Chapter 3 Titus

• Titus
• My first week in England has proven to be super busy, filled with meetings, conferences, and industry talks, and Tuesday the twenty-sixth turns out to be more of the same.
• In the morning, I attend a symposium on Interpretation and Knowledge Representation at University College London in Holborn. Then in the afternoon I give a lecture on Artificial Intelligence Reasoning and Decision Making for the college’s Master’s students. The lecture theater is packed out for the whole of the two-hour talk, and afterward I answer questions for a further hour, until eventually I have to beg for a break to have a cup of coffee.
• It doesn’t end there, though; half a dozen members of staff and a gaggle of students follow me to the coffee shop, and I end up talking with them for another couple of hours before I finally tear myself away and head back to the Rosewood Hotel. There I have dinner with the CEO and two other directors of an AI and Data Science Consultancy, and it’s nearly eight p.m. before I finally excuse myself and make my way up to my suite.
• I’m staying in the Garden House—a suite with a private garden terrace. I call room service and request a latte, and when the butler arrives with it, I ask him to take it out onto the terrace. I set up my laptop on the circular glass table, thanking him as he lights some of the lamps and the deck heater as, even though it’s July, I’ve learned that the evenings tend to be cooler than they are in summer in Auckland.
• He withdraws, and I sit in one of the chairs, stretch out my legs, enter the Zoom meeting room, and turn the video on. There’s about an hour until sunset, and the darkening sky behind me is brushed with orange, but the lamps mean that I’m clearly visible.
• I’m tired, which is unusual for me at eight p.m., but I still haven’t gotten over my jetlag. I should have said I’d call Heidi in the morning, but hey ho. I doubt it’ll take long.
• In under a minute, she joins the meeting room. Her picture pops up, the same one she uses for her Facebook profile. It’s a couple of years old, of her with her three sisters. After a few seconds, she appears in the flesh.
• We first met at Huxley’s twenty-first birthday party, held at his parents’ house because they have a large pool. Ever the host, Huxley introduced his four sisters to all his friends, then promptly told us to keep our hands off them on pain of death. I had no trouble doing as I was told with sporty Abigail, outspoken Chrissie, and somewhat aggressive Evie, who I discovered preferred women anyway. But Heidi was a whole other matter.
• Just sixteen, with straight blonde hair that was so long she could sit on it, Heidi’s lips permanently curved upward. I also remember that the bikini she wore was a startling fluorescent orange. Funny what sticks in your mind.
• I watched her for a couple of hours, getting in and out of the pool, hovering on the edge of the party, too old to play with the children, too young to join in with Huxley’s friends, and thought how beautiful she was, like a spring goddess, a budding rose full of promise, a soft fruit close to being ripe.
• When I went into the kitchen to get myself a beer and discovered her there helping her mother organize sausages and burgers for the upcoming barbecue, I hung around until her mother left the room, then went and leaned a hip against the countertop next to where she was preparing a salad for the table.
• “Hey,” I said. “I’m Titus.”
• She glanced up at me and blushed. “I know who you are.”
• Flattered, I said, “And you’re Heidi Rose Huxley. HRH. Should I call you Your Royal Highness?”
• She gave a little laugh and tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear. Then she turned to rest her butt against the counter, leaning her hands on the edge. “I like your tattoos,” she said, her gaze brushing down my arms like a feather, making me shiver.
• I looked down. I was wearing a sleeveless tee, mainly to show the tattoos off. I’d gotten them just six months before—a stylized dragon on my left arm and a wolf on my right, both wrapped around Norse great axes. “My mum comes from Norway,” I said.
• “The Striking Viking,” Heidi teased. “Isn’t that what Elizabeth calls you?”
• “Yeah.” I grinned at her, then offered her my bottle of beer. “Want a sip?”
• “I shouldn’t. I’ve already had a glass of sparkling wine.”
• “Do you always do what you’re told?”
• Her eyes met mine, and she held my gaze as she reached out, took the bottle, and had a swig. When she’d done, grimacing slightly at the taste, she wiped her mouth, her gaze dropping to my lips.
• “Would you like to kiss me?” she said, bold as anything.
• I don’t know whether she expected me to act the gentleman and say I couldn’t possibly, and to walk out of the room. Or if she thought I’d look shocked, maybe tell her off for being so audacious.
• Instead, with all the confidence and foolishness of youth, and inspired by at least two beers, I said, “Fuck, yeah,” put the bottle on the countertop, and moved up close to her, taking her face in my hands. Her blue eyes widened. “You’re sure?” I murmured, half-expecting her to shake her head. Instead, though, she just nodded, her eyes full of excitement, and so I lowered my lips to hers.
• I remember hers being incredibly soft, and to this day I can recall the heat that surged through me when she gasped, her lips parting. I brushed my tongue into her mouth, and her soft moan sent fireworks off in my belly that made me give a low growl as I deepened the kiss and slid my hands into her hair. She rested her hands on my chest, and we exchanged a long, luscious smooch that must have lasted a good fifteen seconds before someone suddenly said, “Oh! Sorry!”
• As shocked as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me, I stepped back, lowering my hands. It was Elizabeth, who was staring at us with much amusement.
• Alarm rang through me, and all I could think was that if Heidi’s brother found out I’d just snogged his sister, he was going to murder me in front of both his parents, and if he didn’t carry it through, I had no doubt that Peter Huxley would finish the job. Huxley had commented several times how protective his father was of his youngest sister.
• “Don’t tell Huxley,” I said. Which, on the face of it, wasn’t the most romantic thing to have come out with.
• Elizabeth just grinned. I glanced at Heidi, whose face was scarlet, then turned and walked out, back to the party.
• And that was that. I saw her several times socially over the next few years, but we didn’t get the chance to talk alone—we exchanged amused glances when we said hi and that was about it. She moved to England two years ago, and I haven’t had any contact with her since.
• So it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, and I have to admit she’s fixed in my mind as Huxley’s kid sister. I’m therefore shocked when her image forms on my laptop screen. She’s wearing a cherry-red T-shirt, and her blonde hair is now cut in a chin-length bob, parted on the left, with the shorter side tucked behind her ear, and the longer side hanging down like a shining curtain. She has large hoops in her ears. Her lips still curve up naturally, and she still looks younger than her years, but she’s matured into a summer goddess, gray eyeshadow giving her sexy smoky eyes, and a touch of gloss making her lips look soft and kissable.
• “Hey,” I say softly. “Long time no see.”
• She stares at me for a moment, and I wonder whether I’ve changed as much as she has. Then she smiles, which lights up her whole face, and says, “Titus! Oh my God, it’s good to see you! I didn’t realize you were in the UK. Chrissie told me this morning.”
• “Yeah, I’m over here on business.” Behind her is a series of bookshelves. She looks as if she’s in a study, or maybe a living room. “Are you at home?” I ask.
• “Yes. I’ve got the tiniest cottage in a little Devon village called Briarton. It’s wonderful—it has oak beams from the Armada, and a coffin hatch in the ceiling.” She tilts the laptop up to show me the square shape above her head. “It’s so if you die in your sleep, they don’t have to get your stiff corpse down the spiral stairs.”
• “That’s amazing.”
• “It’s actually a converted Saxon longhouse. It’s made from cob—straw mixed with cow dung. You can’t smell it though.” She grins, then says, “Where are you? In London?”
• “Yeah, I’m staying at the Rosewood Hotel in Covent Garden.”
• “Ooh, snazzy. Where are you right now?”
• “Just outside. It has a garden terrace.” I turn the laptop to show her.
• “Jesus,” she says, “that must have cost you a fortune.” Then she grimaces. “Sorry. Oliver’s always telling me not to mention money.”
• I grin. “I think you’re the only person apart from your parents that calls him Oliver.”
• “Well, technically you can call me Huxley too.”
• “Ah no,” I reply mischievously, “I’ll always think of you as Your Royal Highness.”
• That makes her laugh, and her eyes dance. “Eight years,” she says, “and I still blush when I think of that afternoon. I can’t believe you kissed me.”
• “You asked me to,” I point out.
• “I did. You could have said no.”
• “I absolutely should have.”
• “Do you regret it?”
• “Nope.” I smile, and she giggles.
• “This is a bolt out of the blue,” she says. “What made you contact me today?”
• I scratch my cheek. “Actually, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
• “Oh?”
• “You’re not leaving for the wedding for another week, right?”
• “Yeah. I fly out on August the third.”
• “Well, the reason I’m here is to meet with a company called Acheron Pharmaceuticals.”
• “They’re the ones offering funding for your IVF project, right? Chrissie told me this morning.”
• “Yeah. The CEO, Alan Woodridge, lives just east of Exeter, and he’s invited me to stay for the weekend. He’s holding a cocktail party on Friday night, a murder-mystery evening on Saturday night, and then on Sunday morning he’s organized a hot-air balloon ride across Devon.”
• “Wow, sounds great.”
• “Yeah. Monday I’ll get a tour of the company, and we’re meeting with the board in the afternoon for a more formal discussion. But anyway, so I’ve got to go to these events, and… well… I’m on my own, and I don’t know anyone else here. And so I was wondering whether you’d like to come with me.”
• She stares at me. Her lips part, but no words come out.