Page 58 of A Change of Location
Hannah’s heartbeat thundered in her chest.
“Damn.”
“The writer rang me, weeks ago,” Poppy told him. “I didn’t tell her a thing. None of those unattributed quotes are mine, Mart. I swear.”
“It’s true,” Hannah contributed. “I was there.”
“So this is what Jessica was on about. She kept leaving phone messages that didn’t make much sense.”
“Do you think Natalie cooperated?”
“Hard to say. During our St. Barth’s holiday, her brother was constantly taking pictures, but there were several others in our party. This photo on the beach could’ve come from anybody.”
“Would you like to finish the bit of pudding that’s left?” Hannah asked Poppy. “It won’t keep.”
“I’m due at The Peacock. I was asked to be scorekeeper for tonight’s darts tournament. You two should come.”
Martin gave a noncommittal response. After Poppy vanished around the corner of the house, he pushed the magazine across the table. “Have a look. Tell me how bad this is.”
“I’ve read it. I bought a copy this afternoon when I was in the village.” She stood up and placed their empty bowls on the serving tray. “Can I bring you something else?”
“A bottle of single malt, doesn’t matter which. And a glass.”
She took her time tidying the kitchen. After she wiped clean all the surfaces and handed each dog a biscuit, she returned to the terrace and sat across from him.
“This is nonsense. Lots of speculation and a certain amount of exaggeration.”
Gripping the table edge, she said, “About your net worth, you mean.”
“It fluctuates. Her estimate is on the low side.”
“Seriously?”
His gray eyes widened. “That can’t be a surprise. I’m sure you go on the internet to gather intel about blokes before giving them the time of day. Checking for an arrest record, or the number of ex-wives and children.”
“The staff at Wincott & Sons convinced me you were legit, so I didn’t have to do much digging. I found a couple of links to an investment firm. You attended the opening of an Indian restaurant in one of the villages. At the time, I wasn’t interested in you. I wanted to know about your house.” Her hand swept towards the stone façade. “Which, as you said, has almost no visibility on the web. Until a couple of hours ago, I believed you were flat broke. Or very nearly.”
“You’re having me on.”
“According to my liaison at the location agency, no aristocrat would allow access to a film production for weeks on end unless he was practically impoverished or massively in debt. Which sounded all too probable. Even more so after you said you sold your castle to a hotel company.”
“I never liked the place.”
“Then I saw your car. Not exactly what multi-millionaires drive.”
“The countryside is no place for showy vehicles. Although I did follow a branding consultant’s directive to purchase a custom-colored fleet of electric vehicles. Vans and pickups, emblazoned with an estate logo.” He changed chairs, moving to the one nearest hers. “You’re upset. Why?”
“I can’t help feeling like a peasant girl who met a prince pretending to be a commoner. So he’ll know for sure she isn’t shagging him only because he’s rich and lives in a castle.”
“Maybe America is different, but round here we don’t usually introduce ourselves by quoting the sum total of our personal wealth. I didn’t know what you didn’t know about me.”
“I know that now.” She produced a semblance of a smile. Her forefinger stabbed the open magazine. “Three hundred million pounds.”
“More than that. I think.”
“Martin!”
“Hannah.”
