Laura Martin - Dangerous Discovery

‘So you presumably know I’m in management consultancy,’ he added briskly, ‘that I have the enviable task of trying to salvage firms which are in a slow and very steady decline before they go completely over the brink into oblivion?’

‘I...think I heard something of the sort,’ Estelle mumbled.

‘What else did you hear?’ His voice was sharp as he carried his cup over to the dishwasher and stood beside her. Estelle risked a swift glance at his face and saw that his eyes held a fierce expression. ‘I’m intrigued,’ he continued, when she made no reply. ‘I haven’t been living in the village more than five minutes and it seems my misgivings are already justified; already the locals are gossiping.’ Dark brows drew together irritably. ‘When my father died earlier this year and I inherited this beautiful but rather dilapidated pile of bricks,’ he continued savagely, ‘I seriously considered selling the whole lot in one fell swoop. There’s a lot of work that needs doing to the property, new plumbing, rewiring, any amount of decorating. Oh, and a new perimeter wall, of course,’ he added with deliberate emphasis, meeting Estelle’s hurried glance with cool black eyes. ‘Perhaps I should have given in to my instincts—let someone else take care of the hassle and upheaval.’

‘Oh, but how can you say that?’ Estelle responded automatically. ‘This is such a lovely house! It’s been in your family for several generations too, hasn’t it? And you have such a wealth of treasures, such wonderful paintings. Most of them need cleaning, of course, but just in the hallway and along the stairs there are some wonderful examples of—’ Her mind swung back over the many, varied pictures she had seen in her short time here and then her gaze fell upon Hunter’s face and she bit down on her lip, halting suddenly as her eyes registered his not particularly amused expression.

‘Ah, yes, the painter!’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Am I to take it from that impassioned outburst that you know something about art, then?’

Estelle raised her chin defiantly, annoyed by the derision in his voice. ‘Yes, just a little,’ she replied crisply. ‘I studied for a while. Your father was quite a collector, wasn’t he?’ she added, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. ‘It would be such a waste of his work not to—’

‘My, my! You do seem to know quite a lot! Village gossip!’ The inflexion in his voice held disgust. ‘Such a disagreeable aspect of country life. Give me London any day; at least there your life’s your own and you can be assured of a certain degreee of privacy.’

‘It’s not such a wonderful place,’ Estelle retorted, stung by the cutting tone of his voice. ‘Intellectually and socially stimulating if you have the means to enjoy all it has to offer, but a very large, lonely and daunting place otherwise.’

‘So you’re acquainted with London?’ Hunter’s gaze sharpened further. ‘I thought you were a country girl through and through.’

‘I lived there for a while, that’s all,’ Estelle informed him quietly, moving over to feel the temperature of the milk. ‘It had its attractions but...’ Her voice trailed away self-consciously. Hunter was watching her too closely; she could almost see his brain piecing the fragments of information together.

‘You were at college there? What happened? Did you have to leave when you became pregnant?’ he commented bluntly. ‘But why move here?’ he added with a slight frown, taking her acquiescence as read. ‘Do you have family in this area, then? Some connection?’

‘I used to.’ Estelle’s voice was clipped, dripping with frost. Hunter deliberately chose not to take the hint, continuing unmercifully.

‘Mother and father?’

‘No!’ Estelle replied shortly. She couldn’t risk dicing with her and Joseph’s future a moment longer. ‘Look, would you mind not giving me the third degree?’ she snapped. ‘It’s too early in the morning, and besides, my private life is my own affair. I don’t feel like discussing any of it with you.’ She swiftly tested the milk on her arm and then plunged the bottle into Joseph’s hungry, searching mouth.

‘So, it’s perfectly all right for you to gossip about me,’ Hunter commented smoothly, raising a dark enquiring brow, ‘but I’m not allowed to delve into your affairs. That’s rather one-sided, don’t you think?’

‘I have not been gossiping!’ Estelle shot back. ‘You flatter yourself if you think I’d waste an ounce of my breath discussing you with anyone!’

There was a chilled silence.

‘So inexplicably sharp,’ Hunter murmured softly. ‘Quite intriguing. You know, Estelle, your face has that same look about it as before—you remember,’ he explained with menacing softness, ‘when I caught you sneaking about in the wood. Same expression, same look of frightened intensity.’ He lifted a hand and brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, deliberately touching the skin of her cheek as he did so, deliberately testing her reactions, giving a slow, satisfied smile when she jerked sharply away. He raised dark brows and shook his head at her. ‘What is it exactly, Estelle? Care to enlighten me?’

‘Stop it!’ She frowned and felt the hot prickle of panic creeping over her skin as Hunter’s gaze forced her own into submission. ‘I...I’m tired,’ she continued determinedly. ‘I had a dreadful night’s sleep and after what happened...’

‘You coped very well.’

Estelle glared, annoyed by the smooth, silky tones. ‘There’s no need to patronise me!’ she flared. ‘I can do without that on top of everything else!’

‘You seem to be able to do without a lot of things,’ Hunter grated, his mouth hardening into a thin line. ‘Like good manners and an even temper—one that doesn’t flare up at the slightest thing! Tell me,’ he added tersely, picking up his briefcase, stuffing the papers none too tidily inside, ‘are you always this damn touchy in the mornings?’ He threw her a contemptuous look and strode over to the kitchen door. ‘I was applauding your spirit,’ he added in bored tones, turning to pierce her with an expression of complete and utter indifference. ‘After what you went through last night.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘Obviously I shouldn’t have wasted my breath!’ He flung open the kitchen door. ‘When you’re ready to leave, just tell Mrs McCormack—she’ll arrange for a lift back to the village. Oh, and by the way,’ he added crisply, his features hard and angular as he looked at her, ‘your front door has been fixed, I’ve left the new key to your flat on the dresser over there. If you can’t manage to pay the bill, let me know,’ he sneered. ‘I’ll settle up for you—you can look upon it as my one last gesture of patronism!’

The flat looked no better in the cold, harsh light of day, but Estelle refused to be downhearted by the state of it. I collect too much rubbish anyway, she thought, determined to look on the bright side. This will be a good opportunity to sort everything out, to begin again.

She hadn’t really changed much since Connie’s time here. Everything had happened so suddenly: the shock of her sister’s death, the grief, packing up her things, leaving college, the not so simple task of living from day to day, coping with Joseph...

She set to work, gritting her teeth against the despair that rose up to overwhelm her from time to time, struggling hard not to allow her thoughts to dwell on anything at all. Hunter most especially.

She went out with Joseph for a break at lunchtime, walking along her favourite route by the village green and the old duck pond. And she successfully managed, in between seeing to Joseph and keeping him happy, to get most of the work done.