The Lone Wolfe. Кейт Хьюит
shrugged her gratitude aside. ‘So.’ He folded his hands on the desk and levelled her with one dark look. His eyes, Mollie thought, were endlessly black. No silver or gold glints, no warmth or light. Just black. ‘You mentioned there was damage. Besides the obvious?’
‘It looks like a virus has claimed most of the bushes in the Rose Garden. There are a lot of dead trees that need to be cleared and cut, and of course all the stonework and masonry need to be repointed.’ Jacob nodded, clearly expecting her to continue. ‘I don’t want to take away from the beauty of the original design,’ Mollie said firmly. ‘The gardens’ designs are at least five hundred years old in some places. So whatever landscaping I do, I’d like to maintain the integrity of the original work.’
‘Of course.’
‘Like you’re doing with the house,’ she added. ‘Aren’t you?’
There was a tiny pause. ‘Of course,’ he said again. ‘The house is a historic monument. The last thing I want to do is modernise it needlessly.’
‘Who is overseeing the renovations?’
‘I am.’
‘I mean, what company. Did you hire an architect?’
Another tiny pause. ‘J Design.’
Mollie sat back, impressed. ‘They’re quite good, aren’t they?’
Jacob gave her the faintest of smiles. ‘So I’ve heard.’
She glanced around the room; even with the windows thrown open to the fresh summer day, she thought she could still catch the stale whiff of cigarette smoke, the reek of old alcohol. Or was that just her imagination? She felt claustrophobic, as if the house and its memories were pressing in on her, squeezing the very breath and life out of her. She could only imagine how Jacob felt. He had so many more memories here than she did. ‘When are you hoping to put the manor on the market?’
Jacob’s face tightened, his mouth thinning to a hard line. ‘As soon as possible.’
‘You won’t miss it?’ Mollie asked impulsively. She didn’t know what made her ask the question; perhaps it was the force of her own memories, or maybe the way Jacob looked so hard, so unfeeling. Yet he’d cared enough to give her her father’s back pay and then some. Or was that just out of guilt or perhaps pity? Did the man feel anything at all? Looking at his impassive face, she could hardly credit him with any deep emotion. ‘It was your home,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever happened here.’
‘And it’s time for it to be someone else’s home,’ Jacob replied coolly. Mollie could tell she’d pushed too far, asked too much. He rose from the desk, clearly expecting her to rise as well. ‘Feel free to order whatever you need to begin the landscaping work. You can send the bills to me.’
The thought was incredible. The greatest commission she’d probably ever receive, with carte blanche to do as she liked. It was like a dream. A fantasy. Yet she still felt uneasy, uncertain … and no more so than when she looked into Jacob’s dark eyes. It was like looking into a deep pit, Mollie thought. An endless well of … sorrow. The word popped into her mind, as unexpected as a bubble—the bubbles she’d felt earlier. Perhaps sorrow was an emotion he felt.
‘Thank you,’ she finally said. ‘You’re putting an awful lot of trust in me.’
Jacob’s face twisted for no more than a second, and something like pain flashed in his eyes. Then his expression ironed out, as blank and implacable as ever. ‘Then earn it,’ he replied brusquely. ‘Starting now.’ He walked out of the study, leaving Mollie no choice but to follow.
CHAPTER THREE
MOLLIE threw herself into the work. She wanted to, and it was easier than dealing with the other demands of her life … packing up her father’s things, or thinking about her own future, or wondering about Jacob Wolfe.
She spent an inordinate amount of time doing the latter. She wanted to ask him where he’d been, what he’d done, why he’d come back. She never got the chance. In the week she’d been back at Wolfe Manor, she’d hardly seen Jacob since she’d walked out of his study.
Emails from Annabelle didn’t clarify the situation too much. Now that the electricity was working in the cottage, she’d finally managed to check her email. There were at least a dozen from Annabelle, detailing Jacob’s arrival at the manor, warning Mollie that he didn’t know she was at the cottage. Wryly Mollie wished she’d thought to check her email while in Italy. Access had been limited, and frankly she’d been happy to escape the world and all of its demands for a little while.
It felt good to work hard with her hands all day, to get sweaty and dirty and covered in mud. She came back to the cottage every night to shower and fall into bed, too tired even to dream.
And yet still, in her spare and unguarded moments, her thoughts returned to Jacob again and again. She wanted to ask him questions. She wanted to know what he’d been doing all these years, and what he was doing now. She wanted to see him again. Just to get some clarity, Mollie told herself. And some closure. Explanations that would justify why he’d left everyone in such a lurch. Nothing more.
Except even as she told herself that was all, she knew it wasn’t. She thought of the darkness of his eyes, the crisp scent of his aftershave, and knew she wanted to see him again, full stop.
A week after Jacob gave her the commission Mollie was still removing all the weeds and dead wood in preparation to actually begin the landscaping and give the garden new life. She’d hired a tree surgeon from the neighbouring village to come to the manor and cut some of the larger trees down, yet when he didn’t arrive and the hours ticked on, annoyance gave way to alarm.
She rung the man’s mobile, only to have him explain without too much apology, ‘Sorry, but I called the manor to check on some details, and was told to cancel.’
‘What …?’ Mollie exclaimed in an outraged squeak. ‘Who told you that?’
‘I dunno … someone there who picks up the phone, at any rate. Sorry.’
And Mollie knew who that would be. There were only two of them here after all. And she wasn’t supposed to feel vulnerable. Well, she didn’t. She felt bloody cross. She’d wasted a whole day waiting for someone who had no intention of coming, and Jacob had not even had the courtesy to inform her he’d cancelled her arrangements. She was operating on a tight schedule already, and she certainly didn’t need his interference.
After rearranging a time with the tree surgeon, she stalked to the manor. If Jacob Wolfe was going to interfere with her job, she wanted to know why. And she’d also tell him to butt out. She looked forward to the sense of vindication. Yet when she knocked on the manor’s front doors so hard her knuckles ached she received no response. She peeked in the windows and rattled the doorknob, uselessly, for the house was locked up. Above her the sky was heavy and dank, and she felt as if its weight were pressing on her. It looked ready to pour, and she was too annoyed and out of sorts to head back to the gardens in this weather.
Mollie decided to return to the cottage. She’d take the opportunity to start sorting through her father’s things, something she’d put off for far too long already. As she headed down the twisting path through the woods, the first fat drops began to fall.
An hour later, freshly showered and dressed in comfortable trackie bottoms and a T-shirt, Mollie started through her father’s things. She’d picked the least emotional of his possessions: boxes of old bills and paperwork that had never managed to be filed. Yet even these held their own poignancy; Mollie gazed at her father’s crabbed handwriting on one of the papers. He’d been jotting notes about a new rose hybrid on the back of a warning that the electricity would be turned off if a payment wasn’t made. She thought of the crumpled notes William Wolfe had thrown at her father, and how he’d picked them up. Her heart twisted inside her.
As if on cue, the lights flickered and then went out, and Mollie was once again left in