His reply that they would send a helicopter hadn’t appeased her.
‘What if you had an emergency and needed help?’
His suggestion that he’d deal with it had been met with scathing disapproval.
‘What if you fell down the stairs and couldn’t move and were unconscious?’
He hadn’t liked the way she’d looked at the long set of stairs to the first floor—as if she’d like to push him all the way down and test her theory.
He watched Skye come down the staircase and without a word pass through the large glass door that led out to the patio. And then he sighed. Because he did feel a bit bad for her; he wasn’t a complete monster. She’d survived a car accident, a night in the Costa Rican rainforest, himself in the morning without coffee, only to arrive at their destination and discover there was no escape.
He picked up the cafetière cups and took them out to the table on the patio. He sat, trying to focus on the peace his garden usually brought him, but his attention snagged on the hunched shoulders of Skye Soames.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ she said, facing away from him.
‘I know the feeling,’ he said grimly, thinking of the days counting down until his birthday.
‘No, I mean I really... I can’t be here right now. I need to be back home. I was supposed to be back home by now.’
Once again, Benoit couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something that she wasn’t telling him. Usually he wouldn’t care, but there was something about her tone, something that snagged in his chest.
‘What back home is so important?’
Everything. But Skye couldn’t tell him that.
‘Your sisters?’ he asked.
She nodded, knowing that it was only half the reason she felt so panicked. She turned and joined him at the table. He tentatively pushed a cup of coffee in her direction, as if worried she might throw it over him. But she gratefully scooped up the china in her hands, her mouth watering at the rich scent and hopeful that it might help stimulate a few more neurons so that she could find a way out of here. She’d been surprised to find that Benoit had been telling the truth.
No phone. No internet. Nothing.
Her heartbeat thudded heavily in her chest as she battled with the panic i
n her mind. She couldn’t be stuck here. They didn’t have the time. Her mum didn’t have the time. Each hour, minute even that she didn’t have the map, that they weren’t closer to finding the key, or the passageways, felt like a minute stolen from her mother’s life—and that thought was paralysing.
‘How old are they?’
‘Twenty-four and twenty-two.’
He huffed out an incredulous breath. ‘From the way you were speaking, I thought they’d be much younger. They’ll be fine,’ he said, instantly dismissing her concerns.
‘It’s a lot for them to deal with—’ she tried to justify herself ‘—and Star? Well, she’ll probably fall into some romantic notion about whatever the next step is to find the Soames diamonds and Summer will probably forget to eat because she’ll be lost in Catherine’s journals.’
‘Skye, Star and Summer?’
‘Mum’s choice.’
‘Not your father’s then?’
Skye shrugged, ignoring the ache suddenly blooming in her chest, blotting out some of the panic, not quite sure which was the lesser of two evils. She drew her coffee cup to her chest as if it could ward off the question.
‘Mum left him when I was about thirteen months old. She didn’t like his normal, mainstream lifestyle.’
‘And he just let you all go?’
‘Well, he let me go. Star was born after an affair and Summer doesn’t know who her father is. Don’t get the wrong idea—it’s not that Mum was...like that.’
He frowned. ‘I’m not judging,’ he said, raising his hands in defence.