airport in my left hand. I’d seen it when Lana and I went into the Smythson store to buy Maddie her gift—a stylish leather travel wallet—and knew I had to get it. It was the final piece of my CEO armour. Inside were Marie’s itinerary, my passport, and other documents I thought I might need to prove my identity, along with copies of the draft contracts, agreements, and other documents for every aspect of the tour.
The whole purpose of this crazy trip across the Atlantic was stored in a single leather folder. Albeit a very expensive, very stylish folder.
After a swift, silent ascent, the elevator doors slid open smoothly, accompanied by a gentle ‘ping.’ Then a soft female voice announced, “Floor Thirty-five. Radcliffe Grant of London.”
I glanced at Ben as Maddie immediately stepped forward into the lobby. He raised an eyebrow and followed her. I took a deep breath and stepped forward as well.
The ‘Sky Lobby’ was unlike the reception area of any business I’d ever seen. The atrium at JMS Westmouth, in the building I’d own by the end of the month, was impressive, but this...
I shook my head as I looked around at the vast open space. It was in the corner of the building, so two of the walls were glass, offering a view of Midtown Atlanta and beyond from five hundred feet up. The white marble floor probably made the room seem larger than it really was, but it felt like this room was probably as big, if not bigger, than the footprint of my entire house back in Westmouth.
Directly in front of us was a large reception desk, shaped like a crescent moon with three people sitting behind it—two women and a man. On the free-standing feature wall behind the desk, the words ‘Radcliffe Grant’ were displayed in elegant gold lettering. Below that, in more modern silver letters, was the word ‘Atlanta.’
There were seating areas on either side of me, with designer sofas and glass coffee tables. The ones to my left overlooked the glass wall and the spectacular view.
Even as Maddie headed straight for the reception desk, I was drawn to the view. I wandered over to the glass wall and gazed at the vast, living mural of the city spread out below.
We were so high that the world far below didn’t seem real. The hum of city life—the cars, the people, even the wind—was absent, replaced by a silence so intense, it almost felt like a physical presence.
The cars crawling along Peachtree Street were no bigger than my thumbnail, and the people on the sidewalks were smaller than ants.
I felt a strange sense of ... detachment. It was as if I was looking down at the workings of a complex, beautiful machine rather than a living, breathing city, full of real people going about their daily lives.
This was a different world. The world of high finance. A realm of big pictures, patterns, and systems. Viewed from this place of quiet, untouchable power, high above the noise of the real world or ‘ordinary people,’ for the first time, the true scale of my new life became terrifyingly clear.
And the truth was, I was barely a millionaire, certainly not even close to being a billionaire. At home, in Westmouth, I was ‘rich.’ Here, in the world of Radcliffe Grant, I was small-time. A minor league player. A tiny fish in a small pond full of sharks.
“Be yourself,” Lana had said. “Be Paul. Be you.”
But standing here, looking at the world from on high, I really didn’t think that ‘Just Paul’ was even close to being enough.
I guess I was about to find out.