‘Right.’
What did one say? ‘I
told you so’ didn’t seem calculated to further our relationship.
‘I’m on my way to Willingham now. Tell Lethbridge to expect me. I’ll be there in half an hour.’
‘Half an hour? From London?’
‘I’m bringing the helicopter.’
‘Oh, er …’
But he’d hung up already.
I looked at Joss.
‘He’s coming here,’ I said redundantly.
‘I know. Perhaps I should make myself scarce, leave you two to it.’
‘No,’ I said, reaching for his hand. ‘I need you with me.’
Voronov was as good as his word. Half an hour later an ungodly racket swept over the Willingham rooftops, bringing with it a stiff breeze, and we ran to the morning room to watch him land the ’copter in one of the fields beyond the gardens.
Minutes later, Voronov emerged in his trademark sharp suit, waving a hand at the pilot, who was apparently to wait for him.
‘A flying visit,’ I remarked. ‘Literally.’
We stepped out of the French doors as he approached, and crossed the rose garden to meet him in the middle. It was in full bloom and intoxicating scents surrounded us. It didn’t seem right. We should be in some stuffy boardroom. Nothing bad or worrying could happen in a rose garden, could it?
‘Hello,’ I said, once he was within earshot.
‘Do you want to come in for a drink?’ offered Joss.
‘No, here will do. Bring something out to us.’
Joss, unused to being ordered about, blinked several times but turned and disappeared into the house without a murmur.
What was he going to do? I glanced nervously between him and Joss’s retreating figure. What if he spread wide his arms and expected me to run into them or something? I just couldn’t.
Luckily, this was not the tack he chose to take.
‘You must know. What’s this place worth?’ he asked, looking around him at the glorious, if slightly crumbling, façade of the Hall.
‘It was last valued, with land and other related assets, at twenty million,’ I said. ‘But it costs a fortune to run and Joss is in debt up to his eyeballs. His parents left him nothing.’
‘I’m not surprised, knowing them,’ said Voronov with a terse nod. He gazed into the middle distance for another minute or so, then switched his attention to me. ‘I’ll buy it,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘For you. For you to live in. Your house.’
‘But … it’s Joss’s.’
‘He can’t afford it. You can. Now, you can.’
‘With respect, Mr Voronov –’