“You too. Thanks for helping me tidy up and thanks for, er…”
“Maybe don’t thank me forthat. I acknowledge the politeness, but it feels like you’re about to tip me for… That’s a little…”
“Good point. Well. Thanks for escaping with me. It was exactly what I didn’t know I needed.”
“Me too. It was really good to … meet you.” Even before the words came out, she inwardly cringed at the reminder that, bonding aside, this was all just a torrid one-night stand.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your trip, and thanks again… No, not ‘thanks.’ You know, maybe we should just leave it at this…”
He grabbed her waist and kissed her with an intensity that made her drop the keys on the floor. She kissed him back, making the absolute most of this final chance to store away a good memory. The second they broke off, she breathlessly located the keys and left. Fled, in fact.
He was right. That perfect kiss was the perfect place to leave it.
Chapter 8
Tom
Tom crossed the entrance hall, carrying the robot vacuum. He might as well empty it before he put it back. From the grandfather clock came a whir of gears and click of shifting levers, and the brass hammer struck the quarter-past chime: a throaty, hollow cascade. The clock was almost due to be wound. He wound both old clocks every week—this one, and the one in the ballroom—because otherwise it could feel that time might stop altogether. They’d marked the beat of his life, every quarter hour, day and night, without fail. Who would wind them next week, wherever they ended up?
In the butler’s room, he laid the vacuum cleaner on the desk, pulled his lighter from his coat pocket and went to light the fire, and then remembered he hadn’t set it, and there was no point, anyway. Force of habit upon walking into a cold room.
He grabbed the keys to the Land Rover and dropped them in his pocket. Perhaps Duncan was camping out in the old shepherds’ huts in the remotest fields. He did that sometimes if he had work to do out there. Duncan would laugh heartily at the night’s events, Tom would feel like a twit, and all would be well.
And then there would be nothing for Tom to do but pack the Land Rover with what little he could claim as his. He shouldhave started packing months ago, but maybe he’d been holding out hope he wouldn’t have to. He assumed he could take the Land Rover. Surely the billionaire wouldn’t want a dented car older than himself that smelt of several generations of wet dogs. No matter how much Tom cleaned, the smell persisted.
He looked at the sofa, where Amelia had sat. He’d have to factor in time to strip the fabric and post it to her at the museum. Could be an excuse to contact her…
Outside, a car door clicked open. He watched through the windows as Amelia picked up something from the driver’s seat of her little hatchback—her mobile phone—looked at it, then threw it on the passenger seat as if it had bitten her. She tied her hair into a ponytail as she walked around to the boot. She opened it, checked her surroundings and quickly took off her blue trousers. Tom turned his back to give her privacy. If she’d wanted to change her clothes, why not do that inside?
Because they’d already said their goodbyes, and that had been awkward enough. Except for the kiss. That wasnotawkward.
So it turned out hecouldhave a connection like that with someone. He’d had proper relationships that hadn’t got as deep as he and Amelia had in a day, and that was only the parts he could remember. Maybe there was hope for him, if not for the estate. If he could find someone like her…
And if he’d reached thirty-two before finding the first Amelia, how long would he wait to find a second?
He grabbed his mobile phone from the desk, checked there was a wi-fi signal, and dialed. Connor answered on what had to be the last ring.
“Hey, mate,” Tom said, “have you heard from your dad today, or last night?”
“Uh, no,” Connor said warily. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but I had a … friend here last night and we thought we saw something odd.”
There was a beat of silence. “Like what?”
“Long story. Just, if he rings, tell him I’m looking for him?”
“Xanthe says the police were there this morning. Something going on? Do I need to come back from London?”
It sounded like that was the last thing Connor wanted to do. He no doubt had a ton of work to catch up with, for clients he actually charged.
“No, all good,” Tom said. “That was a … misunderstanding. Apparently one of the bottles we drank from the cellars was dodgy, so that probably explains everything.”
“What did you see?”
Tom screwed up his face. No sense creating a panic. “Look, we thought we saw a couple of people outside in the middle of the night, carrying … something. But the most likely scenario is that we were tripping, and it was nothing.”
“Who? Carrying what?”
