Alice quirked her brow. “Well, that’s no longer an issue. Obviously Fairbanks wouldn’t dare try anything now.”
Phoebe stared at her. Why did it feel like she was missing something? “You mean… because of the information that connects him to Fleur?”
But that didn’t make sense, as Fairbanks didn’t know that had been Maude’s doing and as far as she knew, the mere threat of exposure had done enough. He hadn’t moved forward with that bill of his and there had been nothing in the papers connecting her to Will—the odd disappointment she felt at that was something she tried not to dwell on.
“No,” Alice said slowly. “Last I heard he had to pull out of the club anyway. Because of your sister, Alex.” At Phoebe’s confused silence she continued: “She bought up his debts, and said if anything happens to any of us, she’ll ruin him.”
Phoebe sat back in her chair, dumbfounded.
“She didn’t tell you? I would have sworn you were behind it,” Alice marveled.
Phoebe let out a short laugh. “I’m not nearly so ruthless as that. And I don’t have Alex’s money.”
Though each sister had access to a healthy trust once they turned twenty-one, Alex had amassed a sizable fortune all on her own. Still, it must have been a considerable investment.
“I can’t believe she did that,” Phoebe murmured.
“Can’t you?” Alice prompted. “She is your sister, after all. Look at what mine did for me.”
“That’s true.” Phoebe bowed her head. She was being unfair again. Alex would likely do far more, if called upon.
They chatted for a while longer until Phoebe had to leave or else risk missing her train. By then they were the only two customers remaining in the shop. Alice walked her back to the station just as the train arrived. They embraced on the platform, with both promising to write again soon.
“Take care of yourself, Alice.”
“You too, Miss Atkinson.”
“I think you can call me Phoebe now.”
“All right. Phoebe.” Alice smiled shyly. “And tell your sister thank you. Though I hope to do it in person soon.”
“I will.”
Phoebe then boarded the train and took a window seat in second class. She waved to Alice as the train pulled away and watched her grow ever smaller until she was just a faceless figure in the distance. Then she sat back in her seat and let out a sigh. For the first time in the months since Alice had disappeared, Phoebe felt certain she was safe.
Twenty-Five
Once Phoebe returned to London, she headed straight for Atkinson Enterprises. It was after five, but everyone knew Alex never left before six on work days. As Phoebe stepped down from the hackney, she paused in front of the handsome brick building in a prime location just outside the City. Atkinson Enterprises had occupied the same ground floor since her grandfather opened the original accounting firm forty years ago. But it was Alex and her ingenious knack for spotting the next big idea who had helped their father expand the business into investments. Now the firm’s offices took up the entire building.
The lobby was deserted at this hour and the click of Phoebe’s heeled boots echoed across the pristine marble floor. She hadn’t been here in years. When she was a young girl, her mother would occasionally drop her and Alex off while she did some shopping and together they would play in their father’s office for hours. Phoebe was more interested in the butterscotch candies he kept in a drawer especially for her, but Alex was already fascinated by his work even then. The memory rubbed against a raw spot in Phoebe’s heart as she passed by her father’s closed office door. How much simpler things had been between them back then. When all she needed from him was a kiss on the cheek and a handful of sweets.
As predicted, Alex was still in her office at the end of the hall, the warm glow from her desk lamp lighting the way like a beacon. Phoebe knocked on the open door as she entered.
“Hello, there.”
Alex barely glanced up from the portfolio she was studying. “Hello.”
If she was surprised by Phoebe’s sudden appearance, she didn’t show it. The small space was decorated with various odds and ends Alex had laid claim to over the years, like some kind of furniture-hoarding magpie. None of it matched, but it was rather charming in a way. It was the exact opposite of their father’s lavish office, where the museum-quality art, the sofa covered in watered silk, the matching Louis XIV chairs, and fine Aubusson rug were meant to impress perspective clients. But this space, with its unadorned walls and bare wood floor, was meant only for Alex. And she didn’t care what it looked like as long as she could get her work done.
Phoebe took the only other chair in the room besides her sister’s: a high-backed Baroque-inspired monstrosity she recognized from their late grandmother’s house. Once seated, she was noticeably lower than Alex. But the effect was likely intentional.
Phoebe craned her neck. “Where’s Father?”
“He left hours ago,” Alex replied without looking up from the page in front of her. “He never stays past four these days.”
“You shouldn’t be here all alone.”
“Why not? I do my best work when no one else is here.”
