Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
And now it’s mine.
I am the custodian.
The car rocks over a second cattle grid as I drive around the back of the great house and pull up outside the old stables where Kit’s car collection is housed. Abandoning the Jag, I dash up to the kitchen door, and I’m pleased to find it open.
Jessie is in the kitchen cooking breakfast, with Kit’s dogs at her feet. “Good morning, Jessie,” I call as I dash through. Jensen and Healey both jump up and scramble after me.
Jessie’s voice follows me out into the corridor. “Maxim! I mean, my lord!”
I ignore her and head into Kit’s study. Fuck. My study. The room feels and smells as if my big brother is still in residence, and I halt as an intense pang of grief bubbles up from nowhere.
Damn you, Kit. I miss you.
The truth is, the office looks as though my father is still in residence. Kit had not changed a thing apart from installing an iMac. This was my father’s refuge. The walls are painted blood-red and covered with his photographs, landscapes and portraits, even a couple of my mother. The furniture dates back to before the war, the 1930s, I think. With canine enthusiasm—tails wagging and tongues licking—the dogs jump up at me while I make my way to the desk.
“Hello, boys. Hi. There. Hi. There. Steady.” I pet them both.
“Sir, it’s great to see you, but is everything okay?” Jessie asks as she enters behind me.
“The Chelsea flat has been burgled. I’m going to sort it out from here.”
“Oh, no!” Jessie’s hand flies to her mouth.
“No one’s hurt,” I reassure her. “Oliver’s there and assessing the damage.”
“That’s terrible.” She wrings her hands.
“It’s a pain in the arse, is what it is.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“I’d love some coffee.”
“I’ll fetch some straightaway.” She bustles out of the room, and Jensen and Healey, with mournful looks at me, follow her out. I sit down at Kit’s—no, my desk.
Firing up the iMac, I log in and open FaceTime, then click on Oliver’s contact link.
* * *
Alessia stands under the powerful shower enjoying the hot water streaming over her. She will miss this when they leave to go back to London. As she washes her hair, the thought depresses her. She’s loved this magical time in Cornwall, just the two of them. She will always treasure the memory of her stay in this extraordinary house with him.
Maxim.
As she soaps her hair, she opens one eye, unable to shake her anxiety. Even though she’s locked the bathroom door, she’s nervous. She’s not used to being alone, and she’s missing him. She’s become accustomed to his presence. Everywhere. She blushes and smiles.
Yes. Everywhere.
Now, if she could just work up the courage to touch him…everywhere.
* * *
Much of my flat is unaffected by the burglary. The darkroom is undisturbed, so my camera gear is intact, and more important from a sentimental point of view, I still have my father’s cameras. And I’m lucky the thieves didn’t find the safe. They’ve stolen some of my shoes and some jackets from my wardrobe, though it’s difficult to tell, as there are clothes thrown around my bedroom.
The drawing room, on the other hand, is a mess. All my photography has been ripped off the walls. My iMac is smashed on the floor. My laptop and mixing consoles are gone, and my vinyl is all over the floor. Fortunately, the piano is untouched.
“That appears to be the extent of it,” Oliver says. He’s holding up his phone and using the camera so I can inspect the damage on my computer screen.
“Fuckers. Any idea when they broke in?” I ask.
“No. Your neighbor didn’t see anything. But it could have been anytime over the weekend.”
“It could have been after I left on Friday. How did they get in?”
“You saw the state of the front door.”
“Yeah. They must have forced it with something heavy. The fuckers. I must have forgotten to set the alarm in my haste to leave.”
“It didn’t go off. I think you probably did forget. But I don’t think that would have deterred them.”
“Hello…?” A disembodied voice from somewhere else in the flat interrupts us.
“That will be the police,” Oliver says.
“You called them? That was quick. Good. Let me know what they say. Call me back.”
“Will do, sir.” He rings off.
I stare despondently at the screen. I don’t want to go back to London. I want to stay here, with Alessia.
There’s a knock on the door, and Danny appears in the doorway. “Good morning, sir. I hear you’ve been robbed.”
“Morning, Danny. Yes. Though it doesn’t look like I’ve lost anything irreplaceable. It’s just a mess.”
“Mrs. Blake will be able to tidy up any mess. What a nuisance this is.”
“Indeed.”
“Where would you like your breakfast?”
“Breakfast?”
“Sir, Jessie’s made you breakfast. French toast. Your favorite.”