Chapter 38 Rosie – Day 8
Theo has pandered to Rosie’s every need since returning from the lake.
He said he was worried that she might need to go to the hospital to rule out sun stroke, but thankfully she managed to persuade him that was unnecessary.
He took her straight to their bedroom and laid her on the cool sheets.
A fan aimed in her direction. She didn’t have to try hard to act ill, she feels sick at the thought of Fenna knowing her secret.
He kept commenting on how poorly she looked and how she needs to get better for the engagement party.
She promised him she would be fine. It’s three days away.
But who knows what will happen by then?
Rosie ate a light supper in bed, brought to her on a tray. Would he still want to marry her if he knows how she manipulated her way into their family? That she’s here because she needs to discover the truth? That she believes one of them is capable of killing a schoolgirl?
Theo stayed by her side all evening so she couldn’t slip out of the bedroom and speak to Julietta to see what she’d meant earlier. She still needs to ask her more questions. She’s not forgotten the comment she made before they left for the yacht trip.
‘The family say they have no idea what happened to Danielle. That’s not true. Listen to me. You can’t trust them.’
It’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Rosie has been pretending to sleep for hours. Her mind won’t stop whirring. She’s furious at herself. She came here to find answers but she’s no further along in the investigation and time is ticking now that Fenna knows who she is.
If Fenna tells Luke it will all be over.
All of this will have been for nothing. She refused to look at Rosie when they disembarked the yacht and she hasn’t seen her since.
Will she tell her husband, or will she do as Rosie begged and observe him?
See if he reveals something that could help the investigation.
Her stomach clenches with a wave of nausea. She doesn’t have time to waste.
Once she’s certain that Theo is in a deep sleep she uses the light of her phone to guide her way out of the bedroom.
Her dad didn’t have anything to do with Dani’s disappearance.
He wrote the name Fraser down for a reason.
He didn’t make up the text details. There is no doubt about that – they were real.
They existed. Whoever ‘Fraser’ is was the last person to see Dani alive.
Her gut screams that she’s on the right track.
Gerry, Marianne, or Luke – the Frasers who were here that summer – are key to discovering the truth.
Speaking of keys . . . Her hand curls around the antique key she found in the wildflower garden a few days ago. It didn’t fit the lock in the outhouse. So where does it belong?
The basement.
The only place she’s not yet looked. With a deep breath she moves towards the kitchen.
It’s now or never. The ghostly glow from a full moon offers her the light she needs.
Her heartbeat rushes in her ears over the occasional unnerving creak from the wooden floorboards.
There’s a chill underfoot as she hurries across the hallway and dashes to the locked basement door.
What are they hiding down here? She doesn’t buy Gerry’s overly cautious approach to keeping the children out of harm’s way.
Raffi is a baby and Alba is too short to push the handle.
She presses a hand against the wood and runs her fingers over the padlock.
The thick rubberised cover looks brand new.
She pulls the small key from her pocket. Her shoulders drop.
It’s much too small.
Where would they put the actual key? Didn’t Gerry say the laundry room was downstairs? If so, Julietta would have a key. Rosie needs to find it. She pushes open the kitchen door. A rush of bright light makes her blink. There’s someone in the room.
She leaps in fright.
‘Jesus. You made me jump,’ she gasps, clutching her chest.
‘Oh, sorry, darling,’ Marianne could be a ghost standing there in her ethereal white nightdress. Her eyes are ringed with red and her pale face is blotchy. She looks much older without any make-up on. ‘Can’t sleep?’
‘No. I mean, no, I came down for a paracetamol . . . Are you ok?’ She’s impressed at how quick the lie flew from her lips.
Marianne moves her hand to hide whatever she was doing. There’s a flash of silver. A puckered pill packet. ‘Godawful hay fever. I’ve tried every tablet and spray but nothing seems to work.’ Her voice is light and chirpy, but her bloodshot eyes tell a different story.
‘Sorry if I disturbed you,’ Rosie says, relieved that at least Marianne didn’t catch her rummaging in drawers looking for a key to the basement. How would she explain that?
‘It’s fine. I was hoping to find an antihistamine. I swore I saw a packet in here but Julietta must have tidied them away.’ She frowns at a cupboard crammed full of herbs. ‘Let me see if I can find any paracetamol for you.’
Rosie hovers on one foot. She wished she’d picked up her robe. She rubs her bare arms, feeling exposed in her t-shirt and shorts pyjamas. Marianne’s determined hands rifle through the contents of a drawer. There’s a frenetic energy coming from her.
‘Nope. Not here.’ She brushes her hair from her eyes and straightens.
‘I need to speak to Julietta about a better system. She complained to me that food was going missing. It’s probably because she’s got such a haphazard way of keeping track of things.
It never used to be like this. There used to be order here. ’ Her words tumble over themselves.
‘Don’t worry. I should head back to bed . . .’ Rosie places a hand on the door frame and tries to summon a convincing yawn. ‘Are you sure you’re ok?’
‘I’m fine.’ She reaches across for a piece of kitchen roll and dabs her eyes. ‘God, what am I like. I’d blame the menopause but . . .’ She loudly blows her nose into the tissue. ‘Never mind.’
‘Has something happened?’
Marianne turns and attempts to rearrange the mugs hanging on the hooks, taking each one off to face the opposite direction.
‘Let’s just say I’m so grateful for your wonderful news.
It is the tonic we all need. I pray that you will swiftly plan the wedding.
Some people have such long engagements, but I don’t understand why they think they have time . . .’
Suddenly a cup falls from her grip. It shatters on the stone floor. Rosie leaps at the sudden sound. It echoes in the silence of the sleeping house. It takes her back to the smashed vase on the yacht. Fenna’s furious expression looms at the front of her mind.
‘Oh dear.’ Marianne’s face crumples. She moves to pick up the broken pieces.
‘Careful,’ Rosie says.
A trickle of blood trails down Marianne’s wrist.
‘I don’t know where the dustpan and brush are.
’ She sniffs. ‘How ridiculous is that? You must think terribly of me, not knowing where we keep things. But Julietta takes care of all of this for us. We have to get all these pieces. People could walk in with bare feet. Alba might toddle in and . . .’ Marianne lets out a gasp of breath and starts to cry. Her shoulders heave with every sob.
Rosie crouches down beside her, tentatively placing an arm over her slender, juddering back.
‘It’s fine, it’s a mug,’ she soothes, taken aback by such raw emotion. ‘You should clean your wrist. Why don’t you sit down? I can clear it up. Let me get a piece of kitchen roll for you.’
Rosie starts to move away but Marianne grips her hands. Her eyes are wild and huge.
‘You can still get sunshine in October you know. An autumnal wedding would be beautiful here.’
‘This October?’ Rosie asks slowly, trying not to wince at the surprising strength of Marianne’s grip.
It’s August.
‘Yes. Or November. Have you thought about a winter wedding? You won’t be guaranteed snow here, but it is still a magical place to come. We can light the fire and . . .’ She lets go of Rosie’s hands and stops abruptly.
A slow dawning washes over her.
‘Everything’s not ok, is it?’ Rosie drops her voice.
‘I’m sorry. I just want to see my baby get married.’ Marianne closes her eyes. ‘The doctors don’t know how long I’ve got left.’
Things suddenly make sense. The last-minute holiday.
Crying in the wild garden. The family heirloom engagement ring.
The desperation for everyone to get along.
A lump of emotion leaps to the back of Rosie’s throat.
She tugs a few sheets of kitchen roll and wraps them gently over the cut as a makeshift bandage.
Marianne winces. ‘The boys don’t know. Please promise me you won’t say a word to Theo. His dad’s death hit him hard.’ Her voice wobbles. ‘I’m trying to keep it together but it’s impossible. This holiday will be the last one I ever have.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Rosie blinks.
Marianne juts her chin out. ‘Don’t be. Please. I’ve had a longer life than many.’
Rosie carefully collects all the pieces of the broken cup and tips them into the bin.
Marianne stands and takes Rosie’s hand once more. Her grip is just as intense. ‘Promise me you won’t tell a soul, Rosie.’
She’s keeping enough secrets; one more won’t hurt.
‘I promise.’