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I pull my belt on, drive forwards when the doors open, and quickly make my way round to pick up Lucy. Her face offers a little light relief when she scowls at me after I’ve pulled up at the kerb. ‘I’ve been standing out here freezing for ten minutes,’ she complains, dropping into the seat. ‘Don’t ever abandon me in that scary alley again.’
‘It’s not scary.’ I pull out into the traffic and fiddle with the controls on the wheel, flicking through the radio stations.
She brushes at her hair. ‘I feel like I’ve had a family of spiders move in.’
I laugh, feeling Lucy’s eyes on me, and I look to find her studying me. ‘What?’
‘I can’t believe you’re marrying him.’
‘I know. You’ve already told me.’
‘How do you think your mum will take the news?’
‘Better than you.’
‘I just don’t want you to get hurt. Do you really know him?’
‘Trust me, Lucy,’ I reply quietly. ‘I know him.’
I reach for the radio, flick it on, and CamelPhat & Cristoph’s ‘Breathe’ comes over the speakers. I crank the volume up and start to sing along as I jig in my seat, and Lucy quickly joins me, singing at the top of her voice. I laugh, all scratches and a potentially pissed-off fiancé forgotten . . . for now.
Chapter 25
For some strange reason, I feel all reminiscent when we pull up outside our building. I don’t know why, since I’ve shivered with dread each time I’ve been here lately. I see me and Lucy leaving together, whether on a night out or on our way to work. Either way, we’re laughing together each time.
‘I’ll walk up with you,’ I tell her, unclipping my belt. ‘I should collect a few things while I’m here.’ There’s no way I’ll get all of my belongings in this car, and I’m unsure as to what I should take, anyway. I’ve furnished my tiny apartment, but I doubt Becker will welcome all of the paraphernalia at The Haven. Should I sell it? Or just leave it in there? I have over nine months to serve on my tenancy. Which reminds me; I should get the paperwork and call the letting agent to hand in my notice. Or should I? What if things don’t work out between Becker and me? I’d be daft to leave myself with nowhere to live. My head starts to spin as I eject myself from the Audi, cringing when I see the full extent of the damage I’ve done. I’ll keep my apartment on. He might kick me out after he sees what I’ve done to his car.
After Lucy has let us into our building, I go ahead, taking the stairs and rounding the corner, but I come to an abrupt halt when I find someone loitering outside our apartments.
Lucy walks into me. ‘Jesus, Eleanor, what’s with you today?’ She huffs her way past me, but soon pulls up, too. ‘Mark.’
He offers a small smile. Lucy has frozen in front of me, and I can see and feel her anxiety. I want to jab my friend in the back to shock her back to life, to prompt her to get on with the apology she owes Mark, but Mark speaks up before I have the chance.
‘You’re a stupid cow, Lucy,’ he says quietly, stepping forwards. He looks a little untidy in some old jeans and a T-shirt. It’s a far cry from his usually well-turned-out self, and it’s also an indication that coming here to sort things out was more important than grooming and dressing well this morning. He sighs and shakes his head. ‘But I love you, you loopy cow.’
My heart melts, and I hear a whimper emanate from Lucy, her body relaxing. ‘I’m sorry,’ she wails, throwing her arms into the air before letting them fall like bricks to her side. ‘I’m an idiot. I didn’t want to lose you to that leggy thing. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Come here.’ He opens his arms and she more or less sprints into them. ‘You stink,’ he says with little concern, squeezing her to him.
‘I need a shower.’
‘No shit.’ He pries her away and messes with her tangled locks on a frown. ‘I’ll help you.’
I start to inch towards my apartment door, set on leaving them to their happy reunion.
‘How long have you been waiting?’ Lucy asks.
‘Not long. Becker gave me the head’s up that Eleanor was bringing you home.’
‘He did?’ Lucy asks, surprised.
‘He did?’ I mimic, swinging around. I’m about to question how he got Mark’s number, but then I remember . . . he had Lucy’s bag retrieved from the bar. I’m not stupid enough to wonder how he’d get Mark’s number. That man’s capabilities frighten me. A measly telephone number in a locked phone isn’t going to give him much of a headache, especially with his whizz kid Percy on hand.
‘Yeah,’ Mark confirms, smiling at me. ‘He’s invited us out with you. Some posh gala thing at a countryside mansion. You know, he’s actually a nice bloke.’
Some posh gala thing? At a countryside mansion? ‘I’m sorry, what?’ He must have his wires crossed. Andelesea?
Mark looks down at Lucy, who’s gazing up at him dreamily. ‘But he said you have to be good.’
‘I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ Lucy vows, giving me an enthusiastic smile. ‘We’ll celebrate!’
‘Celebrate what?’ Mark asks, looking down at his excitable girlfriend.
‘Becker proposed to Eleanor, and she said yes.’
‘No shit?’ Mark swings a stunned look to me. ‘Congratulations.’ He comes over and hugs me. I’m a little shocked, but I embrace him nevertheless, pleased he seems genuinely happy for me.
‘Thanks.’
‘A double date,’ Lucy sings. ‘Yay!’
I laugh as Mark frees me, trying to morph my face into excitement rather than confusion. I’m struggling. I slip my key in the lock and let myself into my apartment. Then I call Becker. It rings and rings, and eventually goes to voicemail. ‘Call me,’ I demand, before hanging up and looking around. That reminiscent feeling has gone. Cold chills spring onto my skin as I zoom around my apartment, gathering as much as I can into my arms and making a hasty exit.
Negotiating the mountain of things in my grip, I rest my chin on the top of the pile and raise my knee to semi-free a hand. It takes some serious manoeuvring, but I eventually manage to unlatch the door and use my foot to hook it open. I pass through and let it slam behind me, shuddering and shaking off the creeps. Then I make my way down the stairs, peeking to the side and taking the steps carefully.
When I reach the lobby door, I have to wedge my belongings against the wall, pushing myself into it in order to free a hand. The cold air from outside eventually hits me. And so does a voice. ‘Here, let me help you.’ The familiar tone sucks all of the strength out of my arms, and my mountain of belongings crashes to the floor.
I stare like a dumbstruck fool at Becker’s arch-enemy. ‘Brent.’ I blink repeatedly, hoping he’s a hallucination that will disappear if I moisten my dry eyes. He doesn’t. He’s standing before me, larger than life. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, dipping to collect my things from the floor. Anger. It’s bubbling deep in my tummy, and I hate the fact that there are nerves mixing up with it. This is the son of the man who Becker thinks is responsible for his parents’ deaths. My nerves are warranted. He’s also on my list of suspects who could have broken into my apartment. Plus he’s still playing games with Becker, goading him, making it impossible for us to move on. And he’s here now. What is he doing here now?
‘I happened to be in the area,’ Brent answers, bending and helping me.
My teeth grind. Sure he was. Did he happen to be in the area the night my apartment was broken into? And I know he was in the area when the O’Keeffe was stolen. I stand when my arms are full and push past him, hurrying to the Audi.
As I reach the car, I realise the keys are in my bag and I haven’t a hope of getting them out without freeing my hands. ‘Shit,’ I curse under my breath, releasing the pile of clothes and letting them scatter at my feet. I find the keys and press the unlock button, but the boot doesn’t shift when I try to lift it. I growl t
o myself, ignoring the dent surrounded by scuff marks on the shiny silver paintwork of Becker’s Audi. ‘Open,’ I mumble, feeling my panic run away with me. I need to be cool. Not show him he unnerves me.
‘Are you moving out?’ he asks from behind me, his interest clear.
I blank him and proceed to stab at every button on the key fob, pleading with every Greek god for help. The boot finally pops open, and I waste no time scooping my things from the ground and shoving them in messily. I want to physically itch myself.
My clumsy string of movements halts when a hand appears by my side, a familiar pair of knickers hanging from a finger. ‘You missed these.’
I snatch them from him, too worried to be embarrassed, and throw them in with the rest of my clothes. ‘Why aren’t you at the auction house?’ The question slips, my nerves getting the better of me. Think, Eleanor! What’s wrong with me? I handled the copper perfectly, but this man here shoots down my stability with one look. I’ve just volunteered the fact that I know Brent’s bidding on the 1965 Ferrari that Becker wants, and since Becker sourced that information on the sly from Simon Timms’s secretary, I’m guessing Brent was purposely keeping his intention to buy it under wraps. Or will he steal the car once Becker has bought it?
He homes in on my slip-up like a wolf. ‘Well, since I’m not at the auction house and someone is working on my behalf, neither you nor he could know of my intention to buy the Ferrari. So who did Hunt fuck to get that information?’ The question pierces my itchy skin like a hot poker.
‘I guessed.’ I slam the boot shut and head for the driver’s door. ‘Since your life’s ambition is to try and get the upper hand.’
‘Try?’ Brent muses. ‘It didn’t take much trying. In fact, I just took a call to congratulate me.’
My heart sinks. He got the car? Something tells me Becker wasn’t as gracious in defeat today as he was when Brent won the fake sculpture. Shit, he’s going to be in a foul mood. ‘Why are you here, Brent?’
‘Well, I heard you’ve been talking to Stan Price. Throwing accusations around.’ He strolls casually to the other side of the Audi and stares across the roof at me.
I’m blank for a moment. He looks pissed off, understandably, I guess. ‘There were no accusations. I merely advised Price that I saw you at Sotheby’s that day. Because I did.’
He smiles. It’s salacious. ‘I thought, working for Hunt and all, you would’ve learned how to keep it zipped.’
‘I have no loyalty to you, Brent.’ Go. I should just leave. ‘Why are you here? Why are you doing this?’
‘Because this is what Hunt and I do, Eleanor,’ he answers simply, knocking me back a bit.
‘Not any more.’ My retort isn’t nearly as curt as I wanted it to be, more a breathy gasp. My nerves are frayed. ‘Becker’s done with this game you’re playing.’ It seems ludicrous to describe this madness as a game. Lives have been lost. Crimes committed.
‘You believe that?’
‘Yes.’ I open the car door, eager to escape. ‘He wants no part of it, and neither do I.’
‘But you are a part of the game, Eleanor. Like it or not. And you’re a surprisingly appealing pawn to win.’
I bristle, pausing by the door. ‘You’ve got the sculpture, you got the painting, you don’t get me, too.’
He shakes his head on a little laugh. ‘He really does have you fooled, doesn’t he? But, for the record, I’d trade the sculpture for you. I’d even throw in my new Ferrari. The one Hunt was so desperate to add to his collection.’
I laugh lightly in disbelief. He’s amassing all of these things, all things that Becker wants, and he thinks he can trade them all in? For me? And worse still, I sense he thinks that Becker would take his offer. ‘You can’t buy me,’ I snipe.
‘Anything can be bought, Eleanor.’
‘Not me,’ I affirm with grit. Besides, Brent may have the car Becker wanted, but he doesn’t have the sculpture. Not that he knows that. ‘Brent, do yourself a favour and stay away from me.’
‘Or what?’
I take a moment to consider my or what. ‘Or you’re going to push Becker too far, and, trust me, you really do not want that.’ I jump in the Audi and race off down the road, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Because I get the feeling that Brent is doing exactly that. Pushing Becker to get the reaction. To keep the game up.
Chapter 26
After driving back to The Haven, stupidly recklessly, taking all of my frustration out on my fellow drivers, I leave the car in the factory unit and walk around to the front, my unease settling with every step I take into Becker’s sanctuary.
When I break into the courtyard, I stop for a moment and breathe the last piece of air I need to bring me back down to calm.
‘Is it frogspawn?’
I look across to the fountain where Mrs Potts is hunched over the water with old Mr H, her nose wrinkled.
‘Don’t be daft, Dorothy.’ Becker’s grandfather pokes at the surface of the water with his posh walking stick. ‘Frogs wouldn’t take up residence in a fountain, and where would they come from, anyway?’
‘They might have flown here.’
‘Flying frogs?’ His old face crinkles in disbelief.
‘You can get flying frogs,’ she protests on a shrug.
‘They don’t fly, Dorothy. They glide, and you won’t find any in central London.’
She raises an indignant nose. ‘Then what do you suppose it is?’
‘Some kind of algae, I expect.’
I laugh as I watch the old pair. Yes, I’m back in my sanctuary, and it’s such a relief. ‘Afternoon,’ I call, and they both swing around.
‘Eleanor.’ Old Mr H leans on his stick for support. He’s smiling brightly, his old hazel eyes flashing with sparks of true happiness, so much so, I have to blink to protect my eyes from the brightness. I cast my eyes over to Mrs Potts and notice she has a fond smile gracing her lips, too. They both look significantly peaceful. Accepting.
‘So let’s see it, then,’ the old man says, hobbling towards me.
He reaches for my hand, and I remain still and quiet while he gazes down at the ring. I’m blushing, too. I can’t help it, and I look across to Mrs Potts to see her palm resting on her bosom, tears in her eyes. ‘It looks beautiful on you,’ old Mr H whispers wistfully.
I smile lightly. ‘I’m so happy you and Becker have sorted out your differences.’
‘Me too,’ he admits. ‘And if someone would have said to me two months ago that my wayward grandson would be asking my permission to put this ring on a lady’s finger, I think I would have keeled over.’ He reaches for my cheek and gives it an affectionate rub. ‘I’m glad that lady is you. I’m so proud of him, Eleanor, despite some of the stunts he’s pulled. Despite him misleading me. He’s a passionate, devoted man, and you’ve enhanced that.’
He needs to stop or I might cry.
‘That ring is precious,’ Mrs Potts pipes up. ‘It’s a symbol of how precious you are to Becker boy.’
I blink my eyes, stepping back when Mr H finally relinquishes his hold of me. ‘I’m a bit overwhelmed,’ I admit.
Both smile at me knowingly. ‘I found that emerald in Cambodia,’ Mr H says. ‘It was 1952. I set it in that band when I proposed to my Mags.’
‘Worth three million!’ Mrs Potts chimes, and I baulk at them, my hand naturally covering the precious gem. Just wrap my hand in cotton wool, why don’t you? Three million?
‘Good God,’ I breathe.
‘Welcome to the family, dear,’ Mrs Potts says, coming over and throwing her arms around me. Her big bosom pushes into me, her squeeze fierce and so meaningful.
‘I’m glad I’m here,’ I admit, cuddling her equally as hard. My God, how did I get so lucky?
‘Enough of that.’ Mr H pulls us apart on a laugh. ‘Eleanor has work to do.’
I straighten, avoiding their eyes so they can’t see the happy tears threatening to escape. ‘Do you know where Becker is?’ I ask, starting towards the Grand Hall, wiping at my eyes discreetly.
‘He’s not back yet.’
He’s not? But it’s nearly three. ‘Okay, I’ll get—’ I’m interrupted mid-sentence when my phone rings, and I look down to see Mum’s calling. It reminds me that I still need to book my train tickets for my visit home. God, I can’t wait to see her face when I tell her. ‘I’ll be getting on.’ I hold up my phone as I carry on my way. ‘Hey, Mum.’
‘Hi, sweetheart.’ She sounds as cheerful as she always does these days. I can’t help but smile, my happiness for her drowning out the sadness that it’s not my father who’s making her happy. ‘I’m making plans for when you come home.’
I hurry to Becker’s office as I listen to the intricate schedule of activities that she has planned. I’d love to tell her my news now, but I really want to do it face to face. See her reaction, because I just know she’s going to be beside herself with joy. ‘All sounds great, Mum,’ I say, smiling, loving how upbeat she sounds. ‘Listen, I have to go. I have a countess coming to see a Rembrandt. I need to prepare.’