Page 29 of Love and Loathing

THIRTEEN

Evie didn’t slow downbut started talking immediately, knowing Aubrey was right behind her without needing to turn around. She fired off the names of the rooms as she walked briskly through the house, no plan in mind except never to look at the man. Escape as soon as possible.

“Sitting room, morning room, green saloon. All added in the early eighteen-hundreds.” She crossed into a wide, dark-panelled parquet-floored hallway, steps slapping on the almost-black age-hardened wood. “The oldest part of the house is the entrance, built in medieval—”

“God damn it, Evie!”

His fingers were hard on her shoulder, stopping her furious pace and spinning her around to face him. She shrugged angrily out of his grip, hot everywhere, more than ready for a fight.

“That’syour apology, is it?” she said.

“My apology! What exactly am I meant to be apologising for? Doing exactly what your father—myboss—brought me here todo? It’s a shooting weekend, Evie. Did you seriously think there wouldn’t be any?”

“And you enjoyed it, did you?” Her voice was embarrassingly emotional, sharp and quivering. “Had a lovely time killing those animals?”

“Do you think there’s any part of this weekend I’menjoying?If you weren’t so bloody self-centred, it would be obvious I’m not here by choice!”

“Neither am I!”

He scoffed. “Right, your extremely important spy mission. Then where were you last night after dinner? If you truly wanted the dirt on Domnall, that’s where you should have been. If you actually had any commitment to this cause, then you should have been there today, you should have been there at lunch, but you just swan in and out whenever you feel like it, and now you’re hiding here, sulking, all because I actually did the job I’m here to do.”

She bristled, but her skin was prickling—fear that he was beginning to suspect her, and shame that he was right. But last night… How could she explain that she couldn’t face it…? Domnall sitting there smoking a stinking cigar, his eyes snaking over her body any chance he got, her father watching her with loathing, ready to snap at any flicker of dissent? And Liv watching Aubrey, Aubrey watching Liv…

And none of it would have helped, not when it was Aubrey who was her goal.

“I draw the line at hunting,” she said, trying to draw herself up and modulate her tone. “There are some lines I won’t cross.”

He looked at her, unimpressed. “But you’re ready to hate those who do? And you think you’re tolerant and liberal-minded? You’re the most narrow-minded person I’ve ever met.”

“Because I don’tkillthings?”

“Because you’re so ready to judge! And to hate everyone who isn’t exactly like you! Am I really so awful for putting my career above a few birds, given I have no qualms about eating meat in the first place? I’ve been at BlacktonGold for ten years. I’ve built a career for myself after crashing out of my degree, and I’ve clung on to it while my life fell to pieces around me for the second time, but, God…!” He broke off, shaking his head. “I was twenty-four when I started working there, the same age you are now. Of course you don’t understand. Why the hell am I trying to defend myself to you?”

He was about to leave, disgusted by her, defeated. And to Evie, that seemed just as unfair as everything he’d just said about her age.

“You’d do anything to keep it, I suppose?” she said acidly, her own sense of defeat burning in her throat. “No lines you wouldn’t cross? Just what did I miss last night—this dirt on Domnall? Is that another thing you did because my father said so? We’ve established you’ll pull a trigger. What else are you prepared to do?”

He gave a dark laugh, running a hand through his hair and messing up the usually neat, short dark strands. “The mistake you’re making, Evie, is thinking that I care. I don’tcarewhat the job is. I get it done, and I get paid, and I go home and live my very nice life, and Do. Not. Care.”

Each word fell cold against her. She suppressed a shudder.“Then congratulations. My father picked the perfect man.”

He gave her one last look, hard and contemptuous, then turned and left her in the echoing parquet hall.

Amy found her alone in the music room, scowling at the demonic horse. It was a grey stallion, half-rearing, eyes andnose and mouth flared and red, teeth showing. She’d failed to get Aubrey even this far. Failed her task entirely. There was a message from Zig on her phone, a voicemail, too, asking how she was getting on.

Terribly.How was she meant to get into his laptop if they couldn’t even stand being in the same room?

“I saw Aubrey just now,” said Amy, voice studiously casual. “Leaving.”

Evie grunted.

“Is he really friends with Roscoe?” Amy continued in the same light manner. “They seem quite different types. But maybe he’s not always so…”

“Stubborn? Rude? Pig-headed and amoral?”

“Brusqueis perhaps what I was going for.”

Evie grunted again and looked away from the horse, sympathising with it as she always did. Of course the poor thing didn’t want a bit in its mouth and some hard-heeled, heavy-handed man on its back. She crossed to the window, ivy framing its edges, and looked out at the gardens, the yellows of the changing leaves bright under the mild blue sky. A flight of geese formed a distant V, coming into land on the marshy fields beyond, where shots had sounded that morning.

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