Chapter 30
SCARLETT
I sit on my bed, emailing my clients. A portable fan whirrs on the bedside table but does little to curb the overbearing heat.
The room is oppressive. A sudden bolt of classical music from the main house makes my hand fly out, knocking my water bottle off the side of the bed.
It clanks on the tiled floor and rolls towards the door.
My hand clutches my chest to steady my breath.
I thought I’d be able to handle spending a few days here – enough time to work out whether that man played a part in my sister’s death – but I’m jittery, constantly on edge.
Every noise feels like a potential threat.
The room presses in. Justin insisted I take a break when he and Beth returned from the hospital.
I didn’t need persuading. I needed the space.
Time to think. I’d taken Hattie for a walk around the lake.
It’s beautiful here, and very peaceful if it weren’t for Hattie.
She was full-on, talking non-stop about her modelling days as if they were only yesterday.
I call Mum. She answers straight away.
‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ she says. The line is crackly. It’s difficult to understand her. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Sorry, Mum. I’ve been busy trying to catch up with work.’
She tells me about Granny wandering into the garden in the middle of the night and pulling up some weeds.
‘She started singing, thank goodness. Otherwise, I might never have heard her. I found her covered in mud.’ She’s trying to keep her voice even, but she can’t fool me.
I can hear the cracks of emotion in every sentence.
Since Daisy’s death, it’s like I’ve lost a part of her as well. ‘She’s getting worse.’
‘How did she get out?’ I ask.
The line crackles again. She says something, but I can’t hear her. I ask her to repeat herself. ‘My fault. I left the key in the door. I need to make sure I don’t do that again.’
Granny has become a handful. Just like Hattie. This disease. It’s sad. So bloody sad.
‘When are you coming to visit again?’ Her voice wobbles. ‘I miss you.’
‘Soon, Mum. I’ll come soon.’
Before my sister’s death, I used to go home about once a month. I need to go more often now. As soon as I leave here, I’ll head to Cambridge.
A knock at the door makes me jump. ‘I have to go, Mum. I’ll speak soon.’
All day, I’ve questioned how I’ve ended up here.
This afternoon, while Beth and Justin were at the hospital, I sat doing a jigsaw puzzle with Hattie and tried to talk myself into leaving, but every time I came up with something, my sister’s voice wormed its way into my thoughts like I’ve wormed my way into their lives. You must stay, she kept saying.
The door opens slightly. The music grows louder. A herby aroma of cooking lamb filters into the room and for a moment, it smells like a Sunday at home. Mum cooking. Granny helping but hindering. Me and Daisy asking how long dinner will be. The memory catches in my throat.
Beth pops her head through the gap. ‘Immy, dinner will be ready in five minutes.’
I clear my throat. ‘Sure. I’ll be there.’
I can’t believe Justin is cooking inside. One of those modern, egg-shaped barbecues sits on the patio overlooking the grounds. The perfect opportunity in this weather. But Justin, I’m slowly learning, likes to do things his way.
I messaged my Monday clients early this morning, apologising profusely, but I couldn’t see them today.
Now I send a blanket text cancelling the rest of the week’s bookings.
I offer their next session for free in the hope they understand.
I send a paragraph I haven’t been ready to send before, telling them that the circumstances were traumatic, that my mum needs me.
It still doesn’t say half of it. I reassure them that I’ll be back next week.
I hope.
My mission here could take longer than that.
But I’m here for the long game… however long that takes.
I check my emails. Damn. The one I sent George this morning – telling him where I am and attaching the file where I’ve collated everything to date – failed to send.
I suspect his file is far more extensive judging by the comments he made on the phone the other day.
I resend the email, waiting for it to go.
It sits in the outbox above the one I sent this morning.
A sense of unease creeps through me. At this precise moment, no one knows I’m here.
If something happened to me tonight, no one would know where to start looking.
I’m scaring myself. I snap the laptop shut. The email will send at some point. It has to. Justin can’t run a business from home without Wi-Fi.
When I get to the kitchen, they’ve turned the music down.
Beth is laying the dinner table. Hattie sits with a napkin tucked into the collar of her blouse, muttering to herself.
A tall, slim portable air-conditioning unit produces a wave of cool air, but it’s not enough to battle the stifling heat.
‘Could you chop up Hattie’s dinner?’ Beth points to the worktop where Justin is calmly serving food onto plates. ‘Justin’s just dishing up.’
‘Sure.’
I cross the kitchen and wait at the worktop beside the cooker. ‘I’ve been trying to send some emails, but the Wi-Fi appears down.’
‘I noticed the same.’ He shuffles roast potatoes into a waiting dish.
‘It’s not great in the house, to be honest. The router is in my office, and it can be patchy now and again in here.
Flits in and out at times. I wonder if it’s the weather.
Maybe there’s a storm brewing.’ He laughs it off.
‘Don’t worry. It should come back. I always take it as a message to dedigitalise. Switch off.’
He’s smiling as he plates the food. He moves with effortless charm – a man who knows how to keep his cool.
I wonder if it’s a trait he’s always had or one he’s had to adopt.
It’s not hard to see how young girls fall under the spell of his confidence and charisma.
But something lies beneath this accomplished man that I can’t put my finger on, something colder.
Something that doesn’t quite fit. Perhaps it’s the way his eyes linger a little too long on me when he thinks I’m not looking.
But that could be my imagination. It has been working overtime lately.
I look out of the window. ‘The lake looks inviting. Do you swim in there?’
He drops a serving spoon into the dish of carrots. ‘No. No, you mustn’t. It’s out of bounds. The reeds. Beth got caught in them once. It was awful. Frightening.’
I cube the slices of lamb and cut the potatoes into manageable mouthfuls. Beth is watching me from the table, folding paper napkins and sliding them under the cutlery as though she isn’t. She catches my eye. I smile sweetly. She pretends she didn’t see. But she did.
Justin asks if I enjoy cooking.
I nod. ‘I cook a lot.’
‘I’ve made enough for dinner tomorrow.’ He scoops spoonfuls of green beans into a bowl. ‘I won’t make it home for dinner, but I’ve decided to come back instead of staying the night. I’ll be back late evening.’
‘I’ll be fine here if you do want to stay away,’ I suggest, realising it’s my preference he does.
He lowers his voice and turns his back to Beth and Hattie. ‘I think it’s best I come back.’ There’s something far from reassuring in the way he says it.
I pick up my glass of water and take a slow sip, watching him.
Could this man really have harmed my sister?
I turn the question over in my mind as I have done since I first set eyes on him.
On the surface, no. I don’t think so. After all, he’s been nothing but civil to me, kind to those around him.
And I’m the one here under false pretences.
But beneath it all, I think he probably could have. I shiver. That’s a terrifying thought.
He takes control at the table, ordering Beth to eat. ‘You need to keep up your strength.’ And to Hattie, he says, ‘Eat up, Mum. It’s your favourite.’
Hattie parts her lips and says, ‘You look like the last girl.’
An unsettling shot of adrenaline bolts through me.
My eyes flit between each of them, reading the room in the split-second before anyone can rearrange their expression.
Justin stares at his mother. Beth stares at her plate.
And Hattie, bless her, stares vacantly ahead, as if she’s in a different world. I turn to her. ‘What girl, Hattie?’
‘Mother,’ Justin says. ‘Behave yourself.’
I look around at them all.
Beth glares at him.
Justin continues, as cool as the glass of water I’m gripping. He gives a brittle laugh. ‘Mother gets confused. We’ve had lots of agency staff in and out of here helping to look after her.’
I can’t leave it there. ‘I get that a lot. People mistaking me for someone else. I must have one of those faces.’ I force a laugh. ‘What girl do you mean, Hattie?’
‘What time is Harold coming home?’
Beth butts in. ‘Tomorrow, Hattie. Tomorrow.’ If I’m not mistaken, there’s a strain in her voice she’s trying to hide.
I open my mouth to repeat my question and quickly shut it. Not now. Not in front of the pair of them.
I stab a piece of lamb with my fork, forcing a smile.
I need to get Hattie on her own.
Whatever she knows, I’m going to find out.