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)
‘Hi, Edwin. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m late for a meeting. Can I call you back?’
‘This shouldn’t take long. I have good news for you. We have an offer on the shop.’
I come to an abrupt stop. My heart suddenly aches a little. ‘That’s great.’ I don’t sound very happy at all.
‘Full asking price, too. They’re cash buyers, so it will be a very quick and easy transaction. I assume you’ll be accepting it?’
I swallow and nod, the ache intensifying. This is it. The last scrap of my dad’s legacy will be gone. It’s bittersweet. Mum will be relieved of the financial burden, but I’ll be burdened with more guilt. I clear my throat. ‘Of course.’
‘Excellent. If you could let me know the name of your solicitor, I’ll get the deal memo drawn up. I’ll need the spare sets of keys, too, ready for handover.’
Keys. Goddamn it, the keys. ‘I’ll get it sorted, Edwin.’
We say our goodbyes and I stare down at my phone. Just do it. Get it out of the way. I pull up David’s number and dial. He answers almost immediately. ‘Elle?’
‘I didn’t get my keys back for Dad’s store.’ I get straight to the point. ‘The agent just called me. It’s sold, so they’ll need all the keys ready for completion. Would you mind dropping them into the agent on the high street when you’re passing?’
He’s silent for a second. ‘Sure.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Listen, Elle, about that night in the pub . . .’
‘Let’s not, David,’ I say, heading for the door. No rehashing today. Or any day.
‘I just wanted to apologise, that’s all. I was out of line.’
I slow to a stop again. That’s big of him to admit. ‘Okay.’
‘And for everything, actually. I’m sorry for everything.’
I smile at thin air before me. He might be sorry, but I can’t be. His betrayal led me to somewhere special. And now . . . closure. ‘That means a lot, thank you. Listen, I really must go. Thanks for the keys thing.’
‘No problem.’
I hang up and exhale, but my relaxed body soon tenses up again when my mobile sings. Becker. God, I bet he’s seething after losing the car to Brent. I get on my way, mindful I still need to get the showing room ready, and hurry to the Grand Hall as I connect the call. ‘Hi,’ I squeak, my neck shrinking into my shoulders, waiting for his fury.
‘Hey, princess.’ He surprises me with his upbeat greeting. He sounds far too chirpy for someone who has just lost to their nemesis. ‘I have a new woman in my life.’
‘What?’ I cough, coming to a stop in front of the Rembrandt. I know what that means . . . I think. A woman like Gloria?
‘We’ll need to make room in the garage,’ he goes on. ‘I can’t decide whether to get rid of the Merc or the Audi to make room for her.’
I should refrain from advising him that his quandary of which car he should get rid of has technically already been decided. He’ll see for himself when he pulls up into the factory unit. I shrink a little, but then straighten back up when the puzzle starts to click slowly together: Brent’s smugness; Becker’s chirpiness. It’s familiar. Clarity smacks me in the face like a boulder. I don’t need luck. Trust me. Oh good Greek god. He promised me no more secrets. He promised! I want to be mistaken but judging by Brent’s smug news earlier and Becker’s happy mood right now, plus the fact that I know Becker will be out for payback after the O’Keeffe theft, there can be no other explanation. Becker sounds as cheerful as he did when we left Countryscape that time, when he’d just turned Brent over for fifty-fucking-million.
I feel my way to the chair – the one that Becker fucked me on after he proposed to me this morning with a three-million-quid emerald – and collapse into it. My hand rests on my stomach to hold it, my tummy spinning. How does he think he’ll get away with this one? I don’t even know what he’s done or how he’s done it, but I’m going to bloody well find out. Just not yet. I want to look into his corrupt eyes when I hit him with my suspicions. Plus, he doesn’t know that I have cause to be suspicious, or where the cause for suspicion has come from. He doesn’t know that I’ve encountered Brent today, and I’m thinking he shouldn’t.
‘Eleanor?’ Becker says. ‘Are you there?’
‘Congratulations,’ I shriek, startling myself. I can’t be sure, but I think the sound of a bang could be Becker dropping his phone, probably as a result of being startled too.
There’re a few seconds of muffled noises down the line before he’s back. ‘Thanks,’ he says, obvious wariness lacing his tone.