“Please, it's Richard.” My Master offers his hand. “We're family now, aren't we? May I call you Albert?”
My uncle takes the hand, but the shake is stiff, almost reluctant. “I prefer Mr Kimberley if you don't mind, Mr Haswell.”
What the hell…?
My Master blinks, exchanging a glance with me. “Of… course… Mr Kimberley. If that's what you prefer. Can I ask…?”
Whatever he was going to say is interrupted. “Dad…” It's Stephen, with a glass of wine, offering it to my uncle. “I brought you a drink. And I'll get you something to eat.” He waves toward the piled buffet table. “You name it. It's on there. Chicken. Beef. Fish. Salad. What would you like?”
“Oh, just pick me out a few bits and pieces. You know I don't eat a lot these days.”
“I’ll do that. Back in a minute.” He strides off again toward the buffet table.
My Master starts to speak again, but once more is interrupted, this time by David, offering his hand. “Mr Haswell…”
“It’s Richard.”