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Chapter 20Classic cars. Everywhere. It’s the first thing I notice when we drive up the gravel driveway. I could have been transported back in time. The impressive building, constructed with a deep orange stone, rises from the ground proudly, the brickwork intricate around the stained-glass windows. It’s majestic, the stone cherubs edging the roofline only adding to the magnificence. There are dozens of them, one different from the next, all facing the driveway, welcoming visitors.
From a distance, sitting high on a hilltop, this place looked breathtaking. Close up, it’s beyond spectacular. But there’s a strange sense of foreboding lingering around the ancient brickwork. It’s welcoming but intimidating. I’m in awe but feel vulnerable. I can’t figure out whether I like it or not.
Becker slows down to a crawl, stretching out our approach to the house. It gives me more time to absorb my surroundings, to try and decide if I’m comfortable or not. It’s time I don’t need. I feel edgy. I feel like we’re creeping up slowly so as not to disturb the angels keeping guard. ‘Why so slow?’ I ask, a little irritably.
‘The gravel. Too fast and it’ll kick up and chip Gloria.’ He rumbles to a stop, pulling up behind a Bentley. I’m not sure if he’s scowling at my question or at the car. ‘Piece of shit.’ He may as well be growling.
I look at the Bentley, thinking it looks far from a piece of shit, but I know he isn’t referring to the prestigious car. Does this mean that Brent’s here already?
Becker cuts the engine and swaps his shades for his Ray-Bans. ‘I want to set some ground rules before we go in.’
‘I won’t talk to him,’ I murmur, letting myself out of Gloria. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. I straighten and turn to close the door, finding Becker is still sitting in his seat, looking up at me. ‘That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, he’ll be picking your brain on things that don’t concern him.’ He jumps out and begins to pull the roof across.
‘I wouldn’t disclose anything work-related to anyone,’ I clarify, though I expect he wasn’t only referring to work.
‘I should hope not,’ Becker says, throwing me a warning look. ‘Since you’re in Becker’s Circle of Trust, and it’s in the NDA.’
‘You mean the NDA that doesn’t exist?’
‘It will do soon,’ he replies flippantly, rounding the car and taking my elbow. ‘A few other ground rules we need to be clear on, princess.’
‘Like what?’ I look up at him, my mind sprinting through what he’ll possibly say.
‘Like don’t speak unless spoken to.’
What am I, a child? I gawp at him, trying not to feel slighted. I fail on every level. ‘You mean like a good little girl?’
‘Just like that.’ He doesn’t give my affronted state the attention it warrants. ‘And when you do speak, don’t mention anything about your work at The Haven, The Haven itself, or me.’
‘So basically, I’m best saying nothing at all.’
‘Ideally, yes.’
We reach the oversized stone steps leading up to the entrance and start the mammoth climb. Each side is flanked by imposing stone columns with topiary trees nestled between each towering pillar, concealing the entrance to the mansion. ‘What if I’m asked a question I shouldn’t answer?’ My slight has made way for panic. I’m going to spend the afternoon hiding behind a plant pot in the hope that no one sees or speaks to me.
‘You have a quick mouth, Eleanor.’ He flashes me an ironic look, not that it makes me feel any better. My so-called quick mouth works best when dealing with my aggravating boss. With Becker, it comes naturally. I can’t guarantee it will function within the walls of this place.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ I ask, rattled by the pressure he’s placing on my shoulders. I should wait for him in the car. Or go for a walk in the countryside. My earlier excitement about an afternoon out with Becker at Countryscape has dissipated. Gone completely. My uncertain feelings towards this building sliced my enthusiasm slightly, but Becker’s demands have just severed them beyond repair. I want to leave.
‘Now you’re in my circle of trust, it’s time for you to see what it’s all about,’ he says quietly.
I shoot him a look. ‘What what’s all about?’
‘Me.’
‘You?’ I already know what Becker’s all about. Have done since I clapped eyes on him. Or maybe I’m kidding myself and there’s more to him than meets the eye.
‘Me,’ he confirms, giving me a sideways grin. ‘Hope you’re ready.’
‘I am,’ I answer confidently. What a joke. I’ve never been ready for Becker Hunt.
When we cross the threshold of the entrance, my desire to probe further dies the moment the activity inside hits me. It’s bustling, well-turned-out people everywhere, some laughing, some in serious conversation. Becker leads me through the centre of the vast entrance hall, not acknowledging a single person on our way. But his arrival is noticed by everyone we pass, every person noting the presence of the famed Becker Hunt. People pause conversations, some men look at him with awe, some with disdain, and then there are the women. Too many of them, all dressed in high-end designer labels, and all dripping in diamonds, pearls, rubies, emeralds . . .
