Page 34 of Weeping Roses
“Come in.”
The blustery tones are of a woman who doesn’t sound sweet at all, and as the gate swings open, Polly grins.
“Come on. This is so exciting. I feel like a detective.”
Her enthusiasm makes me smile and as I follow her up a grand driveway, I note the impeccable grounds of a house that must vomit cash because there is nothing out of place, unlike Thorn House. Whoever lives here deserves my respect because, much like the Romanov properties, this one is immaculate.
As soon as we reach the front door, it opens and Polly’s shocked gasp makes me smile as we stare at a woman who is dressed in a flowing kaftan with huge white sunglasses perched on her head. I’m guessing her clothing is designer because I recognize the brand. She must be in her late forties and is made up to perfection.
Polly falls silent and I’m guessing she is intimidated because, as she said, she is wearing clothes from yesterday and probably has my cum running down her inner thigh right now. Her hair is messy, and she has not a scrap of make-up on her face and the disparaging gaze Samantha Burrows gives her sharpens my venom.
Then she glances at me and her expression changes. She obviously recognizes the trappings of wealth from my gold Rolex to the well-tailored pants and black silk shit I am wearing. My jacket is the finest cloth and handmade by my personal tailor in Savile Row and I sense the appreciation I usually receive from women who recognize a potential pay day presenting itself before them.
Her red painted lips part, and she directs a coy smile my way and laughs softly.
“Welcome to Carrington House. I was so sorry to hear about Veronica. Please come inside and I’ll arrange tea.”
As we follow her, Polly grips my hand a little tighter and I’m guessing she also saw exactly what Samantha was thinking.
As expected from the outside, the inside is immaculate and screams wealth and new money. I spy silver-framed photographs on the side table and note Samantha posing next to a man who appears a lot older than her but every bit as successful.
“Is that your husband?” I say directly and point to the man beaming out from the frame.
“Thomas, yes. We’ve been married for an eternity. He owns racehorses and is away in Abu Dhabi at the moment.”
“He must be very successful.” I concede and she nods, apparently bored by the talk of her husband.
“Yes, he is.”
She turns to the table beside her and rings a silver bell and Polly’s eyes widen when a maid appears, dressed in black and wearing a white frilly apron.
“Justine, please arrange refreshment for my guests. We will take it here.”
Justine retreats with a half bow and Polly’s eyes widen further as she watches her walk away.
Samantha turns to me and smiles flirtatiously. “Romanov. I have heard that name several times.”
Now she had my full attention and her hard look didn’t escape me. Yes, Samantha knows a lot more than we give her credit for, and I sling my arms around the back of Polly’s shoulders and say airily, “My father was a frequent visitor to Thorn House. I expect you met him.”
“Andrei.” She nods, her expression revealing that she knows rather a lot as it happens.
“Yes, Andrei and Veronica were a delightful couple. It was such a shame he was away more than he was home.”
Home.
That word drives a dagger in my heart as I picture my father having a different home from the one my mother occupied.
Polly interrupts. “We understand you have a key to Thorn House.”
Samantha nods. “That is true.”
“Um, I don’t suppose we could take it back. It’s just, well, we only have the one and need to get some more cut.”
“Of course.” She stands and moves across to a delicate desk set in front of the window and opens the middle drawer.
“I am happy to remain a key holder if you need one, um, Polly. I can assure you I am trustworthy.”
I watch with interest as she scrambles around on the desk and then an expression of surprise crosses her face.