Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
‘I plan to,’ Becker declares, sounding determined.
‘Come on.’ Paul takes Mum’s arm. ‘Let’s leave them in peace for now. We have plenty of things to see. We’ll catch up with them once they’re home and have sorted out Becker’s grandfather.’
Mum pouts but relents easily, and I give her a hug. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I leave here,’ I tell her. ‘We’ll sort out where you’re staying.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about us. Paul’s treated us to a few nights at The Haymarket.’
She’s being spoilt, and I’m truly happy for her. I smile my thanks at Paul, who shrugs his big shoulders awkwardly.
A nurse appears. ‘Your grandfather just came around, Mr Hunt. He’s asking for you.’
I see Becker’s whole body relax with relief and feel mine go with it. ‘Thank God,’ he breathes, turning a relieved smile onto my mother. ‘I’ll see you later, Mrs Cole.’ He backs into his granddad’s room. ‘We’ll do dinner.’
‘Okay,’ Mum agrees, allowing Paul to claim her and lead her away. ‘Love you, darling.’ Her face. God, I read every word she’s not saying. How happy she is. How proud.
‘Love you too,’ I mouth, waving as they round a corner.
As soon as they’re gone, I hurry to Mr H’s room, keen to see the old man awake. On entering, I find Mrs Potts in the chair that I recently vacated and Becker by his granddad’s bedside, holding his hand. Old Mr H looks drained, but his open eyes are a sight to behold. It’s all I can do not to sprint over and throw myself at him, yet after a few seconds of holding myself back, I lose my battle and decide he’d appreciate a hug. But as I lift my foot to go over, I freeze, someone catching my attention – another person in the room, standing in the corner. Someone big and imposing, his shoes still in need of a polish.
All the blood in my veins turns to ice.
Price. Stan Price. What the hell is he doing here?
Mrs Potts and Becker don’t look particularly perturbed by his presence. Neither does old Mr H. And he has quite a presence. A serious one. He eyes me suspiciously for a few, uncomfortable seconds before he nods to Mrs Potts courteously and respectfully. She nods back, her lips tight, her eyes watchful. Then he turns to Becker and reaches into his inside pocket, producing something and showing it to him. I know immediately it must me the photograph of Lady Winchester. Oh God, is he going to ask Becker who that woman is? What will he say? Will he deny it? Good Lord, Price has been following us. What if he followed us to Countryscape? What if he saw us chatting with Lady Winchester? Becker stole the fucking ruby for her!
I see Becker’s chest expand through his deep breath, and he slowly moves away from his grandfather’s bedside.
‘Price,’ he says, his face grave. ‘It’s been too long.’
I look to Mrs Potts, but she gives me nothing, her eyes rooted on Becker.
‘Becker Hunt,’ Price counters, ignoring Becker’s sarcasm as he steps forward. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the theft of The Heart of Hell.’
I stagger back, feeling my throat close up.
‘You do not have to say anything, however it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
The ground disappears from beneath my feet, and I feel an arm coil around my waist. I look to find Mrs Potts by my side, her face serious. I cough on a despairing cry, finding Becker again. His face is straight, accepting, and he’s looking at me, his eyes clear.
‘No,’ I sob, shaking my head, a few tears escaping as I tremble in Mrs Potts’s arms. Becker holds me in place with his serious stare, his head shaking, his jaw tight. He’s telling me to keep it together, and I haven’t got the first idea how.
Price produces a set of cuffs, and Becker starts to turn away from him, his angel eyes remaining on mine until he has no choice but to break the contact. His granddad looks up at him and nods, short and sharp, and I go limp in Mrs Potts’s hold. No one’s breathing a word. Becker’s cooperating and looks prepared to go silently and willingly. So why the cuffs? I want to scream my devastation and throw myself in front of him to protect him, but Mrs Potts has a firm hold of me, like she knows I’m a flight risk.
Price makes quick work of securing Becker’s hands behind his back, before taking his elbow and starting to lead him from the room. Becker looks straight ahead, his chin high, his body tall and strong. The urge to cry out, to dive on him as he passes and tell him I love him, that I always will, nearly gets the better of me.