Chapter 33 #2
“Maple matcha?” Harry went on. “Apricot amaretto. Cherry cosmo? Kiwi lime ginger!”
“I swear you’re making these up now,” Prisha huffed. “Just plain black tea, please.”
“Potato pavlova,” came the voice Ellie loved best. Her knees wobbled in relief at the sound of Hugo, charming every room he presided over. “Pinecone potpourri.” She could hear Prisha laughing now. “Buttercup grimy underwear.”
“Philistines, the both of you,” Harry scoffed. “Fine. Decaf Ceylon it is. I refuse to give either of you a drop of caffeine at this time of day.”
Ellie’s mouth felt dry as dust as she heard them speak of tea, and the thought propelled her through the open door. All three looked up sharply as she limped into view. It took a few seconds, but she managed to make her mouth work.
“Hibiscus lemon myrtle,” she said. “Please.”
It wasn’t entirely horrible being treated like an invalid, Ellie reflected.
All three of them had jumped to their feet at her arrival and now she was neatly ensconced on a deep cushy sofa, a soft woollen throw the colour of sunrise tucked over her lap, a cup of herbal tea in hand as Harry worked — urgently as a trauma surgeon — to create what he called a little snacky snack plate of different foods he thought might tempt her, while not creating too much work for her aching jaw.
In all truth though, Ellie felt like she could polish off a steak dinner right now.
It was late afternoon, Ellie could see that now, the summer light going dark blue outside the huge picture frame windows above a glorious sprawling cottage garden, star-laden with flowers.
Prisha knelt in front of her again, still with that tiny torch in hand to shine in her eyes, making sure Ellie still knew where she was, the day, the month, the year.
“All right, doc,” Harry finally hurried her along, as he arrived with a whole dinner plate’s worth of snacky snacks.
“Get off your knees already, you’ll make Camille jealous. ”
Prisha smirked and got to her feet. “What in the world would make you think it’s me who’s on her knees?” She took a second glance at the impeccable spread of treats Harry was laying on Ellie’s lap. “Where’s mine?” she demanded immediately.
“Spoken just like a country doctor.” Harry looked over her head at Hugo. “Does your local GP expect tea and biscuits back in the city every time you pop in for a prostate check?”
“Do not answer that—” Prisha held up a hand as Hugo opened his mouth, his eyes sparking with a gleeful response at the ready. “I’ll help myself.” She escaped over to the kitchen bench.
“That’s what she said,”Ellie said softly, and both Hugo and Harry guffawed in unison.
“Glad to see you’re still in there, old chook,” Hugo said lightly, but Ellie could see the relief in his eyes as he took a seat next to her on the sofa. “How’s the noggin?” He frowned closely at her forehead, as if he could see inside her brain.
“It’s okay,” she said looking away, her mouth full of goat’s cheese and quince wattle-seed fruit paste.
“Thank you for having me.” Suddenly it struck her that maybe she was putting these lovely people at risk with her presence, and the food went down her throat in a hard lump. “Are you sure I should be here?”
“Sweetheart.” Harry jumped in, even as Hugo took her hand in his large one and squeezed it. “Any great love of Hugo’s is a great love of mine. And there’s not a one of us who’s afraid of Estella Grant nor any one of her associates. We’ve survived her here before.”
“We’re experts,” agreed Prisha, slicing a huge juicy mango into neat little squares.
“Did she say where she was going?” Ellie felt unbearably small and dumb asking this.
It seemed embarrassing, like everyone in this room knew she’d had sex with a mob boss, and that now she sat, small and injured on a couch, wishing a career criminal had cared enough to at least leave her phone number.
They were all quiet for so long that Ellie felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“What are you not telling me?” she asked, her voice coming out high and wary.
“She didn’t tell us,” Hugo said. His voice was calm, but the man had won far too many accolades for his acting, so Ellie didn’t drop her gaze for a second.
“But put it this way. Someone she…” he paused delicately, “cares about was attacked, and left for her to find, like a message. What do you think someone like Estella Grant might do after that?”
“Oh fuck.” Ellie shoved her plate onto Hugo’s lap and stood up sharply. Her head swam at the sudden change in altitude, and she almost tripped over the blanket wrapped around her feet. “Oh my god, she’s going to start a war.”
“Ellie—” at least three people said at once, all with their hands outreached and she batted them away.
“I have to stop this!” she said. Was she the only person thinking sensibly here?
She was halfway across the room, the sound of their protests distant as she thought ferociously: where are my fucking shoes?
She didn’t have her car here, but surely someone did.
The clamour of voices grew louder as she gripped the front door handle, but to her confusion, the handle moved right under her fingertips making her stumble backwards out of the way as the door pushed opened from the other side.
Estella, she opened her mouth to say, swaying with relief.
Instead, she clutched at the wall for balance, rethinking the blow to her head. Was she hallucinating? Because walking right into the house like she owned it was the other fucking star of Universe Below.
“Hi,” said Alison Hartmann.