‘Are you going to let me in?’ he asked.
They needed to discuss the predicament in which they found themselves. The estate was crumbling. Mae had talked of her worries about it and keeping up with the specialist work this home required to bring it back to its former glory. Especially being asset rich and cash poor, as were so many of those whose money and history were as old as the dirt upon which their homes stood. Mae had refused his help when alive. After her death he’d tried to send out a structural engineer to assess the state of the property, but the man hadn’t even been able to set foot in the house. Reportedly being chased away by a terrifying woman and a threat, which seemed fanciful.
‘Easton Hall is myhome.’
She tore off her glasses and looked up at him with her beautiful green eyes. He’d been struck by them even as a twelve-year-old. Reminding him of the freshest new growth of spring. Of the moss at the edge of the stream that ran through the property.
So many of his memories of her had been frozen in that time, of someone small and pretty. A young if sometimes annoying little friend for a child starved of friendship and family, relegated to boarding school. Other boys’ families occasionally took him in for school holidays, feeling sorry for him because he had a sick sister. What none of them realised, and what he’d concluded over those long years of her treatment, was that his family had wished he’d been the one to fall ill. The adopted one, instead of the beloved natural child...
The only glimmer of joy had been staying with Mae here, in this old ramshackle house. In that hazy summer where there were few rules, and two children were allowed to run wild in an imaginary world fighting dragons, catching frogs. It was as if the two of them had finally become the children they hadn’t previously been allowed to be, when surrounded by grown-up problems like illness and death.
But there was no point to those reminiscences. He hadn’t got to where he was, well past his first billion with an impressive property portfolio of boutique hotels and retreats for those who wanted intimacy, luxury and privacy, by having any form of sentiment. Business was the language he spoke, and he was unparalleled in his sphere.
That was his world.
‘I’m sure this must come as a shock. I’m sorry for your loss.’
He tried to sound conciliatory, because he needed to work with her. And in some ways, he did feel some sympathy. She’d lived with Mae since before her teens. Being Mae’s carer for the past twelve months meant she’d likely have expected to inherit the whole estate herself...
‘She needs to be looked after, Matteo. Promise me you will.’
Mae’s request during their last conversation. A promise he’d made with no thought, because it had sounded important to her and who was he to deny an old woman some sense of peace? Only now he realised the impact what he’d agreed to might have on his ultimate plan for this place.
Louisa narrowed her gaze. ‘It’s your loss too. Yet youweren’t at the funeral.’
Matteo stared right back, ignoring her disapprobation. He wasn’t a coward. Though his mobile phone weighed heavy in his trouser pocket. The unanswered messages from his sister, Felicity, saying she wanted to talk, taunted him. He ignored the sensation. He’d been occupied with a deal for a new property in Bali, that was all. She knew he was busy.
‘I was in South East Asia on business. Once I found out, I couldn’t make it back in time.’
Mae would have understood. She always did. Wrote him letters, which his assistant opened and scanned, sending them to him via email. A card each birthday... He and Mae would talk on the phone, about Easton Hall, about taking care of her interests. Talked a little about Louisa and her talents as a children’s book illustrator too. How Louisa had come to be like the daughter Mae had never had. Then their last call, which he’d realised only after her death had been her goodbye to him. One full of warmth, where she’d told him how proud she was of him. And she’d made him make the promise he was now beginning to regret.
‘She needs to be looked after.’
Still Mae had left its execution to his own judgement. He could do more to carry out her wishes, here, now, than he could ever have done when she was alive, given she was so stubborn and headstrong. As much as it had frustrated him, he’d admired her for that. Taking on Easton Hall after her husband had died, almost unheard of when the natural course would have been for Great-Uncle Gerald to have left the home to his nearest male Bainbridge relative, rather than his young wife...
Now, Matteo studied the young woman standing inside the home that he would soon add to his property portfolio. A woman who looked soft and innocent, and in need of the protection he’d promised. All he knew of the world was that it was cold, hard, and unforgiving. How would Louisa navigate that now Mae was gone?
‘Felicity came,’ Louisa said.
Those words tore him from his introspection. Felicity hadn’t ever met Mae. Why had she even been at the funeral?
‘I’m glad she could make it.’ He tried to sound charitable. The words ground out of him, as if forced.
Louisa cocked her head, inspecting him in some way. For what, he wasn’t sure, though it gave him a sort of prickling feeling at the back of his neck, almost as if she was judging him.
‘She seems well.’
Everyone in the family knew of the tragedy of Flick, as they all called her. The child whose birth had been seen as a kind of miracle, till she’d become cursed by a childhood leukaemia diagnosis. Then her remission and apparent cure seemed like another miracle.
‘I understand she is.’
‘She’s your sister. Don’t you know?’
He could sense the judgement that infused every word. Louisa didn’t have siblings, so how could she possibly understand? He and his sister didn’t talk about it, when they talked. Her past forgotten. She’d reached out to him about five years earlier on his birthday and that was how it had been between them since. Texting. Calling on the celebrations. Birthdays, Easter, Christmas. That had always been enough.
‘We both travel for work. There’s not much time to talk.’ Louisa seemed to be good at picking at his old wounds. Time to shut the conversation down. ‘Unlike now. I have all day to speak with you and keeping me out here isn’t going to help. There are things we need to discuss.’
Louisa hesitated for a moment, worrying on her pink bottom lip with her teeth. ‘I was told I’d have a home for ever.’
