Drake had had enough. ‘This isn’t about Tilly and Evie! This is aboutyoubedding my mother!’
‘What do you think Sir Robert would say if he knew you called her Evie?’ Timmins pointed his finger at Drake. ‘What you want should not be more important than Miss Evelyn’s future. She will be disowned by her family. She will lose her inheritance. She will be shunned by society,’ he warned him. ‘She is young, her head is full of fairy tales, but life isn’t a fairy tale, Drake. You have learnt that today.’
Drake turned his back on him. ‘Go away. Leave me be.’
Timmins dabbed his lip with the back of his hand and looked at the blood on his skin. He nodded. ‘Think about what I said. I know what I’m talking about.’
Drake watched him leave. The situation was impossible. How could he face his mother again or work with the man who had come between his parents’ marriage? Only they both weren’t his parents, were they? Only his mother — who had lied to him his whole life.
Drake turned and looked at the rows of neatly lined pots and fledgling plants, picked up a stick and began to scythe the bench top. The pots were dragged off the wooden surface and smashed onto the floor, their contents spilling out like entrails from a slain animal. Another row and another, until nothing remained but a floor of broken terracotta, soil and wilting, fragile stems.
‘Drake?’ Evelyn stood at the entrance, concern etched on her face. ‘What’s wrong?’ She knelt down and began to collect the terracotta fragments. ‘You will lose your job if Timmins or Father finds out you have done this.’ He watched her trembling fingers as she grew frantic. ‘Quickly, Drake, we must tidy this up before someone comes.’
‘Leave it,’ he demanded, breathless from the destruction he’d caused. He dropped the stick on the ground in front of her, but Evie ignored him.
‘Why would you do this? Why?’ she asked.
The soil dirtied her fingers and dress as she scrabbled desperately to clean up his mess. He had brought her to this.
He took her arm. ‘Leave it, Evie. I don’t care who sees it.’
She looked up, upset. ‘Why wouldn’t you care?’
Evelyn slowly stood with several shards from a pot still in her hands. She deserved an explanation.
‘I hate him.’
‘Who?’
‘Timmins.’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . .’ how could he explain it? ‘. . . I saw him with my mother.’
‘What is wrong with that?’
‘Doing things with my mother . . . to my mother.’
‘What things?’
‘Things. . . in bed.’
‘What things?’
Drake looked at her. She is so innocent and does not understand what I am talking about. She only knows about kisses and embraces.
‘Drake?’
Timmins was right. They were playing with fire and she did not realise how badly she would get burnt.
‘What things?’ Evelyn touched his arm. He eased it away and took a step back. Don’t ask, Evie. Don’t ask.He turned away from her. ‘Drake, tell me.’ He felt her touch his arm again. ‘What things?’
Drake turned on her. ‘He was doing things to my mother that I want to do toyou!’
He knew she didn’t really understand — not the details, but he saw something pass in her eyes, the shudder of her breath that showed what he had said had shaken her, thrilled her, frightened her — and he suddenly felt terrified that she would one day understand and want it too. He had to put a stop to it, before he destroyed her.
‘I’m leaving.’
