Mason Blackwood was an intelligent man and it was written all over his stern, handsome face. He had eyes the color of midnight skies, if the night was starless and the sky - almost black, and high cheekbones, that put an edge to his expression. His hair was that light blond that looks almost white and his skin was so pale, that on a Halloween eve you might mistake him for a ghost. There was something... feral in the way he moved, in his gaze sweeping the room, even in his low voice. A wolf. He made me think of White Fang from Jack London's classic novel of the same name. Pack-leader. Hunter. Mr. Blackwood was all of those things and something completely different in the same time. He felt... dangerous.
And from the moment I met him, I new that Michael was going to hate him.
I gave my guests a little smile, then went to the kitchen to bring the coffee. Bast, our cat, gave me a considering look, when I walked passed her, then made a small noise, like a whimper, and went back to doing... Whatever cats do, when they're not sleeping, eating or breaking something. I stopped for a second or two, to look myself over at the kitchen mirror, then decided I looked presentable enough and took the tray with the coffee and croissants. I carried them to the living room, my high-heels click-clacking on the polished wooden floor, and put them on the glass table Michael had bought. Miss Munro, the only other person in the room, raised an eyebrow, when I did not offer to serve them the coffee, but sat back down myself, while Mr. Blackwood seemed... thoughtful.
After a moment's hesitation, Mason poured himself a cup of strong, black coffee, then sipped it, thought for a second, and added a spoonful of sugar. Miss Munro, ever the lady protesting too much, coughed delicately, suggesting that he should pour her a cup as well. I had a moment wondering how those two ever decided to become partners in the Publishing business, but kept my thoughts to myself. Mr. Blackwood, on the other hand, seemed determined to ignore Miss Munro's hints and sat back on the couch, sipping his coffee. I sighed and asked the inevitable.
"Would you like a cup of coffee, Fanny?"
"Tea would be lovely, dear" She responded and gave me those raised eyebrows again. Of course tea would be lovely. It would have been too easy, had Miss Munro agreed to have coffee as well. Mason, apparently, found that funny and had to hide his smile behind a long sip of coffee. Fanny's brows stayed unmoving. "With some honey, if you have any, and a drop of milk?"
"One or two drops?" I asked irritably, making Miss Munro narrow her eyes, and got up. "Would you like a cookie as well?"
"Tea would be lovely", she repeated and gave me... something, that should have passed for a smile. I'd have called it a "baring of teeth", but what do I know? Clearly, I lacked Miss Munro's education in the high class-people's mannerisms. If the had any, that is.
"One cup of tea with a drop of milk, coming right up!" I said and got up, subduing the urge to bow ironically. Fanny didn't strike me as someone with a sense of humour. Not even the slightest little bit. O, she and Miss Picksby were going to make a perfect couple...
Speak of the Devil.
The doorbell rang and Mr. Blackwood straightened his back a little. He was an imposing man. And his shoulders were almost as broad and... tempting as Michael's. Ah, sometimes it's hard being a married woman!
"That's probably Mr. Mortington." He said and made an annoyed face. "Late, as usual."
"Hurry up and open the door, dear" Fanny rushed me, as if she wasn't sitting on my couch, in my living room, and I wasn't more then her servant-girl. If that was her attitude 24/7 we were in for a problem. A big one. To call me "patient" or "tolerant" to other people's bad behaviour would be a misunderstanding. Still, I smiled politely, and went to open the door. So that's the mysterious Mr. Mortington, I thought, as I rotated the key...
The door opened to reveal Miss Picksby, looking very irritated, standing at the door, an envelope in her right hand.
"The mail-man dropped your letter in my mail box" she started without a prelude or a salute, not caring that there were other people on the couch. "I should write a letter of complaint and get him fired immediately! Such carelessness is unforgivable!" She thought for a second. "Actually, I think it would be wise to write a letter of complaint to the mayor as well. The post-office is a disaster anyway! I'd say that they all deserve firing! Surely, there must be more capable people out there..."
"I'm sure it was an honest mistake..."
"O, you naive thing, if we leave one "honest mistake" slip, that would lead to another, and another... and where would our mail end up in the end? A few blocks away? In York? No, we should act while there's still time..." At that moment she spotted Miss Munro and Mr. Blackwood on the couch, looking at her silently, and her mood got even worse. "O, dearest, are we having a tea-party? My invitation must have been lost in the post-office... somewhere!"
"Then why don't you go look for it in York?" I asked, before I could stop myself. Miss Picksby glared at me. Mr. Blackwood made a mistake.
He chortled.
Miss Picksby stormed past me and was before him faster than you could say "hallelujah"! She put her fists on her hips, and as short as she was, she seemed to tower over the big man.
"Now, what is so funny about bad mail services, sir?"
"You talk as though a major offence has been committed" Mason responded and shrugged, not acting at all intimidated by Miss Picksby. "It's just a misplaced letter, Mrs...?"
"O, but you do not know if it was just one letter!" She said, paying no attention to his question. "Or do you claim to have inside information?"
"It's a misplaced letter!"
"Hitler wasn't always a Führer as well" Miss Picksby pointed out, completely failing to make her point. Without realising it, of course. "Do you think England should follow in his steps?"
Mr. Blackwood answered honestly. "What?"
"You speak of matters you don't understand, Mr...?"
Again. What? That woman was getting stranger by the day... Mason's phone rang and he got up immediately, making Miss Picksby step back and get out of his personal space.
"If you'd excuse me, " he said in a low voice. "I have a telephone meeting."
I pointed him towards the next room, while Miss Munro and Miss Picksby exchanged courtesies. Or what passed for "courtesies" between them.
"Miss Munro", said Miss Picksby coldly.
"Miss Picksby", said Miss Munro icily.
I'd have said "cat fight", but that would have been inappropriate. Probably.
Luckily, the doorbell rang at that exact moment, saving us from further "niceties". I span on my heel and opened it... And was taken aback by the man, reaching to ring the bell again. I couldn't believe my eyes. That man was...
"Samantha?" He asked, sounding almost as surprised as I did. I swallowed hard and licked my lips. Then said the only thing I could force through my tight throat.
"Seth?"
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