Mr H looks at his grandson, startled. ‘I’m the fool?’
Becker avoids his grandad’s question, making Mr H sigh with a subtle shake of his head. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘I do,’ Becker answers adamantly, looking at me. I shrug, unsure how to take their exchange. The old man doesn’t think I should go, just like Mrs Potts. Don’t they trust me enough? The thought injures me.
‘I’m actually very interested to see this process, Mr H. Maybe it’s too early in my learning curve, but eventually, I’d love to know how this part of The Haven’s business works.’
He looks at me with a benevolent expression. ‘Yes, of course, Eleanor. And it will definitely be a learning curve for you.’ His face sobers, and I frown as he flicks Becker the death stare. ‘Get me back inside before the crows swoop in.’ The old man’s quip, which is intended to be light-hearted, in fact comes across more solemnly, and I wonder if Becker comprehends his grandad’s feeling of hopelessness. He must. He can’t be that wrapped up in himself. I’ve known the old man for a matter of weeks, and it breaks my heart to know he feels like a burden. He travelled the world and ran this renowned business. Now he potters around The Haven feeling like a loose part. He feels redundant.
Right here and now, I decide that tomorrow I’m taking Mr H out for lunch. And I don’t care what Becker says. Or Mrs Potts. I’ll sneak him out if I have to.
As Becker hits the lights in the underground garage, I’m nearly blinded, the surge of energy powering them creating a glare in the sterile space. There’s plenty to hold my attention – an array of luxury cars, for a start – but it’s that god-loving arse currently meandering over to the key cabinet that my eyes are held rapt by.
‘Stop looking—’ Becker halts mid-sentence, his steps faltering, and his shoulders visibly tense. A long, lingering silence falls. An uncomfortable silence – one that needs to be broken quickly before I finish that sentence for him. Strangely, his uncanny, blind observation each time my eyes are rooted on that special place is becoming endearing. ‘Never mind,’ he says to himself, going through the steps required to open the cabinet. I wince on his behalf, telling myself I need to fight my natural instinct to admire him, if only to help Becker fight his instinct to tease me about it.
After selecting a set of keys, he turns and shows me the trace of an embarrassed smile, but he quickly turns it into a cheeky one. ‘Today, princess, you get to meet the only woman in my life.’ He wanders across the garage, leaving me processing that declaration. ‘Only woman besides Dorothy, anyway.’
I have to physically stop myself from blurting who. My mind might have just started sprinting, but I’m not about to show it. So instead of acknowledging my unreasonable spinning mind, I follow him to the other side of the garage. I don’t want to know. Who is she?
‘Why the need for so many cars?’ I ask, not that I’m interested in what his answer might be. It’s just a ploy to stop myself asking another question.
Damn it.
Who?
He reaches the only car in the garage that’s draped in a protective cloth. ‘Not need,’ he muses, heading around the front. ‘More want.’ He takes the sheeting at the edge and whips it off, revealing a very shiny silver car. It’s gleaming, sparkling with flickers of twinkling lights as the bright lighting from the garage ceiling competes with the paintwork. ‘Wow,’ I say, looking to Becker, who’s smiling at it fondly.
‘Meet Gloria,’ he says proudly, discarding the sheet and running a palm carefully down the side.
‘Gloria?’ I say on a small laugh.
He looks at me, offended. ‘Yes, the only woman in my life.’
The penny drops. ‘Gloria,’ I say slowly, shaking my head, ignoring the elation that washes over me because of Becker’s announcement.
‘She’s the perfect woman,’ he begins, and my eyes roll. ‘She’s beautiful, she doesn’t answer back, and she does exactly what I tell her to.’
He never ceases to amaze me. ‘She’s also old,’ I point out unreasonably. I only know this because Becker is currently taking the soft top down manually. Everything else looks brand-spanking new.
‘She’s a 1966 Aston Martin DB5, the queen of the classic cars, and I’m in love with her.’ He huffs and puffs as he fights with the mechanical roof. ‘Don’t be jealous, princess. Just be happy for me.’
I scoff at the absurdity of his comment, an over-the-top, totally dramatic scoff. ‘She also has no feelings, so it makes sense you get along.’
Making his way around to my side, he gives me that adorable lopsided grin as he opens the door and swoops his arm out in a gesture for me to get in. ‘My lady.’