Dangerous Discovery. Laura Martin
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Estelle replied shortly. She couldn’t risk dicing with her and Joseph’s future a moment longer. ‘Look, would you mind not giving me the third degree?’ she snapped. ‘It’s too early in the morning, and besides, my private life is my own affair. I don’t feel like discussing any of it with you.’ She swiftly tested the milk on her arm and then plunged the bottle into Joseph’s hungry, searching mouth.
‘So, it’s perfectly all right for you to gossip about me,’ Hunter commented smoothly, raising a dark enquiring brow, ‘but I’m not allowed to delve into your affairs. That’s rather one-sided, don’t you think?’
‘I have not been gossiping!’ Estelle shot back. ‘You flatter yourself if you think I’d waste an ounce of my breath discussing you with anyone!’
There was a chilled silence.
‘So inexplicably sharp,’ Hunter murmured softly. ‘Quite intriguing. You know, Estelle, your face has that same look about it as before—you remember,’ he explained with menacing softness, ‘when I caught you sneaking about in the wood. Same expression, same look of frightened intensity.’ He lifted a hand and brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, deliberately touching the skin of her cheek as he did so, deliberately testing her reactions, giving a slow, satisfied smile when she jerked sharply away. He raised dark brows and shook his head at her. ‘What is it exactly, Estelle? Care to enlighten me?’
‘Stop it!’ She frowned and felt the hot prickle of panic creeping over her skin as Hunter’s gaze forced her own into submission. ‘I...I’m tired,’ she continued determinedly. ‘I had a dreadful night’s sleep and after what happened...’
‘You coped very well.’
Estelle glared, annoyed by the smooth, silky tones. ‘There’s no need to patronise me!’ she flared. ‘I can do without that on top of everything else!’
‘You seem to be able to do without a lot of things,’ Hunter grated, his mouth hardening into a thin line. ‘Like good manners and an even temper—one that doesn’t flare up at the slightest thing! Tell me,’ he added tersely, picking up his briefcase, stuffing the papers none too tidily inside, ‘are you always this damn touchy in the mornings?’ He threw her a contemptuous look and strode over to the kitchen door. ‘I was applauding your spirit,’ he added in bored tones, turning to pierce her with an expression of complete and utter indifference. ‘After what you went through last night.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘Obviously I shouldn’t have wasted my breath!’ He flung open the kitchen door. ‘When you’re ready to leave, just tell Mrs McCormack—she’ll arrange for a lift back to the village. Oh, and by the way,’ he added crisply, his features hard and angular as he looked at her, ‘your front door has been fixed, I’ve left the new key to your flat on the dresser over there. If you can’t manage to pay the bill, let me know,’ he sneered. ‘I’ll settle up for you—you can look upon it as my one last gesture of patronism!’
The flat looked no better in the cold, harsh light of day, but Estelle refused to be downhearted by the state of it. I collect too much rubbish anyway, she thought, determined to look on the bright side. This will be a good opportunity to sort everything out, to begin again.
She hadn’t really changed much since Connie’s time here. Everything had happened so suddenly: the shock of her sister’s death, the grief, packing up her things, leaving college, the not so simple task of living from day to day, coping with Joseph...
She set to work, gritting her teeth against the despair that rose up to overwhelm her from time to time, struggling hard not to allow her thoughts to dwell on anything at all. Hunter most especially.
She went out with Joseph for a break at lunchtime, walking along her favourite route by the village green and the old duck pond. And she successfully managed, in between seeing to Joseph and keeping him happy, to get most of the work done.
Estelle rubbed at her aching neck. She had scrubbed everywhere with a strong solution of disinfectant, keeping her spirits up by imagining how she would redecorate, how much brighter and cheerier the place would seem after a good coat of fresh paint. But now, as she stared down at her canvases, she felt despair creep over her. The vandals had taken great pleasure, it seemed, in destroying these, her most precious possessions—the few, probably not very good paintings she had brought back with her from art college.
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