Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“So, what now?” he asks, ignoring my sarcasm.
We round the landing and descend the staircase to the entrance hall. “What do you mean, what now?”
“Is there a chance?”
My eyes fall to my feet, watching my steps. Amalie asked the exact same question.
Is there?
“John, I don’t really have the headspace right now to answer these questions,” I say.
He nods, accepting, and diverts toward the bar. “I understand.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day, so I’m getting caffeine.”
No headspace? Then why can’t I get Mum’s sadness out of my fucking mind? I come to a stop by the round table. The lilies have been put back in the vase. I sigh, plucking them back out and laying them on the table, leaving that one single calla on display.
Understated elegance.
Where it all began.
I reach into my inside pocket and pull out the image of the babies.
Twins.
It’s another chance.
And again, I wonder who Mum was talking about.
Them? Or just me?
39
John’s right. It feels like it’s going to be a long day. So I follow his lead and stock up on coffee, except I don’t join him on one of the couches in the summer room to drink it. Instead, I have mine poured into a takeout cup and go for another walk, lapping the grounds, mulling things over. So many things. I feel weirdly vacant, and it’s beginning to piss me off. My head’s scrambled, so when I see Cook finally pull through the gates, I’m grateful, despite knowing my attention is likely to be focused on something unpleasant.
I call John to let him know he’s here and that I’m on my way, jumping when someone honks their horn at me. Sam pulls up, his window down. “What are you doing?” he asks, a monster frown on his face as he flanks me.
“Walking.”
“From where?”
“Just walking.” I give him an accusing look. “Did you get my text?”
“Yeah, I got your text.”
“Get it sorted?”
“No need.” He inhales and looks down the driveway toward The Manor. “I’m quitting.”
I try and fail to contain my surprise. “You’re quitting?”
“Me and Kate are . . .” His head tilts one way, then the other, as if he’s pondering how to explain.
“Going to try a normal relationship?”
“Normal?” he asks, and I smile. “What the fuck is normal? We’re going to try a relationship with no sex manor.”
“Good for you,” I murmur, looking up at the stained-glass window again. The heartbeat’s getting duller.
“But for the sake of old times.” Sam grins at me. “Mind if we have one more play?”
“Keep it between the two of you.”
“Of course. It’s like a farewell thing,” he says wistfully, eyes back on The Manor in the distance. “She’s been a part of my life forever.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, studying her. Imposing. Magnificent. Full of pleasure-filled promises.
And tragedy.
I feel like I’m subconsciously trying to come to terms with the end of an era. Is that what this odd feeling I have is? Or just the aftermath of seeing my mum? Or both?
“How was your break?” Sam asks.
I breathe in and exhale, finishing my coffee. “Nice while it lasted.”
“Well, welcome home. I’ll catch you later.” Sam races off, and I carry on walking, finding the picture of the twins again. My eyes remain on the little undistinguishable blobs all the way back to my office.
I walk in and find Cook and John on a couch each. “It wasn’t Van Der Haus who drugged Ava.” Cook gets straight to business, stalling my arse midway to the couch opposite him. I look at John. He’s removed his shades for this meeting. “He also didn’t steal your car.”
“Right,” I say slowly, lowering to the couch next to John, hoping Cook’s going to give me more than his baseless conclusions. He tosses some papers on the table between us. “What are they?” I ask, leaving them where they are.
“Passenger records for flights from Heathrow to Copenhagen in the past few months.”
“You’re going to tell me he was in Denmark on both occasions, aren’t you?” I scrub a hand down my face, breathing out my frustration. Cook doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. “Fuck.”
“I started a deeper dive into his finances before I had it confirmed he was out of the country, therefore out of the frame.”
“And?”
“And I found out his credit records have been looked into recently, along with his business accounts. Requests to Companies House being made, things like that.”
“Who’s looking into his finances?” John asks. “And why?”
“The who is easy.” Cook pulls his phone out and shows me the screen. “Haskett and Sandler. They’re specialists and advisors in selling small to medium-sized businesses. The why?” He shakes his head, putting his phone away. “I’m working on the why.”
“Is he selling up?” And fucking off back to Denmark, because that would be perfect?
“No, it looks like he’s buying.”