Chapter 43

3:45 p.m. Tuesday

"Do you plan to sulk the rest of the day or would you like me to order up some dinner for later?" Evan asked through the closed doorway.

"Screw you, Evan," Camille yelled back.

"Well, if that's on the menu... ," Evan said, smiling. "Seriously, Girl, you had to know this was coming at some point. If you thought I was just going to play Mr. Good Chap and let the last 18 years go, you're daft. You're probably going to hear the same thing from Mum when she gets in Friday so I thought I'd get mine out of the way."

Camille opened the door and saw her old paramour standing in the hallway.

"I just wanted to point out that Andy isn't the one to be angry at," Evan said in a softer voice. "I didn't want you taking things out on him. Then, well, my temper got the better of me. I didn't mean for things to come out as they did. It's not that I didn't mean them exactly as I said them but I could have found a more diplomatic way of putting it. I apologize for my tone but not for the sentiments behind them."

"What happened to the goofy surfer dude with the horrible Valley accent?" Camille asked after a pause.

"That same that happened to the girl that was going to live on a farm and raise horses," Evan said with a shrug. "Life got in the way of our plans."

He gave a wan smile.

"We have 12 horses at the estate," he said. "I bought them just like you'd planned. The only thing that was missing was you. I am sorry that I hurt you but ... I tend to lash out when I feel aggrieved."

"I think I liked your Valley accent better than your posh, upper-crust Cambridge one," Camille said, exiting her room for the first time since she arrived.

"Sadly, this is the one I've perfected," Evan replied as he followed her down the hallway to the sitting area.

"I'll get used to it," Camille said. "You have every right to be angry. I understand that. What bothered me is that you're right. Andy is in this situation because of the choices I've made. I've always told myself that I was doing my best for him. That's a lie. I was doing the best I could within the parameters I'd set. It took me almost six years to accept government subsidies because I didn't want handouts. There were months when I couldn't pay the rent. We've been evicted twice – three times if you count my mother. I have unpaid bills that probably are close to $20,000. I owe doctors and dentists and the electric company and the phone company. I'm so far in debt I could start my own government.

"Andy has never lived in a place with Internet access and he's never owned a computer. The only reason he has a car is because he needed it for work. We've never taken a vacation or gone to an amusement park. He's never seen a pro baseball game or been to an NFL game.

"He probably hasn't had a moment of leisure time in two years. If he wasn't at school, he was at work. If he wasn't at work, he was doing the laundry or paying the bills or doing our grocery shopping. He quit playing sports in high school because we needed his income to survive. He's the most serious 17-year-old boy I've ever seen. I'm not sure he's had a moment of fun since he was 14. It wasn't like he could hang out in the park and shoot baskets or even just walk around the block. This is what I've done, Evan. I've known this for years but your words drove it home to me. Andy has led a terrible childhood because I was too stupid to ask for help from the people I knew would give it."

"I think if you were to ask Andy, he would tell you his childhood, while maybe not idyllic, has been far from terrible," Evan said consolingly. "Regan seems to bring out his fun side – and don't forget, college is supposed to be the best time in a young life. The first two years certainly were for me."

"Yeah," Camille agreed with a smile. "It would be easier if Regan wasn't who she is. I mean, not her personality. I like that. And you're right ... she makes him happy and lets him act his age. But you know how it's going to be for her in a year or two. The wealthy gravitate to the wealthy in places like Stanford. I worry that Andy is going to get hurt when he can't compete with the kids whose parents rake in millions of dollars a year."

Evan laughed.

"Girl, we might not rake in a million a year but we're damned close," he said. "With what I owe in back support and your savings account, you're damned near a millionaire on your own."

Camille looked from her internal musings.

"Jesus Christ," she said. "For years, the specter of your family has hung like a noose around my neck. You'd think sitting in this suite would have clued me in but in the past few days, I've completely forgotten who you really are."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Evan said. "In truth, I am sort of a pariah in British society. You know I've never held with their old-school traditions. I don't wear my regimental tie or my school pin. I rarely pay attention to Parliament unless something interesting is being discussed. I've turned away just about every eligible daughter of a peer for the past 15 years. There are rumors that I'm a poof, not that opinions matter much to me. I didn't even attend Will and Kate's wedding – although Mum went. I've met her though and she's a lovely girl. You'd like her. She's got spirit ... much like Will's mum – and just like Andy's mum."

Camille shook head and broke into laughter.

"You're on a first name basis with the Queen of England!" she said.

"Well, no," Evan countered. "She is still Your Majesty to me – and to mum. Truth is, she never really cared for my mother. I haven't seen her in almost a decade – and even then it was a brief chat in a receiving line. I know Charles and Camilla a bit better but not much. I fall into that odd period where I have no contemporaries. I'm younger than the children but older than the grandchildren. My family is tied to the Windsors only through an ancient marriage. Three-hundred years ago, a Duffield married one of the daughters of one of the daughters of King George IV. She was, according to family lore, a singularly unlikeable woman and the man was awarded an earldom in recompense for keeping her out of London. I've told you this before but I doubt you recall the particulars."

"I recall," Camille said with a nod.

"Ah," Evan replied. "So, if a great plague were to strike Britannia and a huge load of blue bloods were to keel over at once, I could, technically, have a claim to the crown – not that I'd want it under any circumstances but certainly not under those. I was a member of the House of Lords by virtue of peerage until they changed the laws a few years back. Now I could be voted in to one of the seats but I've never run. That will pass when I do. Andy, because of his citizenship, will not inherit my right to run for a seat even if he should want to. Even before the right was revoked, I was one of a handful of members on an extended leave of absence. Lord knows there are enough of them that my presence wasn't missed – or likely even noticed. I have never been asked to serve as government minister – and I would have likely laughed in the face of anyone with the temerity to approach me with such a ludicrous proposal. For the past several years, I have been content to tend to the businesses my father and grandfather built. I do not live in London and I rarely visit there. I prefer the quiet of the estate – although I will confess that I miss surfing."

"Trying to surf more like it," Camille said with a laugh. "If you want to fall into water, they make diving boards for that."

"Yes," Evan said drily. "I seem to recall that comment from your lips a number of times in the past."

"You were terrible," Camille said, smiling at the memory.

"Do you recall the time you thought it wise to ride a mechanical bull?" Evan wondered. "I believe you lasted as long on that seat as I typically did on a board."

"And my butt hurt for a week!" Camille answered. "We had a lot of fun, Evan."

"Aye," Evan agreed. "You know, we can still have fun. I'm not talking necessarily like the old days – although I won't protest if our lives take that turn. The truth is, I have few friends and they are not the sort that enjoys a rugby match on the telly or a pint at the local."

"I have no friends at all," Camille said. "With work and Andy, I haven't had time but, really, I don't like many people."

"That was always your way," Evan told her. "But the few you did like you liked very well."

"I'm not sure about our lives fitting together any longer," Camille said. "Too much time has passed and my life hasn't lent itself to soirees and high teas."

"Then I suppose it's fortunate that I don't attend soirees and high teas," Evan countered. "All I ask, for the next few weeks, forget that I have some ancient title that means little to nothing. Get to know the man I've become. I'll try to forget the crazy girl I knew in college and get to know the woman you've become. If we fit, then fantastic. If we don't, we'll always have a link in Andy. We can develop a different sort of friendship than we had before – if for no other reason that it will benefit our son. Can we try that?"

He extended a hand toward Camille who looked at it for a moment before shaking it to seal their agreement.

"I can't see that it will hurt anything," she replied.

Evan nodded his agreement – even though he knew he risked getting hurt a lot more than she thought.

Andy looked at his phone as soon as he sat down in the car, expecting to see Regan's number. He frowned when he saw two missed calls and a text from Elizabeth. He sat the phone back in the console, deciding that he'd had enough of Elizabeth Pena for one day.

He waited until he rounded the Rileys' circular driveway and passed through their security gate before hitting Regan's number again. He listened and heard her voicemail message but hung up without leaving another recording. He had told her not to cancel plans and it was obvious that she hadn't. He checked the time and saw he had 18 minutes to cover the 15 minutes to work.

Regan saw her phone vibrate and looked at the caller. For the third time in 30 minutes, she hit the ignore button and sat the phone down.

"What are you doing?" Ruth asked. She had seen Regan's screen and knew it was Andy calling. "You cry and complain that he's too busy to talk to you and then you send him to voicemail when he calls. If you're playing some stupid game, you need to stop it."

"I'm not playing a game," Regan answered, unbothered by Ruth's tone. "I just have some things to think about before I talk to him again."

"Like what?" Ruth asked. She had just talked to Regan two hours earlier. She couldn't fathom what had transpired while Regan sat in class that would give her reason to rethink her relationship with Andy.

"About what happens when we get to college," Regan answered. "Andy is going to hate the life I'll have to lead there."

Ruth gave a quizzical look.

"The press stalking my every move," Regan stated. "The gossip blogs picking up on something every time I walk out of my dorm. Andy won't live that way. I know he won't. We won't even be able to stop for a pizza without someone tracking us. Joy said..."

"Fuck Joy," Ruth cut in angrily. "Her mom spends her days digging in the dirt and stirring the shit pile then telling Joy all the exciting things she's learned. Joy has a skewed perspective on that portion of life."

"She probably has a better perspective that we do," Regan pointed out.

"Bull ... shit," Ruth intoned, stretching the word to three full seconds. "You're not going to be the first wealthy person to grace Stanford's gates. There are actresses who go there. That tennis player that retired at 18 goes there. Hell, the ex-president's granddaughters go there. Do you ever see them pop up in the tabloids? No way! The college isn't going to let photographers on campus. Palo Alto isn't New York or Los Angeles. It isn't even Chicago. You're going to be able to do anything you want without intrusion – unless you welcome the intrusion. Yeah, if you get into a fistfight in a bar, it'll be on the news. If you're caught smuggling in heroin from Mexico, you're going to see your face on the Internet.

"But just going out for a pizza? No one is going to give a shit about you and Andy unless he bones you on the Dean's front lawn. The publicity machine is there if you want it. The people you see on the Internet every single day have courted fame – despite the fact they have nothing worthwhile about them to deserve it. They willingly put themselves out there to be photographed.

"Those who don't court fame get to live relatively anonymous lives. Do a search for Jessica Alton. That's the tennis player that retired after winning the U.S. Open at 17. She's a student at Stanford and I'll bet you can't find a picture of her that's less than a year old. The same is true for politicians' kids that go there. I think President Clinton's daughter went there with no issue at all. Joy is absolutely full of shit about this."

Regan put Ruth's theory to the test. She typed in tennis player's name and found nothing since her U.S. Open victory the year before and the photos after her retirement announcement. It seemed the girl dropped off the face of the earth as soon as she walked onto Stanford's campus. There were stories that speculated she would play the summer events but there were no stories about her life at Stanford.

"I didn't even know Chelsea Clinton went to Stanford," Regan said. "That was right at the end of his presidency, too."

Ruth looked up smugly but Regan still seemed troubled.