“Paige, please, just talk to me,” he said, approaching her with arms open wide.
“Keep your distance, pal, she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Tom said, putting himself between Rufus and Paige.
“Paige?” Her mum came out of the house.
“It’s okay Sarah, Rufus is just leaving,” Tom said firmly.
“I need to talk to Paige,” Rufus said, “And I’m not leaving until I have.”
“Look, you’ve had a long drive, and Paige has had a tough week as it is. Just put Paige’s things on the pavement, get back in your car, leave, and she’ll ring you when she’s ready,” Tom said, “Sarah, get Paige’s things out of the car, I can see them right there.”
Tiptoeing out of the house in her slippers, Paige’s mum started to unload the car. Rufus didn’t seem to notice, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Paige’s in a wild stare.
Normally, Paige would have asked Tom to stop speaking for her, but at that moment she was glad of his help.
Rufus came closer, hands held up in peace, but looking past Tom at Paige. “Those girls, it wasn’t what you think.”
“Okay, that’s enough now,” Tom said, anger rising in his voice as he walked towards Rufus.
“Rufus, I’m not interested, Marie told me what she saw,” Paige said.
“Yes, I entered the hotel room with her, but-”
“We’ve heard enough - Paige said she doesn’t want to talk to you, please leave,” Tom said, coming to stand a foot or so away from Rufus.
“Paige, please, I only kissed the first one because-” Rufus started, but was cut off by Tom grabbing his jacket and forcing him backwards towards the car, “Hey, get off me!” Rufus shouted, pushing Tom hard in the chest.
Tom lunged forward, pushing Rufus in the chest and shouting, “That’s enough now, get in your car!”
Rufus’ face darkened with frustration as he too began to lose his temper, “Fine!” he yelled, backing away to his car, “I’ll call you, Paige,” he added, getting into his car.
“You better fucking not!” Tom called after him as Rufus sped away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER THE STRESS OF the weekend, Paige was glad to get back to the Ecklands’. The job was starting to feel like a routine, and she had made good progress with the Taming of the Shrew essay. She worked until early afternoon that day typing the finished draft and proudly presented it to Eckland, who read it thoughtfully.
“This is good work,” he said, “Well done on including Collington’s 2016 paper in the footnotes, I had forgotten to. Now,” he paused and gave a long sigh, “to find more gems.”
Paige was growing fond of his strange way of emphasising random words and was pleased that he was happy with her work. She returned to the study, clasping the printout of the essay proudly.
Sitting at the desk, she took a moment, reflecting on her next steps. As much as she had enjoyed editing the Taming of the Shrew essay, she was still a little reluctant to go back to sifting through page after page of pointless notes.
Absent-mindedly tapping her finger on antique walnut kneehole desk, she surveyed the room, procrastinating the next task. The desk was clearly old – it was solid Walnut wood with drawers either side of the seat and one large drawer in the middle which held writing paper and boxes of expensive fountain pens. Paige had never dared to use them, although she expected Eckland would have preferred it if she did as he considered word-processing on a computer to be somewhat informal.
The top of the desk was covered with three panels of green leather – Eckland had boasted about how it had been passed down from his grandfather, who had been a journalist in London in the 1880s. A bronze bust of Shakespeare overlooked the top of the desk, perched somewhat judgementally on a stand in the middle section, so that he looked over anyone who was writing there. Paige wondered if Eckland had positioned him like that deliberately.
As she tapped her fingers against the faded green leather, she noticed that the bottom right corner, had begun to peel away. As she looked closer, she noticed the point of a small white piece of paper poking out. Gently lifting where the edge of the leather met the wood, she pulled the piece of paper out. It was very small and had clearly been ripped off one of Eckland’s essays as part of his handwriting in blue fountain pen could be made out at the top.
In the bottom left of the small scrap of paper, someone had written in black biro: “Great work – E.G”. E.G – example? Paige thought to herself.
The piece of paper seemed to be a remnant of an entire essay, but Paige wondered how it had ended up being ripped off. It didn’t seem to be deliberate, as the note written on it was clearly supposed to accompany the rest of the work.
She looked again at the leather, she noticed that the entire panel seemed loose. She lifted gently again, finding that it lifted up easily and was backed with more wood, to reveal a hidden compartment in the top of the desk.
Inside were two pieces of paper. The first had the same blue fountain pen and black biro as the scrap that she had found, which lead her to presume it was the same piece of paper. It seemed that whoever had shut these in the compartment had slammed the lid down, ripping the corner and leaving it poking out.
Unlike Eckland’s other papers, this one had an ink stamp at the top – a lioness, sat upright and facing outwards.
Eckland’s writing seemed to be his usual style of work - nothing special enough that it would need to be kept separately – but the delicate handwritten biro notes were unlike anything Paige had come across in the rest of his work.
They were clearly written by someone
