“Don’t tell her please.”
He seemed genuinely flustered. Which—and yes, yes, I was a bad person—I kind of enjoyed. “She’d like you way more if I did.”
“I don’t want her to like me. I want her to behave in a legally responsible fashion.”
“You do realise”—and now I made no attempt to hide my smirk—“that if she liked you, she probably would.”
His fingers danced against the steering wheel. “Sadly, the acquisition of Miss Hart’s good opinion lies beyond my power.”
“Have you tried?”
He didn’t answer.
“I mean, really tried.”
“I work for her brother,” he said softly. ”Miss Hart’s opinion of me should not be relevant.”
Before I could point out that it was clearly relevant to him, he turned the book back on, and the volume up, so further conversation was impossible.
But that was fine. We’d hit the motorway, and would be on it for hours, so I was more than happy to sink into the problems faced by lonely governesses in crumbling mansions. It was a welcome break from my own, which were blackening the horizon like pollution. God, I’d made nothing but appalling decisions since the beginning of the year. Here’s hoping confronting Jonas wasn’t another one.
Chapter 35
The Leeds Morley Travelodge was…I guess you could charitably call it quaint? A cream-painted lump of a building, with a set of twin gables that looked like squirrel ears poking out the top. We parked round the back and headed inside.
“So,” I said, scurrying to keep up with Finesilver’s uncompromising pace, “do you think Raoul was involved in the murder attempts?”
But the only answer I got was, “Wait here a moment, please.”
Mindful of what I’d agreed with Caspian, I tucked myself obediently into a corner next to the entrance while Finesilver approached the front desk. I was too far away to hear what he said, and his manner throughout was as mild as ever, but in less than a minute the receptionist was handing over a keycard. Finesilver thanked him politely, beckoned me over, and we made our way to the next floor in silence.
Well, apart from my heart, which was going like a snare drum at a metal concert.
About halfway down a white-painted, blue-carpeted hallway we came to a door. Just your basic, ordinary Travelodge door. Finesilver gave me a look that seemed to say,Are you ready, and I wasn’t in the slightest but I nodded anyway.
He knocked. Didn’t wait for an answer. Just ran the card through the reader and went in. I followed—standard Travelodge room, sparse, clean, more blue carpet, more white walls, inoffensive abstract on the wall—and there was Jonas with his suitcase open on the bed. For a moment, a sliver of a second, he didn’t react at all. Like when a MacBook crashes and the little beach ball spins and spins. And then he looked startled.
“Arden?” He nudged his glasses further up his nose. “What are you doing here?”
And I know I’d promised Caspian I wasn’t going to get involved. But the words “You took my phone, motherfucker” burst out of my mouth before I could stop them.
His eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, you’re right, I did. You see, there was an emergency at work—”
“A library software emergency.”
“We do get them, believe it or not. Universities depend on their libraries, and their libraries depend on us. Anyway”—one of his dimples glimmered and then vanished—“I’m so sorry I had to rush off without saying goodbye. I was going to call you and explain, but I must have picked up your phone by accident as I was leaving.”
I’d been talking to him for less than a minute and already my head was a Catherine wheel. “Just. Give. It. Fucking. Back. Right the fuck now.”
“Well, why on earth would I want to keep it?” A bewildered expression flittered across his face like a wounded gazelle. Then he dipped into his case, plucked my phone from its depths, and held it out to me.
I snatched it. Swiped to wake it up. It was undeniably my phone. Nothing had changed on the home screen. But it felt different. Turned over. Opened up. Delicately combed through.Urgh.
“So you took it by accident,” I said. “Then accidentally got it unlocked. And accidentally went through all my stuff.”
Jonas shrugged, endearingly sheepish. “That’s some interesting pornography you’ve got on there.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
