I looked around; there had to be a phone somewhere. There wasn’t one in the entrance hall so I walked down the left-hand hallway, determined to search until I found one.
There were three doors; behind the first two were a huge sitting room and an equally huge dining room, with internal doors between so that they could become one vast reception area. I moved quickly between lavish sofas and low tables, then moved to the dining room, checking every surface I could see. But there wasn’t a phone anywhere.
The third room along was a large kitchen with doors that led onto a terraced seating area. It seemed to have every gadget anyone could wish for except a phone. At the end of the hallway, a door led to a garden at the side of the house. There was one more door; I opened it and saw stairs leading down to a basement.
Back in the entrance hall, I stood for a moment, debating whether to go in search of Ned to ask him where I could find a phone, or con tinue looking myself. Making a decision, I ran up the marble staircase, counting as I went. I always counted steps, it was something I’d always done—the house where I lived with my father had eleven, Ned’s had twenty-four. I arrived on a wide landing with a polished wooden floor, partly covered by an ornate green-and-red runner.
Remembering what Ned had said about my bedroom being on the left, I opened the first door. Like every other room I’d seen, it was huge. My luggage from the trip to Las Vegas was already there; Hunter must have brought it up while I was downstairs. Deflated, I sank onto the king-sized bed. Now I’d missed my chance to explain to him about my marriage to Ned.
Gradually, I realized that all the objects decorating the room—a wooden box, a couple of china bowls, the books, a photo of my mother and father—belonged to me. It felt too much, too intrusive and controlling. I got to my feet and found an en suite shower room, the toiletries from my apartment laid out. There was also a dressing room with my clothes already hanging neatly on the rails. Opening the drawers, I found my T-shirts and underwear, and my cheeks reddened at the thought of Hunter handling my underpants and bras. Anger took hold; he had no right to enter my home and remove my things. I needed to find a phone, fast.
At first, I thought the bedroom next to mine was Ned’s bedroom, but its colors—shades of yellow—and a dress neatly draped over the back of a chair, plus two pairs of sensible shoes tucked under it, told me a woman slept there. A live-in housekeeper, maybe? There was no phone on the bedside table and when I continued my search, I found that the two doors on the other side of the landing were locked.
Even angrier now, I ran downstairs and took the right-hand hallway, looking for Ned. It was identical to the other hallway, with three main doors and at the end, a door that led to the outside. I heard Ned’s voice coming from behind the middle door. He was on the phone, and from his irritated tone, he was having an argument with someone.
I paused, waiting, listening. But I couldn’t hear anything clearly, so I stepped away from the door and traced my steps back down the hallway. I opened a door and found myself in a beautiful wood-paneled library, its shelves filled with hundreds of books, maybe thousands. There were two sets of carved wooden steps on wheels, for reaching to the higher shelves and, in the far corner, two beautiful high-backed armchairs, placed to face the tall windows that looked onto the front of the house. Along the left-hand wall, a set of paneled double doors led to the room where Ned was; I could hear his voice clearer now.
“Look, I’ve sorted it out,” Ned was saying. “It was a misunderstanding, I told her I was terminating her contract and she took her revenge.”
His words brought me to a halt. Who was Ned talking about?
I crept closer to the set of doors.
“I don’t know how it was leaked to the press, but I’ve taken care of it, she’s not going to press charges.” Ned’s voice had risen and there was an edge to it. “Well, God forbid that your precious foundation should be touched by it … No, there’s no truth in it, I’ve already told you and no, there won’t be any repercussions—Dad? Dad?” A silence, then a curse, and behind the double doors, I was filled with an impending sense of dread.
Something wasn’t right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
PRESENT
“I’m sorry,” I say to the man when he arrives. “I’m sorry for throwing the tray at you, for the things I said. I know it’s not your fault, I know that someone is forcing your hand and that you probably hate what you’re doing. I know that you’d help me if you could. You’re as much a victim in this as I am. If I ever get out of here—”