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‘That doesn’t sound good.’
‘It’s not. Thank god he’s got Libby to talk some sense into him. Can you stop here?’
Jack eased to a halt at the side of the road. ‘You don’t want me to drive you in?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll walk the rest of the way. I need the time to get my game face back on.’
He grinned, then started singing the theme tune from Rocky.
Estelle rolled her eyes, got out of the car, and closed the door behind her. ‘I’ll ring you later,’ she called through the window.
Jack gave her a wave and pulled away.
Lifting her chest and taking a deep breath of wintery air, Estelle strode along the muddy verge towards the entrance to the manor. She loved all seasons, but now January was nearly done, she yearned for the first signs of spring.
But as each day passed, it brought them closer to the festival. Despite her ideas and all the planning she’d done the previous year, it still felt like they were light years away from making it happen.
She passed through the stone gateposts towards the house. The garage doors were shut and she couldn’t see Max’s car. Letting herself into the office wing, she found it empty. She’d emailed James and Max the previous day, letting them know she would be late. Were they out at a meeting?
The office she shared with James felt unnaturally quiet without him or her dogs. His desk was immaculately tidy, the fur Q sitting in the middle behind his closed laptop. Hers was its usual mess, but a manilla envelope, labeled 'CVs’, was resting on her chair.
Had James finally found some good candidates?
Sitting, Estelle opened it up and flicked through them. Confusion and anger swirled inside her like the start of a storm. This was who James thought was suitable? A load of completely inexperienced pretty girls, all under the age of twenty-one?
Fucker.
Shoving them back inside the envelope, she left it on her desk and strode to the kitchen. It was ten o’clock, and a headache was brewing from caffeine withdrawal. She stared at the coffee machine, the instructions still in Italian, and pressed a few buttons, but nothing happened.
Before she could stop herself, she left the kitchen, went to the door leading to the main house and knocked.
No reply.
Trying the handle, the door opened.
Oh, my god. Adrenaline spiked through her. It was like discovering the back of the wardrobe was no longer solid, but now led to an unknown land.
‘Hello?’ she called hesitantly through the crack. ‘James?’
Silence.
Still standing on her side of the door, Estelle pushed it open and stared down the corridor. The parquet floor was old but clean, and the walls were white and empty. Used to panelling, paintings, and suits of armour cluttering her family home, this one looked naked.
‘Hello?’ Her voice echoed back to her.
Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, she stepped across the threshold, half expecting to be met with a siren, a poisoned dart, or a rockfall.
‘James?’
Continuing forward to the first door, Estelle knocked. When there was no reply, she poked her head in. It was a living room; the sofas upholstered in animal print fabric, the low tables made from glass and polished chrome. It was the absolute opposite of what she imagined James’s taste to be. Was this what his mum chose? His not-girlfriend?
Back in the corridor, she noticed the door at the far end had an inch gap at the bottom, revealing lino. Was this a kitchen? Would they have instant coffee? A machine in English?
Pushing open the door, Estelle entered a large kitchen. The room was a mismatch of styles, as if previous owners had taken a kitchen from the nineteen sixties, and turned half of it into an industrial one. The cupboards were plain beige, with stains around the handles from age and use, but the cooker was five-foot wide and stainless steel, and the fridge big enough to grace an American McMansion.
Going to the kettle, she flicked it on, then opened the nearest cupboard. Inside were glass jars of instant coffee, instant hot chocolate, instant tea granules and Ovaltine. Repressing a shudder, she pulled out the coffee. It would taste like shit, but it would do the job. Beside the kettle was a wooden mug tree with identical leopard-patterned, gold-rimmed mugs hanging off it.
Resisting the urge to snoop any further, she stared at the kettle as it came to the boil, her eyes unfocused as her thoughts returned to Eveline.
