I check my watch. It’s been fifteen minutes since I was shown to Jonathan’s study and he hasn’t yet made an appearance. Here I am, way too early on a Saturday morning, in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands, miles away from civilization and the bugger hasn’t the decency to be on time.  I decide to give him five more minutes, else I’m going to leave. After the crazy, sleepless nights I’ve had, my rather rotten mood is souring further with every minute that he’s delaying.

The door opens and Jonathan finally saunters in with his usual joie de vivre. “Apologies, apologies, Damien. You’re right on time as usual,” he tells me looking absolutely unapologetic.

“And you’re late as usual.” I shake hands with him.

He inspects me from top to toe. “How are you holding up? I heard about the shooting.”

I sigh. “I’m fine.”

“The news reports state that some fanatic against the aristocracy has probably decided to target you.”

“Yes. I guess that’s what it is.”

When the police came up with this conclusion, I didn’t correct them. It makes sense to use this as a ruse for now because every now and then we do have some activists who pick on entitled aristocrats like Jonathan and me. I agreed with the police and hence they’re off my back for now while Mike’s using his contacts to investigate more thoroughly. Now, he has a valid excuse to be in touch with the police for any information they get about the shooter. So far there is none though.

“Bloody damn fanatics!” Jonathan comments. “Why can’t they understand that we don’t just twiddle our thumbs in our huge houses? Many of us work for a living and do a great amount of good for society.”

Jonathan is one of the premier horse breeders in the world and in spite of his wild ways, he is one of the hardest working people I know. Royalty from across the world, American tycoons and Chinese billionaires covet the horses from his stud farm.

I give him a half shrug. “Many of us, but not all and that’s where the real problem is.”

Jonathan nods.

We both study each other without speaking and it’s rather sad that neither of us has anything more to talk about. This man is a good friend and I have to at least try and mend it with him, no matter that I don’t remember why I chose to disconnect with him when I disappeared for five years.

Jonathan breaks the stillness. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” I say.

We lapse into silence again.

I clear my throat. “Jonathan, I know I’ve been distant lately. I haven’t accepted any of your invites, but I’m just too darn busy with everything right now.”