THE CONNOISSEURS

4. CONOR

London

LONDON Bridge is falling down, falling down.

My ears rang with the old lullaby my grandfather used to sing when I was a child. He sang it through births, weddings, funerals and even when he was dying. At least the man had the gut to face death with humor. Unlike the rest of the family whom I stood apart from. I remained by the bedside with my grandfather, grasping his thin hand while everyone else stood further away from the bed.

As the old man continued singing, I took the time to look at all the faces of my family, first cousins, those twice removed and those who I hadn't seen since I went off to university.

All lined up waiting for the old man to take his final breath so they could all claim a piece of his fortune. I looked at Annabeth Guillroy, first cousin with a penchant for beautiful expensive jewelries she couldn't afford after daddy filed for bankruptcy.

"Why are they all here?" Grandfather asked, annoyed.

His gray eyes flickered over all the faces with displeasure. "I'm not fucking dead yet."

"Moral support," I replied.

Grandfather grimaced and scoffed. "Yes, they are all morally supporting each other while praying for my demise, the lot of them.

I fought hard against the guffaw that threatened to spill from my chest. If there was one thing Oliver Sterling hadn't lost, it was his sense of humor. Perhaps there had been a reason; grandfather had been not well liked by the rest of the family. This was one of those moments. Sterling had been known for how ostentatious he had been in his youthful years. The candid photos of his masquerade balls and lavish yatch parties had been the talk of London not so long ago. As a child, I had aspired to be as rambunctious as him.

I didn't trust the family and not too long ago I had proposed to my grandfather to come to New York. He had declined, stating that England was where he would die. I had taken care to ensure his safety in the manor by hiring security services and paying the staff handsomely to give me bi-weekly updates on who came to visit the home.

"You know you could come home with me, Grandfather. You would love New York."

"I didn't like it in 1963," he replied with a huff of annoyance.

"That was decades ago, you stubborn old man. You would like it now. You can stay with me if you like."

"I know you fear for me, Connor, but you shouldn't."

When everyone left after quick hugs and 'get well soon' only I remained with him. They fled faster when they realized he would live than when they thought he wouldn't. The lot of them were disgraceful.

"Could you help me into the wheelchair, Connie?"

I pulled the sheet back from his and took his hand into mine, gently easing him from the bed and into the wheelchair. I stepped back so he could automatically direct himself from the room and into the hallway.

"So would you mind telling me why you've come? Have you met a good girl who's made an honest man out of you?"

I laughed. "No, I haven't. I've been focusing on work and the prototype─"

The old man waved me off. "Work, work, work. I worked all my life and look at me, surrounded by vultures looking to steal my wealth, the fucking lot' a them." He looked at me with concentration. "All but you."

"Come home with me and you won't have to see them."

He made no comment.

"You come to London for two reasons, Connie," he continued, "to visit me and when there's trouble."