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The sight of him, so utterly distressed, kicks life into my frozen form. I rush over, dropping to my knees on the other side of old Mr H, my ear falling to his mouth to listen for any trace of breath. I don’t like his pasty, almost grey complexion, nor the nasty cut on his forehead. I take his wrist and feel for a pulse. A few seconds gives me something, and adrenalin soaks my veins and clears my mind. ‘Phone,’ I demand, holding my hand out to Becker, but he’s zoned out, just staring at his lifeless gramps. ‘Becker!’ I yell.
His eyes flip up. They’re glazed with shock. They’re haunted. We both know the reason Mr H is lying unconscious on the floor. He found Becker’s secret room. He knows Becker crafted the fake that Brent bought.
‘Give me your phone.’
He reaches into his pocket mindlessly and hands it to me. ‘Will he be okay?’ His words are emotionless and sharp. He’s shutting down.
I can’t answer that. I dial 999. ‘Ambulance,’ I say calmly.
Chapter 36
I’ve been sitting here for so long, I’m seizing up and bedsores could be developing. The smell of antibacterial solution is now embedded into my nose, and I’ve drunk so much coffee my mouth is furry. I feel grubby, tired and emotionally drained.
The ambulance arrived within ten minutes and it took just a further two minutes for old Mr H’s condition to be diagnosed. Heart attack. We all know the shock of his discovery triggered it. I can’t bear to think how guilty Becker is feeling. Another member of the Hunt family could be lost to that stupid fucking sculpture.
Aspirin was administered, an ECG undertaken, and he was stabilised before being transferred to hospital. The whole time Becker stood like a zombie in the corner of his office, answering the paramedic’s questions with one-word answers while he watched them work on his grandfather. He’s completely shook up.
After a brief stop in A & E to stitch the nasty cut on his forehead and an X-ray to ensure no bones were broken in his fall, Becker’s granddad was transferred to the high-dependency unit.
The old boy, usually so buoyant, if a little immobile, looks deathly pasty atop the white sheets of the bed. Becker has been mute all night, sitting as close to his gramps as the medical machinery will allow, his hand holding his grandfather’s old wrinkled one gently. He’s dozed off now and then, for a few minutes at a time, and has accepted the coffee I’ve kept supplying. All I can do is be here. He might not be able to speak to me, but I’m here, tucked away in the corner in an uncomfortable high-backed chair. The seat feels rubbery. The heat on the ward is stifling. We’re both still dressed from last night, Becker in his trousers and shirt, and me in my dress, though my feet are now graced in flip-flops. Mrs Potts has been here throughout the night, too, which was definitely a good thing. She answered all of the questions from the doctors and seemed perfectly together while Becker remained in a state of shock and grief by his grandfather’s bedside.
After dropping a light kiss on Becker’s forehead and squeezing his shoulder, Mrs Potts came to me and smiled down at my exhausted form. I just about managed to return her smile as she reached for my left hand and homed straight in on my ring, and when she dipped and cuddled me, she spoke to me more with the might of her hug than she ever could have with words. Then she left for The Haven, telling me that Donald’s suite should be cleaned, ready for his return, and Winston would need a walk.
That was around dawn. Now I don’t know what time it is, and though I’m desperate for a shower and some sleep, I don’t plan on going anywhere until Becker is ready. He still hasn’t spoken, and I’m not about to push him.
My heavy eyes give up on me and slowly close, the muscles behind hurting as they fight in vain to keep open.
‘Eleanor.’
I bolt upright in my chair and blink back the blur, finding Becker kneeling in front of me. He looks like death warmed up, his hair in disarray, his eyes pale behind his glasses, his skin sallow. ‘Let’s go stretch our legs.’
I look past him to find Mr H still unconscious, his body in the exact same position as it has been since he was admitted. Nodding, I allow Becker to pull me up from the chair, feeling weak with tiredness. Tucking me into his side, he walks us slowly away, heading for the main corridor. We’re both utterly knackered, holding each other up, my arm wrapped around his waist. ‘You okay?’ I ask, just for the sake of it. Neither of us are okay.
‘Super,’ he croaks, his voice sounding sore and grainy.
I just manage enough energy to constrict him in my hold. ‘He’ll be fine,’ I say, not because I feel like I should try to make him feel better, but because I truly believe the old man will be. ‘This isn’t your fault.’ I look up and see him strain a smile. ‘Was he okay when you checked up on him?’
‘I found him wandering down the corridor towards my office. Said he couldn’t sleep and was fetching his paper. I didn’t think anything of it.’
‘Did he know about that room?’
‘Of course. It was his before it was my dad’s, and before it was mine. But it’s kind of an unwritten rule with the Hunt men. No one ventures into the secret room if they’re not heading up the Corporation.’ He laughs a little. ‘It’s like a crown if you’re the Hunt man in power. A crown no one else can touch.’
‘You weren’t to know he’d break the unwritten rule.’
He sighs as we reach the cafe, and Becker homes straight in on the fruit bowl, rootling through, determined. I watch him scowling as he searches for his favourite fruit, eventually picking out an apple and holding it up. ‘No juice spots,’ he grumbles, casting it aside and taking another one. He inspects it thoroughly and growls his disapproval.
‘How about this one?’ I ask, digging one from the bottom. It looks perfectly green, and it has juice spots. I hold it out to him.
Becker takes it and gives it a quick inspection before tossing it aside. ‘Too soft,’ he spits. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
I smile my sympathy and turn, leaving Becker to sulk, set on getting another coffee. I find Mrs Potts directly behind me holding out the biggest, juiciest apple. Becker gasps his gratitude and reaches over my shoulder to snatch it from her palm. The crunch and the moan of pleasure are a welcome sound, and I smile at Mrs Potts, Becker’s gratification serving like an energy boost to my tired bones. I make to turn so my eyes can soak up the pleasure of him eating his favourite thing in the world, but something hovering past Mrs Potts catches my attention and holds it, and I blink, thinking maybe I’m hallucinating.
‘Mum?’ I say, frown lines making my forehead heavy.
‘Darling!’ She lunges forward and catches me in a fierce hug.
‘Found her banging on the entrance door of The Haven.’ Mrs Potts speaks up, tutting as she starts rummaging through her enormous carpet bag.
‘It was meant to be a surprise,’ Mum says in my ear. ‘A happy surprise but Mrs Potts told me about Becker’s granddad. I’m so sorry.’ She breaks away from me and gives me eyes full of sympathy, before turning them onto Becker.
I see Paul hovering awkwardly in the background, and I offer a small smile, exhaustion zapping the energy I thought I’d found.
‘Mrs Cole,’ Becker says through a mouthful of apple, not prepared to rush his medicine of choice, not even for my mother.
Mum dives at him, nearly causing him to choke. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ she tells him firmly as he smiles over her shoulder at me, curling his arm around her waist.
‘Yeah, he’s a tough old boot,’ Becker says quietly.
‘There’s a waiting room down the hall,’ I motion behind me. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes, let’s.’ Mum signals for Paul to join us, and we all start to wander back to Mr H’s ward. Her face. It’s my kind of medicine, and I put my arm around her shoulder, cuddling into her side.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Mum,’ I say, and she reaches up to pat my hand, hushing me soothingly. I never once
thought she’d venture out of Helston to come see me in the big city. Where are they staying? How long are they here? What are their plans?
‘Everything will be okay, I’m sure.’ She stops and gives my cheek a fond stroke, and I smile through my tiredness.
‘I hope so.’
‘It will,’ Becker affirms, dropping a kiss on my cheek, his eyes showing the first hint of a sparkle since we discovered Gramps in his office. ‘Mrs Cole.’ He offers an arm, and Mum accepts on a delighted smile, letting him lead on.
I follow behind Becker and Mum, watching as she chats, luring Becker in and even spiking a few laughs from him. My appreciation for her surprise visit grows. She’ll be a welcome source of comfort and support through this crappy time.
‘How are you, Eleanor?’ Paul asks, and I look up, straining a smile.
‘Tired,’ I admit as he falls into stride next to me.
‘I couldn’t stop her,’ he says, nodding towards my mother’s back. ‘I tried to convince her to call ahead, but she was adamant that she wanted to surprise you.’
‘She’s certainly done that.’ I laugh, just as we reach Mr H’s room and a shrill shriek from my mother rings through the corridor. The sharp sound makes my feet stutter to a shocked stop.
Mum has whirled around and is gawking at me, her eyes wide and bright, and Becker is nibbling on the core of his apple, smiling behind it. She swings back to him quickly, kissing a cheek. ‘With my sincerest blessing,’ she says, hugging him fiercely before returning her attention to me. ‘Oh, Eleanor,’ she sings, running forward and taking my hands.
I’m lost. ‘What?’ I ask, gauging Becker’s face again. He’s still smiling. It’s a beautiful, welcome sight, even if I haven’t the foggiest idea why he’s looking so pleased with himself.
‘A wedding?’ She throws her arms around me. ‘This is so exciting.’
Oh. More guilt grabs me. I want to be excited with her, but I’m just too bloody knackered at the moment. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Oh, we have to plan.’ She holds me at arm’s length, her mind spinning into overdrive. I can literally see the ideas whirling around in her excited eyes. ‘Just as soon as Becker’s grandfather is better, we must plan.’
Paul steps forward and shakes Becker’s hand, firmly and manly. ‘Congratulations. You’re a very lucky man.’
‘Cheers. She’s quite lucky herself.’ Becker tosses me a little wink, and Paul laughs.
‘Oh, this is so wonderful,’ Mum gushes, turning her excitement onto Becker. He aims, fires, and his apple core lands neatly in a nearby bin. ‘Get that grandfather of yours better so we can really celebrate.’
‘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.
But I don’t need to. He forces Price to a stop when he reaches me, and he looks into my watery eyes and smiles. He fucking smiles, and I have no idea why. They’re going to lock him away forever! The only time I’ll ever see him will be behind bars. He’ll be dressed from head to toe in prison clothes. He’ll never be able to violate me in the most delicious ways imaginable again. I’ll never be able to touch him. To have naked cuddles. He won’t ever be able to slap my arse. I realise some of these thoughts are mindless and inappropriate, but I’m spiralling quickly into meltdown. What will I do without him?
He studies me for a moment, holding me still with those lazy eyes, resisting the pull of Price when he tries to tug him on. ‘I’m in l
ove with you.’ He nods as he speaks, reinforcing his words, and I whimper, the tears pouring down my cheeks as Price pulls him away from me.
‘No,’ I sob, reaching for him, feeling Mrs Potts holding me back as Becker casts a look over his shoulder.
His face is serious and beautiful, his eyes bright and sure behind his glasses. ‘Don’t find your way out of my maze just yet, princess,’ he orders, his voice steady and strong. ‘We’re not done.’ He disappears out of the door, and I crumble in Mrs Potts’s arms, sobbing like I’ve never sobbed before.
Chapter 37
The ripe, green apple sitting on the huge replica of the Theodore Roosevelt double pedestal desk looks virtuous. Harmless. It looks deliciously temping and mouth-watering. It’s holding my attention like a hawk would watch a rabbit as it circles the open sky above. I can’t take my eyes off it. I don’t want to take my eyes off it. For then I will have to return to the desolation that’s kept me prisoner in its wicked grip these past twenty-four hours. Staring at this apple, simple as it seems, crazy as it is, has been my only few minutes of respite from the cold harshness of my outlandish reality since Becker was cuffed and escorted from the hospital. My eyes are nailed to the shiny, almost sparkling skin. I haven’t blinked and my mind is doing a remarkable job of blanking out my overactive imagination.
Overactive? No. Every dreaded, awful thought that’s plagued me in the past twenty-four hours has been completely warranted. There’s nothing dramatic or over-the-top about a single one of my fears. My imagination isn’t running away with me. I’m not being irrational. I’m not imagining the sick feeling deep in my tummy. My anxiety isn’t groundless.
My heart is quickly ricocheting off my breastbone again, a light sheen of sweat forming, my breathing stuttering. I force my lips to pucker in an attempt to limit the air that’s billowing from my mouth too quickly, hoping to regain a safe level of breathing before I go dizzy. My plan has the opposite effect, and I literally feel every drop of blood drain from my head, sending me light-headed. I’m hyperventilating.