Page 73 of Duke It Out
My heart does something weird in my chest and I cross the room in three strides, grabbing the laptop and clutching it protectively to my chest.
“Why are you in my room?” My voice is low and controlled, the shock giving way to white-hot anger.
“Oh,” Anna waves dismissively, stretching like a cat. “I needed some conditioner, and I know you had that nice almond oil stuff.” She picks up the bottle sitting by her hip. “Anyway, I told one of the cleaning ladies I needed to get something from your room, and she let me in.”
There’s no way that Claire would have done that.
“Cleaning ladies?”
“Yeah, a girl – about twenty or so? Apparently, she’s only here for the weekend of the ball. Her mum works here. Lauren or Laura or something. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Laura,” I say flatly, remembering. Claire’s daughter was excited to make some money for her summer trip to Spain.
“You’re looking at confidential documents,” I say, my voice shaking. “Documents covered by a legally binding NDA that could cost me my career if they’re breached.”
Anna rolls her eyes “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“That’s not the point.” I set the laptop on my desk, my fingers trembling. “You had no right.”
Anna looks at me with a curious expression. “Come on Ede, it’s not like it’s state secrets.” She flops back on the pillows. “Though I have to say, that bit about the land grab from the farmers was pretty juicy. And the fake company he set up to funnel money from the charitable trust? Classic rich person tax dodge.”
I freeze. Those were exactly the sections I was most worried about – the evidence of Dickie Kinnaird’s most questionable financial dealings.
“That’s not meant for anyone’s eyes,” I say quietly. “Especially a journalist.”
Something flickers across Anna’s face – surprise, perhaps, that I’ve caught on to her motives.
“Oh come on Ede,” she says, her voice wheedling. “I’m not here as a journalist. I’m here as your friend.”
But I recognise that look in her eyes. I’ve seen it before.
“You’ve been asking questions and taking mental notes since you arrived. You’ve grilled me about the estate finances and the foundation. You’re exactly what Rory was afraid of –someone looking to exploit the family’s history for a headline.”
She’s a cuckoo, and I’ve invited her into the nest for a mini break.
Anna sits up, her casual demeanour hardening. “Oh, please. Like they don’t deserve it. These aristos sitting around on mountains of money and land while regular people can barely make rent.”
The barb is pointed, and it stings.
“I’m notbuying intoany of it. I’m talking about basic respect and professional ethics,” I counter, my voice steadying. “Which apparently you don’t have.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Anna says, rolling off the bed to a stand and brushing imaginary lint from her shirt. “I did you a favour. You’ve been locked up in this mausoleum for months playing secretary to a dead man. You’ve got a way out here, we could co-write it.The Dark Secrets of the Kinnaird Foundationwould sell way better than any romance novel.”
I can’t even speak. I just look at her with my mouth hanging open for a long moment before she bursts out laughing and shakes her head.
“For fucks sake, Edie, lighten up.” She rolls her eyes. “Although I tell you what, if this ever came out, someone would need help managing the fallout. A whole team managing the narrative…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she swipes the two bottles, flipping them in the air with a flourish. “Cheersfor this. And you don’t mind if I borrow the conditioner? Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.”
Dinner that night is tense,not that Anna seems to notice. We’re in a different dining room – not the huge one, off limits as Gregor organises everything for tomorrow’s ball. This one still has two fireplaces and a chandelier that could knock someone out cold if it landed on their head. It feels like we’re all in some sort of holding pattern for tomorrow, and I’m beginning to see why Rory isn’t a fan of the whole ball thing.
Talking of whom, I’m sitting at his right hand, which is exactly where I don’t want to be and exactly where I want to be at the same time. He’s distracted – checking his phone and raking his hair back from his head with an irritable expression, the sleeves of the dark shirt he’s wearing rolled back so I can see the dark lines of the tattoo on muscle of his forearm.
Across from me, Anna is the picture of untroubled elegance. Her hair is freshly blow-dried, and she’s in a crisp white shirt with her sleeves rolled with an enviably French-style chic. She looks like she’s perfectly at home here. I’m still not convinced I do.
I’m doing my best to act normal, but it feels like my brain’s on fire. I smile as Gregor comes in to detail the food we’ll be eating, and nod as Jamie pours drinks and chats casually about his busy day with the community project leaders from the Highland Council. The whole time all I can see is Anna sitting on my bed with that slow cheshire cat smile, pawing through my work as if she had editorial control. My NDA might as well be confetti.
Jamie is all smiles and generous glasses of wine, eitheroblivious to Rory’s mood or performing obliviousness, I can’t tell which.
