𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄 ♚ 𝙩. 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙮

xxxii - 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦

"I know it's essentially not my place, but I'm worried. For you and Charlie." She explained further, feeling as if she was waiting for the lion to snap at her for saying things that were above her station. "You are both deeply unhappy, Mr Shelby." Francis swallowed the boulder sized lump in her throat, watching as an arm draped over the arm of the chair, clutching a cigarette that still smoked steadily away.

"I have no idea quite that happened between yourself and Miss Grant," she furthered, "But it's clear her absence has impacted you both in the worst way imaginable." Her voice was filled with care and genuine concern. "and I hate to stand by and see you and Charlie in such a state of... constant sadness."

There came no reply, the outburst she had been expecting clearly just wasn't there. The empty silence still served enough as a reason to leave, and so the maid cleared herself from the room without a word more. Little did she know the volumes that had been spoken in her truth.

Tommy's vivid blue eyes surveyed the sun soaked green outside of his lavish house. His mind had been feasting on the maid's words – was it really that apparent to everyone in this house how much Verity's absence had affected him? The staff had seen many a woman come and go, witness a thousand family fall outs and not bat an eyelid – but one psychologist turned signer, with her soul as loud as her songs – had been the downfall of the infamous Tommy Shelby?

Francis had awoken a sense of revenge in him – he couldn't sit by anymore and wallow in the ghost of about his home, the scents of her perfume in his pillows.

He had to get her back.

-

Castle Combe

This was certainly a different evening to sitting by one of the brooks with a good book and a flask of freshly pressed lemonade. Verity found herself trekking up the sunset drenched streets, the windows of the pretty houses glowing like trickling honey.  The locals waved her good evening, as she smiled and exchanged pleasantries – on her way to her newly appointed workplace in a scruffy old shirt waist dress worn old flats. It wasn't exactly glamorous, but the job needed doing and she was keen to make a good and earnest impression on her new boss and co worker – Henry.

As she arrived at the surgery, the downstairs general practice was just about locking up finally for the evening. She ascended the quiet and echoey stairwell to the upper floors which would be her new office space with Henry. As she approached the offices, her ears could already not go amiss to the banging and clattering going on behind the frosted glass, followed by some small cussing.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she didn't think to announce her arrival and instead just walked in – having to actively stifle an amused grin. The paint covered screwdriver, discarded paint pot lid and the splattering of magnolia paint all over her colleague's clothes and face said enough. Clearly opening a pot of paint was a feat in itself.

"Excellent timing." Henry announced, breaking any sort of apprehensive tension that let Verity know she was okay to have a laugh along with him. "I promise I can usually open a tin of paint without... this much hassle." He chuckled, gesturing to his clothes which were spattered, along with flecks dotted about his face and hair.

"A freshly painted office will be nice for the clients," she smirked, "But I doubt a freshly painted Consultant will be appreciated." She laughed, stepping back and surveying what he'd done already. He'd painted the ceiling a fresh coat of white, which already freshened the tired old space up immensely.

"No, I don't imagine it will." He followed up her joke some moments later, leaning against the door frame as he too surveyed his work. "I hope this looks good when we're done," he then added, "I've been here all day trying to get as far as I could."