Page 47 of Fe
“I don’t know the right answer. I don’t want you to be upset, either way. What do you want me to say?”
Fen sighed. “Regardless of whether the offer stands or not, I’m still thinking.”
“Is it going to put you off if I follow you round?” Because while they were still talking, there was hope.
“It’s your house.”
The door opened and the older man came in. “My word. What a tableful of beautiful objets d’art.”
“I’ve finished in here,” Fen said.
“This is a lovely house, Mr Belmont,” Alistair said. “Gorgeous. And the contents too. I wish more people were interested in the type of furniture you want to sell, but some things aren’t going to be as valuable as you might think. We do have contacts with clients who are looking for specific items, such as the writing desk in the study, but wardrobes and beds are more difficult. Have you thought about offering any of the contents to a potential purchaser? The dining table and chairs, for example?”
“I hadn’t. It’s a good point.”
Fen left the room.
Ripley followed him to the study.
“Alistair’s right. The desk is lovely,” Fen said.
Ripley could almost see his father sitting behind it, smiling at him, telling him to hide behind the curtains so his mother couldn’t see him. Sometimes his father had hidden in the window seat with him and held Ripley close as his mother called him.
“What did your father do for a living?”
“He ran a very successful telecom business.” Ripley took a risk. “Do you know what yours does?”
“Yes.” Fen went over to the bookshelves. “Unless they’re first editions or rare or special in some way, it’s hard to sell books. There are companies who’ll buy them, but even charity shops are declining them now. It’s such a shame.”
So Fen’s father was off limits.Got it.“I need to go through them to see if there’s anything worth keeping.”
“Would you like me to help you? I’m no expert but I can look to see if they’re first editions or rare.”
That Fen could offer to do that in the midst of the mess between them left Ripley unable to speak for a moment.
“Just let me know,” Fen mumbled and took more pictures.
“Yes,” Ripley said quickly. “I would appreciate your help. Thank you. Would you like a cup of tea? Would the others?”
“I’d love a black coffee. Alistair has tea, no sugar, and Scott has coffee with milk and one sugar.”
“Give me a minute, then round them up and come to the kitchen. It’s a couple of doors down.”
Ripley left the room. He’d been in danger of pulling Fen into his arms and kissing him. He cursed himself for what he’d said on Friday. Maybe Fen would have had enough of him before they got anywhere near six months.Maybe I’d be the one disappointed.
Hadn’t thought of that, had you, dickhead!
He had drinks waiting when the three came in, and he’d found biscuits too. Ripley had even made tea for his mother and Petra, though his mother had complained hers was too weak. Not a surprise.
Fen didn’t take a biscuit. Alistair had one, Scott ate three. He picked out all the chocolate ones. Ripley tried not to take instant dislikes to people but he didn’t like Scott. Something about his cocky manner set him on edge. Alistair was full of easy chat while Scott sat glued to his phone. Fen was quiet. Although Ripley was talking to Alistair, he was ultra-aware of what Fen was doing. Fen took his mug to the sink, rinsed it out and set it on the draining board, then made for the door. As soon as Ripley could escape, he followed.
He found Fen on the top floor in the long attic room. Fen turned as Ripley walked in.
“Is this where you hid?” he whispered, pointing to a small door to the eaves.
Ripley nodded.
Maybe Fen saw something in his face, some vulnerability, because the deep sigh sounded like one Ripley should have made.
