Chapter 6
ALEX
The laugh she had heard ripple through the house couldn’t have been Nick. It had been light, girlish.
It stirred a memory, of playing here with Theo when they were kids, of running through these corridors, and up and down the stairs, chasing… not each other. They were chasing someone else. Other kids. She could almost see them. Hear them… Lexi, this way. Come on, Lexi!
And the laughter, those bright giggles.
And as for the whisper… that wasn’t Nick either. The voice was sultry and knowing, dangerous. And she remembered it as well. It haunted her nightmares.
Alex knew she was exhausted. Maybe she had just nodded off for a moment, and then started awake, dropping the cup. That made a lot more sense.
Alex steeled herself and followed Nick.
Nick seemed to fall back on formality once they left the drawing room.
He pointed out the dining room, dominated by a huge mahogany table, laid out as if for a banquet, all gleaming silver, white crockery and crystal.
In contrast the morning room was mostly covered in dustsheets like a museum of Hallowe’en ghosts.
As they reached the staircase he ignored the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen.
He clearly didn’t expect her to go down there.
‘Is there anyone else here?’ she asked in what she hoped was a casual manner. Maybe there was a cook who didn’t want them in the kitchen.
Nick eyed her strangely, staring for a moment too long.
‘No. Not at the moment. A lot of the house isn’t in use.
You’ll see a lot of dustcovers around here.
Oh, and parts of it are unsafe so the doors there are locked.
The cellar too.’ He hesitated, as if he was reluctant to say more about the cellar but felt he ought to.
‘Yeah, it’s… It’s not safe either. Best stay out of it. ’
Well, that was ominous. She hadn’t thought about the place being unstable. Not until now. In her mind Wildewood Hall was eternal.
‘How likely is this place to fall down on us, Nick?’
He cast another look over his shoulder as he moved off again and then gave a brief snort of laughter.
‘Wildewood Hall? The chance would be a fine thing. I don’t think this house will ever fall down, but you might.
Weak floorboards, some rot in places, damage over the years, that kind of thing.
The ground floor’s fine, and the main bedrooms up here.
I’ve done what I can to secure the rest but it would take a fortune to do the whole place up properly. I don’t suppose you have one of those.’
‘Not in the slightest,’ she replied lightly. This seemed like safer ground. ‘If only.’
‘Ah well then.’ There was gentle amusement in his voice. It was strangely comforting. Better than the animosity she’d been reading in him so far. ‘Worth checking.’
They reached the first floor and he led her along the landing to a grand corridor lined with even more portraits facing four doors well spread out. He opened the first one on the right. It was above the drawing room. Alex hesitated. She had to take a deep breath before entering.
It truly was a master suite. That was what he had promised her in his message after all.
A four-poster bed dominated it, dark brown wood, carved with ornate leaves, berries and, when she peered closer, the occasional animal peeking out.
Very like the grand staircase. It was hung with dark green drapery, and made up with about half a dozen pillows and matching bedclothes.
Three grand sash windows looked out over the driveway, although all she could see right now was the lashing rain.
As she stood there, staring, open-mouthed, Nick went over to close the curtains.
They matched the bed as well, she thought absently.
Whoever had decorated the room had excellent taste.
It looked like something out of a period drama. Just as well she hadn’t shown Daphne this. It would be white ladies, doomed lovers and phantom nuns all over the place.
‘Ensuite’s in there,’ he said with a nod to the left. ‘It was an old servants’ room. Theo had it done last year so there’s a state-of-the-art shower and plenty of hot water.’
‘Theo took this room?’ A lump formed in her throat. He wouldn’t have, would he?
‘No. He had this done as a guest room. That’s why it’s so—’ He waved a hand at the curtains and the beautifully restored antique furniture. ‘He thought he’d put it up online, for rentals. He didn’t want it for himself.’
No. No wonder.
‘It was our grandfather’s room,’ she whispered, the words little more than breath.
‘Oh.’ Nick frowned, chewing on his lower lip.
He froze like that for a moment. Clearly, he knew some family history then.
Theo had probably filled him in at the same time as he’d reversed his way rapidly out of this room and decided to charge total strangers a fortune for the privilege of setting foot in it.
‘I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Do you…’ He glanced to the door, no doubt wondering how quickly he could make his escape.
He rubbed one of his big hands against the beard.
It made a rough scratchy noise. ‘I can try to make up Theo’s room for you, but it’s—’
It was late. And she was being stupid. And he was talking about her dead twin’s bedroom. He didn’t need to say it out loud.
‘No, it’ll be fine.’ She tried to force a smile onto her face. ‘I’m not exactly roughing it here, am I? And you’ll want to get to bed too. I’m sorry. Don’t mind me.’
He nodded and finished fussing with the curtains, making sure they were closed. It was almost as if he wanted to say something else but didn’t know what that might be. Or how to say it, whatever it was.
‘Goodnight then,’ he said at last and then he was gone. Leaving her standing in the lap of luxury and feeling like more of a fraud than any of those she had exposed on television over the years.
Jesus Christ, what was she doing here?
Her grandfather, Professor Nathaniel de Wilde, had been a grim shadow across her whole childhood.
From the first summer they had come here he had doted on Theo and more or less ignored Alex completely.
Which had been fine with her because she had spent all her time with Gran, or playing her imaginary games.
Theo was the heir to the family name, the boy, but she wasn’t even the spare.
Just a girl. What use was she to the professor?
Even when Dad died, her grandfather hadn’t had a single kind word for her. Not one. He had taken Theo aside, talked to him about duty and heritage and, afterwards, her brother had returned to her, white-faced and shaking. So that hadn’t exactly been a dream come true either.
‘What did he say?’ she’d asked.
For a moment Theo didn’t reply. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
She’d put her arms around him and held him close, her twin, the other half of her. ‘If you’re this upset, of course it matters.’
Slowly Theo had buried his face in her shoulder. ‘He said Dad was weak and I had to be strong. And that you shouldn’t be here at all.’
They had only been sixteen years old.
And God help her, Alex had hated the old man. She still did. When she’d heard he was dead she’d been relieved. Until Theo had been named as his heir and announced he was coming back here anyway. That it was his duty.
Because the old bastard had planted that guilt so deep even Alex couldn’t convince him otherwise.
Alex forced herself to stop thinking about her grandfather, grabbing one of her suitcases and opening it on the bed.
She unpacked automatically, with purpose and almost as if she did so in defiance of her memories.
She opened the heavy doors of the wardrobe in the corner, to find an orange studded with cloves, encircled with a scarlet ribbon hanging from the rail.
The smell swept over her, reminding her of making them with her gran.
A pomander, her gran used to call this. Supposed to protect clothing against moths.
And other things. She reached out to touch the surface, her fingertips brushing against the little bumps.
That lump was back in her throat. She swallowed it down.
Gran was always showing her how to make things from everyday objects, or stuff they gathered together in the woods.
Sometimes they made crowns and wore them all day long.
Sometimes Gran brought in honey from her hives.
Or Alex had helped her collect eggs from the chicken coops.
Were there still hives here? Or chickens?
She hung up her clothes, and then turned to the chest of drawers, where she found sachets of dried lavender tucked in under the paper liners. All very traditional and simple ways of keeping things fresh and sweet-smelling.
In spite of everything, Gran had tucked herself in everywhere. All over this house.
But all of this was too recent. It couldn’t have been Gran, could it? She was at least twenty years in the grave. Like Dad.
All these little reminders. This was not going to be easy. Had Theo felt like this too? Had he been more prepared for it?
He’d made peace with the professor after all, when the old man had been admitted to the nursing home and they’d needed a next of kin. Theo was the only person he would listen to anyway. Not Alex.
‘He’s worried about the house,’ Theo had said to her once when the subject came up. ‘About what’ll happen after he dies. De Wildes make plans in generations, you know? That’s what he said. He wants us to have it.’
Theo hadn’t actually got that right. He’d wanted Theo to have it.
Granddaughters were no use to him. He probably wasn’t even aware that women could inherit things in their own right, or have a bank account, or vote.
He had never once asked to see Alex. Not that she would have come if he had called.
If anything, she had the impression he’d rather she had never been born.
Besides, she was in the US by then and had no plans at all to return here, ever.
Funny how plans changed.
Alex went to close the bedroom door and found herself looking at the portrait on the wall opposite, a handsome man with the darkest eyes she had ever seen. She didn’t recognise this one. His smile was a twist of his sensuous lips, and for a moment she was sure he was watching her.
A trick of the light, she told herself and closed the door firmly.
There was a key in the lock, heavy and old. So she turned it, just in case.