The Art of Inheriting Secrets(62)

It was said without any rancor at all, and I gave him a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I dashed over to the car and managed to get inside mostly dry, holding the umbrella out to shake it.

Samir chuckled. “Not sure how much water you’re getting out if you shake it in the rain. Just throw it in the back.”

“You’re right.” I did and flung myself against the seat. “Oh my God, what a day. Did you see the roof?”

“I did.” He didn’t drive away and instead peered toward the crowd at the abbey. “Is it her? Sanvi?”

“They don’t know. The detective is pretty sure it’s older than that, but they have to follow the rules.” I buckled my seat belt. “Will you drive back by the house so I can see it from this side?”

“Sure.”

He bumped down the hill, and I said aloud, “I have to get the roads done. They’re terrible.”

“Maybe you can cross that bridge when you come to it.”

I nodded, suddenly so tired I could barely turn my head. He guided the car around a giant tree, and there above us loomed the cave-in. A profane swear word came to mind, but I only said, “Damn. What am I doing, Samir?”

“It’s not as terrible as it looks. That part of the roof was destroyed anyway. The stonework—” he shrugged. “You’ll no doubt be doing a lot of that too.” He looked down at me. “I wouldn’t fret.”

In my rag doll state, I only turned my head toward him. Repeated his words back to him, in his accent. “I wouldn’t fret.”

He smiled very slightly. The moment hung suspended, filled with his scent and his eyelashes and the shape of his nostrils. His mouth.

But he only shook his head and put the car in gear, and we bumped all the way down the road to town without saying a word. I kept hearing the detective say, “Bit young, isn’t he?” But in that moment, did I even care? I wanted some comfort, some warm arms around me.

Wrong attitude. Redirect. “I’ve been trying to work out the clues my mother left. If it’s a treasure hunt, the first clue was the paperwork, all the stuff she could have burned or shredded. She left it all out on her desk.”

“Right.” He drove around the church, and I thought about my grandmother’s grave, which I’d still not visited.

“Most of the paintings are missing, but everything in Violet’s room is untouched. Why? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe we should go there first. Explore. Maybe there’s a clue.”

“Yeah.” He looked upward through the windscreen. “Let’s do it tomorrow. The minute the rain breaks, I’ll be back to work.”

“I really appreciate it. I’m afraid to be alone in there.”

He flashed a smile. “I know. Ancestors who mightn’t have bodies.”

“Exactly.”

“What else happened today? You said you’d tell me about it later.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot this part—my old boyfriend is suing me. So there’s a hold on the closing, which means there’s a hold on the money.”

He whistled. “Will he win?”

“I don’t think so. But it’s a lot in a day.” Again that sense of being overwhelmed, the pressure of a boulder bearing down, came over me. “I’m a fool.”

“No. You’re mighty, Olivia. You can do anything.”

“Am I?” I looked at him. “Mighty?”

He looked back. “Yes.”

We drove a little farther in silence, and I realized that I was enjoying the sexual tension between us, the push and pull, the pleasure of his face and long, lean body. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I did have one. Not a very serious one.”

“What happened to her?”

“I broke up with her,” he said without looking at me. “That day you were at my house the first time.”

“Your dinner date.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the same day I broke up with Grant.”

“I know.” He pulled up in front of my flat. “See you in the morning.”

It took every bit of my remaining will to simply open the door and step out. “Bye.”

As I set the kettle to boil, the earl’s accountant called, quite polite. He gathered an overview of the situation and then asked if I could fax the files to his office, along with a form he would email to me, giving him permission to contact Haver. “You’ll also need to contact their offices and let them know what we’re going to do. I expect they will not be pleased.”

“No, I’m sure.” I glanced at the clock—how could it only be three thirty? “I should be able to get that all done this afternoon.” It wouldn’t be fun, but if I was to free money from somewhere, I had to do whatever I could. “I’ll find a place to fax it all this afternoon.”

“You’re in Saint Ives Cross?”

“Yes.”

“The library will have a machine.”

“Thanks.”

Reluctantly, I turned off the kettle and stomped my feet back into my boots, gathered up all the material I needed, then trudged back out into the miserable day. The high street was quiet, of course, and I splashed mostly by myself to Haver’s office. The alley was so narrow that I had to close the umbrella, and by the time I arrived at the door, my hair was a soggy mess.