“Would you mind? You’d have brought me all this way for nothing.”
He shrugs. “I don’t want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
I study him while absentmindedly twisting the gold band on my finger. The thing is, I trust him. I don’t like the vibes of this outing, but I do trust him. Is that wrong?
I realise he’s waiting for my answer and shrug. “Okay.”
He cocks his head. “You sure?”
I’m not sure why he’s giving me an out. Giving choices does not seem usual for him.
“I’m sure,” I say firmly. I step closer. “But where did we meet? How long have we been married? What if he asks us about our wedding?”
“It’s a pretend marriage. Not an interrogation.”
“Somehow I think they might be the same thing to you,” I say waspishly.
He breaks into laughter, his head thrown back in merriment.
The door opening catches us by surprise, and Mac looks wrong-footed, as if being caught laughing is akin to streaking at a football match.
“Mr Corvin?” he says, recovering quickly. The older man nods. “My name is Cormac Reilly.” He takes my hand, drawing me closer, and I gulp at the feel of his skin on mine. “This is my husband, Wes.”
The man turns to me. He’s tall with iron grey hair and a bushy moustache. He’s dressed in chinos and a navy jumper and doesn’t smile. It looks like he wouldn’t know a grin if it came up and bit him. He doesn’t say hello but just nods at me, his face set in hard lines.
“I believe my assistant made an appointment for us to look at the house,” Mac says, drawing Mr Corvin’s attention back to him.
“Well, you’re on time. Thank god for small mercies,” he barks. He has the air of a sergeant major, and I narrowly avoid standing to attention and saluting.
He steps back and gestures us in. I look around curiously. We’re standing in a hallway. The floor is parquet that’s covered in dust, and the ceiling is vaulted. Light floods in through the glass in the front door, showing the peeling wallpaper. There’s a strong smell of damp.
Mr Corvin turns to Mac. “I hope your assistant told you that I’m unsure whether I want to sell the old place. This might be a wasted journey for you.”
“He did tell me. Thank you for the opportunity to see the house,” Mac says smoothly.
The older man cocks his head. “Do I know you?” he asks abruptly.
Mac smiles at him. It’s an icy smile, but the other man doesn’t seem to notice. “No, sir. I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
He grunts, dismissing the notion, and strides down a corridor, gesturing for us to follow him. I whisper to Mac, “Do you think you can persuade him? He does seem pretty anti.”
He watches the other man disappear from sight, his expression distant. “It’s a lot of money for anyone to turn down.”
“How much?”
“Two million, give or take.”
I blink. “Bloody hell. I need to put my prices up if you’re paying that.”
“Surely you know?—”
He breaks off and I prompt breathlessly, “What?”
“I would pay whatever you asked, Wes.”
The simple honesty is stunning. I’m without words and he doesn’t seem much better, so we stare silently at each other.
The moment is abruptly broken when Mr Corvin appears from down the corridor. “Something wrong?” he asks.
