CHAPTER 35
Ella
Immi needs space, and that’s what we give her. Her phone rings out whenever Jude and I try, and so, after a while, we don’t. I spend a total of two days with Marcus and Jude, their home comforts becoming my own. But it’s soon time to face the music that is Rufus.
“Do you think she’ll be OK?” I say as we reach my gate. Despite it being only a five-minute walk, Jude insisted on walking me home. The winter sun on my cheeks has lifted some of the worry.
“Immi? Yes and no. That’s a lot to tell, Ella. And all of it is pinned on the idea that her boyfriend, driven by love for someone else, is hunting you down.” Jude squeezes my hand.
“I know, I just–” I hoped she’d stay and talk to me about it rather than shutting me out.
My phone pings. I open another disgusting message from the stalker. Today seems to be the day that he ramps things up, probably because I’m finally out of the house.
“What does this one say?” Jude nods her head towards my phone.
I open the message and suck air through my teeth.
It’s an image of a gravestone.
“We need to go to the police,” Jude says.
“We need more evidence of who it is, first. I want to head to Benji’s house,” I say.
“And do what?” There’s a near shriek from her.
“We could get him to talk. Not with anything dangerous, but maybe take a knife to show him we’re serious. Get him to tell us where Genie is.” I dip my voice low, grabbing Jude by the shoulders.
She shakes her head wildly. “Woah, no…”
Jude hovers at the door, her eyes wide.
“You can’t go threatening people,” she says after a slow lick of her lips.
My desperation fades at the expression on her face.
“No, not threatening, just…”
Helena appears from nowhere, her shoulders drawn back and a look of concern webbed in her brows.
“Sorry to disturb you, but Mr Rufus wants a word.” She speaks to the floor.
“Oh,” I start.
“Look,” Jude offers a parental sigh that fills me with dread. “Ella, please don’t be stupid.”
I check behind me. “I won’t. I’m not…”
But it’s a lie.
She squeezes my hand before turning her back on me, moving up the drive with slow, careful steps.
She knows I’ll do anything to find the answers.
I push the door closed. The house has an unfamiliar smell, floral and feminine but not quite mine.
Rufus’s heavy office door looms at the end of the hallway.
I press my ear to it, as I always have done, and a murmur of conversation carries.
Did I always think this was normal behaviour?
I knock, knowing I’ve been avoiding this for too long.
There’s an instant pause in conversation as I run my fingernail methodically under each of my nails, stretching the skin beneath them.
“Come in,” Rufus says.
His aftershave hits me first, a thick layer of it over the musky combination of whiskey and coffee that clings to the walls. What once felt endearing now fills me with contempt.
“You wanted to see me.”
A naughty schoolgirl summoned to the angry headmaster’s office.
“Are you feeling better now? I just got off the phone with Marcus, and he said you were there, resting.” His fingers move methodically over his keyboard. The words are right, but the execution feels like a business deal.
I open my mouth to speak, and he cuts me off.
“Will you be well enough to come to the gala this weekend? I need you in something orange or peach,” he says.
I draw my shoulders back, energy buzzing.
“Sweetheart, a stalker ran me off the road. I don’t think I’m well enough to do much of anything,” I say, my face light and happy despite the meaning of my words.
There’s a shift in energy. Rufus drags his eyes from his screen, landing them on my face as I sink into the seat opposite his desk. His thick brows twitch and the muscles in his jawline tense.
“You think it’s the stalker that did this? Not some sort of accident?” Rufus folds his arms, a slight arch in his brow.
I have to wait a moment, breathing away the emotional outburst before I trust myself to speak. There’s nothing left for me in this house, but walking away still breaks my heart.
“Do you not?” I say, slow and careful.
Rufus sighs, his hand swiping over his face. “Honestly, Ella? No. Johnstone, the PI, found very little of anything that looked like a stalker. You’ve refused to show me any of these threats or messages. Frankly, I’m worried about you.”
The way he says “you” slices cold through me. We both know who he’s worried about but we’re still pretending, dancing between each other in the hope that we can save this.
“Do you want to be with me?” I say it because I need to know why he’s dancing, before I blow it all up.
Rufus closes his eyes. “This again.”
A tumbler sits on his desk, the whiskey now a thin line at the bottom of the glass.
I once mocked him for the bar in his study, calling him a wannabe Don Draper as I perched on his desk.
He had run his thumb under my chin, kissed me and pushed my thighs open with his legs.
The embarrassment slaps me hot across my face. I thought it was love.
“It would help if you were honest this time.” I slide my phone across his desk.
Rufus looks at the phone, a fleeting grimace when he recognises himself and Poppy pressed up against this very desk. He doesn’t pick it up but leans over, blinking down at it. There’s no tell in his expression, no flicker of guilt. I straighten my back.
“Who sent you this?”
I suck in my breath. “Your PI doesn’t know?”
Rufus knows more than he’s letting on.
“Well, there was a lot for him to look through. Wasn’t there?” There’s a slight resonance in his words, the edge of a roar dying to get out. My back presses into the curve of the chair.
“What?” I say. My throat scratches. He’s not reacting how I thought he would. There’s no admission of guilt. No apology.
Rufus stands, pushing his hands into the table.
“I know everything that’s happening,” he says, yanking the drawer to his left.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your friend, Henry? I know that it’s him sending the threats.” Rufus reaches into his desk.
I blink. He knew Henry?
“Henry is dead,” I manage, but that’s not what I want to say.
Rufus lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know that too. So imagine my surprise when you tell me that you’re still being threatened.”
“But I am.”
A coldness has set in his eyes, his jaw tight with anger. My head spins with how quickly he’s changed.
He pulls out something and begins writing. It takes a second for me to realise it’s a chequebook.
“No you’re not. I wasn’t going to marry someone without knowing everything about them, Elsie.
So, I dug into your very interesting past. I will say, your brother’s death is sad.
And lost against the mess with Henry. I gave him a decent chunk of money not to reach out to you when he left prison.
” Rufus rips at the paper, placing it on the desk. My real name is strange from his mouth.
I blink. The sting of his affair is nothing compared to this. Rufus knew the truth about me this whole time.
“You spoke to Henry in prison?” I say. My pulse quickens.
“Well, no. I didn’t visit him, but we spoke. A decent bloke, really.” Rufus folds his arms.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” The words balloon out of me, tight in my throat. I watch as Rufus’s smug smile slides off his face.
“And why didn’t you? You lied to me from the start. And then you come along with this stalking bullshit. I gave you everything and all you do is take, take, take.” Spittle flies from his lips.
I shake my head but nothing comes out. This is all wrong. I’m sure the panic will fall, the same suffocating feeling that descends like fog over a field. And yet, my breathing remains steady. This is all wrong.
My shoulders draw back. “You’ve made your mind up about me, then? Not even going to deny this?”
I push the phone towards him and his eyes drop.
“I don’t have to explain myself to someone like you,” Rufus says.
My fingers run over the edge of the chair. A smirk flickers over his face and then it’s gone.
“Take the cheque and we’ll tell everyone you decided to leave in pursuit of your career.” He stretches his hand out, the paper hanging flimsy from his fingers.
I stand, my chin lifting. There’s a spitefulness in his eyes, and his throat moves as he swallows.
Rufus looks me up and down.
I blink up at him.
He looks away, placing the cheque on the table, and my heart sinks. The anger rolls in the base of my shoulder, its fingers spreading over my neck and into my jaw. I open my mouth, unaware of what I’ll say or how I’ll react.
He never loved me, he loved what I represented.
Poppy is another version of what I refused to be, malleable and easily influenced.
The dresses that line my wardrobe are all his, the jewellery is all his, and my shoes and accessories.
Hell, even my recording equipment is all his.
He paid to keep me here and I refused to hold up my end of the bargain.
My fingers shake as I reach for the cheque. The amount he’s willing to pay for me to leave him is obscene. He doesn’t know that I’d go for free.
“Fuck you, Rufus.” I rip the cheque into pieces, letting them scatter to the floor as I turn and leave. Henry and Rufus are two forms of a homogeneous bully.
I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and ignore the childlike anger that swells.
Rufus knew everything and he was waiting for me to fall down.
I was foolish to believe he would reach out a hand to pick me up, but he planned to do what everyone else did – leave me down there.
Cold air slaps my cheeks as I rip away from the house, moving fast. I need to be away from here, from him. I need to get some answers.