of the dry understatement.
“Storm’ll be on us very quickly,” George said, as he got into the driver’s seat and buckled up. He slanted a speaking glance to the back, and Mr. Hollingsworth fastened his seatbelt with a sigh.
George wasted no time getting them back on the road, and they were just exiting Riversend, when the sky opened up.
“Good thing we didn’t go to Knysna,” Mr. Hollingsworth pointed out, and Charity gritted her teeth, hating that he was right.
“Definitely,” George agreed. “Weather forecast says this is only going to get worse.”
“Best make haste back home then, George.”
George only stayed long enough to help Charity unload the groceries. He parked the SUV, asked if they needed anything more, and left in his own late model Toyota.
“I think I’ll retire to my room for a spell, Mrs. Cole,” Mr. Hollingsworth said, moments after George left. He looked wrecked, and Charity couldn’t help but feel concerned. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and he looked a thousand times worse than he had before they had left the house. The small amount of activity had clearly been too much, too soon.
“I’ll call you for dinner,” she told him, tempted to ask if he was okay, even though she knew he’d shrug off her concern. Or worse tell her—rightfully so—that it was none of her business.
“When might that be?” The words seemed dragged out of him—he was definitely flagging fast.
“What’s your preference?”
“Sixish?” Three hours away, that gave her time to swim a few laps before starting dinner.
“That’s fine, sir. Anything in particular you’d like me to prepare?”
“No soup or broth, of any kind. Nothing bland—not that your cooking is ever bland. But if I see anything steamed or boiled I think I may well expire from sheer boredom.”
She clasped her hands in front of her and nodded, “Noted, sir.”
“And dear God, if I’m to be here for six weeks, I’d much rather we relax the formalities. Call me Miles.”
That disconcerted her, and her hands tightened around each other so much she feared the whites of her knuckles had to be showing.
“I don’t think…I’m not sure that’s proper.”
“Who’s to know? And I’m not sure ‘Mrs. Cole’ suits the informality we’re striving for either. I’ll call you Chastity.”
She cleared her throat awkwardly. “That’s Charity, sir.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Charity.”
“Right. Okay. Sorry about that. Charity it is then.”
She shook her head, feeling panicked. “No. Wait…”
He sighed. A long-suffering expression on that arrogant, much-too-thin, face.
“I don’t think I feel comfortable calling you by your first name.”
He moved closer and held her eyes captive with his penetrating stare. “Why don’t you try it and find out for sure?”
She took an involuntary step back. She hated to feel crowded. Invading someone’s space was a classic bullying tactic, and Mr. Hollingsworth seemed to do it unconsciously. A character trait that threw up massive red flags for her.
“Excuse me?”
“Try it. Say my name and see if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“I’d rather not do that…Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head in disgust and stepped back, giving her some much-needed breathing room. “Fine, if you feel so strongly about it, call me Mr. Hollingsworth, but just give the ‘sir’ a rest, would you? I feel like a sixth form school teacher, every time you say it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“But I’m calling you Charity.”
She didn’t like that at all. She hated hearing her name on his lips. It sounded much too inviting, even when it was being delivered in that crisp, no-nonsense English accent of his.
She maintained a stoic silence, hoping he would glean from that how much she disapproved of this entire conversation.
His smile was purely a predatory parting of his lips. “Buck up, Mrs. Cole. It’s just a word.”
She preferred the formality of being called Mrs. Cole, it kept him at a distance. It kept everybody at a distance. He scrutinized her for a second, before appearing to see something in her determinedly neutral expression that made him shift his shoulders in displeasure.
“Alright, have it your way, Mrs. Cole. We’ll keep things formal.”
She nodded, the gesture stiff, but couldn’t resist responding, “As you wish, sir.”
His lips tightened for a second before he opened his mouth. She held her breath, wondering if he was going to call her out on her low-key insolence. But he seemed to reconsider what he’d been about to say and, with an impatient shake of his head, he swiveled on his foot and strode from the kitchen.
A rumbling boom shook Miles from his restless sleep. He sat up disoriented in the