Chapter 29
A lexandra
Scoop, chuck, scoop, chuck. I filled another bag of rubbish then hollered down for Valentine to carry it outside to the skip. While I waited, I grumpily shook open a fresh bin liner and gazed around the spare bedroom.
Today, Daisy had assigned me to the upstairs room in the hope that spreading us out would give us a better chance of hunting down the treasure. Once we had the item the homeowner needed found, the rest of the clearance would go much quicker. We wouldn’t need to check every pile to make sure it didn’t contain a diamond necklace or a priceless figurine.
No sound came from downstairs, so I returned to the patch I was working on, where a stack of boxes had been wedged together Tetris-style. Dutifully, I rattled then opened each, checking the contents before discarding them in the bin bag. They were a strange collection of what must’ve been late-night or impulse purchases. A cleaning product for bathrooms. A mechanical tool for removing fluff from clothing. All examples of an active life the lady couldn’t lead. The more time I spent here, the sadder it made me.
Couple that with the mournful sense of loss for Raphael not being here and I was a grouchy wreck, hot under the blonde wig I’d felt safer in wearing today and bothered for other reasons. I’d got used to having Raphael near. I craved him, and the distance between us panicked me. I wasn’t sure at what point that change had started, but my addiction to all things Raphael was getting worse.
A figure appeared in the door. Daisy. “How’s it going?”
I sat back from the pile and in the path of fresh air from the open bedroom window, where clouds had rolled in to darken the skies, then peeled off my mask. “I was getting a little blue over the state of mind of the woman who lived here. How does someone get like this? Why did no one help her?”
Daisy pulled a pretty grimace and tucked an escaped curl of blonde hair behind her ear. “Her name is Agnes, and her condition is not that uncommon. Hoarding often stems from physical or mental illness or extreme events the mind can’t get over. Mia and I did a similar house clean for a woman in Inverness. She’d broken her leg and had other health issues, and over the course of several months, turned from an outgoing and employed woman to a complete recluse. When she came home from hospital, she had a nurse check on her once or twice and a meal service bring her food, but then her employer forced her into early retirement. She didn’t have any family and had lived for her job. Her whole community had been at the nursery she’d worked in. It dented her confidence so much that for three years, she didn’t leave the house, which only made her physical health worse. It was only when her power went out one winter that she was forced to allow an engineer inside, and she was so ashamed of how bad things had got. The engineer was kind and had seen the videos I sometimes make of our cleans. She contacted us. We did the job for free.”
Daisy moved to where I’d been digging through boxes and picked one up. “I’d say Agnes has something else going on, but I know for sure it isn’t our place to judge. Everyone is entitled to a clean home. I consider it a privilege to be able to help with that.”
“Kind of judging the guy who employed your company. He’s her relative, yet he let her live like this and didn’t show any interest until she was near the end of her life.”
Daisy took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be so hasty to go after him either. You might be right. He could be completely mercenary and not give a damn about her. He also might be like Ben.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
She dipped her head at the window. “You might have noticed that my fiancé doesn’t come inside this place. His mother is a hoarder. He was forced to live in circumstances like this and couldn’t help her. Hers was an extreme case, and I managed to do something to make it better, but not every family is happy and supportive.”
I huffed agreement, knowing that well. I’d managed to ignore mine for a couple of days, but every time my brain slid back to the events I’d fled, the more it put my family at the centre of things.
I couldn’t go back to them. That much was certain. Even if they somehow tracked me down. It only complicated things with my dad who was the one person I needed to protect.
Daisy continued, “Some people are broken beyond repair or completely alone. The things they bring into the home and the money they spend create glimmers of happiness. In this case, the trash is the treasure for the lady who collected it all.” She gave a short laugh. “Though I hope for our sake that isn’t the literal truth.”
She tossed a box of bathroom tile samples, then found another. A heavier box with packaging I instantly recognised.
“That’s oil paint,” I told her. “I use that brand.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.” Daisy offered it out. “Reckon they’ll still be good?”
I accepted the unopened box and looked it over, pulling out tubes and brushes. “They haven’t been touched. Oil paint lasts for years if it isn’t opened.”
“Want it? If there’s anything usable, I can message the nephew and make him an offer. I already did that with a teapot because I wanted it as a reminder of the woman and her life. He told me to keep it. He’ll probably do the same with that.” At my nod, she sent a quick text. “He says no problem. Keep them. Oh, there’s a stack of paintings with some blank canvases that I stored in the garage. We took them all off the walls on our first visit in case they were the treasure. None were very old, so that was a no, but the canvases can be yours.”
Last night, I’d dreamt of painting. I often did. For years, I’d had oil paint smudges on my skin and the compelling urge to return to my work-in-progress. Shutting it down at the point of starting work for my family had been a snap judgement. One I regretted.
“If you think that’s all right?” I stood shakily, urgency building in me all over again.
Daisy had already sent a follow-up message. “I’ll show you them now.”
We descended the stairs to the ground floor and stepped outside where fat raindrops had started falling. Ben was seated at his usual spot at a garden table, but he packed up his tablet and stowed it in a bag, presumably to shelter it from the weather.
Daisy and I entered the garage at the side of the house. The rumbling of tyres chased us.
“Must be Valentine returning.” Tugging my mask back up against the thick smell of something rotting, I followed Daisy to a stack of paintings. There had to be thirty leaning against the garage wall in stacks, some landscapes and others I couldn’t see. I leafed through the first few, checking what she’d said—that they were modern prints. To the right were three white canvases, still in the plastic wrapping. I took up one, the sense of certainty growing in me to towering proportions.
“Val’s still here,” Daisy said. “He’s round the back, stomping up and down on the garden while talking on the phone.”
“Then who just turned up?”
Earlier, Valentine had given me a new and secure phone to use, already programmed with the numbers for the team and for Daisy and Mia. I’d resisted the urge to message Raphael, almost scared to distract him, and relying on the updates Ben and Valentine provided. The last check-in from Jackson told us they’d arrived in Paris, but nothing since. There was no way this could be them.
Without thinking, I moved to the garage door and peered out into the now pattering rain.
Coming face to face with Barrington Bray.
Oh shit. I flushed icy cold.
Daisy hissed and circled to block his view of me. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Ben Graham.”
“You found him,” Ben’s hard tone sounded across the garden.
Barrington turned, and Daisy spun back to me, her eyes wide. She ushered me deeper into the garage while Ben took control.
“I didn’t think,” I mouthed.
She blinked, still appearing in shock, and whispered back, “Do you know him?”
I managed a terrified nod. “The leader of the other bodyguard team. The ones who are hunting for me.”
If they found me, my moment of peace would be broken. I’d need to talk to Sir Reginald. I’d have to fight him over his expectations and my work. I just wanted to stay with Raphael and to not be at the centre of that maelstrom.
The storm had come to me.
Daisy’s mouth flattened, and she kept her voice low. “We need to get you out of here. Thank God you had your mask and that wig on.”
I touched my face, relief spiralling outwards. I had my hair covered and a mask so I didn’t breathe in dust. With any luck, it might have been a good enough disguise. Barrington hadn’t recognised me. Had he?
I listened hard.
“Ben. You didn’t answer my calls. You gave me no choice but to come here.”
“I replied and told you exactly what you needed to know,” Ben retorted.
“Nowhere near enough. I need to see your man, Raphael. Where is he?”
“I told ye. He’s off on another job. What could you possibly want him for? He’s not hiding a princess on his person.”
His tone held incredulity, but I couldn’t smile.
Daisy’s hand found mine, and she led me down through the garage, squeezing between a clapped-out car and yet another stack of boxes that lined the walls.
Barrington yelled, “Well, where the fuck is she? She’s supposed to be at her father’s house, but I’ve already been there today. They said she wasn’t to be disturbed, yet no one’s seen her which tells me it’s a lie. There’s not been one photo of her online in days, and her family is threatening to cancel every contract I have with them. You know what that will do to my business. Tell me she isn’t shacked up with your boy because fuck knows where else she could be.”
A deadly pause followed. I’d only known Ben for a matter of days but I’d got the measure of the man. He was stoic and calm, but he defended his team to the hilt.
“I don’t like being shouted down. I especially don’t like a demand being made of a trusted member of my team. Raphael isn’t here. He’s not even in the country. He’s been dispatched on another job, and I can guarantee you,” he spoke over an arguing Barrington, “that the princess you lost is not with him. Nor is she at Castle Braithar which is where he’s been living. I would know. Can I make myself clearer?”
At the back of the garage, Daisy reached for the handle of the garden door. It creaked, and she shivered then inched it open even slower, dragging it against a pile of leaves. I cringed at the sounds, expecting footsteps at any moment. A hand grasping my shoulder and an order for me to return to England.
None came. We made it outside, and Daisy closed the door so I could stand against it. The overtones of the argument made it to us, though the words were indistinct, and Valentine strode up the garden, a frown darkening his brow as the rain did the same to his shirt.
Daisy beckoned him over, gesturing for him to be quiet. “We need to get Alex out of here. Right now.”
His gaze darted from the unseen incomer to me. I set down the oil paints and canvas.
“My car. We’ll hide ye inside, but to be convincing when we leave, I’ll need to make it look like I’m naw running.”
He gestured to his vehicle which was fifteen feet away at the side of the house. It was in plain sight of the front where Barrington could see.
A grin spread over Valentine’s face, and he quirked an eyebrow. “Luckily, I’m shit hot at subterfuge. Daisy, go open the boot and make a fuss about some missing item. Something you badly need for work today. In the meantime, I’ll get Mia to come down.” He came back to me. “Don’t worry, princess. No one’s taking ye away from your prince today.”
Minutes later, Daisy and Mia were deep in a heated, fake argument at the back of Valentine’s car, the huge bodyguard wading in to solve the problem.
“Don’t sweat. I’ll go get it. Not like I’ve got anything better to do,” he griped.
At the other side of the vehicle, I snuck into the passenger-side door, left open by Mia on their pretend hunt. I’d sprinted to the end of the garden then crept back up along the side of a hedgerow, the long grass soaking my shoes. Not that I cared. I only wanted to get away.
I curled into the footwell and made myself small. Still shouting, Valentine dropped heavily into the driver’s seat and tossed his jacket onto me. With his window open, he cruised past Ben and Barrington.
“Need to head out for five minutes. Won’t be long,” Valentine called out.
“Do what ye need to do,” Ben snapped back.
“Who’s this? What’s your name?” Barrington challenged.
Valentine stopped the car. I ceased breathing and held as still as I possibly could, praying that the jacket covered me.
Valentine’s reply held nothing but amusement. “Val Graham. Ben’s brother. What can I do you for?”
Barrington made a sound of disgust. “Nothing,” he muttered.
The engine purred, and we moved on.
A gasp left me the moment the gravel turned to tarmac. Valentine sped up, eating the miles out of town.
He plucked the jacket off me. “All right down there?”
“We’re free, aren’t we?”
“As a bird. I’ll take ye back to the cottage. You’ll probably have to stay put for the afternoon, if that’s okay? No telling if the arsehole is going to hang around until your boy gets home.”
So long as I didn’t get whisked back to London, I’d happily stay locked in that darling cottage for the rest of my life.
I gave him a nod of utter relief, and he grinned bigger.
“By the way, Daisy stashed your painting supplies in the boot. Maybe that can entertain ye?”
The idea of taking my feelings out on a canvas had never been sweeter.