A question slips out that I don’t actually want Charles to answer in any detail. “How come you two know each other?”
Here’s the thing about being part of a group brought together by happy endings with a Heppel. Charles is the link between each and every one of us, and it never, ever matters if that link was sexual. Or it hasn’t mattered before this morning, and I have no idea why.
“I mean, he’s quite a bit younger than you, isn’t he?” That’s none of my business. I still give my cousin a run for his gruff money by asking, “He’s gotta be in his early twenties. You’ve been off the market for years, so when did you two meet?”
Charles doesn’t smile exactly. He gives me a blast from the past by reminding me of our first meeting—relief blooms thesame way now as when I waded in to save him from a mugging. I hear even more of that relief when Charles breathes, “I knew that if anyone could look out for Dair, it would be you.”
That’s like getting another Muppet sticker plastered over my heart. So is Charles leaning closer to ask, “Could you do that for him, Vincent? Could you look out for him like you looked out for me, only for a few weeks instead of for one evening? As for how or when we met, that’s his story to tell.” His gaze drifts to the side—in his husband’s direction, I guess. “But I will say that if I ever make it through the pearly gates, what I did with Dair Sinclair might just be the reason.”
That’s intriguing, but I really do have to get moving.
“Charles, I wanted to check something else about—” I can’t make myself sayDair.Not until I know if he’s actually friend material or foe, like Flynn turned out to be. “Could you confirm one thing before I meet with him at his place?”
Charles sits forward. He’s so close to the screen I can see a few strands of grey in his beard. I don’t know whether it’s good or bad to get this reminder that we’ve both left our twenties behind. If anything, it convinces me that at least he must be wiser. And it doesn’t hurt that he and Harry share the sameDownton Abbeyaccent. “Go ahead, darling. I’ll answer if I can.”
“Okay. Thanks. It’s just that…” I scratch my chest some more. “It’s just that I checked the address of the property he wants cleared out.”
“Isn’t it in a lovely spot?” Charles isn’t wrong. The house in question is just a few streets from this place Flynn leased to impress potential investors. Charles reminds me that he truly does come from the kind of old money that has country seats as well as city boltholes. “And it’s so close to my family’s London place too.”
This feels nosy, but it’s been nagging at me. “Kensington ain’t cheap. That means he’s got to have money, right? Alasdair, Imean.” Not that he sounded anything like Charles, but for all I know, the soft Scottish burr I heard last night could come with a castle in the Highlands. “You want me to do him a favour, right? I gotta be honest. If he’s looking for someone to work for free, I’m the wrong man for him, and if he’s seriously loaded, he could pay anybody to clear his place for him.”
“Oh, it isn’t Dair’s place, and he doesn’t have any cash,” Charles insists. “That’s why he needs to clear the Kensington place so fast. Legally, he absolutely has to be gone by the end of the month. And he’ll need every penny he can get to pay an enormous bill hanging over his head. Terrible business. I’m sure he could have kept everything if he’d fought for longer.”
“Fought?”
Charles nods. “Yes, if he’d kept up the fight after the will was contested. Because everything was left to him, lock, stock, and barrel.” His voice lowers. “The family taking legal action must have scared him.”
“Alasdair’s family?”
“No. The lovely lady he cared for. Alice left him everything. He lived with her and looked after her for...” He counts on his fingers. “Well, it must be over four years by now. They said he must have coerced her into changing the beneficiaries of her will, but I know Dair.”
He leans so close to his phone that I can see the teeny tiny helicopters printed on his pyjamas.
And I can hear his conviction.
“He would never, ever take advantage of anybody.”
That promisefrom someone I can’t help thinking has better judgement than me lingers all the way through my workday.
At least Kev is happy to have me back full-time to help him shift flatpack furniture from one high-rise to another, where every lift is out of order and each stairwell reeks of piss. To say I’m sweaty and in need of disinfecting by home time is an understatement. It’s a long job. Too long. We run late, and my cousin clocks me checking my watch once too often.
He’s a man of few words. Has been since I moved in with him and my aunt Stacey. Now he reminds me of what brought us together by punching me with questions. “Why you in such a rush to get off?”
“Got a quote to do for a private job.”
“Private job?” His eyes narrow. “Who for?”
“A friend of a friend.” A beat too late, I remember that’s how I’d described Flynn the first time I asked Kev to collect some auction finds for him.
Kev must also remember that vanload. Those narrowed eyes of his give me a thorough butcher’s. “What you planning on quoting this friend of a friend for?”
“For a full house clearance.” I know what he’ll ask next, so I go ahead and tell him. “If I do take the job, I can handle the lifting myself. I’d only need you to drive.”
“Where?”
He’s wedged me into a room with no escape route. A sofa blocks my exit, trapping me on one side with Kev on the other, and it doesn’t matter that I can’t see his whole face. I can already guess his reaction to my answer. “It’s in Kensington. South Ken.”
He scowls. “If they live there, they got money. Don’t end up working for nothing again.”
