Page 23 of Firethorne
“No. I have the real thing I can use for that.” He reached forward and cupped my cheek with his warm hand, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes briefly as I got lost in the haze he was creating. He was the flame, and like a moth, I was flying blindly into the brightness he was promising me. Burning in the sunshine of his presence.
“Do you want to pose for me now?” he asked, his voice low, his lips a whisper away from mine.
My heart fluttered, anticipating what might come next, but my head broke through the haze, reminding me I was at work. I was here for a reason. I couldn’t let myself get carried away. Not now.
“I’m flattered that you want to paint me,” I said, enjoying his warmth for a second longer. Then taking a step back, I added, “But I have to get back to work. I can’t pose for you today. I’m so sorry.” I walked back over to the windows to try and break the spell he’d put me under. “Maybe you could get lost in another landscape today. After all, you said yourself you love painting those the most.”
Lysander began to reply, but suddenly, the air around me cooled, and my ears rang as I noticed my father through thewindow, walking outside. Lysander’s voice was nothing but background noise that I couldn’t comprehend as I watched my father stride up the driveway towards the house. He wasn’t dressed in his work attire like he had been this morning when I left. No. He was wearing a tailored suit. One he used to wear when he worked in finance. His best suit.
Lysander’s voice went on, just a distant hum as I witnessed my father heading towards the main steps, and I watched open-mouthed as Beresford tipped his hat to greet my father, a greeting he’d give to any visitor to the estate. A visitor of importance. But not a worker. He didn’t tellhimto go to the service entrance like he’d told me. Oh no. He let my father walk right past him and up the steps, towards the front door.
I knew Mr Firethorne had spoken about discussing some terms of the contract with my father, but from how he was dressed, and the way he’d carried himself as he’d walked inside just now, it looked to be a lot more than that.
Through the buzz in my ears, I heard Lysander mention a schedule for sitting for him, and I spun around, suddenly unable to think clearly.
“I need to get back to the kitchen,” I announced abruptly, wondering whether I’d bump into my father on the stairs if I left this studio now. Or would he be kept waiting in the foyer or in some side room while Firethorne continued to entertain his client? Another display to my father, to show him how unimportant the elder Firethorne thought he was.
I didn’t know. But I didn’t feel comfortable being here anymore, and I wanted to leave. To get back to the security of the kitchen, and Cora.
“Shall I come and find you later, book in a few sessions for us?” Lysander asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as I headed for the door.
“Not yet,” I replied. Then feeling a little ungrateful, I added, “Let me settle in first, then we can sort something out. I want to make a good impression.”
“You’ve already made a good impression,” Lysander said in that velvety-smooth tone of his.
But I wasn’t deterred.
“I have to go back to work. Thank you for showing me all this. And thank you for my picture.” I held the sketch tightly in my hand and glanced over my shoulder to where Lysander stood in the middle of his studio, looking forlorn, as if I’d abandoned him when he needed me the most. But I gave him an apologetic smile, pulled the door open and walked away.
As I headed down the hallway, I heard the faint sound of floorboards creaking behind me, and I stopped, turning to see who it was, expecting to find Lysander following me. But I couldn’t see anyone, and the door to Lysander’s studio remained closed.
A few more steps forward and I heard those creaks again.
I whipped my head around and called out, “Who’s there?” But no one answered.
I slid the sketch into the pocket of my apron and charged forward with more purpose now, my heart beating faster as I moved through the house, feeling like the walls were watching me, the ceilings tracking my every move. Even the house felt like it was judging me. The mansion was a living, breathing entity ready to encase me in its dark halls and never let me go.
I came to the top of the staircase and expected to see my father ascending as I made my way down, but he wasn’t there.
I didn’t see anyone.
But as I made my way downstairs, I heard movement from above.
I stopped, my heart beating faster now, and I held my breath as I peered up, straining to hear every little sound, expecting to see someone on the stairs. But no one was there.
Shaking my head, convincing myself that it was just an old house that made those sorts of noises, I carried on walking down the hallway, aiming for the kitchen. But the creaking started up again, and I lost my shit.
“Whoever you are, stop fucking following me,” I bellowed as I spun around. And there, standing in the hallway with a smirk that told me she’d gotten the reaction she was hoping for, stood Miriam.
Chapter Ten
Maya
Miriam kept her smirk in place and quirked her brow in a questioning manner, as if she was wondering why I was bawling down the corridor at her, asking her what she was doing following me. She belonged here, and I didn’t. I knew that. I felt it with every step I took, every breath, every awkward and creepy encounter.
Miriam stepped towards me and started to speak, her earlier smug expression replaced with concern as her face softened and her eyes grew warmer. Concern that looked so perfect, and yet... too perfect. Like she’d practised in front of a mirror to get it just right. Maybe she had.
“Maya, are you okay? I was worried about you. I saw you heading out of Lysander’s studio, and you seemed out of sorts. I came down here to check you were all right and you started shouting at me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
