Chapter 8 #2
“I’m Sam, sir. Mr Corvin sent me to pick you up. Sorry for the roundabout way you’ve had to get here. Mr Corvin has a mooring, but it’s not currently accessible.” He moves to the side, extending a hand to help us in.
Mac nods pleasantly but climbs neatly into the boat without assistance.
My entry is not so graceful. I stumble, nearly taking a header into the river.
It takes the combined efforts of Sam and Mac to prevent me from having a river bath.
I half fall onto the bench when the boat begins to move.
Mac grabs my arm, steering me safely down, his mouth twitching.
“Go ahead and laugh,” I say resignedly.
He snorts—an astonishingly young sound. He catches my fascinated gaze and quickly schools his expression into its usual chilly hauteur.
“When you’re ready, Sam,” he says, and the man starts the boat.
We chug down the river at a sedate pace, and I hang over the side looking at the houses we’re passing. They’re huge and look very old. “Wow. I wonder what it’s like to live in those,” I say.
Mac grabs the back of my jumper. “Careful, or you’ll go over.”
“I’m sure you’ll save me,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes at him to get a smile.
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe a few thousand gallons of river water would stop your incessant talking.”
“Probably not.”
I sit back. Boats chug by, and the wind blows, sending spray into my face. “So, where are we going?”
He points. The view to my side had so absorbed me I didn’t look in front. I gasp in delight. The river forks ahead of us, a green mass of land dividing the water. “Is that an island ?”
“It used to belong to Admiral Nelson. He used it as a fishing retreat.”
“Fucking hell. Had he never heard of the canal?”
“It’s called Pharaoh’s Island.”
I look at him and then back at the island. “How odd. Why is it called that?”
“It was originally known as Dog Ait until 1903, and then a high court judge built the first house there and called it Sphinx. He was very interested in Egyptology. Subsequent homeowners followed suit, and now all the properties on the island have Egyptian names. Hence the title, Pharoah’s Island.”
The island is shielded by trees, but I can see a couple of roofs rising above them. “It’s tiny.”
“I think there are only currently twenty-three houses on it.”
“And we’re going there? Is the house you want there?”
He nods.
“ You ?”
His mouth quirks. “Why that tone of disbelief?”
“Well, I just can’t see you living on an island in the middle of nowhere.”
“It’s Shepperton. Not the middle of the Sahara. The lock is back there.”
The boat putt-putts next to the island, and I look avidly at the houses.
They differ in architecture, but they all have gardens leading down to the water with small boats parked neatly at the bottom of these gardens.
When I look at Mac again, I frown. His earlier ease—or as close as Mac gets to that state—has gone and he now looks very tense.
“This is lovely,” I say quickly. “What era were these houses built? They look like they fit here.” He looks at me in question, some of his tenseness going, so I elaborate, searching for the right words.
“They look comfortable. Not fancy for other people’s admiration. Classy,” I add as an afterthought.
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second and then he turns his gaze to the shore. “A lot of them were built right before World War One. They’re very typical of the architecture of that time.”
“Blimey.” I nudge him. “Bet these all cost a fucking fortune now.”
He winces. “A little less profanity, please. The man who owns the house is old.”
“I can behave,” I say crossly. “I just don’t need to do that with you.”
He looks startled. “Is that true?”
I huff. “I’m not in the habit of lying.”
He pats my arm. “I know,” he says simply.
My annoyance fades as though it was never there.
He leans closer, and I shudder at the feeling of his breath on my ear.
His voice is low, and I try to focus on his words rather than my stirring cock.
“We’re going to meet the owner of the property.
He says he only has time for one meeting.
Apparently, it is not to his satisfaction to meet my staff, and only my presence could persuade him.
I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. ”
“Oh dear. What a terrible person wanting a chat,” I say in a scandalised voice.
He grunts. “So, we need to get our story straight before we go in.”
I narrow my eyes. “Story?”
“Yes, this is where you can finally become useful to me.”
“ Finally ?” I say indignantly. “I think my arse has been very helpful so far.”
His eyes twinkle. “You have no idea. Anyway, the man here is fond of his house.” He shakes his head as if in despair at such a human emotion. “He’s obviously looking for a personal connection with a potential buyer.”
“I understand. He wants to speak to a person and not a line on a bank statement. He’s probably got a lot of memories.” I swallow hard. “My brother and I were very—” I correct myself hastily. “When I moved out of my family home, I was sad.”
“It’s interesting that you should say that, because family is where you come in.”
“Oh yes?” I say warily.
“Yes, you’re my husband.”
I raise my eyebrows and scan his features. He wears his usual cool expression. “Wow. This all happened so fast, darling dearest.”
He grimaces. “Please, no endearments.” He takes my hand and slides something onto my finger.
I look down and see the gold band. “What the hell ?” I breathe.
“There. We’re married.”
“You do know it doesn’t work like that, don’t you? I should know. I’ve proposed marriage twice in my life so far.”
“ What ?” He grips the side of the boat tightly, his body going rigid.
I startle, surprised by his loud tone. Sam’s head jerks towards us, but then he determinedly faces forward when Mac catches his eye.
“Yes.” I wink at Mac. “I proposed very sincerely and gratefully when someone gave me something nice to eat. I can’t remember the man or the meal, so it’s probably a good job he never said yes.
And I’d hate to think my careless words made me a bigamist, because I also proposed to a man when he stopped to fix a puncture on my bike’s tire. ”
Mac’s mouth twists as he shakes his head. And I notice that his clench on the boat railing eases. What the hell is the matter with him today?
Sam slows the boat and eases next to a big house.
Mac leans close, speaking quietly so Sam won’t hear.
“You will be my husband, and your job is to admire the house. In fact, I give you free rein to fall in love with it. You can and will talk at length and very loudly about every single subject on the earth. That shouldn’t tax you at all.
” My eyes narrow, and he continues blithely, “All you need to do is throw a lot of compliments at him.”
“What if he’s homophobic?”
“Eh? Oh, he’s not. His cousin is gay, and they’re very close. I’m betting that element will be fine.”
“How do you know that about his cousin?” I ask curiously.
“I know everything,” he says smoothly. “It makes my business endeavours run much more seamlessly.”
“Just so you know, that is exceptionally creepy. And what if it’s not okay with him? Just in case he didn’t get the memo that you run the world.”
“We’ll pivot,” he says carelessly.
“ Pivot ? Just like that?” I say in disbelief.
“Of course. Just follow my lead.”
The boat bumps to a stop, and we jump onto a little wooden dock. An overgrown lawn leads up to the house. Nearby, an old summerhouse stands. Its windows are filthy and seem to stare blindly at us.
“We’re likely going to pivot out of the door with a foot up our arses,” I mutter as I follow him up the garden. I look at the house ahead of us. It’s painted white and black with a gable and a wide veranda.
I slow to a stop. It feels so serene here, and the house is beautiful.
It’s not a big, fancy mansion that would make me feel uncomfortable.
Instead, it looks like it’s always been part of the island, like it’s sat here through the wars and the changes that England has seen in the past hundred years but hasn’t changed much itself. That’s mind-boggling.
Mac stops and turns to me. “Is there a problem?” he snaps.
I scuff my foot in the grass. “This doesn’t feel right.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“I don’t like lying.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you this is not a nice man?” There’s a note of utter certainty in his quiet voice that I immediately find interesting.
“You know this for a fact?”
“I do.”
He climbs the steps that lead onto the veranda.
This close, I notice signs of disrepair.
The wood is warped and stained in places, and huge cobwebs hang from the eaves.
Two old chairs sit facing the spectacular view of the river, but it doesn’t look like anyone has sat in them for years.
The frames are rotten, and the cushions have mould on them.
Mac hesitates. “Am I doing this on my own?”
“Would you mind? You’d have brought me all this way for nothing.”
He shrugs. “I don’t want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
I study him while absentmindedly twisting the gold band on my finger. The thing is, I trust him. I don’t like the vibes of this outing, but I do trust him. Is that wrong?
I realise he’s waiting for my answer and shrug. “Okay.”
He cocks his head. “You sure?”
I’m not sure why he’s giving me an out. Giving choices does not seem usual for him.
“I’m sure,” I say firmly. I step closer. “But where did we meet? How long have we been married? What if he asks us about our wedding?”
“It’s a pretend marriage. Not an interrogation.”
“Somehow I think they might be the same thing to you,” I say waspishly.
He breaks into laughter, his head thrown back in merriment.
The door opening catches us by surprise, and Mac looks wrong-footed, as if being caught laughing is akin to streaking at a football match.