‘Well, then … what? How?’ Rosie asked.
Aled sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair.
‘I’myour new landlord,’ he told her, his voice heavy and reluctant. ‘I own the building. I’ve got keys for every floor.’
Rosie gaped at him. ‘But I thought some property investment group owned the place nowadays? How can that beyou?’ she asked.
‘When I found out I’d inherited the building,’ Aled said, ‘I got some financial advice and it was suggested to me that I set up a company.’
Rosie merely stared at him, still struggling to process what he’d told her. Had he just saidinherited…?
‘Wait here,’ Aled said. ‘I’ll go and get the key. I’m assuming it’s the deadlock that’s the problem?’
She nodded dumbly and he headed up the stairs, taking two at a time. Rosie eyed his shopping bag, which was stamped with a logo that read ‘Red Fox Deli’. Wondering idly what it contained, she peeped over its thick paper rim and spotted a bottle of what looked like very good olive oil, a loaf of sourdough wrapped in greaseproof paper and a richly fragrant packet of ground coffee. Her stomach rumbled.
A moment later, Aled was back, an elderly-looking key clutched in his hand. It was ahugehand, Rosie noted – probably twice the size of her own – but it was nice: long-fingered and clean, with short, neatly trimmed nails.
He waved the key at her, almost apologetically. ‘Do you want to … or shall I …?’
‘Go ahead,’ Rosie said. ‘The lock’s a bit dodgy, which is why we stopped using it. At least until today …’
She stepped out of the way to give him easier access to the door. After a few seconds and a little energetic jiggling, the key rotated and she heard the lock snap open.
Seeming to sense that it would be presumptuous to open the door himself, Aled moved back and allowed Rosie to do it.
‘OK, then,’ Aled said, reaching for his shopping. ‘I guess I’ll—’
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Rosie interrupted, cutting him off before he could say ‘go’. The sheer randomness of the day’s events had left her feeling reckless, and far from ready to be on her own. ‘I have questions about this whole “I’m your landlord” revelation. You owe me an explanation. And I’m pretty sureIoweyoua cup of tea for helping me open the door.’
‘I … oh. OK, then,’ he agreed, half nervous, half gratified. He followed her inside, past the bedrooms, the bathroom and into the open-plan living and kitchen area. Rosie noted again how tall he was. He seemed to take up more space than James ever had, yet at the same time he was less expansive – in no way overbearing.
‘Wow,’ he said, looking around him at the packed bookshelves, hotchpotch of vintage furniture and gallery walls. ‘This is lovely.’
‘Thanks,’ Rosie said, warmed by the compliment but stung afresh at the thought that she might soon have to move out.
‘How long have you guys lived here?’ Aled asked. His accent really was something else, Rosie thought: lilting and musical, in a way that made even mundane questions sound borderline poetic. His voice was deep and resonant, too – it made her think of stage actors and radio plays, and Richard Burton narratingThe War of the Worlds.
‘About six years,’ Rosie said. She filled the kettle and switched it on, then threw two teabags into a pair of mugs. ‘Mr Bettini let me decorate it – it was a bit of a fixer-upper when we first moved in.’
‘You knew him, then?’
‘He lived upstairs. Of course I knew him,’ Rosie said pointedly, softening the barb with a smile. ‘I liked him – he was a bit grumpy but he had a good heart. I used to visit him a few times a week – make sure he wasn’t lonely. Val and Pat did the same. How d’you take your tea?’
‘Just milk, thanks.’
Rosie placed a mug in front of Aled, then gestured at the stools that were tucked beneath the kitchen counter. ‘Have a seat.’
He nodded his thanks and did as he was told.
After taking a sip from her own cup, Rosie said: ‘So … inherited?’
Aled rubbed a hand across his forehead and sighed. ‘It’s not as interesting as it might seem. I was contacted about six months ago by a company that specialises in tracking down the relatives of people who’ve died intestate.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s when people pass away without making a will. When there’s property or a lot of money at stake these firms try to find the people who should get it. In exchange for a fee, naturally.’
Rosie drank some more tea. ‘So … you’re saying you’rerelatedto Mr Bettini?’
