Chapter 49
Petey
The following Tuesday afternoon, I was in the Old Coach House editing footage of two hundred men in Tudor battledress dragging a classic Jag out of a lake like they’d challenged it to a tug of war.
Haruto had captured the whole disaster on the drone—Bunny scrambling through the cars after the duck, the stumble that must have knocked the handbrake loose, and the slow inevitable roll of the car into the water.
Thandiwe had caught the close-up of my father’s face as the only thing in this world he truly loved entered the water and sank like a stone.
I had watched it at least four hundred times.
My parents had taken the train home with Gran, who was still high and singing “Octopus’s Garden” on a loop, I think to torture my father. The Jag had gone back on a tow truck.
William, dressed in his riding gear, popped his head around the door. I quickly turned my screen off and pulled my headphones down.
“Not suspicious at all,” he said, stepping into the room. He was filthy and sweaty.
“I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished.”
William stood behind me, hands on my shoulders, kissing my neck.
“You absolutely reek,” I said.
“Of horse and leather and manliness?” He slid a hand down to my crotch and gripped it like he was testing an avocado for ripeness.
“Of horse shit,” I protested. “Come on, off you go. I have work to do.” I shrugged myself free.
“You don’t even know what I want yet.”
“I have a fair idea, and you’re not getting it until you’ve showered.”
William shook his head. “Aunty Karma called. Derek has checked into the retreat for a few weeks.”
I turned. “Like, willingly? Or did she abduct him?”
William laughed. “It’s all above board. He’s in good hands. Plus, she’s doing it for free.”
“How does she make any money?” I asked. “Indira spent two weeks there for free.”
“Believe me, she’s doing fine. She’s helped enough big-name celebrities to fill Wembley Stadium. Those who can afford to pay, pay.”
William perched himself on my desk, his leg brushing mine. “Speaking of Indira, I have bad news.”
I did not like the sound of this. She was meant to be coming to Buckford in the morning to hear my pitch.
“Is she still unwell?”
“She’s fine, but she’s heading straight back to London to be with her sister and nephew. She says if you want to pitch, you’ll have to go to her office on Friday.”
William and I exchanged glances. He hooked a finger through mine.
We had a deadline now. It was time for me to go home.
But it was OK—because I had a plan. If I could pull it off, we could be together at Buckford for at least part of the year, for who knows how long before we needed to worry about it again.
“I need to get back to work,” I said, squeezing his hand.