Chapter 3
Ruby
“What’s the car all about?” I ask Wren, after a few minutes driving in silence along the country lanes toward Pemwick.
The only sound is the music crackling from the tinny speakers.
It’s just started raining out of the blue, and I’m expecting the flimsy windscreen wipers to give out at any second.
Or to fall off. They squeak louder with every sweep. Wren seems to be used to that though.
“There have been a few…financial challenges in the Fitzgerald household,” he answers after a brief pause. “The end result of which is George here.”
I look around the inside of the car yet again. It really doesn’t look like a George. To be honest, it doesn’t even look worthy of a name at all. The seat covers are in brown cord, with faded patches and an ingrained smell of cigars and old man. “You really named your car George?”
“I didn’t. Erm…a friend of mine did that.
” Wren turns left while fiddling with the radio—that seems to be the only part of this thing less than twenty years old.
Even so, there must be a dodgy connection, because every time he turns a corner, Wren has to give it a whack to get the music going again.
“Ah,” I say, and then there’s silence between us again.
I don’t want to dig any deeper into what he meant by “financial challenges.” Wren and I are practically strangers.
We have nothing in common apart from that one incident in the past and our mutual friendship with James.
I shuffle awkwardly in my seat. Why did I even get into his car?
Wren shoots a sideways glance at me, then fixes his eyes on the road.
“I’ve been wanting to chat to you for ages, Ruby,” he says suddenly.
I look uncertainly at him. “Why?”
“Because I was a total dick to you. Back then at that party. I should have apologized a long time ago.” Wren clears his throat and taps on the radio again even though we didn’t turn a corner and the music is playing as tinnily as ever.
“I shouldn’t have acted like that. I was stupid and inexperienced.
Looking back on it, I’m ashamed of myself. And I’m sorry.”
That’s the last thing I was expecting him to say, and it takes a moment for me to really take in his words. I gulp hard. It sounds like he’s serious, but even so, I’m skeptical. People don’t just change overnight.
“You really upset me by saying what you did at Cyril’s party. It didn’t feel then like you were sorry about it,” I say.
“I know. I was…dubious because you turned up at that party with James, and I wanted to find out why. And somehow, I made a total idiot of myself in the process. I’d never do a thing like that again, like the way I acted at that party two years ago.
I’ve changed. I hope that I’ll get the chance to prove that to you. ”
I frown and stare out of the window. Green trees pass us by, with the occasional house and a few fields.
“In those days, I’d have kissed you stone-cold sober,” I say in the end, looking at Wren. He glances back at me, then looks straight ahead again. “What you did was really out of order. You should have told me that wasn’t just fruit punch.”
“I’m sorry for what I did. Seriously. I know how James feels about you, and that means you matter to me too. I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”
This really isn’t the Wren I know. Whatever is up with him right now, it seems to have made him think about a few things.
“Thank you for the apology,” I say after a while.
He nods briefly, focused on the road.
In the ensuing silence, my thoughts wander automatically to the photos and the fancy “B” on the envelope addressed to Mr. Lexington. I remember James’s face when he admitted having taken the photos.
I trusted him. I believed that I knew his true self. Can I really have been that wrong about him? But why would he want to do that to me? After everything we’ve been through together in the last few months?
The more I think about it, the less the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
This whole situation is so surreal. When I woke up this morning, the plan was to discuss our next event with the team, and to do some studying with James in the library.
And now? Now, I’m sitting in Wren Fitzgerald’s car because he’s offered me his help.
“Why do you even care whether James and I make up?” I ask him. My tone is more suspicious than I was intending, and I see Wren’s shoulders stiffen. “That came out wrong,” I add hastily. “I just thought you were kind of pissed off about him spending time with me.”
Wren flicks on his turn signal, and we turn off onto another country lane. Now it’s no more than ten minutes until we’re at James’s. This time when the music goes off, he leaves it.
“It’s not about you,” he says after a moment. “I just couldn’t understand why James suddenly didn’t care about us, after we’d been friends for over fifteen years.”
“That’s not true. Your friendship is more important to him than anything.”
Wren smiles. “There was a moment when I doubted that. Probably because I had a lot on my own plate at the time.”
I nod thoughtfully.
“And I…” For a moment, Wren is hunting for the right words.
“I’ve never seen James the way he’s been in the last few weeks.
Most people don’t know it, but he’s been really miserable for ages.
His dad’s an arsehole and although he’s never said so in so many words, I know that if he had a choice he’d never work for Beaufort’s.
He can’t change all that, but since he met you, he’s been kind of… calmer. More chilled.”
I feel my face flush warm.
“I want him to be happy.” He glances at me. “And you make him happy.”
I’m trying to think of what to say, but Wren hasn’t finished.
“Alistair told me about you being suspended, and then, when I saw you in Gormsey just now, I just wanted to help you both. There’s no ulterior motive. Honest.”
“OK,” I say.
“Plus”—Wren clears his throat—“I kind of get where James is coming from better now. Maybe that has something to do with it.”
I want to ask him what he means by that, but at that moment, we reach the Beauforts’ grounds.
Wren winds down his window, and I expect him to press the bell on the side of the gate, where there’s a little camera and a screen showing who’s there.
But to my surprise, he slips a keycard from the little wallet on his sun visor and holds it up to a shiny black reader.
The gate slowly opens, and we drive toward the house.
My stomach lurches as I clock the limo outside the front door from a long way off.
“What’s going on?” I hear Wren mutter.
It’s only then that I notice the boot standing open and Percy heaving in some large cases.
I gulp. Something’s not right here.
Wren parks the car, and we get out. At that moment, Lydia appears in the doorway.
She has her face in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking.
James is standing next to her, ashen faced, his arm around her shoulders.
He whispers something in her ear, and Lydia nods.
The sight reminds me of the photos from the funeral, and my blood runs cold.
Wren and I exchange uneasy glances, then start walking. We’ve just reached the front steps when Mortimer Beaufort emerges. His steely glare hits me full force, but he can’t stop me going up the steps to Lydia.
James’s eyes widen at the sight of me. “Ruby,” he whispers, “what’s—”
I just shake my head and gently touch Lydia’s arm. “Lydia,” I whisper.
She lowers her hands. There are tears running down her cheeks, but that’s not the worst thing. Half her face is red and starting to bruise. My heart jolts painfully, and without even thinking, I look up at Mr. Beaufort.
His face is impassive. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to hate that man more than I already did, but at that moment I want to go for him, to make him feel the pain he causes James and Lydia.
“What’s happened?” Wren asks behind me, looking from James to Lydia and back again. “What are the cases for?”
The twins look like they’re in shock.
“Lydia, time to go,” Mr. Beaufort’s imperious voice declares. He walks past us and down the steps to the car, where he pointedly opens the door.
“Dad knows I’m pregnant. I…have to leave here,” Lydia manages. “I’m going to my aunt’s.”
“Pregnant?” Wren repeats with a frown.
James’s grip on Lydia’s shoulder tightens.
“Yes, I’m pregnant,” Lydia whispers. “By Graham Sutton.”
Wren stares at Lydia and opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Apparently, he’s lost for words.
“Lydia!” thunders Mr. Beaufort.
Panic surges through me, and I look over my shoulder, back to the car. “Can I do anything to help?” I ask. There’s a feeling of finality in the air, and I can’t deal with that. Least of all when it’s so out of the blue.
“Isn’t there anything I can do?” I ask again, anxiously.
She just shakes her head and wipes her cheeks. “No. I…I’ll message you as soon as I’ve got a new phone.”
“OK,” I croak.
She slowly moves away from James and down the steps. I’ve never felt so powerless in all my life.
“Ruby,” James says quietly, and our eyes meet. He reaches tentatively for my hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “I swear to you that I didn’t send those photos to Lexington.”
A whole mishmash of thoughts is whirling through my head, and I don’t know what to focus on first. James seems to feel the same.
“I really, really want to explain everything, but I can’t leave Lydia to go to Beckdale on her own with Dad.” He presses my cold hand. “Please believe me.”
I think about what James and I have built over the last few months. About our promise to always be open with each other, to be there for each other and never to let anything come between us ever again.
Now isn’t the time for a conversation. And even though only a few hours ago I thought that I’d never be able to even look at James again, I now know that I’m ready to hear his explanation.
“I can’t wait forever,” I say. “You really hurt me today.”