Sylvain was leaning against the door frame watching her. In the split second their eyes met she saw something in his that took her by surprise. A kind of sadness. But almost immediately the look disappeared, replaced by his usual well-cultivated blankness.
‘You look better,’ he said.
‘I’m really fine.’ Her hand rose to her temple instinctively. ‘Thanks.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Nicole sent me up to check on you.’
Dropping the magazine on to a coffee table, Allie affected a casual stretch and yawn.
‘She seems nice,’ she said after a second. ‘How long have you two been together?’
‘We’ve known each other for ever,’ he said carelessly. ‘We are old friends.’
‘Oh.’
Allie concentrated on not finding his accent charming. Her eyes shot up to meet his for a second then flitted away. She found it a little hard to focus with him just standing there, watching her as if he knew what she was thinking.
A possible distraction occurred to her. Sitting up straight, she rooted around the sofa underneath her jacket. ‘Here’s your scarf back. Thanks for loaning it to me.’
Sylvain took the soft cashmere scarf from her hands but instead of walking away, sat down on the chair across from her. ‘I need to talk you about something else. I’ve been trying to see you alone.’ He fidgeted with the scarf and she studied his long slim fingers with their neat oval nails; so different from Carter’s strong, solid hands. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. I have put it off too long because I think you won’t like it.’
A chill ran through her and her eyes flicked towards the door through which Carter would be walking any minute. When she looked back at Sylvain he was studying her curiously. She didn’t like the way his gaze could still unsteady her.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s just that …I have you.’ His electric blue eyes held her gaze.
Glancing again at the door, she drew back. ‘What do you mean, you have me?’ she whispered. ‘Have me how?’
Leaning closer he lowered his voice.
‘To investigate. For Night School.’ He held out his hands, palms up. ‘I have you.’
FOURTEEN
‘Nineteen twenty-five was a particularly fertile year for literature.’ Isabelle leaned against an empty desk as she lectured. ‘That year The Great Gatsby was published, among many other works. Fitzgerald thought Gatsby was his greatest work. He described it as a “sustained imagination of a sincere and yet radiant world”. But I see it as a morality tale. A book about a good man seduced by corrupt people.’ She straightened, and began walking around the circle of desks. ‘What I want you to tell me is whether that good man is really a good man at the end of the story. And was he truly good at the start?’
Allie, who was just enduring the class today, circled the title in her notebook and put a star beside it. As Isabelle continued to talk, though, her thoughts wondered back to what happened last night. And how furious Carter had been when he found out.
Sylvain had left by the time Carter returned, carrying two steaming cups of tea and looking comforting and normal and … Carter-like.
Allie waited for him to sit down before she told him. When it came to Carter, she didn’t care about the rules. He was so jealous of Sylvain. If she didn’t tell him and he found out later, he’d never forgive her.
As she explained what Sylvain had said, Carter didn’t shout or rage. It was worse than that. He went quiet and pale, and the tendons in his neck were taut.
After a long pause he said in a low voice, ‘I’ll talk to Zelazny.’
‘The thing is … Sylvain says …’ Carter twitched, but she continued. ‘He says he already asked Jerry and Zelazny to change the assignment. They refused. That’s why it took him so long to—’
‘Great.’ Cutting her off in mid-sentence, Carter shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked down, his gaze so icy Allie marvelled that the floor didn’t frost.
‘It’ll be no big deal,’ she’d said, trying to make things better. ‘It’s just an interview – it’s one afternoon. Then it’s over.’
But Carter hadn’t been mollified. ‘They really are,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘messing with us right now.’
Isabelle tapped Allie’s desk sharply with a fingertip, making her jump. Without interrupting her patter, the headmistress shot her a warning look before continuing her journey around the circle. Allie sat up straighter and tried to pay attention. But her chest felt tight, as if the anxiety that curled up there had left less room for her lungs.
After class, she and Carter were going to do their interview.
She wished the class would last for ever. But it was already over.
Isabelle’s parting words had to fight through the sound of students gathering their things: ‘Please collect your copies at the library – Eloise has them ready. And I’d like you to read the first three chapters by tomorrow’s class so we can discuss them. You’re free to go.’
‘Allie, I’m going to a kick-boxing class, want to come?’ Zoe looked up at her expectantly as they walked through the door.
God yes.
Beating something up was about the only thing she wanted to do right now.
‘I wish I could. But I’ve got plans.’ The regret in Allie’s voice was so tangible Zoe gave her an odd look as she turned away.
‘No worries – see you later.’
Carter was waiting for her outside the door, leaning against the wall out of the crowds of students filling the hallway.
‘Hey,’ she said, her heart heavy.
‘Hey back.’ His dark eyes held hers just long enough for her to see the worry there.
‘So … Shall we meet there?’ he asked, as they joined the throng of students surging from the classroom wing through a heavy wooden door into the main school building.
‘Sounds good,’ she said, with a tentative smile.
Pulling her close, he gave her a reassuring kiss before loping off towards the stairs to the boys’ dorm to drop off his things.
Her tennis headache had been mostly gone by morning, although the purple-tinged bruise on her temple was still sensitive to touch.
In her room, she changed from a skirt to trousers. After pausing at the mirror to check her hair, she grabbed her jacket and turned to go, but something stopped her. Draped over the back of her chair was a wool scarf in dark blue. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch it – the fabric was finely knitted wool, soft as a hug.
Where did that come from?
Running the scarf through her fingers, Allie decided Isabelle must have heard about what had happened last night from the nurse. It wasn’t that unusual for things students needed to just appear in their rooms. Like the slippers that appeared the first night she’d arrived at Cimmeria. And the fresh towels and clean sheets that showed up every few days.
After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped the new scarf loosely around her throat and looked at herself in the mirror by the door. She was pale – nerves probably – and set against the dark scarf her skin looked like porcelain. Her dark, wavy hair had grown long – she hadn’t cut it since last spring and now it hung down to her shoulder blades. Sweeping berry-red gloss on her lips she threw her book bag over her shoulder and headed out.
As much as she dreaded it, she was glad they were doing it now rather than waiting – she just wanted it all over with.
For her part, she still hadn’t decided how much to reveal to Sylvain.
Should I tell him about Lucinda? And who I really am? Do I have a choice? Lying would get her expelled. But if she told Sylvain, she’d have to trust him with her whole life’s story. With secrets only Carter knew. And with some secrets nobody knew.
On the ground floor, she made her way along the wide hallway, threading through the busy afternoon crowd of students heading to the library and common room, their feet pounding on the polished wood. In the entry hall the wood floors gave way to stone, large tapestries co
vered the old stone walls and the crowds thinned.
Grabbing the iron door handle, Allie pulled the heavy front door open. Cool air flooded in, redolent of the rain that had fallen that morning. She stepped out on to the wet stone steps as the door closed behind her with a solid thud.
As she crossed the sprawling lawn, her shoes squelching in the mud, she could hear the shouts of students playing football in the distance. Two breathless boys returning from a run said hello as they passed her heading the other way – she recognised them from Night School. This was nothing like the quiet of the summer term – these days the grounds buzzed with activity until curfew. But still, even now, the world hushed when she entered the woods. Walking along the familiar footpath – mostly dry, thanks to the canopy of trees – she noticed the ferns beside the path were already dying from the autumnal cold. There was little breeze to stir the branches today, so the trees stood silent around her. It was just after three o’clock, but already the sunlight was beginning fade; Allie hastened her steps, breaking into a jog as she made her way down the path towards the chapel. She ran so much for Night School these days she rarely ran for fun any more. Even now her steps felt mechanical, unsatisfying.
When she reached the old limestone wall, she followed it to the arched gateway that opened on to a peaceful churchyard. In the watery light, the old tombstones looked disconsolate amid the thinning autumn grass. With the trees denuded of their leaves, the graveyard lost the sun-dappled charm it held in the summer months – now it just felt spooky.
Out of instinct she crossed to the gnarled yew tree where she and Carter had met often over the summer but it was empty; its bark slippery and darkened by the rain.
She headed back to the chapel, where the ancient arched door was so heavy she needed both hands to pull it open. It creaked ominously as it swung outward.
Inside it was colder – the air smelled of incense and wood polish. Stained glass windows gave the daylight a lavender hue. As always, the elaborate medieval wall paintings drew her eyes to their depictions of suffering sinners in hell being jabbed by demons with pitchforks, and dragons soaring upwards. And above the door the painted phrase Exitus acta probat, ‘The result validates the deed.’
Carter stood in front of the altar lighting the candles in an iron candelabra that stood taller than his head.
‘Hey,’ he said without turning around.
‘Hey back,’ Allie said, shivering as she closed the door behind her. With stone floors and walls, the unheated chapel felt colder than the outside. ‘I thought we weren’t allowed to play with fire any more.’
‘The lights aren’t working.’ The match burned down towards his fingertips and he cursed as he shook it out. He sucked his fingertips to cool them before lighting a fresh one. ‘And it’s going to be dark before too long so I thought I better make us some light.’
‘Cool.’ Allie sat down on the front pew.
Glancing at her over his shoulder, he gave her that sexy half-smile of his that sent tingles down her spine. ‘I’m nearly done.’
‘After that, let’s set fire to one of these pews.’ Allie rubbed her arms. ‘It’s freezing in here.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘No electricity equals no heating.’
‘Lame,’ she said.
But when the candles – at least two dozen in all – were glowing the light created a false sense of warmth. And he sat down beside her, pulling her close for a kiss. Her mouth opened to his unhesitatingly and she felt his pulse speed as his fingers tightened on her back.
We could forget everything, she thought. And just do this …
Then, with a regretful sigh, she pulled herself free.
‘We’d better stop,’ she said pointing at a tall cross. ‘Jesus is watching.’
Carter chuckled, the colour still high in cheeks, but he sobered quickly as the task before them loomed.
‘Right.’ She pulled the notebook out of her bag and opened it to the page where she’d put her prepared questions. ‘Let’s just get this over with. And then we can get back to reality.’
Scooting away from her until his back rested against the high arm of the pew, Carter raised his eyebrows expectantly.
‘Hit me,’ he said.
‘Full name,’ she said with an unhappy sigh. ‘Birth date. Parents’ names. Grandparents’ names.’
‘Carter Jonathan West,’ he said, with a casual attitude she could see right through. ‘Twenty-fourth of September …’
She gasped. ‘Wait,’ she said, staring up at him. ‘Your birthday was last month? You didn’t say anything.’
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. ‘I hate birthdays. I don’t celebrate mine.’
‘How can you not celebrate your own birthday, Carter? That’s horrible.’ She felt unaccountably wounded. He’d kept it from her. He’d had a birthday and he hadn’t told her. He was seventeen now. ‘You didn’t say anything. I didn’t give you a present or bake you a cake …’
He tried to calm her, as if her reaction was unreasonable. ‘I’m sorry, Al. I just … I don’t celebrate it. I haven’t, you know, ever since my parents …’
But Allie shook her head, her lips tight, and dropped her eyes to her list of questions.
This was starting badly.
‘Parents’ names?’ she said, not looking at him.
‘Mother, Sharon Georgina West. Father …’
His voice trailed off and she looked up from the page to find him staring into the distance.
He cleared his throat. ‘Father, Arthur Jonathan West.’
She couldn’t be mad at him.
‘You have the same middle name as him,’ she said. ‘That’s nice. Like you still share something.’
He nodded.
After a second she continued. ‘Grandparents’ names?’
They went through the required list of family names and dates, towns where people were born, jobs they worked so long ago that she couldn’t imagine it being real.
‘None of your family ever went to school here? Before you, I mean?’ she asked at the end.
He shook his head.
They’d now reached the point of the interview she’d been dreading. She and Eloise had argued about whether she really had to ask it, and Eloise had insisted.
‘If you’re doing this, you have to ask,’ Eloise had said. ‘And you must forget your relationship to him, no matter how compassionate you might feel. Write the answer down and then ask the next question.’
‘But he’s never told me about what happened,’ Allie had protested, feeling increasingly aggrieved. ‘He doesn’t ever talk about it. It seems cruel to force him to talk about it.’
But Eloise had been unbending, and now Allie knew she had to say the words.
‘I know …’ she began and then faltered. Taking a calming breath, she tried again. ‘I need to know what happened to your parents and how you ended up here.’
When his dark eyes shot up to meet hers she saw a warning in them.
‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘And I hate to ask you this. But if I don’t, they’ll just make us do this again until I do. I’m so sorry, Carter. Can you tell me very quickly, maybe? I won’t ask for any details.’
He was so still for so long she wondered if he was going to just get up and walk away. She could see conflicting emotions in his face.
Finally, as if he were giving in to the inevitable, he raked his fingers through his hair. When he spoke his voice was low, and he looked away from her into a dark corner of the chapel.
‘My father worked in a car factory, but he lost that job before I was born when the factory closed. He couldn’t get another. There just … weren’t that many factories around. He saw an ad, I think, in a paper. Isabelle told me once but I can’t quite remember everything … My parents lived near here, I think. Before.’
Allie was having a little trouble following his tangled narrative but she said nothing. She sat as still as she could, barely breathing. She didn’t take notes – she knew she’d re
member this.
‘Anyway,’ Carter continued, ‘at some point he was hired here to be the handyman, taking care of the boiler and the electrical system – anything you could fix with a screwdriver or a spanner. This place must have seemed like a godsend, you know?’ He looked up at her briefly then returned his gaze to the distance. ‘My mum worked in the kitchen – cooking and cleaning. They got a place to live rent free on the grounds; they were putting money in the bank. For them, even though the work wasn’t, like, thrilling, I guess it was a perfect set-up.
‘When my mum got pregnant they were really excited. They didn’t have any other kids and I think maybe they thought they couldn’t or something. I guess it was a big deal. When I was born my mum took some time off for a while but then she went back to work.’ He stopped to think. ‘It’s hard to explain but, because they lived on the grounds, it was kind of like I was raised by everyone. Nobody else here had young children. The teachers and other staff took turn babysitting me. I was, like, a novelty.’
Her hands still in her lap, Allie watched his face.
‘And you lived in that cottage?’ she asked. ‘The one we saw that night in the woods – with the roses?’
He looked surprised, as if he’d forgotten the night they’d come across the little stone cottage with the lush flower garden. He nodded. ‘Bob Ellison lives there now.’
‘It looked like a beautiful place to grow up,’ she said.
He shrugged as if it were a silly question, although she could see in his eyes that it wasn’t.
‘Were your parents happy here, do you think?’ she asked.
A wistful smile flittered across his face. ‘I think so. I remember us being happy. My dad was really good at what he did – he could fix anything, you know? He was a genius with anything technical or mechanical. Everybody relied on him, and Isabelle says he liked that. Knowing he was needed. And Mum …’ He stopped to rub his eyes.
Allie felt horrible. She wanted to hold his hand, hug him – do something aside from just sit there. But he sat stiffly, with his body turned away from her. She knew he didn’t want that right now. So she stayed still.
Night School: Legacy Page 14