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He smirks. ‘You’re in Becker’s Circle of Trust now, princess.’
An odd thrill dances through me. ‘Then I’m honoured.’
‘Trust me, you should be.’
I smile and continue down the corridor, Becker following. It’s quiet now, neither of us speaking, and the easy comfort I’ve thrived on in the past half-hour transforms into electric energy again.
He’s studying me. I can feel his eyes on my back, and I roll my shoulders and flex my neck.
Professional. Keep it businesslike. This is going to be so fucking hard.Chapter 18‘Thank you for your help.’ I hang up to Bonhams and make a note of Becker’s private viewing as I wander to the kitchen. I smile when Winston clocks me and scurries over to say hello. ‘Hey, boy.’ I drop to my knees and make a thorough job of scratching his ears, laughing when he falls to his back and his leg starts twitching as he groans, his tongue hanging limply out the side of his gaping mouth. ‘Did you miss me?’ I coo, moving my scratching to his tummy.
‘Morning.’
I look up and find Becker’s grandad sitting at the table in his dressing gown. ‘Morning, Mr H.’ I unfold myself from the floor and grab the kettle.
‘You look particularly chirpy today, Eleanor,’ he remarks, raising a cool grey eyebrow. ‘Did you have a good night?’
I clam up as I turn the tap on, feeling like he knows something he shouldn’t. ‘So-so.’ I brush aside my worry. He couldn’t possibly. ‘Tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ he answers. I hear the squeak of a chair and turn to see him struggling to his feet, so I dash over to lend a hand, ignoring his grimace. ‘I should have dedicated my life to discovering the fountain of eternal youth instead of dealing in ancient treasures.’ He accepts his cane with a shaky hand when I hold it up, rolling his eyes as he straightens up on a wince, before stepping back to demonstrate his stability. My hands are still poised, though, ready to dart out and steady him if required. ‘Like the priceless objects I’ve devoted my life to collecting and preserving,’ he says wistfully, ‘the human body gets more and more delicate the older it gets. It too needs to be treated with care and respect.’ He sighs. ‘But sadly, the human body doesn’t become more desired and beautiful when it’s been around the block a few times. It just becomes a burden.’
Sympathy grabs me. ‘You’re not a burden, Mr H.’ I link my arm with his.
He laughs and taps the top on my hand. ‘You’re sweet, Eleanor.’ I raise a doubtful eyebrow as we wander to the kitchen door. ‘Spirited and full of zest for life.’ I look up at him as he comes to a stop and turns into me, letting the handle of his walking cane slide on to his wrist and hang so he can hold the tops of my arms, keeping me in place. I expect it’s probably keeping him in place, too. His old eyes, a match of Becker’s lovely hazels, but slightly paler, no doubt from age, hold me still. ‘I remember being your age. What would that be? Mid-twenties?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Twenty-eight,’ he muses, smiling fondly. ‘Feels like yesterday. You know, I was in India when I was twenty-eight. Discovered my first solid-gold Buddha.’
I mirror his smile, seeing a gleam in Becker’s grandad’s eyes as he talks about his passion. ‘Your first?’
‘Yes, I found another in the sixties, except it was a whopper.’ He releases me and measures a space between his hands, indicating its size. ‘Weighed a bleeding ton, it did.’
‘Not the Phra Phuttha Maha Suwan Patimakon?’ I smile. To think I almost walked away from this place. This man.
He laughs loudly. ‘Could you imagine? Five bleedin’ tons of solid gold.’
‘No human is lifting that sucker,’ I say seriously, increasing his amusement.
He shakes his head wistfully, falling into thought again. ‘How did we get on to that?’ he asks, genuinely confused, and I cast my mind back, too, wondering the same thing. ‘Oh, yes.’ He raises an old finger that’s bent terribly, probably riddled with arthritis. ‘Twenty-eight.’
It all comes back to me, and old Mr H is holding me in place again with a firm grip, his grave eyes back. ‘Sometimes I wish I could go back to twenty-eight. I’d do a few things differently.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, bits and bobs, this and that.’
I narrow questioning eyes on Becker’s grandad. Something tells me there’s more to this than he’s letting on, and when he coughs and stands back, I know I’m on to something. ‘Like?’ I ask again, studying him closely.
Mr H seems to think long and hard before answering. The silence feels like it’s stretching for ever, giving me too much time to drive myself mad with wondering. ‘Everything,’ he finally says quietly and with a slight shake in his tone.
