Chapter Nine
Mats stared at this complex and tortured woman, her pink oversized jumper swathing her upper body in soft folds. It didn’t seem the same Ezzie of the severe black suit, the perfectly efficient, self-effacing employee. And the Ezzie who’d once made the monumental mistake she’d just outlined? That was someone he didn’t know at all. Her confession painted her as a criminal and a liar, and he’d only her word for it that Fredek-the-cyclist had been at fault for the accident. Yet all he felt for the frightened, strained woman was pity, as she waited bleakly for his next words. That was yet another Ezz – vulnerable Ezzie beneath her façade.
‘If everything you say is true,’ he found himself saying, ‘I have no need to share the information with anyone.’
Her eyes popped open, twin blue pools of apprehension. ‘Ifit’s true? How will you decide?’
He shrugged. ‘Facts can be corroborated, can’t they? The accident would have been reported.’ He made hisvoice firm but non-threatening. If he’d learnt one thing over the past two days, it was that when it came to this one aspect of her life, Ezzie Wynter could go off like a firework.
Almost imperceptibly, her shoulders relaxed. ‘Oh, of course. The village is Wordwell. Google it. It was in our local paper. If you can be bothered to wade through years of Fredek Kowski’s social media accounts, you’ll find images of Thea working with him on his road safety campaign.’
He held up a hand, a smile forming. ‘The paper will be enough.’ She’d been so willing, even eager to supply the information that he felt he barely needed to perform the internet search. But he did, and sure enough, up popped articles in the online version of a Suffolk newspaper. Nowhere did he find an account of Thea going to court. ‘Thea was never charged?’ he asked, just to be sure.
Ezzie shook her head. She looked tired and defenceless, her eyes enormous with hoping-for-the-best-but-fearing-the-worst. ‘She wasn’t at fault … I meanIwasn’t …’ She almost quivered with tension.
To give himself a last opportunity to think things through, he rose, filled two glasses with water and returned to the table, setting one before her and taking a couple of gulps from the other. ‘As what you’ve told me seems true, I’ll keep your secret.’
Ezz blew out a breath as if someone had punched her in the stomach. ‘You’re keeping your word?’ With trembling hands, she picked up her glass. Her gaze remained on his.
Her relief caused him an inner glow. ‘Do you think you and Thea will rescind your resignations? I’d score a lot of son-points if I could tell Mum that you’ll both be at work on Monday.’
A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. ‘You need son-points?’
‘Every son does,’ he said solemnly, though he was thinking mostly of alleviating the extra lines that had appeared on Grete’s face at the shock resignations of the Wynter sisters.
Ezzie looked thoughtful. Colour even began to seep back into her cheeks. Tiredly, she rose and filled the kettle before switching it on. ‘I need coffee. Want one?’
He wasn’t a fan of instant coffee but didn’t feel like breaching the tenuous peace between them by asking if she had a machine or percolator. ‘Thanks. Black without sugar.’
She nodded, staring out of the window while she waited for the water to boil. Following her gaze, he saw a garden like a mini meadow, and the ground rising steeply above it, the colours muted by the mist. The kettle clicked off and she made the coffee in red mugs, adding milk to hers before carrying them back to the table. Looking more like her usual self, she fixed him with her gaze. ‘I do like your mum.’
‘You don’t like me?’ The words were out before he could consider them, so he chose to add a boyish smile, as if he were teasing.
Her eyebrows arched in surprise. Then she uttered a colourless ‘Of course.’
He groaned. ‘Oh, no, you’re of-coursing me again. That means you’ve mentally returned to the status of employee of Rothach Hall. I don’t know whether to be relieved, or disappointed that you’re hiding yourself behind your bland façade.’
‘Bland?’ Her eyes sparked. ‘I would have said “professional”.’
He snorted. ‘You can be professional and still have a personality.’
She glared at him. ‘I have a personality.’ But then she bit her lip, as if suddenly unsure of herself.
‘Of course.’ He winked.
Now her lips curled in an unwilling smile. ‘You’re not supposed to ridicule employees.’
‘You’re not my employee,’ he reminded her. ‘But you’re sometimes a bit “Stepford”.’ He smiled, to show it was a gentle tease rather than a criticism.
Ruefully, she wrinkled her nose. ‘Am I? I had no proper training concerning interaction with your family. Tavish Macbetha guarded that aspect of the manager’s job jealously. I’ve done an online course and I tried to pick up where he left off but often feel as if I’m acting on guesswork.’
Glad she’d let her guard down, he said, ‘Tavish was slimy and obsequious, and I didn’t like him. You’re personable, efficient and polite, and I think that’s all Mum and Dad require.’ Seeing that she still looked uncertain, he added, ‘Dad was glad to get rid of Tavish so I don’t think you have to hold him up as the gold standard.’
She even managed a laugh before looking thoughtful again. ‘I can’t speak for Thea, but I’m happy to forget my resignation. Delirious, in fact. Would you like to speak to her yourself? Or should I?’ A hint of mischief entered her smile. ‘If I’m the manager again, and we don’t have an assistant manager, it’s actually my job.’
He slouched down into his chair and lifted his coffee mug. ‘Then you do it.’ He was rewarded by a smile so bright and radiant that it took his breath away.
Within twenty minutes, coffee drunk, he was braving the mist lurking in the narrow, roller-coaster lanes backtowards Rothach Hall, happy he’d be able to assure his mother that it had all been a misunderstanding stemming from his original rubbish handling of the TV company approach.
