Heath finds a gun hidden in a cupboard in Uncle Robert’s study.
‘Is that even legal?’ asks Elinor. She is on her knees, surrounded by dusty files and loose pieces of paper.
‘It’s a hunting rifle,’ he tells her, lifting it to look through the crosshairs.
‘Do you even know how to shoot?’
‘No.’ His smile is lazy. ‘But I’ll learn.’
Elinor eyes the weapon, unease winding through her. Robert has been away from Ledbury Hall for six weeks, not returning since the attack, so Heath has seized the opportunity to go through every drawer, every cabinet and every box in search of paperwork relating to the estate. If they can find a legal loophole or even another relative who can take over as trustee, they won’t have to leave their home. Though slogging through the files is laborious, Elinor’s glad of the distraction, it has stopped her from dwelling on the dull throb of losing Flynn.
‘In fact,’ Heath tells her, slipping the rifle’s strap over his head. ‘I’m going to go and practise now.’
‘You’re going to shoot that on our land?’ She is disbelieving, anxiety fluttering beneath her breast. ‘What if someone hears?’
He arches a brow. ‘Yes, who do you think will report me first – the deer or the badgers?’
‘Ha ha,’ she deadpans. ‘What about the gardener?’
Mr Morris and his team are the only staff Uncle Robert has kept on at Ledbury Hall. Heath frowns. ‘He let them all go,’ he tells her. ‘Haven’t you noticed? They’ve not been for weeks.’
She presses her lips together, trying to understand what this means. What will happen to them if Uncle Robert never comes back? Once, after he’d found out the Ledburys had been sneaking his whisky, he didn’t pay the electricity bill and they were cut off for a week. Luckily, it was in the summer, so they didn’t freeze to death inside the echoing manor.
Heath sighs, holding out his hand to lift her to her feet. ‘I’m going to take care of you.’ As he speaks, his fingers slide up her bare arms to rest on her shoulders. He presses his forehead against hers so she can count the little green flecks in his eyes. She wants to ask him if he misses Sofia the way she misses Flynn, but she can’t because they promised not to talk about the Healys again.
Heath broke up with Sofia. She didn’t take it well, calling the housephone over and over until he ripped it from its socket. At least he is with Elinor now and has been all week. They have cooked together, and he has taught her Claude Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’ on piano, they have walked the grounds, stopping at the little lake to gaze upon the statue of the two entwined lovers at its centre. Then Heath took Elinor in his arms, much in the same way, and whispered against her throat, ‘I will love you. Always.’
‘Fine,’ she says now. ‘But be careful. A bullet is very different to a lead pipe, and you’re not a cat.’
‘One life,’ he says. ‘Got it.’
He kisses her forehead and then he is gone.