Part 1 - England 1985
Chapter 1 - The Boy Wonders
The bright sunlight peeked through the heavy burgundy curtains of the great room. Sebastian Irons felt the warmth of the sun on his face and squinted as he opened his eyes. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure where he was. A quick glance around the room told him he was in Alistair’s flat. He looked down at himself sprawled across the horsehair paisley sofa, wedged between Jemma and Astrid, the two leggy beauties he had picked up at the club last night. Jemma’s messy blonde mane tickled his neck as she lay nuzzled in the nook of his shoulder. Astrid’s legs were intertwined with his and her right arm was draped across his stomach. Sebastian’s suit coat was crumpled up in a ball on the floor and his white shirt was unbuttoned and rumpled. He had no idea what had happened to his silk tie.
Across the room, he spied Colin Harris and his girl asleep on the chaise. Oliver Harris looked uncomfortable sleeping with his girl on his lap in the straight-backed chair, his feet propped on an Oriental chest. Sebastian was able to maneuver his wrist to read the time on his Rolex. It was noon. Oh well, he thought; he didn’t feel like going to class today anyway.
He untangled himself from the girls and slowly stood up. A yawn escaped his lips as he stretched his arms above his head. Then he made his way to the breakfast room, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee beckoned.
Upon entering the room, he found Holmes, wearing a simple black suit and round spectacles, hovering over a tray of fresh fruit and warm croissants. “Ah, Lord Sebastian, good morning to you,” Holmes greeted him.
“Good morning, how are you?” Sebastian asked while snagging a croissant.
“Very well, indeed,” Holmes replied, handing Sebastian his coffee in a china cup along with two aspirin.
Sebastian sat down at the table. A copy of News of the World lay open to page two. “Quite a night you had there,” Holmes commented, gesturing to the paper.
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, glancing at the photo of Colin, Oliver, Alistair, and himself stumbling out of The Chinaman Club with the girls draped on their arms. He closed the paper and downed his coffee.
“I laid out your clothes in Prince Alistair’s dressing room when you are ready to freshen up.” Sebastian spent most of his time at Alastair’s flat, so Holmes made sure to keep a few of Sebastian’s items on hand when he slept overnight.
“Thank you, Holmes. You take very good care of me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense!” he retorted. “You always were my favorite,” he whispered with a wink.
Sebastian laughed. “You’re a good man.” He grabbed the silver coffee carafe and headed for the bathroom.
Sebastian stripped off his smoke-laden clothes and turned on the double-headed spa shower. He took one last sip of coffee before stepping into the marble enclosure. The hot water washed over him. It felt good and seemed to help the headache he was nursing from another heavy night of drinking.
When he finished showering, he dressed in a pair of starched khakis, a striped woven shirt and a lightweight, navy cashmere sweater. Sitting down at the dressing table, Sebastian picked up the ivory handled brush and tamed his damp brown hair. The image of the young man in the mirror, with his fair skin and pink blushed cheeks, was handsome. But something seemed foreign to him, almost as if he didn’t recognize himself at all. He sat there for a long while staring back at his reflection. How many other seventeen-year-old men would sell their soul to the devil to live the life he led? He shook his head in disgust and pushed away from the table.
It was fun to kick back and blow off steam. That seemed to be all Sebastian had done this year. As the school year came to a close and the impending threat of Oxford University stood in the near future, all Sebastian wanted to do was forget—forget that his life was already planned out for him by his domineering mother, with little regard for his feelings; forget that he was destined to be the future president of Irons Electronics, whether he wanted a career in electronics or not. The ticking clock brought him back to reality. He glanced at it and realized an hour had passed. It was time to get the rest of the group up and ready.
Holmes was still puttering about in the breakfast room. Everyone sat around the table poring over the gossip paper and generally ignoring the butler.
“Sebastian, what are we doing today?” Oliver inquired. Somehow the task of entertaining the group always fell upon Sebastian’s shoulders.
“Patience, Oliver, patience,” he chided. “Has Alistair made an appearance yet?”
“Not yet,” Jemma answered.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Well, I shall have to wake him then.” He grabbed the coffee carafe and two china cups. “Lads, go home and make yourselves presentable,” he commanded. “Holmes, please take the girls back to their flats so they can pack.”
“Where are we going?” Astrid asked, on the edge of her seat.
“I’m not telling.” Sebastian flashed a knowing grin as he walked toward Alistair’s room. “And don’t over-pack. You won’t need much clothing,” he warned as he vanished from sight.
The heavy mahogany doors proved a challenge for Sebastian to open while holding the carafe and china. Once inside, he placed the items on the bedside table and walked over to the floor-length curtains. As suspected, Alistair and Penny were still asleep, dead to the world. Only Alistair could sleep through the clamor coming from the group, he mused, giving a great pull on the drapes to open them up. The bright afternoon sun streamed through the room like beams of light from a torch.
“Blue blood, get your arse out of bed. It’s a beautiful day and I have a plan,” he announced with a grand gesture of his right arm.
Penelope opened her eyes and sat up in bed, trying to pull the ivory silk sheet around her chest. Sebastian noted the delicate rise and fall of her breasts. Being a gentleman, he handed her a cup of coffee and purposefully diverted his eyes.
“Thank you,” she smiled up at him from the tangled sheets.
“You’re welcome, Pen,” he smiled back, kissing her on the cheek as his face brushed up against her silky straight, blonde mane.
Alistair rubbed his eyes as he sat up in bed, propping his back against the padded leather headboard. He put his hand through his floppy blond fringe to get the hair out of his eyes. “Why do you have to be so bloody charming?” he grumbled as he grabbed his own cup.
"I’m not royalty. I can’t get by on my birthright,” he responded. “All I have is my charm.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Then why do you have to be so damned cheerful in the morning after a heavy night of drinking?”
“I’ll have you know it’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” Sebastian corrected him, pointing to the ornate French clock on the mantel.
Alistair quickly grabbed his watch from the nightstand. “Bollocks! I’m supposed to be taking my English final,” he groaned.
“Yes, I know. I’m missing the same exam, remember? We can buy them a library or something and I’m sure we’ll get good marks,” Sebastian reasoned.
Alistair laughed. “Irons, you are incorrigible. So what is this great plan of yours?”
“I think some fresh country air is in order—a place where the paparazzi can’t find us.”
Alistair took another sip of coffee. “What page?” It was a game they played to see who could garner the best gossip coverage in the London tabloid papers.
“Two.”
“Only two?” Penny inquired with disappointment.
“I should think a picture of the four of us would warrant front page coverage,” Alistair agreed.
Changing the subject, Sebastian said, “I’m driving Colin and Oliver. Holmes will bring the girls. I assume I’ll see you there once you’ve gotten ready?”
“Yes, it will be nice to get away from the royal abode for the weekend.” Windsor Castle was just around the corner from Eton campus.
Sebastian nodded. “I saw the flag.” The flag flying over Windsor Castle signaled the Queen was in residence—in other words, party-free zone. “It’s settled then. I’ll see you there. Dinner is at eight o’clock sharp.”
Sebastian stepped out into the glorious spring afternoon. He was glad he’d ditched school. The weather was perfect. The sky was an amazing shade of blue. The air was crisp and clear in his lungs. He decided to walk the two blocks back to his flat to collect his car so he could head to his family’s country estate to prepare for his guests.
Sebastian planned out the weekend in his mind and made mental notes of the things he would need to phone ahead for. A few of his fellow Eton classmates, dressed in the traditional gray striped trousers, black vest and morning coat, waved hello from across the quad. Sebastian waved back. It was true: charm and wealth made him popular on campus and afforded him many acquaintances—many indeed—but few real friends, he ruminated. Alistair and Penelope were the only ones. The trio called themselves the Libertines. Colin and Oliver seemed to be incidental companions, who were more interested in partying and drugs than building a friendship. They always had a good supply of alcohol and cannabis, which Sebastian did enjoy.
He unlocked the front door of his flat and entered, throwing the keys on the vestibule table where they skidded to a halt just short of falling on the marble floor. Thumbing through the mail, he found nothing of great importance and tossed it next to his keys. Sebastian strolled into the lounge, grabbed the phone, and rang home. The butler dryly answered on the second ring.
“Monroe, I take it everyone will be away this weekend?”
“Yes, Lady Irons is in Paris. Your brother and sister are remaining in London,” he replied.
“Brilliant.” He smiled to himself. “I’m bringing a group of friends up for the weekend. Will you please tell Cook so he can prepare dinner for seven people and have three guest rooms made up?”
“Certainly, sir,” Monroe replied.
“Thank you. I’ll see you in a few hours.”