Page 51 of Worth Every Penny

“I don’t intend to,” I reply.

Curtis, Mrs. Lansen’s new partner whom I recognise from Jack’s party, bounds towards me from the depths of the hallway, one hand extended. His hair is still lank and a little greasy. I suspect it’s part of his look, but I doubt he’s washed it since I last saw him. He’s even younger than I originally thought; possibly my age or thereabouts.

“The famous Nico Hawkston.” He grips my hand and his mouth splits into the type of grin I’ve seen many times before. When people want something from me, or think I can get them somewhere in the world, that same seedy smile appears. I repress a shudder. “I’ve heard so many great things about you, man. What a fucking honour.”

“How do you do?” I say, trying to extricate my hand from Curtis’ warm and over-enthusiastic grip. He notices my pull-back, glances at our hands, then chuckles and releases his hold.

“Sorry, mate,” he says, bumping my arm with a fist. “Don’t often get a chance to shake the hand of a bonafide billionaire.”

Bloody hell, Debbie Lansen is dating a man-child.

Kate appears behind me, and Mrs. Lansen acknowledges her with the barest flick of her gaze before fixing on me. “You brought Kate?” She stands on tiptoes to peer beyond us to the driveway. “Oh, that car. What a fancy set of wheels you have, Nico.” She lightly slaps my arm. “I dare say it’s not the only one you have, is it?”

“It’s not,” I agree.

She laughs. “A car for every day of the week, I imagine? Well, it was very kind of you to drive Kate down. What a gent you are.” She gives me a grateful smile before turning to her daughter. The smile fades as she runs her gaze down to Kate’s feet. “What are those shoes you’re wearing?”

Kate stares down at her worn out trainers. “What’s wrong with them?”

Debbie huffs. “They look awful. I hope you’re not intending to wear them tomorrow.”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, good.” Debbie puts a hand on her heart, relief pouring off her. “What about those wonderful, sparkly ones you love?”

Kate goes rigid, like she’s bracing for an attack. “I lost those—”

“Lost your shoes? Goodness, how does one lose one’s shoes?” Mrs. Lansen glances over her shoulder at Curtis. “Did you hear that? Kate lost her shoes! Never grew up, this child.”

“Mum, will you stop? It’s not a big deal. I have other shoes.” She indicates the shoe box in her hand and a warming sensation spreads through my body.

Kate stares up at me, and in her deep brown eyes I can see the question,Why did you do this?

My brows pinch together.I don’t know why, Kate. I really don’t.

Mrs. Lansen frowns, then shakes her head and mutters, “Can’t believe you lost your shoes.” Then she forgets about Kate and flaps her arms to urge us further inside. “Come in, come in. Let’s not stand in the doorway. Jack’s already in the pool. The weather’s glorious. I hope it holds for tomorrow.”

Kate doesn’t follow, but stands in the hall, glancing at the walls. “Where are the paintings?”

“What, dear?” says Mrs. Lansen, her voice strained. She knows exactly what Kate’s talking about.

“Dad’s paintings. The art collection. Where is it?” Kate points at the grey rectangles of grime on the walls—obvious vacancies where pictures have vanished.

Kate trots down the hall, poking her head from room to room. “Where are they all?”

Mrs. Lansen taps her temple. “Oh, the art. Curtis has a fabulous art collection, which is being delivered tomorrow, before the party. We had to clear space for it, so we put your father’s stuff in storage.”

Kate stills, a stunned look on her face. “All of it?”

“Yes, all. It’s about time for a change. Some of those pieces had been on the wall for thirty years. Curtis arranged everything. Didn’t you, dear?” Curtis gives a smarmy smile, pleased with himself. “We had the men take them away yesterday.”

“You didn’t think to ask me if I wanted any of them?”

“Oh, Kate, don’t be silly.” Mrs. Lansen’s mouth stretches into a condescending smile. “What would you want with any of those old paintings? You couldn’t hang any of them in your flat. It’s too small. And what with the insurance costs, it wouldn’t be worth it.They’re much better in storage. Maybe when you buy yourself a house, we can talk about it.”

“What about Jack?” Kate asks.

“What about me?” Jack strides down the hall, chest bare and nothing but a sun-bleached beach towel wrapped around his waist, his hair slicked back. Ever the exhibitionist.

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