SEVEN
Evie suspected less true words had seldom been spoken. The “marvellous fun” part was clearly demented. And as for “girlfriend”… She looked at Aubrey’s horrified face and tried not to laugh.
That really hadn’t been part of the plan. There had been a risk, of course, that she might be recognised. But make-up free, dressed differently, in a very different setting, she’d hoped to go unnoticed. Especially as she hadn’t been planning on being seen by Liv or Domnall. With Conyers being so big, she ought to have been able to go about her business unnoticed. Because her real target wasn’t Domnall at all. It was Aubrey’s laptop. And she suspected, hoped, it was in the leather bag over his shoulder.
Did she have qualms about what she was doing? Yes. Had her days and nights been troubled by dreadful recollection? Yes. Had she, watching Aubrey’s car arrive a few minutes earlier from her bedroom window, nearly run into her bathroom to be sick?
Yes.
Even now her palms were clammy. Her heart was beating so fast in her throat she could hardly think. At any other time, she might have taken a bitter enjoyment from the angry surprise on her father’s face. He hated being on the back foot. But the thought of the telling off she was going to get, the character assassination that never really stopped hurting even when it was the millionth time she’d heard it, and all of it done before Aubrey, him watching in her father’s study, agreeing with every word… She felt swimmy, faint.
“Howell,” her father called, his voice perfectly composed and smooth. His steward, a grave and competent man in his fifties, stepped forward from where he had been waiting at a polite distance behind the group. “Please show Mr White and Miss Villais to their rooms. I’d love a word with my daughter. It’s been so long since we had a catch up.”
And clearly I’m missing some important news, the stabbing look he turned on her said. His smile didn’t show it, though. His smile was perfect.
Howell shepherded the others up the stairs, but Aubrey lingered, watching her and her father.
“Yes. You come, too, Aubrey. I’d like a word with you as well.”
They followed him in silence, the familiar route to his study seeming to take forever, Evie cold, suppressing the shivers that crawled up her spine. She didn’t fear her father. She didn’t. But his anger was still unpleasant.
They entered the book-lined study, the two of them stopping near the leather-topped desk while her father closed the door. He turned to face them. “Well?”
But he only paused for the barest half-second—not time enough for either of them to collect their wits—before addressing Aubrey: “I couldn’t care less that she’s my daughter. She’ll confirm I have no affections on that score. But I would have thought you’d have more sense.”
Something flickered across Aubrey’s face. “It was…very unexpected.”
She shot him a look. He wasn’t going to deny it? It would save her a huge amount of awkward explanations—the whole story of why she’d really been at the Actuaris Awards—if he kept up the pretence. But why would he?
“You’re in the position you’re in largely because of your intelligence and judgement,” her father continued before flicking a hand towards where she stood. “How is this…choice…meant to reassure me of your competency?”
“If it helps, George, I can honestly say I have no intention of letting Evie influence my work. In fact, I’m doing everything I can to keep the two completely separate.”
Evie had to bite her lip to silence her unexpected amusement. The gall of the man!
“See that you do,” her father said sternly. “But, Aubrey, honestly. I’m disappointed in you. Have you ever even spoken to the girl? Do you know what type of leftist, liberal nonsense she spouts? You had better keep her away from Domnall. The last thing we need is some rant at dinner about the rights of bloody trees. This is your mess, Aubrey. You’re responsible for her. Keep her on a leash, or you’ll be gone. Understood?”
“Yes. Though I was thinking more of a muzzle.”
Her father laughed darkly and shook his head. “And I thought Roscoe’s choice was bad enough. As for you…” He gave Evie the disgusted look she knew well. “If you can manage it quietly, without making your usual sort of scene, pack your bags. I want you gone by morning. Aubrey and I will come up with a reason for your departure.”
He turned back to Aubrey. “Library at seven. Dinner at eight. See that she behaves.”
He left. Neither spoke. Aubrey was giving the door a hard look, jaw tense.
“Well,” said Evie, attempting a laugh. “Welcome to Conyers!”
Aubrey turned his stare on her, his eyes and his jaw no softer. When he didn’t speak, Evie, blushing, said, “Thank you, for…um…not telling him the truth.”
“And have him realise how easily you played me? That I was nearly the one who facilitated you publicly assaulting Domnall? Do you think that would have improved his opinion of me any more than…” He waved a curt hand in her direction. “This?”
“It won’t be so bad,” Evie said guiltily. “I’ll keep mostly to my room. Appear at dinner. Sit there quietly like a good girl. Unless…” Her glance fell on his laptop bag, calculations going on rapidly behind her eyes.
“What?” asked Aubrey warily.
“We could really make Liv jealous. You should have seen her face when—”
“Jesus Christ, Evie, no.” He snatched his suits from her arms. “Learn to let things rest, will you? For God’s sake.”
He marched from the room. Evie followed, eyes falling from the square, tensed set of his shoulders to the laptop bag again. She had to stick close. And it wouldn’t hurt him, what she was going to do. FTP had promised. He wouldn’t even ever know.
“It’s left at the end,” she said helpfully.
Aubrey turned, glaring at finding her following him. But maybe he was losing the will to live, because he made no attempt to dissuade her from following him and marched left as instructed. She suppressed a smile. This was better, riling Aubrey, thinking about all the kinks and difficulties in her plan, letting the butterflies swoop through her stomach… This was all better than thinking about her father.
It would come out later. She would probably cry in the shower—her usual place. Or in bed, at night, hands screwed into the pillow, jaw aching with the weight of holding it all back. The shower was better. No one could hear.
“This staircase,” she said. “Remember it by that sickly looking lion statue.”
They were halfway up the stairs before Aubrey spoke, and he did it without turning to look at her. “Is he always like that?”
She didn’t need to ask who. “Yes.”
Aubrey didn’t reply. They reached the half-landing, started on the other flight.
“But I’m used to it,” she said.
Aubrey glanced back, gave her a measuring look. “You really should leave,” he said. “First thing. It would be better all round.”
She just smiled. “Ah, but I have a job to do.”
He let out a long breath. “You should have stayed in London. How did you even know about Domnall coming here anyway? I presume your father didn’t tell you.”
“My brother Hugo lives here. With his girlfriend, Amelia, who happens to be my best friend. Dad called them to get the house ready for visitors, gave them the guest list.”
“Will they be at dinner?”
“Not if they can help it. They’ve decided to vacate the place for the duration. They’re staying at Redbridge—Amelia’s house. It’s only a mile or so’s walk away, through the grounds.”
Aubrey just nodded, and Evie let her mind wander to Redbridge for a moment, to the thought of Amy’s company, even Hugo’s. She’d far rather be there than here. But as she’d just told Aubrey, she had a job to do.
Aubrey paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for instructions. The landing ran both left and right, almost as many doors as a hotel, though somewhat further apart.
“That’s my room,” she told him, pointing. “Second door on the right. If you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar.”
She laughed at his dubious expression then led the way left, stopping at the fourth door. “This is you. Prestwick Suite. Domnall and Liv are in the suite next door. It’s three times the size of yours. I hope you’re not jealous.”
Then, realising that jealous was probably exactly what Aubrey was when it came to any sort of room his ex might be sharing with another man, Evie grimaced and covered the awkward moment by opening the door and ushering Aubrey inside.
She sat down on the bed with a deliberately annoying bounce. “Awfully uncomfortable, I’m afraid. The bathroom’s through there. There’s a little study-slash-sitting room through that door. Used to be for the valet, I believe. Or the lady’s maid.”
She sprang up again as Aubrey finished poking his head through the indicated doors.
“Let me help you with that,” she said, taking the bag from his shoulder. Ooof. It weighed a ton. But that was promising in the laptop stakes.
“Why are you being so helpful?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh,” she said lightly, grinning. “You’ll find I’m a truly excellent girlfriend.”