‘Maybe I’ll do that.’ Price smiles again, this one definitely insincere.
‘What are you investigating?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’ He hands me a card, and I take it. ‘Should you happen to think of anything that you think might assist me in my inquiries, give me a call.’
‘But I don’t know what you’re investigating, so how will I know if there’s anything I can help with?’ I’m being smart, and it’s coming oh so naturally. My sinful saint is rubbing off on me.
‘Your relationship with Becker Hunt . . .’ He fades off for effect.
‘Relationship?’ I question. ‘He’s my boss.’
Price nods slowly, eyeing me with too much interest. ‘Good day, Miss Cole.’ He stands and backs away slowly.
Good Lord, I just lied to the police, and I did it without any hesitation. I really am drowning in Becker’s world, and, oddly, I don’t feel any regret. After all, I made my decision when he turned up in Helston and brought me back. I’m in his corrupt maze, and I’m not planning on finding my way out. I love him. So I will protect him. Does he need protecting? What the hell is going on?
‘Good day, Mr Pr—’
‘Actually.’ He stops. ‘Since I have you here, what was Mr Hunt doing at Sotheby’s on the day of the theft?’
While he has me? Cornered, he means. And I have every confidence that he knows exactly why Becker was at Sotheby’s that day. ‘Becker purchased the O’Keeffe in an auction. There was a mix up with the transaction. I was there, too.’ I’m sure he also knows that. ‘We were on our way from Parsonson’s when I received their email. We were passing, so I stopped in to deal with it.’
‘And did you?’
I frown.
‘Deal with it,’ he goes on.
‘You mean pay for it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, no.’ I laugh. ‘It was discovered missing before I completed the transaction online.’
‘Oh, well that was a stroke of luck.’
I regard him carefully. What is he suggesting? ‘Have you spoken to Mr Wilson?’
‘Brent Wilson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like I said, my colleague is dealing with the case.’
‘Well, perhaps you could tell your colleague to speak to Mr Wilson.’ I smile and get to my feet, seeing Lucy in the distance breaching the exit of her building. Normal. Just act normal.
‘Good day, Mr Price.’ I skirt past him, and quickly head towards my friend. I register her expression and my smile falters. She looks like a colossal zit, angry, red and throbbing. Following her filthy stare, I spot a tall, leggy blonde sashaying across the street.
‘Printer-room girl?’ I ask, casting my eyes back to Lucy.
‘Eleanor!’ She snaps out of her mood and rushes over, her arms held wide open. ‘What are you doing here?’ She crashes into me, knocking me back a few paces. ‘I thought you were picking me up in a taxi.’
‘Thought I’d get ready at yours.’
Breaking away, she holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say on a laugh, glimpsing over my shoulder, finding no trace of Price. But it doesn’t ease me. He must have followed me here. Am I being watched?
‘You sure?’
I return my attention to Lucy, slapping a huge smile on my face. ‘So sure.’ I link arms with her, getting us on our way, forcing myself not to scan the street for Price.
‘How’s Mr Magnificent?’ she asks.
‘He’s magnificent.’
‘Officially moved in?’
I frown to myself, feeling Lucy’s hard, teasing stare on my profile. That’s not been discussed, I’m just there. Home. That’s what he asked. When will I be home? We step into the road and weave around the back of a few stationary cars. ‘Are you missing me?’ I ask, throwing her a sideways grin.
‘Yes, actually,’ she grumbles. ‘How is it going?’
‘I love him so much.’ I blurt out of nowhere, and she pulls me to a stop, looking at me like I’m a nutter. I don’t know why I felt the need to say that. Maybe my hidden stress after my encounter with Price has got me analysing exactly what the hell I’m doing.
‘I know you do,’ she says softly, almost sympathetically. ‘But do you trust him?’ It’s a sensible question that any good friend would ask. Especially since we’re talking about Becker Hunt – the modern-day Casanova. A man who has never been committed to anyone. Hell, a man who can’t even say the word without developing a nervous twitch. A man who’s never surrendered his heart and has never accepted another’s. A man who’s had more women than Ivana Trump has shoes. A man who . . .
‘Yes.’ My answer is sure and assertive. Others would probably think I’m fucking crazy. But I do trust him, and that reason is actually very simple. Becker trusts me. It’s evident in all of his actions, the things he’s shared, the way he looks at me. He trusts me with his secrets, but most significantly, he trusts me with his heart. It’s fragile. He’s given me a rare and precious gift. I’m keeping it, I’ll protect it, and I’ll love it like I’ve never loved anything before. Fiercely. Passionately. For ever. ‘With my life,’ I tag on the end, to wipe any element of doubt from Lucy’s mind.