Page 92 of Electric Kiss

“All right,” she said.

Cynthia didn’t mean it. She knew her father wouldn’t let her out of his sight. He’d already told her the moment she entered Turner Hall after she flew back from Italy. Cynthia hadn’t told Jonathan because she knew he would be angry.

She couldn’t share her fear of having the funeral service at the main church and risk Imelda showing up. Freddie and Imelda might have been separated for more than twenty years, but they never divorced. What if she wanted to come back and pay her respects? What if she wanted it out with Cynthia?

A shiver ran down her spine at the mere thought.

“I’ll see you at the weekend.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you. Bye, Cyn.”

The phone dropped onto the round metal table with a clatter. Pulling the shawl from the back of one of the chairs, she wrapped it around her shoulders and held on tight. The cold still seeped into her bones like an unwelcome disease.

Her brother was dead, no doubt, through the stress of working on the oil rigs and then running Turner Hall. But that wasn’t her fault. He could’ve given up his work and stayed on Copper Island. Freddie could’ve devoted his time to the Turner legacy like she was prepared to do.

It was on the tip of her tongue to call Jonathan back and ask him to move to Turner Hall. It was likely she wouldn’t be able to leave for some time if she was going to take over where Freddie had left off.

On that thought, she was on the move, through her suite of rooms and along the corridor. The side tables had the lamps on, illuminating her way on an overcast, chilly day. She barely glanced at her ancestor’s portraits hanging on the walls. She needed to keep the Turner name going.

Walking down the wide staircase, she idly checked the metal stays holding the red carpet in place, making sure they were all affixed correctly. Her father hadn’t allowed her much responsibility, but taking care of Turner Hall building was one of them.

There was no one about. In the late afternoon, her father would likely be napping next to the fire in the sitting room. She hurried across the marble foyer on silent feet. The rubber soles of her flat black shoes aided her efforts.

As she approached her father’s study, where only Freddie was allowed to enter uninvited, she reached out her hand. Seconds before her fingers curled around the doorknob, she heard Bailey clear his throat.

She’d known him long enough to know it was him.

“It’s locked, Miss Turner. Mr Turner’s orders.”

Cynthia scrunched up her lips and huffed out a sigh through her nose.

“Which Mr Turner?” she inquired.

“Your father,” he replied.

“Who is going to run things?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. Should I arrange an appointment for you in the morning?”

“To see my own father?” she barked.

Bailey, wisely, didn’t answer. For two reasons. They both knew the protocol to speak with the head of the family. You were either summoned or you made an appointment. Cynthia did not want to wait to be summoned.

“Yes, Bailey. Make an appointment whenever he will see me and let Jennifer know.”

“Very good, Miss Turner.”

Cynthia still didn’t look at him and hurried off in the opposite direction of the stairs, where Bailey was standing. She didn’t want to go to the library, but it was the only functional space at the end of the corridor she was speed-walking down. The humiliation would keep her feet moving until she could close the grand ornate doors and scream her lungs out.

The following morning, Cynthia trudged down the staircase like an errant teenager. Jennifer had woken her with a breakfast tray and news that her father would see her at eleven.

With three minutes to go, Cynthia arrived on the bottom step as Bailey came from the doorway that led down to the kitchens. Cynthia had never been below stairs. Her father and grandfather had forbidden it. She wondered why she followed their rules and secretly had a relationship and a child. Was spending time with Jonathan a way to get back at her father and the Turner traditions?

Bailey cleared his throat, and the thought went out of her head.

She strode forward, hiding her fear and reached the study door as Bailey rapped the wood with his knuckle and opened the door wide. He entered first and announced her. Her stomach dropped as she heard him grunt.

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