Page 47 of Secret Paths

“I have moments.”

Peter’s mouth twitches, then fades again.

Hunter looks back at him. “The money probably will not stretch to what you earned as a bank manager.”

“I assumed not.”

“And it would be less responsibility. I am not going to dress it up. You would not be running the place, and you would not have the title you have now.”

Peter’s jaw tightens.

There it is.

Not vanity. Not exactly. More the sudden, visible discomfort of being asked to step down from the version of himself he has been trying to hold together since the Ramblers walk.

Alexandra notices too. Her fingers shift as if she wants to reach for him, but she stays where she is.

Hunter does not soften the words, which is probably why they do not sound like pity. “But it is proper work. Useful work. And it would be local.”

“Useful,” Peter repeats.

“Yes.”

“You make me sound like a spare extension lead.”

“You are much less tidy than an extension lead.”

“Thank you.”

“But more charming.”

Alexandra looks at Hunter. “Debatable.”

Peter points at her. “I am wounded.”

“You will survive.”

For a second, the old rhythm is there. Brother and sister, taking swipes only because they both know where the bruises are not.

Then Peter’s gaze drops again.

Hunter takes a drink, gives him a moment, then says, “Come to Morton Hall on Monday.”

Peter looks up. “For what?”

“To talk. Properly. You can meet Rachel.”

“Rachel?”

“My Director of Finance.”

Peter runs his thumb down the side of his glass. “And you think I really am the right person?”

“I think you can sit down with Rachel, talk through what she needs, what the hotel needs, and what you might actually want. Then we see whether there is a job there that makes sense for both of us.”

“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”

“I can make it more dramatic if that helps.”