20. Ophelia
Idrink my glass of wine and pick at the chicken while I sit at the kitchen counter alone, growing more and more annoyed. When Silas isn’t back by the time I’m done eating, I get up and go into the living room where the fire has long since died down. I crouch down in front of it because Silas knows how to build a fire. He used to do it at the Fox house and at his little cottage all the time. The way the wood is stacked here, though, there’s no way it would burn past the few tiny sticks used for kindling. I decide to light it myself while I wait for him to return.
The poker leans against the wall where he left it and I pick it up to spread the ashes and charred wood around. That’s when I notice partially burnt pieces of several sheets of paper at the very back of the fireplace. I reach for them and pull them out, the parts that are charred flaking off.
There are several pages that are stapled together, and half of the stack is unreadable. Well, more than half, but I can make out some of the words on the first sheet. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at. But then I turn the first page to glance at the second, the paper crackling as more blackened chunks drop off, and read my father’s name along the charred edge.
Was Silas burning these when I walked in on him? Had he intended on building a fire at all or had I come back too soon and interrupted his real task? Had he lied to me?
I keep reading and realize it’s some sort of medical report. I flip the page because I’m not sure what I’m looking at and I guess it’s from when Dad gave blood because I recognize the logo of the blood bank. I flip to another page, this one more destroyed than the other, and this report is printed on different paper. It looks like it’s from an urgent care in Texas and it has my mother’s name on it. Her name before. Claire Carlisle-Bent. From the year I can just make out, she would have been sixteen years old and, on this sheet, someone circled Type A several times in red Sharpie. Whoever it was must have written something else on there because I can see the top of the red but can’t make out even a single letter because the rest of the page is gone.
A phone rings. It takes me a minute to recognize the ringtone. It’s the phone Silas gave me until we replace mine, which has been missing since the night of the Gala. The ringing is coming from the hallway, and I remember I’d left it in my coat pocket when I’d gotten here so I straighten to get it. By the time I get there, I miss the call and notice the text messages that must have come in when Silas and I were upstairs. I set the papers down on the table next to the door where a decorative bowl holds a second set of house keys inside. I open the text message and I don’t recognize the number because I don’t know anyone’s number anymore. Who does? When I needed to call or text anyone, I’d just scroll to the name in my contacts and hit the call button.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out who sent it, though. I recognize the vitriol in Ethan’s words.
Still think he’s better than me? Guessing you didn’t know about his field trip.
I click into the first of a series of photos. It’s of the back of an SUV like the one Hamish and Silas drive. Like ones so many people drive. But Silas’s face is visible as he makes a turn, and I recognize the road he’s turning onto.
My heartbeat accelerates as I keep scrolling, watching Silas drive into the parking lot of The Sinistral. It’s evening. Silas parks his SUV and walks inside, and even though the photo is blurry, I can make out the determined look on his face. The next one is from inside the lobby. Silas leaving. This one captures the date and time displayed on the digital clock on the reception desk.
It”s from tonight. From when I was with Nigella and Silas was supposedly catching up on work.
I look out the window beside the door into the dark night, confused. He lied to me. Silas lied to me about working.
The phone rings and I jump. I look down at the display and see it’s Mr. Higgins. I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
“Ophelia, is that you?”
“Uh. Yeah.” I realize the time and wonder why he’d be calling me now. “Is everything all right?”
“It is. I’m sorry to call so late but we need to talk. Are you still in Boston?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Can you meet me? There’s been a development, and I want you to know from me before it’s all over the news. Where are you?”
I blink, shake my head. “What development?”
“Your father has retracted his confession. He’s brought forth new evidence.”
“What?”
“Where are you?”
I look down at the keys in the small bowl. There’s a fob to an Audi, one I remember Nigella mentioning was available for our use should we need it.
“I’ll meet you in town,” I say, needing to get out of the house before Hamish gets here. “Do you know The Grande?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Perfect. See you there.”
I grab the keys in the bowl along with my coat and hurry to the kitchen. I’m sure Hamish will be here soon and doubly sure he won’t let me leave, especially after what happened the last time. I slide my arms into my coat as I open the door that leads to the garage. An automatic light goes on when I do, and I see the Audi parked there. I push the button to raise the garage door and get into the driver’s seat. I start the engine. The gas tank is full, thank you Nigella, so I drive out of the garage and off the property heading toward downtown.
I pass one SUV at the intersection and turn my face away when I recognize Hamish behind the wheel. He must not see me, though, because when the light turns, he heads toward the house.
The side roads are a little slippery with the recent snow, but the main road is fine. When I arrive at The Grande, I find it busy, like the last time I was here more than a year ago. When Silas rescued me from that man. The night Ethan had asked me to marry him and hadn’t taken no for an answer.
It feels like an eternity has passed since then.
I think about that night as I park and lock the car to head inside. Who am I now compared to who I was then? Am I a very different woman? I know the truth about the men in my life now, but am I different? Am I stronger?
I know the answer. It’s a disappointing one.
My phone rings and I look at the display, not surprised to see it’s Silas. I’m sure Hamish called him as soon as he realized I wasn’t in the house. I decline the call and pull the glass door open and can’t stop myself from glancing in the direction of the table where Silas had sat with his date, surrounded by those couples. Where he’d seen me enter the brasserie long before I’d seen him.
What happened tonight, him telling me he loved me, the way he told it, I believe him. I do. It was strange how it came up, though, how he told me. And it’s doubly strange that we had that conversation after he visited my grandfather behind my back. Those papers I found in the fire, he was burning those so I wouldn’t see them. Why?
A ding alerts me to a voicemail as the phone rings again. Once more, I decline the call.
“Ophelia,” someone calls out, and I look across the bar to a high table in one corner. Mr. Higgins is waving me over.
I force a smile, cross the noisy bar toward him.
“Hi,” I say, taking off my coat and sliding into the empty seat. I set the phone on the table.
“You okay?” he asks, and I wonder what I look like. I don’t have any makeup on and a hand to my braided hair tells me it’s still damp. I look down at what I’m wearing. A pair of sweats, a hoodie and boots that could pass as slippers. I must look like I’m in my pajamas, especially in this crowd.
“I was in a rush.” My phone vibrates with a message this time. I pick it up, the notification letting me know it’s Silas—which I already knew.
Silas: Where are you? Pick up.
I put it face down without answering. “What’s going on?”
He purses his lips, calls the waiter over. “What would you like?” he asks me.
“Club soda. Just a club soda, please,” I say.
“I’ll have the same.”
The waiter almost rolls his eyes, knowing he’s not going to be making money off us, but I don’t care. I turn my attention back to Higgins who looks at the phone when it once again begins to ring. Irritated, I pick it up and open the last text to type my reply.
Me: You don’t tell me where you are so why should I tell you where I am?
I attach a photo of him entering The Sinistral then switch the phone off and tuck it into my pocket.
“There’s new evidence that’s been introduced, Ophelia. Your father withdrew his confession.”
“What evidence?”
“A phone call. A recording of Sullivan Fox blackmailing your father into taking the fall.”
I just stare, struck mute.
“I’ve heard it myself. Fox threatens to expose…” he trails off, clears his throat. “What he knows about you.”
“About me?”
“I assume it’s the Carlisle-Bent connection.”
How long has Sullivan Fox known? I remember the deal I thought I was savvy enough to negotiate when the Foxes ambushed me into setting a date for the wedding. How I’d thought he was laughing at me. He’d known who I was then. He’d known about my grandfather’s money.
I shake my head, not wanting to think about that because it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.
“My father didn’t do it? He didn’t embezzle the money?”
“No. But we could never prove it. It looked bad for him but even so, you know I was surprised when he did an about face and took full responsibility. It was an abrupt move. Now, with the timing of the call, it makes perfect sense.”
I sit back in my chair. “He went to prison, he lost everything, including his reputation, so I wouldn’t find out who my family was?”
“I wonder if he thought you’d believe the stories that he kidnapped your mother. I’m not sure, honestly, Ophelia but I know he did what he did to protect you.”
“I need to see him.”
Mr. Higgins nods. “Tomorrow. I’ll make arrangements.”
“What happens to Sullivan Fox now?”
“Police will arrest him, I suppose. Or at least bring him in for questioning.”
“This is a lot.”
“I know it is.” His phone buzzes and I see it’s his wife asking where he is. “I need?—”
“You should go home. Thanks, Mr. Higgins.”
“Of course, Ophelia. If you need anything.”
“I’ll call.”
He puts a few bills on the table to cover our drinks and leaves. When the waiter passes, I raise my hand to stop him, intending to order something stronger when the man standing behind him catches my eye. I gasp, and he smiles, slithers over to take the seat Mr. Higgins just vacated.
“May I?” Chandler Carlisle-Bent asks and doesn’t wait for an answer before he sits down.
The waiter, annoyed, just mutters something under his breath and walks away.
“Hear things are turning around for your father,” Chandler says.
“How do you know? And how did you know I was here?”
“Luck.”
“Right.”
“What? You think I’m following you?”
“Maybe. Maybe you’re having me followed like Ethan is having Silas followed. I remember you were inside the limo, Chandler. I remember you holding me down when Ethan injected me with that sedative.”
“That was a mistake. I…” he trails off, shakes his head. “I didn’t know what he wanted, and it all happened so fast. And then your boyfriend, well husband now?—”
“What do you want?” I cut him off, not interested in his lies because I know that’s exactly what they are.
He seems surprised by my interruption but smiles. “I came to say goodbye.”
I must look stunned because he continues.
“I’m leaving. Gordon has made his decision and if I’m to see a penny, I need to disappear.”
“What?”
“He thinks I’m dangerous for you. And you know,” he leans in conspiratorially. “I admit there was a time I’d have preferred you had stayed hidden.” He sighs. “You know I did try—with Gordon I mean. But I never was good enough, not when Claire came along. I was almost eleven by then. Let me tell you something. Growing up knowing you’re not wanted? It does ugly things to you.”
I think about Silas. He grew up unwanted at least by one parent. He grew up seeing every single day all he would never be allowed.
But Silas and Chandler are two very different people. Chandler is a liar and a manipulator. I see it so clearly.
“Did you hate my mother?”
He tilts his head, studies me, but never answers and I’m glad. He just goes on talking like I never even asked the question.
“But if you’d stayed gone, well, then the old man would have donated his money to some charity or other I suppose so maybe it’s a blessing, your sudden appearance in our lives.”
“He’s paying you off to walk away,” I say, understanding.
He nods. “A good sum, too. Guilt, I guess. Failed the daughter who could do no wrong.” He drinks his whiskey down and stands. “Au revoir, dear Ophelia,” he says, taking my hand and I think he’s going to kiss it, so I tug it free. He grins. “Don’t you wonder what it was, though?”
“What?”
“I mean, did your father go to prison simply to keep you from your ailing and very wealthy grandfather? Seems strange, doesn’t it? I mean, what could the old man do?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just wondering if there’s more to the story. Don’t you wonder, Ophelia?”
I shudder.
“People do curious things, don’t they?”
I get up. “Excuse me,” I say, but when I try to walk around him, he grabs my arm. I look at his hand, then up at him. “Let go of me.”
“Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?”
“No. I don’t. I’m done here. I was done the minute I first laid eyes on you. Let go of me, and don’t ever come near me again.”
His hand tightens, grip like a vise as his face contorts, turns ugly in its cruelty, his malevolence toward me a visceral, tangible thing.
He won’t hurt me, I tell myself. He can’t. Not here. Not with so many people around.
I open my mouth to tell him once more to let me go but before I say a word, a hand falls heavy on Chandler’s shoulder. We both look up at the same moment, Chandler craning his neck, me tilting my head up because there, tall and powerful and furious, is Silas Cruz. Here to rescue me again. Always coming for me.