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Chapter 10
The nerves are back with a vengeance when I tentatively push my way through the door of the kitchen. So Becker tells me they know I’m sleeping in his bed? Yes, they know that, but what Becker failed to mention was how they took the news.
Woof!
I only just locate Winston in time to prepare myself for his pounce. ‘Hey, boy!’ I laugh, stumbling back when he launches his chunky front paws at my thighs. He’s panting happily, his tail wagging so fast it’s a blur. I give him all the fuss he wants, my feeble side centring my attention on someone – or something – who I know is pleased to see me, rather than face two people who I’m not so sure about. ‘Glad to see me?’ I ask, ruffling his ears.
He starts sniffing me, his body suddenly stilling. I fear the worst and freeze along with him. I haven’t forgotten Becker’s dog’s aloofness when he caught a whiff of me after Becker had his way. Winston snorts a few times, getting a good hit of my scent. Then he looks up at me, and I wait patiently for Becker’s cheeky British bulldog to decide whether or not he and I are on speaking terms. The relief that courses through me when he resumes excited shakes is really rather silly. The fact that I’m here has clearly overshadowed the fact that Becker’s had his hands all over me.
I drop to my knees and let the big ball of muscle trample all over my lap, his wagging arse making him all unstable as he tries to sit down. ‘Pleased to see you, too, boy.’ I bury my nose on top of his head and inhale the comforting mild doggy smell.
Winston and I are in a world of our own, thrilled to be reunited . . . until the sound of a cupboard door closing echoes around the kitchen. That door was closed on purpose. Loudly on purpose.
I cringe as I peek up over Winston’s head, enduring his weight on my lap like it can protect me from their disapproval. Mrs Potts is standing by the pantry door, her hand still on the handle, and Mr H is at the table, a spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Morning,’ I squeak meekly, smiling nervously. Both are quiet and both are still, to the point it becomes uncomfortable, and I start mentally begging for one of them to at least say something. Anything. Warn me, I don’t care.
‘He’s missed you,’ Mrs Potts says, nodding to Winston on my lap, prompting me to look down, too. ‘And so have we.’ My head flicks up, shocked. Mrs Potts smiles and opens up her arms to me. ‘Come here, princess.’
I laugh, but I could quite easily cry. The weight of the world feels like it’s just lifted from my shoulders. I coax Winston off my lap, and he grumbles his protest, but I ignore him and straighten up, brushing down the front of my dress.
‘Come on then.’ She gestures with impatient hands, and I kick my feet into action, taking myself to her. I’m a little overwhelmed by the fierceness she injects into her hug, squeezing me tightly. ‘I want you to do something for me,’ she whispers, tightening her crush so I can’t retract. I remain trapped in the old lady’s round body, waiting for her to continue, dreading it, too. ‘Handle him with care, Eleanor,’ she says quietly in my ear. The pressure of her request hits me like a kettlebell in the face. These feelings are all pretty new to me, too. Alien, scary and overwhelming. I feel captured by a strange mixture of happiness and trepidation. I can only imagine how Becker must be feeling.
Like he’s trapped in a maze. Like each step is terrifying.
Handle him with care? We should have a chat about how carefully Becker handles my arse.
Mrs Potts eases up and allows me to pull away, but she keeps her hands on my shoulders, smiling fondly. ‘I don’t know why you weren’t here yesterday,’ she says, and I divert my eyes, worried she might read the secrets hiding in their depths. ‘But you’re back, and that’s all that matters.’
I smile awkwardly and glance to my right, finding old Mr H approaching gingerly on his stick. He might be doddery, but I can tell there’s a little reluctance slowing his pace, too. He doesn’t seem pleased to see me at all. He’s looking over his glasses at me warily, like I’m an imposter. ‘Do you remember that spirit we spoke about?’ he asks seriously, and I nod, recalling the conversation perfectly. ‘Don’t ever let it go.’
I know what he’s saying. He’s saying I need to keep that fire in my belly to deal with his grandson. The uncertainty of it all could swallow me up if I let it. ‘I won’t,’ I assure him. His prompt spurs me to go on and share the news that I’ve recently learned. ‘Becker told me about his parents.’ I give both old Mr H and Mrs Potts a moment of my eyes. They don’t need to know the finer details, like how we came to be having that conversation. That is another of Becker’s secrets I will keep.
I hear Mrs Potts happy sigh and see Mr H’s old eyes shine brightly. ‘I’m glad.’ He looks like the news is a weight from his shoulders. Maybe it is. Maybe he sees the development as a step in the right direction, a display of how serious Becker is about me.
‘Me too,’ I admit, ignoring the knowledge that his grandson was pretty much threatened to spill. But he still told me. It doesn’t matter that he confessed under pressure. It just further reinforces the fact that he doesn’t want me to leave. ‘It’s so sad.’
‘That it is, Eleanor. And the circumstances . . .’ He drifts off somewhere, and Mrs Potts places a gentle hand on his arm, rubbing soothingly.
‘I understand why you’re so adamant about Becker dropping this,’ I say. ‘The search for the sculpture. I understand why you’re civil towards Brent Wilson.’
He laughs. It’s a strained laugh, full of disdain. ‘Forcing yourself to be courteous towards people you loathe is hard, but if it means I get to keep my grandson, then I’m willing.’
My respect for the old man has always been great, but it’s suddenly greater. Only someone with integrity and strength could put such warranted anger aside for the sake of a loved one. The fact that it’s all been a waste of energy for the old man is beside the point, since Becker has kept the rivalry very much alive.
I half-smile on a mild nod, and he takes an unsteady step forward. ‘Give me one of those hugs.’
I save him the effort of coming to me and walk into his arms, feeling so bloody happy. I might join Winston and start trembling, too. Sinking into the old man’s comforting embrace, I smile. That’s it. I’m officially adopting these wonderful people as my family.
Our happy hugs are interrupted prematurely when the door to the kitchen opens. I break away from Mr H, and we all turn and find Becker casting his eyes over all three of us. ‘Emotional reunion?’ he asks. Mr H drops me like a hot potato and tosses a disdainful look at his grandson. My heart sinks a little. Becker wasn’t wrong. He’s still miffed.
Mrs Potts hoots her amusement and claims Mr H’s arm. ‘Happy reunion, Becker boy. Very happy. Come on, Donald. You can help me water the shrubs.’
‘Oh joy,’ he grumbles, allowing her to lead him away. ‘Rock and roll.’
I laugh under my breath, watching them walking together from the kitchen. I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. And for the first time in for ever, it’s not accompanied by guilt. My contentment only sky rockets when two firm arms slip around my waist from behind and the hardness of his chest meets my back. A million goose bumps pitter-patter across my skin as I feel his face coming closer to mine. All of this easy affection is the best perk of all. His cheek meets mine, the arm of his glasses pushing into my temple. ‘Glad to be back?’ he asks, a stupid question if ever there was one. I must be glowing.
‘Maybe,’ I tease, laughing when he turns into me and bites my cheek. ‘Your granddad really did look pissed off with you.’
‘I’m working on it,’ Becker says, sounding sincere, and maybe a little thoughtful. ‘I know how much it means to you that I put things right, so I will.’
How much it means to me? He’s a case. But his sentiment is sweet. In a backwards kind of way. He attaches his lips to my cheek and sucks, and I squirm in his tight hold as he munches on my flesh. ‘Becker, stop.’
Woof!
I’m released in an instant, and I whirl around, finding Becker scowling at the floor.
Woof!
‘Don’t start,’ he snaps, stepping forward in warning. Not that Winston takes much notice.
Woof, woof, woof!
All four of his giant paws leave the floor each time he barks, that deep, threatening tone telling his owner that he isn’t messing around.
‘She’s mine, you daft dog.’
Woof!
‘No.’
Woof!
‘You can’t have her.’
Woof!
My face stretches into a grin, as two of my favourite men go head-to-head, circling each other. ‘Winston,’ I coo, lowering to my haunches and patting my lap.
‘Hey.’ Becker gives me a disgusted look.
‘You need to show him that he’s not being replaced,’ I tell him. ‘Winston, come here.’ But the burly dog ignores me, keeping his pissed-off glare on his owner.
‘No,’ Becker counters, walking over to me. ‘He needs to learn that there’s me, then there’s you, and then there’s him.’ He pulls me from the floor and picks me up, claiming me. ‘Mine,’ he declares, earning a vicious growl from his beloved pet.
Woof!
‘Fuck off,’ Becker grumbles, negotiating me in his arms to get a better hold. The smile on my face is beginning to make my cheeks ache. ‘He’ll learn.’ He marches towards the counter, but comes to a jarring halt, nearly dropping me. ‘Motherfucker,’ he gasps.
‘Oh!’ I yelp and cling onto his shoulders to stop myself from tumbling from his arms as I look down at the floor. What I find tips me over the edge of amusement into hysterics. Winston has his jaw clamped around the material of Becker’s trousers. ‘Oh my God,’ I laugh, tears springing into my eyes.
Becker’s face is savage. He isn’t finding this funny at all. ‘Winston!’
I shake, juddering in Becker’s arms, a combination of my laughter and Becker trying to shake off his dog. ‘Winston, for fuck’s sake, this is a five-grand suit. Get off.’
I can hear my new bodyguard growling as he wrestles with the expensive material of Becker’s trousers. He’s crouched on his back legs, pushing back on his front paws. ‘Just put me down.’ I wriggle in Becker’s arms.
‘No.’ His grip increases, and I give up trying to break free. ‘I’m not losing this.’ He starts kicking his leg out, cursing and swearing like a sailor, his face going red from his fury. I let them do their thing. Both seem rather determined.
But then the loud rip of material seems to bring the fracas to an abrupt halt.
Oh, shit . . .
Becker’s neck veins are bulging as he slowly lowers me to the floor before looking down at his leg. I know it’s paramount to keep my mouth shut. I cautiously follow his gaze, noticing Winston is sitting proudly at Becker’s feet. Then the material of Becker’s trousers comes into view. Shredded. I clamp my mouth shut and pinch my nose, trying to block off any orifice where air can escape. I can’t laugh. He looks homicidal.
Calmly and slowly, Becker bends at the waist and reaches to just below his shin, poking at the ragged fabric until the hairs on his leg are revealed through a gaping hole. I think I might be going blue from holding my breath for so long.
His nostrils flare. And he swallows. And he slowly rises to full height.
‘Look,’ he hisses, jabbing a finger in the direction of his right leg.
My shoulders begin to jerk, and Winston raises his nose in the air on a tiny snuff.
‘Five grand, Winston!’
His dog jumps up onto all four paws and trots over to my feet, Becker following his path with incensed eyes. I peek down, shouting at Winston in my head not to push his luck. He doesn’t care. He’s as cocky as his owner. Obviously had a great teacher. He makes himself comfy at my feet, and then he does something so brazen, I actually gasp, releasing my held breath.
He licks me. The cheeky little fucker turns his face into my leg and licks it. I give up my fight to restrain my laugh and snort unattractively all over the kitchen, and Becker’s jaw drops open as he looks at me all what-the-fuck?
‘I’m sorry,’ I titter, resisting reaching down and petting Winston. That would be rewarding him. I can’t do that. This is more serious than I thought. We need to get the pecking order straight, so I step away from Winston and let Becker do his thing.
‘In your bed,’ he yells, throwing his arm out towards the basket in the corner. ‘Now.’
Winston looks to me. I can feel his doggy eyes gauging the distance I’ve put between us, probably wondering why I’m not fussing over him. He must realise that he’s pushed the boundaries, or maybe he’s just clicked that I’m not coming to his defence, because he starts to slowly pad his way over to his basket, stopping halfway and peeking over his shoulder. I bite back my chuckle, watching as he assesses how much trouble he’s in before finally plodding the remaining distance and dropping heavily into his bed on a grunt.
I glance across to Becker, finding him tugging at his trouser leg. ‘Ruined,’ he spits, looking up at me.
I hold onto my grin and wander over to him, listening out for any signs of a dog in pursuit. ‘Let me see.’ I gently push his hands away and kneel to inspect Becker’s mutilated trouser leg. He’s right. Totally trashed. ‘Maybe you can replace them,’ I suggest diplomatically, looking up at him. His face has smoothed out, all of the angry lines gone.
‘It’s bespoke.’ He sighs, reaching down and pulling me up. ‘You’ve turned my own dog against me.’ He turns me in his arms and starts walking, pushing me towards the kitchen door. ‘I have competition.’
‘You have an angry dog,’ I say on a laugh, resting into his back. ‘You should spend more time with him. Build a bond.’
‘Our bond was just fine until you came along.’ I’m gently nudged into the corridor and turned back in his arms. ‘I can’t win with him. When you’re not here, he doesn’t speak to me, and when you are, he assaults me.’
I grin and toss my arms over his shoulders, loving his exasperation and loving our closeness even more. ‘I’m meeting Lucy for lunch.’
‘Okay.’ His nose nuzzles mine.
‘I need to do some work.’
He reaches behind his neck and disconnects my hold, smirking when he catches the affronted state that I’ve tried and failed to disguise. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’ He turns and strides off down the corridor, and my eyes drop straight to his arse. I sigh, my head falling to the side in admiration.
When he reaches the door, he pauses, looking over his shoulder. ‘And stop looking at my arse.’
My eyes climb up his chest, my face stretching into a delighted smile. ‘No.’
I’m back.
Chapter 11
I’m in my element again, surrounded by the things I love at The Haven. It’s Friday. My first week back has been all I could have hoped for, though finding a happy medium in the workplace between personal and professional is a constant challenge. Becker distracts me without even trying.
He kindly collected some clothes from my apartment for me – I couldn’t bring myself to go there – and Mum has checked in every day, eager to hear regular updates of my life, especially now that she knows Becker is in it. I’m going home again soon, to spend some real quality time with her. I’m slowly coming to terms with my mother’s newfound zest for life, and that she has a new love.
I’ve lunched with Lucy every day, too, and she’s now up-to-speed on everything regarding Becker and me. Well, not quite everything, of course, but she’s slowly accepted that this is where I want to be. I can’t allow the fact that she knows nothing of lost maps and break-ins cloud my contentment. I, however, am fully up-to-date with everything concerning Lucy and Mark – printer-room girl and all. Lucy’s adamant that she’s after her man. Frankly, I think she’s being parano
id, but instead of telling her so, I’ve focused on pointing out the obvious clues that Mark is smitten with her. Like him calling or texting every two minutes when they’re not together.
This morning, after lying on one of the chesterfields in the library and staring up at the depiction of Heaven and Hell on the ceiling for a while, I’ve literally whistled while I’ve worked, skipping from bookcase to bookcase. It’s taking every effort to avoid a certain shelf with a certain secret compartment that contains a certain secret map, as it has each time I’ve been in here since my return.
But that challenge becomes harder when my phone pings with a message from Becker.
Can you grab me the 2001 (T-W) file? Third shelf up, second row behind the door x
My eyes flick up to the shelf he’s stated, the shelf with the secret compartment, and butterflies erupt in my tummy. Goddamn me for the thrilling feel of adrenalin that immediately starts to course through my veins. I should have told him that I know where the map’s hidden. But then I remind myself why I haven’t. It’s his secret. A personal one. Like that secret room, the one where he masterfully chipped away at a lump of marble, producing a piece of art. The fake piece of art that he tricked Brent Wilson into paying a whopping fifty million for so he can search for the real treasure without being tailed. Except Becker’s vowed his search is over. Which makes all the effort he went to in order to execute his master plan a complete waste of time. It seems like a bit of a shame. Doesn’t that lost treasure deserve to be found?
I’m still pondering that a few minutes later, spinning my phone in my hand, when it starts ringing. Lucy’s name flashes up on my screen, and I quickly answer to distract me from more inappropriate thoughts.
‘Hey.’ I drop to the couch and tidy the pile of files in front of me, hearing loud panting. ‘Are you running?’
‘Walking fast,’ she huffs. ‘I have an hour to find an outfit.’
‘What for?’
‘Wednesday night. We’re going out.’