Page 196 of The Black Trilogy

“I bought you this.”

A present? “More clothes?”

“I hoped you’d come back with me.”

“Am I really that predictable?” I rummaged around in the bag and fished out something pink and lacy. “Knickers? Isn’t that at bit…personal?”

He shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve bought underwear for a woman, Diamond. The sweats caused me the most trouble. I had to hunt for a sports shop.”

I held the matching bra up by my fingertips. “But it’s pink.”

He sighed faintly and shook his head. “What colour do you normally wear?”

Uh oh. I shouldn’t have started this conversation, and I felt my cheeks heat.

“Black,” I whispered.

“What do you want for breakfast, dearie?” Ruth asked.

The only choice I’d had before was cornflakes with milk or cornflakes without milk.

“Whatever’s easy; I don’t mind.”

When Black came downstairs, dressed in a suit undoubtedly made-to-measure on Saville Row, I was eating a plate of pancakes with maple syrup and bacon.

“I see you picked the healthy option,” he said.

“I didn’t pick anything, actually. Ruth did, and it’s delicious. How are you not the size of a tank, having her here all the time?”

“You’ll soon learn portion control.” He reached over and snagged a piece of my bacon. “But this morning, I’ll help you out.”

I went to smack his hand away, but he was too quick. “Oi! That’s mine.”

Aaaannnnd…he’d eaten it. I really hated him at that moment.

“I have a meeting to get to, and after that, I’m going to see a man about our little problem.”

The smug git actually patted me on the head, then leapt back as I tried to grab his hand. “Be good.” His laughter followed him out the door.

Good grief. What had I done?

Ruth proved to be friendly but frustratingly unforthcoming with information about Black. From the snippets that slipped out, I gathered that he was an intensely private person, and she was a little surprised to see me there at all because he never brought women home with him. So there was no Mrs. Black, then.

While he was out, I took the opportunity to explore the house. With it being a Sunday, the builders weren’t working, and Ruth looked busy in the kitchen with a huge array of baking products scattered on the counter. Keeping a careful ear out in case she came near, I went through room-by-room, starting at the top and working my way down. The place was surprisingly sterile, more of a show house than a home. And all the creeping around reminded me of my days as an amateur burglar.

On the whole, the place wasn’t as interesting as I’d hoped. Half of the rooms were empty, and IKEA had more soul than the decorated parts. In Black’s bedroom, I found one hefty safe behind a mirror and another set into the floor of his dressing room. That was next to a bag holding a set of handcuffs and a coil of rope. Was Mr. Black into a bit of kink, or did he have a fetish for kidnapping people? More to the point, did I really want to know the answer to that question?

By lunchtime, I’d been through all six floors apart from a locked room on the second. When I’d peered through the keyhole, it looked like an office, but I’d have needed tools to get inside and I’d left those hidden behind my makeshift wardrobe at JJ’s.

The only other point of interest was the basement. Not because of the gym, the swimming pool, or the home cinema—those were quite normal, I imagined, if you were a millionaire. No, the strange thing was that the basement didn’t fit with the floor plan of the house. My gut told me there should be more rooms, but I couldn’t work out how to get into them.

I didn’t get the chance to search any further because Black returned at lunchtime, looking cheerful. Or, at least, what passed for cheerful in his world.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“Not too bad. What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

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