Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

‘Welcome to The Haven, dear. This way.’ Mrs Potts seems oblivious to my awe. ‘We’ll chat—’ Her lips purse as she pushes her way through one side of a giant wooden double door. ‘We’ll conduct the interview in here.’

I enter the huge room, trying to hold on to my surprise once more. I fail. ‘Wow.’ I walk aimlessly into the centre of the area, gazing at the ceiling that stretches up at least two floors. Tapestries cascade down the bare brick walls, and the most beautiful pieces of furniture grace the colossal space. Sideboards, desks, chairs, tables, cabinets . . .

It’s all haphazard. There’s no uniformity or organisation to the room. Cabinets displaying vases, lamps, and ornamental pieces are scattered across the floor space, and paintings are propped up in every available space, covered in protective sheeting. It’s organised chaos. It’s a treasure chest: Aladdin’s cave. Pandora’s Box . . .

Nothing like my father’s store.

‘Oh my God,’ I tear my awestruck eyes from the endless beautiful pieces and allow them to rest on Mrs Potts.

She smiles at my wonder and heads towards a door, leaving me slowly turning and drinking in the space again. ‘I’ll pop the kettle on. Won’t be a moment.’

I begin to wander, weaving through the pathways between the endless items of furniture, soaking up the sheer beauty of it all. My fingertips lightly glide over various surfaces as I pass them. I’m smiling, too. The history in this room is almost alive. It’s strange to admit it, but it’s like I can almost hear the antiques. It’s as if they’re all talking to me, keen for me to centre my attention on each and every one of them and let them blow my mind with their stories. Problem is, I wouldn’t know where to start. There are things I recognise, things I’ve studied. Famous pieces. I stop in the middle of the room and breathe in deeply, letting the air in my lungs leave on a happy exhale. This is more like it. This is what I imagined when I watched my dad pour his energy into restoring worthless pieces of junk, when I’ve lost myself in books. I shake my head in wonder. ‘But where am I?’ I ask quietly as my eyes take another greedy circuit of the room, lifting slightly once I’ve pivoted a full three-sixty degrees.

What I see when I look up has me stepping forwards, trying to focus. Towards the back of the giant space it breaks into two levels, a glass wall dropping from the vaulted ceiling to meet a mezzanine floor. It’s like a giant glass box keeping watch over the grand room.

My eyes travel the width of glass, fascinated by the clean lines in such an old, worldly, sumptuous room. But the flow of my drifting gaze falters when something catches my eye, and I squint, trying to zero into the blackness beyond the glass.

A chill spikes my skin. There’s someone watching me, I can clearly see an outline of a body. I step forwards, drawn in closer by the shadow, but then the silhouette slowly fades to nothing, dissipating like a puff of steam, like it was never there. Frowning to myself, I cock my head thoughtfully, staring into the blackness.

‘Tea,’ Mrs Potts says from behind, startling me. I swing around, finding her ambling towards me with a tray in her hand loaded with a teapot and some china cups decorated in a floral pattern.

She indicates a couple of large leather captain-style chairs, sets the tray down on a side table, and sits down, the chair creaking under the strain of her round frame. ‘It won’t give,’ she says, a light flash of a smile on her face. ‘They don’t make furniture like this these days.’ She pats the matching chair next to hers. ‘Take a seat.’

I gingerly lower myself to the chair, brushing down my skirt. I feel dowdy and out of place among such valuable treasures.

Mrs Potts hums happily as she serves the tea, giving me a traditional teacup and saucer. I accept and smile my thanks. ‘Drink up, dear.’

So I do, feeling awkward under her watchful eyes travelling back and forth with the cup as it journeys to and from my mouth. I awkwardly make my way through half my tea before softly placing the china cup on the matching saucer.

‘Wonderful.’ She looks truly delighted as she takes the fine china from my grasp and sets it aside. ‘Show me your hands.’

I hesitate, frowning, but she smiles warmly to encourage me, and I slowly extend my arms, watching while she runs observant eyes over my hands. ‘Very steady,’ she muses, taking a gentle hold. ‘No shaking.’

I smile nervously. Is she going to read my palm or something? Or produce tarot cards? ‘Why would I shake?’ I ask.