Noah hadn’t even broken a sweat and didn’t sound out of breath. He held Quinn like he was a delicate vase that needed protecting.
They stopped at iron-black gates with green ivy growing over the bars, twisting like a beanstalk that could one day take them up to the snowy clouds.
‘We made it,’ Noah said, and he gave Quinn a little squeeze.
‘Thank you.’
Noah grinned, letting Quinn go. He feigned falling, and they laughed.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ Quinn said, before taking a deep breath.
Noah pressed the buzzer, looking into the camera. Quinn crossed his arms, observing the deserted landscape.
‘You don’t just walk in?’
‘This is Mum we’re talking about,’ Noah said, and when Quinn looked confused, he sighed. ‘You’ll see.’
Quinn turned his attention back to the door.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was quiet, almost tired.
‘It’s me.’
‘Come, quickly. Don’t let them in.’
Noah exchanged a glance with Quinn that said not to ask, and the gate doors opened, which was a miracle considering the drive was covered in untouched snow. A Rolls Royce sat on the driveway, dwarfed by the mansion of the house that was from the Tudor period. Quinn thought it was a black car, but it was hard to be certain with the snow that lay on top of it.
They climbed two small stairs to get to the front door where Noah rang the bell and they waited.
And they waited.
And they waited some more.
Then the door creaked open half an inch, and one blue eye peered at them.
‘Are they with you?’
‘No,’ Noah said.
The door opened, but there was no one there. Quinn thought a ghost answered until he saw who was behind it.
Hermione Sage was mesmerising. She blinked bright blue eyes through thick eyelashes, like they were a fan used to cool down a Greek god. Her blonde hair bobbed, curly and natural, and reminded Quinn of Marilyn Monroe. She wore a floral shawl with patterns of yellow daffodils and pink lilies stretching down to a hemmed line. It was a transparent mesh, revealing casual white shirt and cotton trousers.
‘They’re always out there, never giving me any privacy.’
He was struck by the hallway. Well, a foyer. He felt incredibly poor. The tiled floor had marble arches holding up a wide balcony that led to the west and east. Two spiral staircases led up to the next floor, which was dressed in a pristine red carpet. Paintings hung on the wall that looked like they’d come straight from the collection of Hans Holbein, and an antique cabinet near a closed door was full of books.
Hermione saw Quinn staring and crossed her arms.
‘Who is this?’
Quinn felt somewhat affronted.
‘Mum, this is Quinn. The man you emailed,’ Noah said. ‘He owns…’
‘Kings & Queens,’ Hermione said, a smile revealing straight white Hollywood-dazzling teeth. ‘I like that shop. Oh, Quinn, I only sent that email this morning.’
