0:16 / 8:42 AD VDO ×
"""The cream contract struck the polished floor first, followed by the black access card, and Adrian Bennett watched both land in front of his wife’s shoes as though he had finally placed her where she belonged.
Claire stood between him and his mother in the private library at Ashcombe, her back straight, her hands at her sides. The brass lamp on the drinks table warmed the dark wooden shelves and the brown leather furniture without softening anything. Beyond the closed windows, the estate grounds had disappeared into a cold November night.
Margaret Bennett remained in the high-backed chair beside the illuminated liquor cabinet. Her legs were crossed. Gold bracelets rested against one another on her wrist, and the smile on her face was small enough to be mistaken for composure.
“You no longer belong in this house,” she said.
Claire looked at the contract.
The paper had folded at one corner. Adrian had signed the termination page in blue ink, pressing hard enough to leave grooves. The black card lay half beneath it, the silver crest of Ashcombe catching the lamplight.