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‘Shit,’ I push myself away from Becker’s desk in the chair and throw my head between my knees. The breeze that gusts past my forehead tells me I only just missed the edge of the wood in my haste. I’m momentarily disappointed. Knocking myself out seems like my best option right now. Maybe I’ll wake up in twenty-five years’ time when Becker is released from prison and my life can resume.
I stare down at my bare feet. My bright-red toenails seem dull. Everything around me seems dull. My life is dull.
Because he’s not here.
My bottom lip begins to tremble as another wave of tears stream forward. Fighting them back requires strength that I just do not have, so I let them defeat me and watch as drop after drop of my tattered emotions plummets to the carpet by my bare feet, creating only the tiniest of splashes before the thick fibres swallow them up. My shoulders begin to jerk, and I remain slumped, bent over in Becker’s office chair, waiting for this episode of grief to pass. I feel small and useless. Pathetic and weak. I don’t do weak and pathetic.
I take my shaky hands to my cheeks and brush the streams of tears away, but no sooner have I dried my face, another waterfall replaces it.
The apple.
Sniffling and wiping my nose, I shoot up and search out the perfect fruit. Just focus on the apple. I swallow, my eyes narrowing and homing in on the green skin, my gaze so concentrated I wouldn’t be surprised if the apple shot off the desk. I hear the clean crunch of a perfect set of white teeth biting into the flesh, the rip as a sinful mouth pulls it away, the wet motions of it being seductively chewed and swallowed. I begin to see all of these things, too, and my eyes close, welcoming the distraction.
There he is. In my mind’s eye, bare-chested and indulging in his most favourite thing. He won’t have free access to any apples in prison, and if he does, they won’t be bright green, they won’t have juice spots, and they’ll probably have no crunch. He’ll never survive.
The thought makes me mad, and my fist comes down on the desk hard, the shock travelling up my arm.
‘Eleanor, whatever are you doing?’
My lids spring open and find Mrs Potts holding the office door open, her eyes wide with alarm. She’s not shown a scrap of emotion since she watched Becker being carted away by the police, has barely even spoken about it. I’ve had no one to share my burden with.
I blink through my blurred vision as I brush away some strands of my hair that have stuck to my damp cheeks.
‘Come on, dear,’ she says sharply, marching over to the desk. ‘We’ll be having none of that nonsense.’ She pulls me to my feet and forces me to face her, and I fall apart all over again, shaking in her grasp. She’s made of stone. She must be. Roughly wiping at my cheeks while I snivel and sob before her, she rolls her eyes. ‘Now you listen here, young lady.’ She gives me a tight face, but her harshness doesn’t lessen the emotion overtaking me. I’m a wreck. ‘You will pull yourself together and be the woman he fell in love with.’ She cocks an eyebrow and purses her lips, saying more with that look. ‘Now then.’ She nods her approval to her own words and takes a quick peek at my pathetic form. Becker’s T-shirt is drowning me, but the smell is so comforting. ‘Look at the state of you.’
I say nothing. I have nothing to say. I wouldn’t get any words past the lump of grief blocking my throat, anyway.
She pulls at the material of the T-shirt and takes in my bare legs. ‘Have you showered?’
I nod pitifully.
‘Maybe so, but I know for a fact that you’ve not eaten.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I murmur flatly, the thought of food making me come over all queasy. And panicky. Becker won’t have free access to his apples. He needs his apples. ‘Oh God, I need to get him out!’ I turn and make for the door, my earlier silent claim, the one where I told myself I’m not being irrational, being flattened with every step I take. I’m being totally irrational now.
‘What are you gonna do, dig him out?’
My bare feet skid to a stop, and I whirl around, offended and annoyed by her snarky quip. I should feel none of those things. I should be laughing, but I can’t do that either, because there is nothing funny about that suggestion, no matter how much humour the old lady wove into those words. Because in my wild reality, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Becker found a way to do exactly that. The man’s capabilities have floored me at every turn. Unreasonable and unrealistic as it may sound, I can’t help but hope that he’s a mile underground, tunnelling his way out of a cell and is going to pop up out of the ground at any moment.
I look at the office floor.
I’ve officially lost the plot.
‘Give me strength.’ Mrs Potts sighs, wobbling over, as if she knows exactly what has been running through my mind. She grabs my left hand and holds it up between us, giving us both a close-up of the gigantic emerald ring that Becker put on my finger. I start sobbing again, seeing his face when he asked me to marry him, the awe and devotion, the nerves and shyness. ‘When you came to work here, Eleanor, Becker boy had no idea what he was doing. We were flummoxed when he started to let you in so deeply, let you delve beneath the legitimate side of our business here. He willed you on. We could see that.’ She pulls up and waits for me to give her my tear-filled eyes. ‘He wanted you to discover everything there was to discover about him, about us, about the Hunt Corporation.’ Her lips purse as she waits for me to absorb what she’s trying to tell me. I know exactly what. ‘He didn’t know what he was doing, of that I’m certain, but when he put this ring on your finger, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was letting you into something far more precious than this old rickety building and the secrets it holds. He was letting you into his heart. You’re a strong young woman, dear girl. That’s why he loves you. Because he believes you are strong enough to see everything there is to see and, most importantly, deal with it. And on top of all that, still love him.’
My lip wobbles.
‘His talent is a legacy, dear. A historical legacy that I hope never dies, because it’s that special. It’s that important. The Hunt Corporation is a legitimate company.’ She nods her head sharply, agreeing to her own affirmation. ‘It’s respected, valued and profitable. But it’s not as thrilling as—’
‘Stealing,’ I cut in, before the crazy old lady can finish.
Mrs Potts isn’t fazed. ‘Legitimate business doesn’t feed the need of the adventurous Hunt men.’ She grins wickedly, stunning me. She’s brainwashed. Has to be. People have lost their lives in the name of excitement. I’m about to point this out when she holds up a finger, keeping me quiet, as if fully expecting my argument. ‘I’m not talking about the sculpture, Eleanor. It’s there to be found, not stolen. If it exists at all. But that’s a quest that needs to be buried along with the tragedies it’s brought on the Hunt family. It’s cursed.’ Her eyes sink into me seriously. ‘What I’m talking about is the frightening ability that our boy has inherited,’ she goes on with a little squeeze of my hand, ensuring she has my attention. ‘His grandfather was good. His father was great. But Becker boy . . .’ Mrs Potts trails off, as if she’s trying to locate the right words to pin on my unlawful love. I have a million to offer her. ‘Becker boy is the master,’ she declares. ‘He will be back, you mark my words. This is simply a mild inconvenience, trust me. There’s not a cat in hell’s chance Becker Hunt can be caught. He’s too clever. Way too smart. Too determined. You should know that by now, Eleanor. Where’s your faith in him?’
I close my eyes to hold back my tears, reminding myself that every day I’ve spent with Becker brought a surprise, whether it was a shocking revelation in the form of his shady activities, or an equally shocking revelation in the form of his devotion or trust. I found I adored him that little bit more every hour. And I know those feelings were returned. I had faith then. I need it now more than ever.
Don’t find your way out of my maze just yet, princess. We’re not done.
I swallow down that infuriating ball of emotion and try to pull myself together. ‘I just want him back,’ I murmur, the ache inside of me intensifying to the point it’s becoming unbearable. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. There’s work to be done but finding my focus to do it is impossible.
Mrs Potts hauls me into her embrace and hugs me tightly, patting my back soothingly. ‘I know, dear. We all do.’
‘Why hasn’t he called?’ There’s been no word, no breaking story of an arrest in connection with the stolen ruby. Surely it’s newsworthy. Surely Becker would know I’d be out of my mind and at least get in touch.
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason.’
‘Like?’
The long stretch of silence soon tells me that she has no answer. It doesn’t help. The unknown is petrifying. ‘Call your mother and Lucy. Both are wondering what’s going on.’
‘Have you told them?’ God, how am I going to explain this?
Mrs Potts looks me straight in the eye. ‘There’s nothing to tell, dear.’
Chapter 38
I know it’s a bad habit and I shouldn’t be encouraging it, but having Winston curled up on Becker’s bed is comforting. Hearing his deep, rumbling snore goes some way towards drowning out my racing mind, though it unreasonably riles me that Winston can find sleep so easily.
After checking in with Mum, assuring her everything is fine and listening to her babble on about the wonders of London, I call Lucy. ‘Mark’s asked me to move in with him!’ she screeches down the phone, and for the first time in what feels like days, I smile.
‘I’m happy for you.’
‘I’m happy for me, too! Hey, did Becker find anything out about the stolen ruby?’ she asks, and I tense. ‘You know, since he’s in that game.’
‘What game?’
‘The art and antiques game,’ she goes on, and I roll my eyes at myself. ‘I bet that’s caused a shit storm of gargantuan proportions. How embarrassing.’
‘Slightly,’ I quip, and she laughs.
‘How is Becker, by the way?’
Locked up. ‘Busy,’ I say, a little high-pitched.
‘We should do dinner. The four of us. When are you guys free?’
Free. ‘Let you know?’
‘Sure. Call me tomorrow. Gotta go. I have my notice to hand in on my poky flat.’ She chuckles and hangs up.
I drop my phone to my bed and stare up at the ceiling, but I don’t see the smooth painted plaster that’s there. I see raw bricks. The comfortable mattress doesn’t feel squidgy. It feels solid, and the duck down quilt feels rough and itchy. I shiver, my skin prickling with chills in the warm safety of Becker’s luxurious bed.
Lost.
I’m lost, like a piece of treasure waiting to be found, and I plan on going nowhere until he does find me. Will he find me? Come back to me? I roll over and bury my face in his pillow, curling into a ball, the pain of his absence excruciating. Find me.
‘Eleanor.’
I blink, thinking, listening. Dreaming?
‘Princess.’
I sit bolt upright in bed, my eyes shooting towards the sound of his voice, my mind telling me not to get too excited. That I might be hearing things. That I might be skipping further down the road to crazy. Then I hear the loud, familiar crunch of his teeth sinking into an apple.
He chews, he swallows, and he sighs. ‘Shit, that’s good.’
‘Oh God!’ I’m off the bed like a rocket, charging across the room, and my body collides with his harshly, knocking the wind out of us both, but I don’t care. I wrap myself around him tightly and cling on.
He laughs and holds me under my arse, carrying me to the bed. ‘Let go.’
‘No,’ I snap, squeezing harder.
‘I’m going nowhere, princess.’
‘I don’t care. It doesn’t stop someone from trying to take you.’
He wrestles with me for a few seconds, forcing my claw-like grip from his neck and pushing me down to the bed. ‘Sit,’ he orders, crouching down and throwing a look over my shoulder. ‘What’s Winston doing in bed?’
I look back and see the pooch curled into a ball. ‘I was lonely,’ I tell him, just as Winston lets out a snorty snore.
‘He’s clearly missed me,’ Becker mutters.
‘What happened?’ I ask, returning my attention to Becker. ‘What did they say? What will they do? What did you say?’
His finger comes to his lips. ‘Shhhh,’ he hushes me and smiles, like it’s humorous. It’s not. I’ve been going certifiably crazy. Why’s he so cool? ‘Price had nothing, Eleanor. But I have something on him.’
I withdraw. Price is in Brent’s pocket. ‘What?’
‘Percy hacked Price’s offshore account.’
My hand goes over my mouth. ‘No.’
He nods his head. ‘Price has been taking backhanders from Wilson for years. He’s as bent as they come. I always knew it, but couldn’t prove it.’
My face must display the outrage I feel. ‘And he really had nothing on you anyway?’
‘Nothing,’ he confirms on a cheeky grin. ‘Except for my attendance at Countryscape.’
‘Becker,’ I drop my voice, an instinctive move, despite it being silly. We’re in The Haven. No one will hear me. I get closer to his face, nearly nose-to-nose. His smile is firmly in place, his amusement obvious, ‘But you did steal it,’ I point out stupidly. ‘How can they have nothing?’
‘I told you, princess. I’m a fucking genius.’ He plants a smacker of a kiss on my dazed face, and I’m suddenly positively desperate to ask him how he pulled off a heist of such epic proportions. ‘Don’t ask.’ Becker halts my question before I can ask it, and my lip pushes out on a slighted pout. He laughs. ‘And pick up your lip.’
‘Tell me,’ I press, giving him puppy dog eyes. ‘Please?’
‘No.’
‘Becker, come on.’
‘You’re too curious.’
‘That’s your fault. Tell me how.’
‘No. That’s one thing you’ll never get from me. If you don’t know, you can’t be forced to tell.’
‘But I know you stole it,’ I remind him.
‘No, you don’t.’ His eyebrow jumps up, and I snap my mouth shut. ‘Do you?’
‘I know nothing.’ I give him a nervous smile, trying desperately to display my coolness.
‘Good girl.’ He rises, my sight following him until he’s standing over me. Taking my hands, he pulls me to my feet.
‘Where’s the ruby?’ I ask. I can’t help it. I do bloody know, and I’m so bloody curious.
‘With its new owner.’
‘Lady Winchester?’
‘Correct.’ He starts unbuttoning his shirt.
‘How does she have it?’ I ask, lending him a hand and starting on the bottom ones. ‘You’ve been locked up for over twenty-four hours.’ Looking up at him, I see a wave of hesitancy travel across his face, and his fingers definitely falter for a split second.
‘You know I have my ways.’ Shrugging out of his shirt, he drops it to the bed and makes his way to the bathroom, ignoring the frown his answer has spiked. He might have his ways but being in two places at once isn’t one of them. And then . . .
I gasp, though I make sure it’s not loud enough for Becker to hear. Percy. I bet Becker’s little whizz kid played a part in this. I’m pressing my lips together so hard, they’re starting to go numb. I watch his back, the map rolling as his arms lift, stretching.
‘Percy.’ I put his name out there, and Becker stops at the bathroom door and looks back at me.
‘Shhhh.’ He smiles. ‘I need a shower.’ He disappears past the glass bricks. ‘Go say hello to Gramps.’
His instruction grabs my attention immediately. ‘He’s here?’
‘I went st
raight to the hospital to collect him.’
‘Did you talk?’ I ask, nervous on Becker’s behalf. Mr H knows now that his grandson crafted that fake sculpture. I can only imagine the wrath Becker has faced.
‘Yes, we talked.’
‘And how was he?’
‘Before or after he cuffed me around the head with his walking stick?’
I sigh on a dramatic roll of my eyes. ‘Very funny.’
‘He was more than fine, princess. He’s in my office.’ The shower turns on, and I dash to the bathroom, just so I can look at him some more. Just so I know he’s here. I find him under the spray, his eyes closed, his face pointed up, water raining down on his rough face. I breathe out, resting my forehead on the glass as I watch him. His movements are fluid, slow but fluid, and I’m completely and utterly mesmerised by him.
‘Want some popcorn?’ he asks, not opening his eyes.
I smile and rest my palm on the glass, keeping quiet, just admiring him.
‘Come give me a kiss, Eleanor.’ His demand is hoarse, his voice pure sex. He opens his eyes, his corrupt, lazy gaze staring me down. ‘Now.’
I step into the shower and brace myself for his claim, sighing rather than yelping when I’m grabbed and pinned to the tile wall. He pulls the wet T-shirt off me and tosses it aside, and heavy, wet lashes veil his eyes as he gazes at me, his face hovering close to mine. ‘I love you.’
‘I never forgot that.’ My fingers weave through his wet hair. ‘Brent Wilson won’t be pleased.’
‘Wilson has got it coming.’ He slams his lips to mine and pushes me up the wall with the force of his kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth hungrily. ‘He makes his moves too fast. Misjudges too often. Looks at the smaller picture rather than the bigger one.’ He bites my lip and pulls back, sliding his hands to my bum and cupping the cheeks possessively. ‘He’s a desperate man, Eleanor.’
‘Weren’t you even a little worried when Price arrested you?’
He shakes his head a little but says nothing.