Phew. His mother’s scones were generally good.
They moved inside. The house had refinished wooden floors and fresh, white walls with beams overhead. The kitchen was in a new extension at the back of the cottage, and was big and airy. The place had a cozy feel, and copper pots hung, gleaming, above the stove. His mother had whacked him on the arse with one when he’d trampled her prized primroses in the garden when he was thirteen. It still had the dent in the side.
The kitchen also had a lovely view of the farm out the wide windows.
His mum bustled around, filling the copper kettle with water and setting it on the stove. His dad leaned against an island with a butcher-block top.
“So, what makes you qualified to be undercover, Hadley?” Bennett’s dad asked. “You a cop?”
“Dad, you’re like a bloody dog with a bone,” Bennett said.
“I work in private security,” Hadley answered. “For Sentinel Security in New York.”
“New York?” His mum looked stricken, no doubt her dreams of a summer wedding dimming.
“Yes, but my family is here,” Hadley said. “In London.”
“So you visit often?” His mum’s face brightened.
“Occasionally. We’re not that…close.”
“Lockwood.” Bennett’s father nodded. “Baron Astley and Lady Lockwood?”
“That’s them.”
“And what’s your background to be working security?” his dad continued.
“Jeez, Dad.” Bennett grabbed a scone off the plate on the table, and slathered it with jam and cream.
“I started my career at MI6,” Hadley said.
“A spook?” His father looked reluctantly impressed.
The kettle whistled. Bennett’s mum waved her hands. “Everyone, sit down at the table.”
They sat at the long, rustic farm table, and his mum enjoyed fussing around them. Soon they were all eating and drinking.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Knightly,” Hadley said.
“Thank you. Bennett bought it for us. We love it here, although I sometimes miss the house where we raised all the kids.” She smiled. “The boys were always playing pranks on each other, and driving their sister crazy.”
Hadley eyed Bennett. “Pranks, huh?”
“I’ve matured.”
His dad made a sound. “They still play pranks on each other.”
His mum rolled her eyes. “They do. Never grew out of it.”
“So, some more shipments are missing?” his dad asked.
Anger fired in Bennett’s gut. “Yes. And we have a mole at Secura who’s leaking the information.”
“Shit,” his dad said.
“Michael!” his mother squawked.
“Not sure how many.” Bennett thought about the intel the professor had given them. “Or who’s behind it.”