Chapter 43

 

As soon as she’d said goodbye to Dylan and he was on his way to the function at the gallery, she made her way to his study. She’d seen Henry earlier on his way out, so she was confident she wouldn’t be disturbed. Henry had actually come into the snug where her and Dylan were sat, and exchanged a few words. She’d asked him if there was any news on the job front, but it appeared there was nothing. He was awkward around his father, and Dylan didn’t help. You could sense the undercurrent between them both.

She left the door ajar so she could hear if Henry came back, and it would look more legitimate than a closed door. He’d only left an hour earlier so she didn’t expect to be disturbed.

The study, like the rest of the house, was a delight. Not one of those stuffy studies you think of by the very nature of the word study, with oak furniture and endless book cases. This room was beautifully designed like the rest of the house. The light grey on the walls, and the contemporary furniture gave it a stylish look and she deduced the room had to be the handiwork of an interior designer as was most probably the rest of the house.

Apart from the huge desk which dominated the room, there was a seating area by the window with modern looking chesterfield sofas. There were some bookcases, and beautiful art dominating each wall. One particular portrait was clearly Dylan’s late father. She could see the family resemblance, but it was Victor that favoured him more.

However, she wasn’t there to study the art she reprimanded herself, and started to open each drawer that wasn’t locked, carefully photographing its contents so she could put things back exactly as they were. She took out the contents of each individual drawer systematically one at a time, which she’d done before when she’d been cleaning the house, but she’d had to be quick then, as the housekeeper was always hovering. Right now, she had at least three hours before Dylan came back.

Each document she took out, she photographed on her phone. Whoever at the station would have to go through all the data, would curse her no doubt. It was hard to tell what was significant, so she photographed anything she could. It wasn’t her job to decide what was relevant.

There were two drawers in the desk that were locked which could easily been broken into, but nothing would be more certain to break her cover. Right now, everything was going according to plan. Dylan didn’t suspect a thing. The only complication that she hadn’t expected, were the feelings that surfaced within her when she was around him. There was something about him, an evasive concept you couldn’t put your finger on, but which she was drawn to. Despite his criminal background, she found him much more attractive than she should and that made her feel uneasy. It didn’t pay in her line of work to get attached to anyone. But the sex with him was amazing. He was such a generous lover. Even now she was eager for him to come home so she could have plenty of what she’d got the previous evening. Would he spend the night with her tonight? For some obscure reason, she wanted to wake up next to him, which was ridiculous.

She inwardly chastised herself. She needed to snap out of this romantic bullshit and remember her only chance of success was departmentalising Dylan Rider and remembering he was a job and nothing more than that.

Shit. What was that?

She’d heard a noise.

Someone was in the house.

She quickly shoved the contents back inside the drawer and closed it quietly. It was most probably Henry. She glanced at her watch, it was too early for Dylan.

Would Henry think she’d gone to bed for an early night, and carry on to his room?

Should she stay put and hope so?

The study door was ajar. Would he look in? Should she hide?

Footsteps approached. She walked towards the study door just as Henry came into the hall.

“Hi.”

He looked towards her, but not directly at her. His glance went past her and into the study. She wasn’t sure if it was suspicion, it was hard to tell with him as he didn’t have the social expressions people had. But she’d got everything covered for this eventuality.

She held up an iPhone charger.

“I forgot mine, so I just came into the study to borrow your dad’s.”

He stared at her. Because of his autism, he was incredibly difficult to read.

She looked at her watch. “He said he’d be back around eight thirty.”

He shrugged. “So.”

“I’m just letting you know,” she smiled affectionately; “you don’t have to be in your room because I’m here.”

“I’m not. I prefer it in my room.”

“Okay. Well just so you know, I’ll be gone by the morning. Your dad wanted me to stay because of my face. I didn’t say earlier, but I was attacked.”

No surprise look, or, are you alright?

“I was just going to make myself a hot drink, your dad said to help myself. Can I get you one?”

“Okay.”

He followed her towards the kitchen and she put the kettle on. “Do you drink coffee, or tea?”

“No.” He walked towards the fridge that was so huge, it wouldn’t look out of place in a restaurant kitchen. He took out a can of Coke and broke the ring.

“How are you getting on regards the job front?” She selected a mug from the cupboard and put a tea bag in it. “Any interviews lined up?”

He stopped glugging his Coke. “Nope.”

“Oh dear, that’s a shame, anything more on pursuing college?”

He shook his head.

God, it’s like pulling teeth.

“What about your paintings, has your dad seen them yet?”

“I told you, he wouldn’t be interested.”

“I think he would be once he sees how talented you are.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He’d be happy for me to go if I was doing business studies or something, but not Art. He’s said that a hundred times.”

She poured hot water in the mug and used a spoon to stir the tea bag.

“Please don’t give up. If you really want to make it happen, you can do. Talk to your dad, tell him how much it means to you.”

“What do you care?” he scowled.

“I do care. I know ambition’s the key to success. You can make it happen. You’re lucky, your dad has money, so many kids don’t have that opportunity. Use it. Beg your dad if you have to.”

“I wouldn’t beg him for anything,” he snarled.

“You know what I mean,” she glared. Why was he so literal? “Make him see this is what you want and that you’ll work hard. Try it, Henry, you might be surprised.”

He was deep in thought, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure.

She took a sip of her tea and waited.

“He’s not what you think he is,” he said quietly.

“In what way?” she showed genuine inquisitiveness.

“In every way.”

Why was he warning her?

Did he know the full extent of his father’s business dealings?

“Does it matter?” she asked but he didn’t reply. “He’s a business man, they don’t always play by the rules. That’s how they get ahead. You just need to remember, he’s your dad and with his help and finances, you can make things happen. You won’t always be beholden to him. Utilise him now to get to your goal, which is studying Art.” She studied his tortured face, “If that’s what you really want to do.”

His pitiful nod sliced her in two; he was such a troubled soul.

“Do it,” she told him firmly, “and then when your course is finished, you can decide what road you want to take. The way I see it, you’re not happy at the moment, are you?”

The shake of his head indicated he wasn’t.

“Then what have you got to lose? Go for it,” she pushed.

He didn’t reply, just stared which she hoped meant he was considering, and then walked towards the bin, depositing the Coke can in the one which was coloured for recycling.

There’d be no more from him tonight.

“I’m going to sit in the snug and watch TV until your dad gets back. Do you fancy joining me?”

It was unlikely he’d want to sit and watch TV with his dad’s bit of stuff, but she genuinely wanted him to. Maybe get onto the subject of his mother; she doubted he talked to anyone about her. She could help him as she knew that anguish so well.

Please, she willed, stay and talk.

He shook his head. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Okay,” she gave in, “but remember what I’ve said. You’ve got to make it happen, nobody will do it for you.”

He nodded, and for the first time, looked directly at her. But this time it wasn’t just a nod to pacify her . . . it looked like an acknowledgment of some sort. Maybe hope? As if she’d finally got through.