“That’s against protocol.”
I wrinkle my nose. Is he being serious? The other agents drink coffee all the time. And to the best of my knowledge, there isn’t anything inthe agent rulebook about me driving. I have a license. Eddie and Amanda have driven themselves before. Why should I be any different?
I open my mouth to argue, but quickly shut it. As I study Art, I notice purple rings under his eyes and patches of uneven stubble coating his face. Somebody probably didn’t get a good night’s sleep. It would be easy to push his buttons, but I know when I’m cranky, the last thing I want to deal with a smart aleck. I’ll let him off easy. For now.
“I’m pulling rank on you, Art. I’m ordering you to drink your coffee.”
Through the rearview mirror, I watch the muscles in his forehead crease and his brows form a deep V. “Fine.” Unscrewing the lid, he takes two swigs, replaces the cap, and returns it to the cup holder.
I half expect him to reply with a sarcastic “Happy?” But he keeps his thoughts to himself. A few moments later, we pull out of the palace complex and onto the city streets. The city of London is just beginning to wake up. It’s about six-thirty. The tourists haven’t yet risen, but the commuters are out.
With the traffic, it takes us about an hour to reach what will soon be my new home in northwest London. My eyes excitedly drink in the locale. I’ve taken a virtual tour, but this is my first time seeing it in person. Queen’s Park is a residential area of the city brimming with character. The budding engineer in me is transfixed by the lovely red-bricked Victorian and Edwardian terrace homes lining either side of the street. A bubble of excitement is building within me. I’ve dreamed about owning a place like this for so long.
I can just imagine myself walking Lillian down these leafy streets or taking my bike out for a cycle to the park, doing things that everyday people take for granted. I won’t be limited by security fences, or cross paths with the hundred or so staff members who work at the palace. It will just be me, my dog, Angela or Art, and whichever one of our neighbors is out.
“Would you mind taking a turn down High Street? I’d like to see the local offerings and shops.”
He clicks the turn indicator and circles the block. We pass an antique store, two bookshops, a high-end plant shop, and three different cafés. At the end of the block, across from acinema, is a pub.
“It’s even better than I imagined. I can’t wait to get out there and start exploring. I bet I’ll be on a first-name basis with the owner of the bookshop, the cinema manager, and everyone at the cafés by the end of the second week here.”
Art raises an eyebrow, studying me through the driver’s mirror. I read it asWhat are you going on about?
“I’m moving here. I just purchased number twelve.” I point to the terrace home at the end of the street. “We’re picking up the keys today and doing a walkthrough to see what improvements are going to need to be made to restore it and make it habitable.”
He slows the car and parks on the street in the spot near number twelve, then spins around in his seat. I can see the wheels turning inside his mind as he absorbs everything I’ve just told him. “I need to do a perimeter sweep before you’ll be allowed in.”
“Art, the space is probably empty. According to the listing agent, it’s been vacant for at least three years. In fact, the only person with keysisthe agent. He’s supposed to meet us here at eight-fifteen.”
His jaw clenches. “It’s proper protocol.”
There it is again. The agent who wants to do everything by the book. Where’s the chap who joked with me a few nights ago?
“Fine, if you want to do your perimeter sweep, go ahead. I’ll wait in the car.”
“I can’t allow that either. You’re not to be left alone in a public space.”
“Where else am I supposed to go?” I gesture to the street. “It’s either I stay here, or I go with you.”
“I didn’t think about that.” He grits his teeth.
Reaching for his thermos, I hand it to him. “Drink more coffee and wake up,” I say. “How about this: I won’t tell anyone about not checking out the building before we go inside if you won’t.” I place a finger to my lips.
He unscrews the lid, keeping his gaze on me. It’s the first time I notice his eyes are hazel. A perfect mixture of green and golden-brown. Pouring himself a generous amount into the lid, he takes a few sips, smacking his lips together while suppressing a grimace.
“Do you need something sweet to go with that? It smells strong.” Ireach into my handbag. “I have a raspberry fig bar.” I wave it under his nose.
“No thank you.”
“Then I’ll leave it here in case you change your mind.” I place it inside the empty cup holder next to the thermos.
“I won’t.”
“Did you have any breakfast this morning?”
He takes another sip of the coffee, raising the lid as if he’s toasting me. There’s my answer.
“You know, skipping breakfast is bad for your brain health.” I relocate the bar so it’s in his hands. “Your job performance could also suffer.” I rattle off a few more facts off the top of my brain about the merits of breakfast. Some of them are made up, but as long as I sound convincing, I doubt he’ll notice.
