Chapter 40
The Journal
Patrick’s beach house was beautiful.
And at the same time, terrifying.
He parked his Ferrari and leapt out, came around and opened my door for me. I’d never been in a car this expensive. The smell of leather and the noise from the engine, which sat behind us, and now the house, it was all just too much for me.
He opened the door, then turned off the alarm and gave me the tour.
It had seven bedrooms, although he said most of them had barely been used. He said I could put my bag in the main guest bedroom, but his smile told me that I wouldn’t be sleeping here.
There was a lounge, a games room, a huge kitchen that was made for partying with a glass wall that folded away to open the space up to a veranda and then the beach and the blue ocean beyond.
We walked out onto the outside dining area, and Patrick kicked off his deck shoes and made his way down a small flight of steps to the beach. I slipped off my pumps and followed.
It was one of those beautiful autumn days that still clung on to the last breath of summer, but later in the day would remind you of the winter to come.
The sun had been warming the sand all morning, and it was pleasant beneath my feet and creeping in between my toes as I joined Patrick.
He leaned on a fat wooden pillar jutting out from the sand.
There were two rows of them, like the teeth of an alligator, that made their way from the house down to the water, as if they’d once supported a pier that stretched into the sea.
‘We don’t have a pool,’ he said. ‘No point, when you have this. I opted for the tennis court instead. Would you like to swim?’
The thought of it made me feel sick.
‘Maybe. Will you be joining me?’ I asked.
He didn’t give an answer. He didn’t need to.
He stripped off his shirt and his shorts as he walked to the shoreline.
I looked around, and couldn’t see another house for miles.
Nothing that led directly onto the beach anyway.
Right before his feet touched the wet sand, he lost his underwear and tossed them over his shoulder, then bounded into the water and dove quickly beneath a wave.
When his head surfaced, he tossed his wet hair back and laughed.
‘Come on in. The water’s great,’ he said.
That whole weekend could be summed up by how I felt on that beach in that moment.
I had desperately wanted to get to this house.
I’d longed to walk around it. To comb every inch of it.
To let my soul inhabit it in the hope that it would touch on another who had stayed here.
I don’t know what I had expected to find.
Something, some hint of her spirit, or some article of hers left behind. A trace of her.
Some remnant of Teresa.
But there was nothing here. I knew that much just from walking around the house with Patrick. This had been the last place she had been alive.
Standing on that beach, seeing Patrick run out to those waves.
I wondered how he could do that. Knowing that she had been lost out there.
Which made me think that maybe she hadn’t been lost in those waves after all.
Could he have dived in without so much as a care in the world knowing that someone he’d been with had died out there? Swept away? Could he be so callous, or was this all in my head?
I stripped off to my underwear as I made my way to the water’s edge. As the dying wave licked my toes, I felt its icy touch, like death.
I shivered, but not from the cold. I waded out, my body trembling, covered in gooseflesh. My teeth were rattling by the time I got to him.
‘Is it safe to swim here?’ I asked.
His smile faded, briefly, then he said, ‘It is at this time of day. This time of year. The tide isn’t so strong. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I would never let anything happen to you . . .’
I felt his arms around my waist.
Then his lips, wet and salty, on mine.
I pulled back gently.
‘What about your wife?’ I asked.
‘She’ll never know,’ he said.
‘Won’t she suspect something?’
‘Don’t worry. She will never find out. Things haven’t been so good between us for a while now. Soon as I saw you, I knew I’d married the wrong person. I think I’m falling in love.’
‘You don’t know me,’ I said.
‘I want to know you. I want to know every inch of you.’
A wave hit me, and I almost lost my footing, but he grabbed me and held me, and kissed me.
And right then everything I thought I knew fell away. I was lost in that sea, and I cried. At least I think I did. It was hard to tell. All I knew was that he was strong, and full of life, and powerful and rich and he held me tight against those waves.
There was very little chance someone could drown when this man was beside them.
‘I’m scared,’ I said.
‘Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you. Nothing will happen to you when you’re with me.’
‘I’m not a great swimmer. Didn’t someone, a girl, drown on this beach?’
He stared at me, cold, dead eyes boring into mine.
‘I never heard anything about that. You’re fine.’
He kissed me, and we held each other in the waves.
He’d lied.
And I knew then, for sure and beyond any doubt in my mind.
This man had murdered my half-sister.