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Laszlo frowned. ‘I doubt that,’ he said firmly. ‘What’s up? Is something worrying you about the cataloguing?’
The old man shook his head. ‘It’s nothing, really. It’s just that it all seems to be taking so much longer than I expected.’
Prudence felt her chest squeeze tight with guilt. All she’d been thinking about for the last few days was Laszlo; everything else—Edmund, England and even the cataloguing—had been pushed to the periphery of her mind.
‘Please don’t worry, Janos,’ she said quickly. ‘I should have warned you. This part is always incredibly slow-moving. There’s always lots of gaps in the paperwork.’
‘Particularly when a collection is owned by a forgetful old fool who can’t remember what he bought or when and where he bought it?’ Janos said slowly.
Prudence shook her head. ‘Not at all. You’d be surprised how many people own art that’s worth thousands of pounds—hundreds of thousands of pounds—and yet have no paperwork at all.’
‘They need Prudence to come to their rescue,’ Janos said, his smile returning.
Laszlo leant back in his chair, his face impassive. ‘They can’t have her. She’s ours!’
His eyes gleamed with an intensity that made her lose the thread of what she was saying and she felt her skin turn to liquid.
Resisting the tug of his gaze, she cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been worried. I know it can be a bit overwhelming...’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know how you feel about this, but I’m sure Edmund would be a good person to talk to about it.’
Janos nodded slowly. ‘Certainly, my dear—if you think he’d be happy to give me an opinion?’
Grimacing, she laughed. ‘Knowing Edmund, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy!’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t always like what my uncle has to say, but maddeningly he’s quite often right.’
Her words were simply meant to reassure Janos but, feeling a prickle of heat on her skin, she looked up and found Laszlo watching her.
‘Is that so?’ he said flatly. ‘Your uncle is a man of many talents!’
His eyes locked onto hers and her heart began to pound, for she saw that while his face was still and calm, his eyes were alive with anger.
‘How fortunate for all of us,’ he said slowly.
Laszlo felt a sickening wave of nausea. His stomach twisted. Edmund Seymour was Prudence’s uncle!
It was as though a tide had receded, revealing jagged rocks beneath a calm blue sea.
It was bad enough that he hadn’t known until now exactly who Edmund Seymour was in relation to Prudence. But for her to suggest that Seymour now be allowed to give his ‘opinion’— It was intolerable.
He gritted his teeth and then, turning to his grandfather, smiled gently. ‘Papi, I’m going to sort this out. I want you to take the rest of the day off.’
He held his hand out towards his grandfather.
‘You can go and put your feet up and read one of those interminable Russian novels you like so much.’
Waving away Janos’s words of protest, he chivvied his grandfather out of the room.
‘No, Papi. I insist. Prudence and I can manage.’
At the door, Laszlo stopped and turned, and she felt her pulse slam against her skin as his eyes fixed coldly on her face.
‘Oh, don’t ring your uncle just yet. I’ve got an opinion of my own I’d like to share with you first. Wait here!’
A moment later, her face still scalded with colour, Prudence sat staring nervously around the dining room. Looking down at her plate, she pushed it away. Could she have misunderstood the implication of his words? But she knew she hadn’t, and she knew that something had happened to change the mood between them. She frowned. Only nothing had happened. Part of her job was to reassure the client, and that was what she’d done. Her mouth tightened into a grim line. It most certainly wasn’t part of her job to try to second-guess Laszlo’s moods.
Ten minutes later she bit her lip in indecision and then, abruptly pushing back her chair, she stood up. Typical Laszlo! Telling her to wait and then forgetting all about her. She shook her head irritably. Unlike him, she actually had work to do. But first she would ring Edmund.After all, what possible objection could he really have to her speaking to her uncle?
Laszlo caught up with her just as she reached the cottage. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going? I told you to wait!’
His voice, dark with fury, swung her round mid-stride. She stared at him, struck by the cold, angry beauty of his face.
