Page 52 of Van Cort
“Passport?”
“Yes.”
“Any more information?”
“No.”
“That’s not much to go on. Last time we went away, I wasn’t the least bit prepared for a casino.” I don’t give her anything else. West wouldn’t, and, if I’m reverting to my base layer of need, I’d have her naked the whole time and shivering.
She comes up to me and pushes her body against mine, still stony-faced. “You did all this for me? The phone call to my boss, the misdirection? All because you want to spend time alone with me?”
“Yes.” She nods and keeps looking at me as if I’m worthy of further attention on her part. I’m not, but I suppose this much effort from me at least infers real intent. Which also means that damned obsessive nature is creeping in.
My fingers go to her lips automatically, drawn there, and I run through the seam until she opens them a little. “I think it’s important that we truly understand each other, Andie, and for that we need space from everything else. Just you and me.”
She pauses, and I can see her weigh the offer. “I’ll go pack then,” she whispers.
“Good.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re on the road. I don’t tell her where we’re going. I just let her look at the scenery as we pass through the hours, and we talk through some issues she has at work. There aren’t many other than her feeling frustrated with her boss. It’s all average conversation – dull really, and I wouldn’t tolerate it from others, but she still absorbs me with her way of discussing business. She’s clever, talented by the sounds of it, and highly skilled. All things that West will find deeply uninteresting, but for me, it’s relatively fascinating to have a mind equal to my own when it comes to financial acumen.
The border crossing comes and goes, and she starts moving around in the seat to look at the views again.
“I’ve never been to Canada before,” she says. I turn off the freeway, taking her the scenic way. “All this time I’ve lived hereand I never even thought about it. It’s astounding. Do you come here often?”
“I grew up here. I’m taking you home.” Her head whips round to look at me rather than the view. “Don’t worry. There aren’t any parents to meet.”
“Where are they?”
“Dead.”
“Oh. Everett, I’m so sorry.”
“No need to be.”
She’s quiet for a while after that.
Until we reach my hometown.
“Vandencort? You have a town named after you?” she says, shocked.
“One of my forefathers does, yes.”
“And how much of it do you still play a part in?”
I look at the general stores as we pass them, and the run of bakeries and coffee shops that I invested heavily in a few years ago. “All of it. It’s where the generational wealth originates from. Gold mining at first, and then business and commerce followed.”
She laughs a little, but it seems uneasy, like she hasn’t quite worked out how much I’m worth. “I can’t see you panning for gold.”
I smile. “I used to.” When we were children. I used to do a lot of stupid things then.
“You’ll have to show me how.”
The road out of town curves a few more miles through the forest and leads us downhill to the main drive. I look at the small road to the right, frowning as I pass by the way to the staff cottages, and carry on. There’s nothing else down here. Just us. And, as usual, the sight pulls all my attention as it widens.
She gasps beside me and leans forward, craning her head left and right as the house, lake and grounds come into view.
“Jesus Christ, Everett,” she exclaims. “This is home?” Not anymore. “Are there rivers of gold?”
