Paint Me Anew (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Limited Choices

"Help me up first," he said sharply, and Anya dashed to him.

She hoisted him up and glanced at the door nervously. "Who is that?"

"Amira Atieno. My Uncle's secretary. Among other things," he added venomously. "If she finds out about our little arrangement, both you and I will be in trouble. So, just say nothing and agree with everything I say, alright?"

Anya nodded and walked to the door. Her hand was shaking when she pushed the handle.

Ms. Atieno was an exceptionally fit, impeccably attired person of colour. Anya pulled a forced smile on her face.

"Good evening," the visitor said, looking Anya over with a shocked expression, which even Ms. Atieno's well-trained business exterior couldn't hide.

"Hiya," Anya said and stepped back, allowing the other woman entrance.

"I am alright," Klaus announced loudly, seemingly addressing a wall to his right. "I'm alive. I'm warm. The outage didn't affect anything. You can go back to my Uncle and tell him you did your duty."

Ms. Atieno quickly scanned the room, her gaze lingering on the clean and empty counter and the sofa where he was sitting on clean sheets; and then she fixed her large, gorgeous eyes on Anya.

"I'm Amira," the woman said. "I'm Mr. Bjornsson's personal assistance. Mr. Anders Bjornsson's. We were worried about the outage. Are you alright, Ms–" She trailed away with a questioning intonation.

"This is Mrs. Anna Ferguson. She's from the farm," Klaus answered. "She's come to check on me too. See?" He pointed at the wood-burner with a wide wave of his hand. "We were just going to have a cuppa. Care to join us?"

His tone clearly showed the only answer he'd accept would be 'no, thank you.'

The woman studied, first, him, and then she redirected her attention at Anya. An anxious shiver ran down the latter's back.

"Mrs. Ferguson? Any relation to Martin Ferguson?"

Anya peeked at the man, and he nodded slightly.

"I'm his ex-sister-in-law. I used to be married to Dom Ferguson." Just as always, when she spoke, she felt immediately embarrassed of her accent.

"I see. And if memory serves me right, you have his daughter," Ms. Atieno stated.

Anya pressed her head down into her shoulders. She doubted the man had told his relatives about the heirloom that Varya had destroyed, but if they found out, Anya probably wouldn't get away with just washing a few dishes and scouring a loo or two. They probably had a whole army of staff for that in their mansion.

"Where is she right now?" Ms. Atieno asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Why don't you go back to the Hall, Amira?" Klaus said dryly. "It's midnight, and you're still in your suit. I'm sure you can't wait to finish this unpleasant task and get some kip."

Ms. Atieno whipped her head and glared at him. "Pardon my insistent curiosity," she gritted through her teeth, "but my tasks involve making sure you're not getting up to something unreasonable, Mr. Bjornsson." Her voice was laced with venom. "And Mrs. Ferguson is the first guest you're entertaining since you returned, so you can see how it would be worrisome to–"

"My guests are my business," he answered, and Anya jolted from the low growl and menace in his voice. He suddenly seemed to have grown even taller; and although he was sitting, his bearing - his shoulders that he'd squared, and the proud set of his head - radiated authoritativeness. "I'm sure my Uncle's bed is getting cold. Why don't you go back to the house and tend to your direct responsibilities?"