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‘It makes me feel better about the three million on my finger.’
He laughs and kisses my head as he leads us back into the showing room and collects the painting with his spare hand. ‘How awful was she?’
‘Which one?’
‘Alexa.’ He spits out her name like a bad taste.
‘Very awful. She insists her aunt only wants to deal with you in future, not your skivvy.’
‘I bet she does. Anyway, let’s get back to your other accomplishment today.’ He looks down at my frowning face as I sprint through my day. Other accomplishment? ‘My mangled Audi.’ His lips straighten. ‘It was quite a welcome-home surprise when I pulled up in the factory.’
‘Ah.’ I raise a finger, my indication that I’m about to give him a perfectly reasonable explanation for trashing his car. ‘I knew you’d be bringing a new woman home, so I wanted to make space in your garage.’
He laughs loudly, making me feel so much better. ‘You’ll be punished.’
‘How?’ Why I’m asking is beyond me. We all know what my punishment will be.
‘You’ll wash Gloria in your underwear every Sunday for a year,’ he declares, smiling in approval. I’m surprised. No arse-slapping? ‘And I’ll spank your arse occasionally while I watch,’ he adds, glimpsing down at me.
‘You’re a dirty-minded arse.’
‘And soon to be your dirty-minded husband.’ He collects my left hand and kisses his grandmother’s ring, and for reasons beyond me, everything weighing my mind down lifts.
I settle into his side. ‘Do you really think your gramps will be okay?’
‘He’s a tough old boot.’ We enter the Grand Hall, and Becker props the painting up in the corner before reclaiming me and getting us on our way again. ‘Happens now and then.’
‘We were only chatting,’ I explain, letting Becker lead us into the kitchen. He releases me and heads to the fridge like a homing pigeon in search of his apples. ‘It was all very sudden. One minute we were talking and the next he was all white and shaky. And you should get him a new walking stick.’ I hate to think what would happen if the knob came off while he was using it. He could take a tumble.
Becker turns around from the fridge with an apple halfway to his mouth. ‘Why? He’s rather attached to that one.’
‘There’s a piece loose.’ I wander over to the kettle I abandoned earlier and take it to the stove. ‘I tried to fix it, but the stubborn old boot insisted it was okay.’ I notice Mrs Potts has left the oven on, so I quickly turn off the dial and then face Becker. I find him staring at the floor, quiet and still.
‘Becker?’
He snaps out of his trance and gives me round eyes. ‘Tell me what was said.’
I withdraw, shaking my head a little. ‘What about?’
‘His stick.’
‘His stick?’
He throws his apple aside and stalks over to me, taking the tops of my arms. ‘Yes, the stick. Tell me.’
I pull myself free, backing away, seriously disliking his disposition. ‘What’s gotten into you?’
He sighs, dragging in a calming breath. ‘I’m sorry. But, please, try to remember what was said.’ He comes close and pulls me in for a hug, stroking the back of my head comfortingly.
I close my eyes and rack my brain, quickly finding what I’m looking for, and what Becker really wants, though I’m totally perplexed as to why. ‘He knocked it over and was prepared to break a bone rather than let me pick it up for him.’
‘And there’s a piece loose?’
‘Yes. The gold knob on the end.’ Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal. ‘Is it a priceless family heirloom or something?’ He seems quite upset at the notion of a broken walking stick.
Becker stills against me for a few moments before pulling away, looking at me vacantly. He’s thinking, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what about. I can only stand here, becoming increasingly impatient as I wait for enlightenment. I’m about to repeat my previous question, when his eyes spring up to mine, wide and questioning.
‘Becker?’ I say warily, watching as he starts to march doggedly around the room.
He halts and presses the balls of his hands into his forehead, his back rolling from his deep breaths. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t realised before.’
‘What?’ I’m getting mad now, wanting information faster than Becker is willing to give it.
He strides out of the kitchen and I’m in hot pursuit before I’ve asked myself where he’s going.
Following him down the corridor, I note the tension making his back muscles protrude beneath his shirt, and his hand goes through his hair more than once, ruffling up his brown waves. He’s on a mission, and I haven’t got a clue what that mission is. He passes the library, the staircase to his quarters, his office, and eventually reaches his granddad’s suite.
