His nostrils flared, at odds with the boredom on his face. “I’m always an ass, Leah. And you need to have some pride. If I wanted you to stay, I’d ask. If I wanted an actual relationship with you, I’d ask for that, too. Let’s both agree we’ve gotten out of it what we needed and call it quits while we’re ahead.”
Each word burned, even as Leah squared her shoulders to try one last time. “Can I just tell you—”
“And don’t worry about coming to the silent auction.” Jackson’s smile was a twisted imitation of the one that made her heart thrum like a frame drum. “Much as I’d like to see Leah Raven take on a high society event, baggy sweaters, fluffy socks, and all, it’s probably better that you don’t. I’m sure even Esther was joking with that request.” He drained his coffee and thrust the empty mug toward her. “I need to head home later, so I’ve got to get on.”
As he turned away, she forced herself to speak. “That’s why you asked me, was it? So you could watch me crash and burn among your friends and colleagues.” She was proud the words were disdainful, not broken.
His hand stilled on the rickety wooden door but he didn’t turn. Leah eyed the discarded bicycle frame with empathy and considered settling down among the trash, laying her head on her knees and letting the tears flow. Instead, she drew on the years of rejection and disappointment, blinked away any moisture, and lifted her chin.
“Maybe the real issue is less that I wouldn’t fit in and more that neither do you. Have you considered that?”
Heading for the house, Leah swore to herself there would be no more trying to explain. She did have some pride, whatever Jackson might think. She’d hammer it into shape and use it as a shield. To hell with him, his family, their business, and their stupid skewed priorities. She was fine on her own.
Except it turned out, she wasn’t.
She’d been lonely before but this loneliness was something else. This was the loneliness that came after finding your best friend and losing them again in the next heartbeat.
Leah bullied herself into a steady rhythm of working and sleeping from Monday to Friday. Following digital masterclasses, she created fan art for books she loved and posted more designs online, satisfied to see a surge in the number of followers and comments. She read the next book club book, met Sam for coffee and Florence for lunch.
She immersed herself in Esther’s manuscript, cataloguing and filing the old lady’s notes and sorting through anything in the study she no longer needed. The cavernous drawers of Esther’s antiquedesk were filled with piles of random handwritten pages which all needed an eye over them before Leah packed them up or threw them away. She found old receipts, breezy correspondence, paid bills, and an assortment of old research for Clayborne Knight books. And half a dozen envelopes addressed to Esther in Hazel’s familiar rounded hand.
One delicate, loose sheet stuck out from the batch. Leah tugged it free, unfolded it carefully and spread it flat on the desk.
My dear Esther,
Are you absolutely sure? One hundred percent?
I have to ask again.
This isn’t like lending a purse or borrowing a book. This is a really big deal. My life choices shouldn’t impact your life choices. And, yes, I know that what we’re talking about wasn’t much of a choice in the first place. But still.
There are other options. I’ve looked into them all and I think...
What Hazel thought, Leah was not going to find out. The second page was missing. Or maybe it was still in one of the envelopes. She didn’t like to snoop further. Refolding the sheet of paper and tucking it back into the pile, she dragged out the old diary again. Her throat tight, Leah studied the final entry. And that one final clue—
I had my hair done today so it will look nice for tomorrow. Curtain bangs and bouncy curls—I feel like a model. Ican’t wait to get this party over and done with. As long as we can avoid RAB, it’ll be fine. I know Mother will flip over my outfit but it’s too hot to cover up with a maxi dress. I’ve gone for something short and cute which shows off my legs. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, I say!
The next day, after hours spent rereading the diary from the start, she gave Hazel the letters and quizzed her on the mystery initials.
“Most of the time she called that guy The Creep but in the last entry she wrote RAB. You said his name was Dickie, though. So was she talking about someone else?”
“No, that was him. Dickie was what he went by. It was short for Richard—RAB was his initials.”
“Do you remember his surname?” Leah pushed.
She thought maybe Hazel wouldn’t answer but finally she did.
“Addlestone-Black. His name was Richard Addlestone-Black.” The old lady curled her upper lip as if the name were a spoonful of laundry detergent on her tongue.
Wheels turned in Leah’s brain. Cogs spun and information started to fall into place. Addlestone-Black was a name she’d heard from Jackson. A person? A company? If only she could ask him. It was definitely something relevant, but Hazel was prepared to give out nothing more.
The days dragged on.
The weekdays were bad enough, but when the weekends arrived and Jackson turned up, Leah forgot how to breathe. It was torture. And everything got worse when he moved into Amity Court full-time, working from home most days and commuting into the office when he had to. He didn’t explain why.
The tension ramped up even further.
It didn’t matter where he was in the house or how many closed doors he kept between them, she could feel him. He avoided her when he could and blanked her when he couldn’t—just like he had in the early days. He stayed busy from morning until night. Anything broken or scruffy in the house was disposed of. The living room floor was sanded and varnished, the front door planed and refitted. In came a selection of stunning, vintage furniture, designed to show off Amity Court to its full potential.
