Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
GRACE
From what little memory I have of the Cotswolds, it’s lost nothing of its charm. Or maybe it’s Christian’s charm that has me walking around with hearts in my eyes and a chest filled with joy. I’m losing the battle to stay neutral.
Hell, if I’m honest with myself, I lost the battle a while ago. Sooner or later, I’ll need to face up to the fact that extricating myself from him is going to rip my heart to shreds, and I have no one to blame but myself.
My mum used to tell me that when people show you who they are, believe them.
The problem I have is that since the first day I met Christian, he has shown me he’s good right through to his core.
Oh, I don’t doubt his family walks the line of morally gray.
No one gets that rich without some nefarious activities threaded through their veins, but I just cannot match up Christian the murderer with Christian the husband.
The last three days have been some of the happiest I can remember.
His endless patience and extensive knowledge of history has had me enthralled, and there have sometimes been hours in the day where I’ve forgotten I’m supposed to play a part.
Or maybe I don’t want to think about the lies I’ve told and must keep telling if I’m to stand a chance of uncovering the truth.
If Uncle Daniel or Arron could see me now, they’d lose their ever-loving minds. I managed to send a text to Arron to let him know about the trip, and I know when we return to Oakleigh tomorrow, he’ll have questions. I’m not sure I’ll have the answers, though. At least not ones he’ll want to hear.
“Ready for lunch yet?” Christian asks after three hours exploring Blenheim Palace.
“God, yes, please. My feet are killing me.”
We make our way to one of the on-site cafés, and I grab a seat while Christian goes up to the counter to order food.
Marshall takes a seat at an adjacent table, within touching distance of me, although his eyes are locked on Christian the entire time.
I thought having him follow us around would be awkward, but most of the time, he fades into the background, and I forget he’s there.
When we return to Oakleigh, Christian says he’ll introduce me to my personal bodyguard.
One thing I cannot do is allow myself to forget he is there, watching me like a hawk.
I have no doubt every employee within the De Vil ranks has their loyalties straight, and I’m not dumb enough to think that’s with me.
Christian returns with soup and sandwiches for all three of us, as well as bottles of water.
It’s one more thing that I find attractive.
He isn’t too up himself to get his bodyguard food and water.
I’ve never been up close and personal with rich people before I met Christian, but I’d assumed they were all vile creatures who went around hoovering up money and hoarding it while the masses suffered.
I’m sure many are like that, but Christian isn’t.
Nor, from what little I’ve seen, is his family.
They treat their staff with kindness and respect, and aren’t above doing things for themselves.
We finish lunch, and I rise to my feet to put my coat on. As I shove my arm in the sleeve, I knock my handbag on the floor. The clasp bursts open and everything spills out including (kill me now) a stray tampon that rolls across the floor.
“Ah, crap.” I race to scoop up the tampon, hoping no one has seen it. As I turn back to our table, Christian is crouched on the floor gathering up the rest of my stuff: ChapStick, hand lotion, a coin purse I keep in case I need loose change.
My work ID badge from the job I quit hanging from a blue lanyard.
My work ID badge.
My heart stops dead. Oh, no. No, no, no. How the fuck did that get in there? I haven’t seen that since my last day at work. I fall to my knees, snatching my bag and the ID badge from Christian’s hands. I stuff it inside and retrieve a small pack of tissues from underneath the table.
As I rise to my feet, Christian is gazing at me with an odd expression. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. I sling my handbag over my shoulder, then bury hands in my coat pockets.
“Sorry about that. Clumsy me. Did you see the tampon? God, how mortifying. I think seeing it put that poor old man off his lunch. Not that it should. It’s not used or anything.”
God, shut up, Grace.
Christian continues staring at me, his eyes narrowed. He’s seen. He’s seen Grace Taylor printed on that badge. The house of cards I built on shaky ground is about to come crashing down, and I don’t have a single line of defense to call upon.
Am I in danger? Should I run? Call for help? Brazen it out? I wish Juliet was here. She’d know what to do. Although her advice would probably fall along the lines of “knee him in the crotch and get the hell out of there”.
He may not have seen. There’s still a chance my cover is in place. I wrinkle my nose and form my features into what I hope is an embarrassed expression.
“I’m rambling. Sorry about that. I always ramble when I’m mortified. Not that tampons are anything to be embarrassed about, but they’re not conversation fodder over lunch, are they?”
“No,” he murmurs. “I suppose not.” He pushes his chair under the table. “I am confused about something, though. Maybe you can help me understand, Grace.”
My stomach drops. This is it. “If I can.”
“I’m wondering why you almost broke my hand to get at that ID badge. What is it you don’t want me to see?”
That’s it. I’m done for. It’s all over. I’ve failed before I’ve begun, and the worst of it is, I haven’t discovered a single shred of evidence to help explain how my parents ended up under a pile of rubble.
I’m a failure. I shouldn’t have agreed to this plan.
I’m not clever enough or cunning enough to snoop around on people who are far smarter than I am.
The photo. Say you’re embarrassed about the photo. Everyone’s ID badge has a terrible picture of them. That sounds plausible.
I give him a goofy grin. “Sorry not sorry. I would rather die than have you see that photo. It was from a temp job I had a couple of years ago, and I look like a serial killer in it. I didn’t even know it was in there.” A truth, at last. “I thought I’d handed it in on my last day.”
My heart’s going so fast, I’m sure it’ll break a rib any minute now, and there’s so much sweat dripping between my shoulder blades, it’s bound to leak through my coat if I don’t get myself under control.
He steps closer to me, and I’m relieved at the noise levels in here because otherwise he’d hear my heart thudding for sure.
Raising his hand, he brushes the back of it over my cheek, then tucks a few strands of my hair behind my ear.
“There isn’t a photograph in existence you wouldn’t look beautiful in. ”
The relief that floods through me is so intense, my knees buckle. Thankfully, Christian doesn’t seem to notice. I force a laugh and palm his shoulder in what I hope comes across as a teasing gesture.
“Trust me, there are many photos of me where I look hideous, and the last person I want to see them is you.”
He angles his head to one side. “And why is that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I keep my gaze trained on his and hope he can’t see the pulse leaping in my throat.
“If it were, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Because.” I hitch up a shoulder. “I’d rather you see me at my best rather than my absolute worst.” Drop it. Please. I’m silently begging you to just drop it.
He brushes the pad of his thumb over my lips, and I hold my breath. This must be how it feels to stand in the dock and look over at the jury of twelve strangers knowing they hold your future in their hands.
“The last thing I’d ever want is for you to be uneasy. If you don’t want me to see the photo, then that is fine by me. I would never force you into doing anything you’re not completely comfortable with.”
My knees go weak, the sudden rush of adrenaline draining from my body. “Thank you for not pushing it.” As soon as I’m alone, I am destroying that bloody ID card. I’m going to burn the damn thing until it’s ashes.
He slides his fingers through mine, knitting our hands together. “Ready for more sightseeing?”
“Absolutely.”
My heart rate doesn’t return to normal for several hours, and even when we return to the house, I’d estimate it’s running a good twenty beats per minute higher than usual.
The secrecy, lies, and trying to keep everything from collapsing into a heap at my feet is exhausting.
To save my sanity, I have to fast track the discovery, but I don’t know how.
Christian rarely leaves his phone unattended, and even on the occasions he has, I can’t break into it.
I’m hoping once we return to Oakleigh I’ll have time to rifle through his office and try the USB drive on his computer.
There has to be something I can use to prove he knows what really happened.
Even though Uncle Daniel thought it would be easy, and Arron and I were more cautious, I don’t think I considered just how tough it would be to find what I need to prove Christian’s guilt. But it’s too late. I’ve come too far and risked too much to back out now.
“I have to make a quick phone call. Forgive me for leaving you on our honeymoon?”
The chance of a few minutes alone is what I need. That ID card has to go. I wouldn’t put it past Christian to sneak a peek, anyway, thinking it’s nothing more than a silly photo when it’s my real name printed below the photo I’m desperate to hide.
“Nothing to forgive. I might have a bath. My feet are aching after all that walking.”
He smiles, cups my cheek, and presses a brief kiss to my lips. “Save space for me.” He disappears into a room off the hallway.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I race to the kitchen. There has to be matches in here, or a lighter or something. Does plastic even burn? I have no idea. A quick internet search tells me what I need to know. Burning won’t work. I yank open several drawers before I find a pair of scissors.
I pull the ID card out of my bag and get to work cutting it into the smallest pieces possible. Once that’s done, I search the cupboards again until I happen upon a roll of plastic bags. I scoop all the pieces into the bag, tie a knot in it and open the kitchen waste bin.
Damn it. Empty. Of course. The housekeeper would’ve emptied it this morning.
Although it’s highly unlikely Christian will riffle through a food waste bin in search of an ID card I’ve already convinced him I didn’t want him looking at, I’m not willing to take any chances.
I stuff the plastic bag into my purse and return to the hallway.
The door Christian went though is still shut. Okay, I have time.
I shoot back to the kitchen, open the door that leads to the garden and, using the torch on my phone as illumination, make my way to the row of recycling and regular waste bins lined up like well-trained soldiers.
I open the household waste one and see it’s half full.
Good enough. I stuff the plastic bag down the side as far as it will go.
That should do it. Returning to the house, I thoroughly wash my hands, then race upstairs and turn on the hot water tap over the bath, adding half a bottle of bubble bath and several scoops of bath salts.
Exhaustion swamps me, and I perch my bum on the rim and press the heels of my hands to my eye sockets. All this sneaking around is sapping my energy, yet I’ve achieved nothing I set out to.
By the time the bath is full to the brim, there’s still no sign of Christian. I’m unsure whether I’m relieved or disappointed. I strip off and sink beneath the bubbles, resting my head on a rolled-up towel.
Tomorrow, we return to Oakleigh, then the real work begins.
I only hope I’m up to the task, but I’ve a horrible feeling I’ve bitten off far more than I can chew.