‘Of course.’ He curtseyed and then looked at the mother and son.
Noah burst out in laughter. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘I…’
A curtsey?
‘I met the Queen once.’ Hermione had a wry smile on her face. ‘Curtsied on a broken leg. I think even then I did it more gracefully than whatever that was.’
She didn’t say it unkindly. They shared the joke, and Quinn, cheeks burning, headed to the pantry.
He gasped when he saw inside. It reminded him ofSleeping with the Enemy. Or Khloe Kardashian’s organised pantry. Same thing. Every tin stacked upon the other labels facing out. There were glass jars hosting stacked biscuits, assorted in colour coordination. Not one thing was out of place, and as Quinn stepped into the pantry, he noticed that not even a light coating of dust clung to the steel shelves.
Shivering, feeling like he was being watched, he almost forgot what he went in for. Looking past the biscuits, he saw bags of marshmallows in front of one another as if they were straight from the supermarket shelf. He took a bag, the one behind it flopping over, and felt the need to adjust it to keep it perfectly positioned.
This pantry was tidier than his shop!
He closed the pantry door in time to see Hermione carrying a tray with three mugs of steaming hot chocolate to the kitchen table. He followed her, noticing how the wooden floor was spotless, and he wondered why she employed Ivy to clean this house.
The hot chocolate made his stomach rumble. The sweet aroma and the floating pink and white marshmallows were the perfect sickly treat he needed. He shivered from the cold, his feet still damp, and berated having to walk back to Noah’s discarded car. If Noah would even take him back to the town.
‘Kings & Queens,what a shop.’ Hermione stirred her marshmallows into the dark liquid. ‘I always thought Hay needed some diversity. When I heard you were opening, well, I was so pleased. I knew your dad, you know.’
Quinn knew. His dad had always been proud to talk about his memories with Hermione Sage, the famous movie star.
‘It was sad when he…’ Quinn prayed she wouldn’t say it. ‘Well, you know. How’s your mum?’
‘Moving on,’ Quinn said. ‘But always grieving.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Hermione sipped her drink. Quinn watched her, drawn in by her. ‘My husband was a wonderful man. When I lost him, I felt like the world fell apart. But women don’t need a man to feel valued. I was at the top of my game and my career went from strength to strength.’
‘You still are top of the game,’ Quinn said. ‘Everyone loves you.’
It was the first time Quinn had seen Hermione look vulnerable. ‘I don’t think that’s true. The press won’t leave me alone because all they want to do is remind everyone about how much of a slut I am.’
Quinn avoided both of their eyes, but the room was silent, and he knew Noah was avoiding eye contact, too. Was this difficult for him? To hear his mother recall something so traumatic in her life? The elephant in the room paraded around them with tassels and trumpets, impossible to ignore. Quinn bit his tongue, waiting for the elephant to finish the show and move on.
‘We can talk about it, you know,’ Hermione said. ‘I want to talk about it.’
‘You do?’
‘Nobody has ever wanted to hear my side of the story. I have bottled it up inside me for years.’
‘That’s why you want someone to write the book?’
Hermione placed her mug on the wooden table. It made a dull thud, echoing in the steel room. ‘Why don’t you write it for me?’
Quinn almost choked on the warm drink. Noah raised an eyebrow, his smile spreading.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Your father said you always wanted to be a writer,’ Hermione said. ‘I’ve been waiting to tell my story for years, but I’ve not trusted anyone to do so. But you – I can tell you’re a safe soul. I want to tell my story, and I want you to write it.’
ChapterTwenty
‘I’m going to give you two some space,’ Noah said, getting to his feet.
‘You don’t have to go,’ Quinn said before he could stop himself.
