The Turtle Run Read Online Free PDF Page B

we’re not,’ Becky hissed back as Matthew reached them, his discomfited manager fingering the knot of his tie and trailing in his wake.
    Ian, first, was the focus of Matthew’s attention. ‘And you are?’
    Ian gave his name and occupation on the Essex Gleaner then stupidly tried to curry favour. ‘You’ve never met me, Mr Darnley, but I’ve often admired the grounds of your Noak Hall.’
    â€˜Then you must have been trespassing,’ snapped Matthew. He picked up Ian’s camera. ‘I really don’t need your newspaper’s publicity but, just to satisfy my curiosity, how many photos of the Monmouth did you take this morning for your readers?’
    Ian muttered something about the unsatisfactory light. Matthew gestured for Chris to pull back the dining-room curtains fully. Sunlight streamed into the room, motes dancing in the beam.
    And then Matthew was standing before her – no inclination now to smile. He didn’t say anything for what seemed to Becky an eternity, ‘So you’re a reporter?’
    Becky nodded.
    â€˜And I suppose it was just a co-incidence that you were at Noak Hall the other day?’
    No, that was another stunt of Ian’s, Becky wanted to say, but with her boss’s nephew sitting opposite she didn’t dare. When she hesitated, Matthew snapped ‘Never mind’ and rested his hand on the spiral-ringed notebook beside her plate. ‘So who did you interview today, Miss Thomson?’
    Becky could hardly say she had had an informal chat with the young receptionist who had been on duty earlier.
    Impatient for an answer, Matthew Darnley peeled back the cover on her notebook to reveal a page with nothing on it but the name of the celebrity guest who Becky hadn’t recognised. She had idly scribbled it down meaning to google the man later and see if it was someone she should have heard of.
    He tore out the page and scrunched it in his pocket. ‘You’re every bit as bad as your boyfriend, aren’t you?’
    Becky found her voice. ‘He is not my boyfriend.’
    â€˜No? Well you’ll forgive me, Miss Thomson, for assuming that he was. I just saw your names on the monitor booked into the nuptial suite here for tonight. Sorry to be a killjoy but I’ve cancelled that booking. We don’t accommodate freeloaders.’
    He turned to Chris Harris. ‘Normally it would be your job to escort undesirables off the premises but this time I’ll see to it myself.’
    Matthew stood there glaring until Ian and Becky put their knives and forks together on their unfinished meals and rose to follow him out of the restaurant. Ian strode ahead nonchalantly, hands in his pockets, but Becky had never felt so humiliated in her life. When she attempted to lag behind Ian, and be less conspicuous, Matthew Darnley firmly cupped her elbow. He didn’t make her go faster than she wanted but he didn’t release her either. And she’d never forget the pair of snooty women in the lobby who, fully aware of what was going on, gave her the once over before shrinking away as if she were contaminated. At that moment she didn’t know who she hated more – wheeling-and-dealing Ian who’d got her into this nightmare situation or Matthew Darnley who was convinced she had schemed to get something for nothing. He saw them all the way to Ian’s car and for a moment Becky thought Matthew was going to push her head down – policeman-style – as she got in but he stood back and said nothing. She could feel his eyes on her until Ian pulled away.
    â€˜Got to admit,’ Ian said, as they pulled out of the driveway. ‘It was a bit of a laugh.’
    Becky didn’t reply and spent the rest of the journey back to Chelmsford planning what she’d say when she marched into the editor’s office and denounced his nephew for sexual harassment.
    But when they arrived at the Essex Gleaner ’s