by Lulu Taylor
She thought suddenly of Nicholas’s suggestion that Patrick might have been hiding sexual content on his devices. Immediately, she went to tap on the phone’s photo storage icon, her fingertips trembling as she did. There could be photos here that weren’t on the tablet. As she watched, the albums came to life in their little stack. At the bottom there it was: an album entitled Allegra.
‘Oh God,’ Caitlyn said out loud. Her heart began racing and her breath was suddenly short. She tapped on it, expecting an array of photographs inside – perhaps obscene, perhaps romantic. Romantic would be infinitely worse, she felt. But there were only two, and one was of a person. She tapped rapidly to select and it exploded into life. It was a photograph of a woman’s naked back cinched in at the waist by a tightly drawn corset. Pink stockings encased her legs as far as they could be seen, attached to the corset by silky straps.
It was not possible to see much of the woman’s head. But trailing down the naked back was a long russet-red curl.
Caitlyn felt sick. So at last she’d found the proof. It was Sara. It had to be. Who else had long red hair like this, the kind that fell in auburn corkscrews? Had Patrick taken this shot? She looked more closely and realised that it was in fact a selfie, taken in a mirror, the phone held up in one of the woman’s hands like a small dead slab.
It had been sent to him.
Her head whirled with an unpleasant giddiness. She had wanted to know the truth and here it was. Sara had sent a near-naked picture of herself to Patrick, and he had filed it away to keep under her pseudonym. It was pretty conclusive.
‘No, no . . .’ she muttered, and then, hearing the pain in her own voice, she realised how much she had been hoping that, after all her suspicions, she’d been wrong and Patrick had not betrayed her with Sara.
Numb with hurt, Caitlyn went back to the album screen and selected the other photograph. It came up as a black screen with a message on it written in red capital letters.
Look for the snake in the grass.
Caitlyn drew in a sharp breath. It was as though she had just heard Patrick’s voice in her head. The snake in the grass? Was this a message for her?
This is how I used to feel during the treasure hunts – never quite sure what was a clue and what wasn’t. But why would he want me to know about his affair?
Patrick loved his games. But surely he would not be so cruel as to turn an affair into the same sort of game as his treasure hunt.
On impulse she went back to his email and looked at the folders. She had not paid much attention to them before; they had the names of his clients and had seemed to be full of work correspondence. She had ignored the one named Allegra Communications, but now it jumped out at her, setting off another flood of adrenaline as she opened it. There was only one email there, but it contained three threads. The first was sent from Patrick to Allegra. It said, You know what to do.
After it came a message from Allegra, without text, containing only the photograph Caitlyn had seen in the album. In response to the photo was another message sent from Patrick. This one said, Well done.
‘What the hell is going on?’ she shouted out loud. ‘What game are you both playing?’
Caitlyn stood, shaking, looking at the picture and the messages as though they would begin to reveal more, and give her the answers she wanted.
There is one way to find out.
She went back to Patrick’s contacts list. All the innocent names and numbers, accumulated over the years, and hidden in amongst them, one poisonous name.
Allegra.
Her finger hovered over the number. Her mouth went dry and her breath shortened. Then she pressed down and the phone began to make contact.
She heard the ringing tone. It went on and on, neither picked up nor sent to the answer service.
She was just about to give up when the ringing tone stopped abruptly, and a voice on the other end, slurring with drink, said tearfully, ‘Oh my God, Patrick, is that you? Please say it’s you. Oh Patrick.’ It began to sob. ‘I miss you!’
‘You know it’s not Patrick!’ Caitlyn yelled. ‘You know who it is.’
‘I just want him back so badly,’ Sara moaned. ‘I loved him more than you ever could.’
Caitlyn hung up and threw the phone across the room.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The atmosphere that night during dinner was the oddest it had ever been. When Gerry and Tommy carried the plates out to the scullery, Gerry hissed, ‘It’s like there’s going to be a murder committed! And now I think about it, being snowed in like this creates exactly the kind of conditions for an Agatha Christie!’
‘It is very strange,’ Tommy agreed, looking around to make sure that Ada and Thornton, eating their own supper at the kitchen table, hadn’t heard them. ‘Something seems to be building up.’
‘And why is Roger drinking for England?’ Gerry said, as they put down the stacks by the sink. ‘That’s the third bottle he’s opened, and I’ve had barely any, and nor has Mother.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know. Let’s hope it’s a sign he’s feeling more cheerful.’
But there was a reckless air to the way Roger was knocking back glass after glass. Fred kept up valiantly and Barbara let her glass be filled. Gerry was watching them all with a kind of horrified relish, while Mrs Whitfield did not appear to notice a thing. Tommy drank another and found it only made her feel depressed. Why were things going so wrong? What had happened – in a house where it felt as though nothing had happened for days – to change everything?
She was about to excuse herself and go up to bed when Roger put out the cigarette he’d been smoking and took up a teaspoon to bang against his wine glass.
‘Attention, please!’ he called out, his voice slurring very slightly. ‘I have an important announcement.’
Everyone turned to him to listen, eyes wide with expectation, except for Barbara, who inclined her head and gazed modestly at the tablecloth.
Roger coughed and said, ‘I’m sure you’ll all be very happy and excited . . . as am I . . . when you hear that Barbara has done me the very great honour of agreeing to become my wife.’
Tommy gasped and Gerry gave a half-strangled exclamation. Mrs Whitfield smiled and said, ‘What wonderful news. How marvellous. Congratulations, Roger, my dear. Barbara, come and kiss me.’
Fred raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Congratulations. You’ve kept that deadly secret. I’m happy for you both.’
Roger nodded slowly, smiling, his eyes half closed, as though he were not quite with them. Then he said, ‘Yes, everyone is very happy.’
‘Congratulations, Roger,’ Tommy said in a voice that, despite her best efforts, came out tight and strained. ‘What marvellous news.’ For a moment she wished she could leap to her feet and shout, Why are you doing this, you fool? You know you’ll be miserable – it isn’t possible for you to be happy with her, not ever, no matter how hard you try! But that couldn’t be done. It wouldn’t be right. She must pretend all was well, when it wasn’t.
‘Congratulations, Roger,’ Gerry echoed, her tone astonished. She turned to Barbara. ‘And every happiness for your future.’
‘Thank you, Gerry,’ Barbara said in a voice of honeyed graciousness. Even while they were looking at her, she seemed to grow in stature as though assuming the mantle of chatelaine in just a few moments.
Roger, though, was staring at Tommy. ‘You don’t seem very happy for me, Tommy,’ he said. ‘Is there something wrong?’
She opened her mouth to say, Of course not. But as she spoke, she found she was saying something different. ‘I think it’s a mistake, Roger. I don’t believe it’s what you really want.’
‘Oh, don’t you?’ Roger said in a dark voice. He reached for his glass and gulped down another mouthful. ‘I think we can all guess why, Tommy. You don’t want to be usurped. You’ve been trying to rob me of my rights for years, using the war to take away what’s mine. You thought you could steal the house and everything in it away from me.’
‘That’s nonsense!’ protested Tommy. ‘I didn’t want the burden of running it. I did it because I had to! And I’ve no intention of taking the house away from you. You never showed the faintest desire to have anything to do with it. You’ve always said you’ll be back to London like a shot as soon as you’re well enough.’
‘That’s what you wanted me to say,’ Roger retorted. ‘You’ve been planting the idea in my head, so that I’d go away and leave you with a clear run at taking over.’
‘That’s nonsense—’
‘No!’ spat Roger, his face reddening. ‘I was blind to it for ages, and then I saw it. You want to take everything from me. The house, the money . . . even my best friend.’ He looked over at Fred, his eyes suddenly tormented. ‘You’ve taken Fred from me too. My only friend, my best friend. As soon as he arrived you had to get your claws into him, didn’t you? Something else to sequester. Fine! You have him! The two of you have been cooking up your little schemes between you!’
‘Now, old man, what are you saying?’ Fred said in a calm voice. ‘You’re throwing some very wild accusations around here. We don’t have any schemes, as you put it.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Barbara said suddenly, her high, light voice cutting clearly through the air. ‘I’m so sorry, but you do have schemes. You and Tommy are in cahoots. I saw you today plotting. You were kissing her upstairs. I saw it.’
Mrs Whitfield gasped and turned shocked eyes on her daughter. ‘Thomasina!’
Tommy flushed red as Roger drank another gulp from his glass. ‘Well . . .’
‘Don’t deny it!’ yelled Roger, suddenly furious, slamming down his wine glass. ‘You’re rumbled, can’t you see?’
‘A kiss is not a crime,’ Tommy said with as much defiance as she could muster.
‘Ha! It is when you’re planning to steal someone else’s inheritance!’
‘How ridiculous, of course I’m not.’
‘Barbara says differently.’
‘What does Barbara say?’ demanded Tommy, anger growing alongside her embarrassment. ‘And why would you believe her anyway?’
Roger said, ‘If it weren’t for Barbara, we wouldn’t know what you’re up to. She’s the one who’s on our side.’
‘Besides,’ Barbara said, ‘I’m not the only one who knows your involvement with Fred. Gerry knows it too, don’t you, Gerry?’
Now Gerry turned pink and stared at the tablecloth. ‘Well,’ she muttered. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps I saw you kissing Fred.’ She looked accusingly at Barbara. ‘But I wasn’t spying. When I realised what was happening, I went away.’
Fred took out a cigarette and lit it, the only sign he was at all disconcerted by the situation. ‘Look, Roger, a bit of romance isn’t such a bad thing. A kiss here and there. It’s nothing. But accusing Tommy of stealing your inheritance is a bit rich. As far as I can see, she’s saved it.’
‘Hardly,’ Barbara returned, cool confidence emanating from her. ‘You two have detailed plans of theft.’
‘What?’ demanded Tommy, outraged. ‘How dare you? Your room was stuffed full of our things, and you’re decked in my mother’s jewellery!’
‘That’s beneath you, Tommy,’ Barbara said with dignity.
‘Barbara has my permission to wear anything she chooses,’ added Mrs Whitfield. ‘But I don’t understand what Tommy is planning to steal.’
‘The Gainsborough,’ Barbara said. She looked directly at Tommy. ‘I think you convinced Fred to make a copy for you. You were planning to take the original and sell it so you could keep the proceeds, no doubt to replace Fred’s bombed-out flat with a very nice house in London. Then you could leave the house to Roger without its greatest asset, which would be yours.’
Tommy gaped at her, and Fred turned pale.
Mrs Whitfield rose to her feet, her expression shocked. ‘Is this true?’
Roger turned to Fred. ‘You’ve been low, Fred. You know you have. To come here as my friend and then fall in with Tommy’s scheme . . .’
‘Look here, it’s not like that—’ Fred began angrily, but Mrs Whitfield, her eyes flashing with anger, talked over the top of him and forced him into silence.
‘I know the truth when I hear it,’ she declared, icy and furious. ‘Thomasina, I’m ashamed of you. I didn’t believe Barbara at first, but your reaction to the news of Roger’s engagement has told me everything I need to know. Can you promise me that you never intended to replace the painting as Barbara says?’
Tommy opened her mouth but couldn’t say anything. Her sense of honesty meant that she couldn’t vow it had never crossed her mind. The hesitation was enough.
‘How could you?’ asked her mother in a low voice. ‘How could you betray us?’
‘Wait, this is terribly unfair, let me explain!’ protested Tommy.
‘The evidence is on the easel in the library,’ returned Barbara lightly.
Mrs Whitfield looked over at Fred. ‘Mr Burton Brown, I’m afraid I must insist that you leave at once.’
Tommy jumped to her feet in her passion. ‘It’s nonsense. Copying the picture was only ever for fun! It’s not even finished. You can’t send Fred away, while he’s still recovering and the weather is so awful.’ She looked over at her mother. ‘If he goes, then I go!’
‘Very well,’ said her mother, sitting slowly down. ‘Perhaps that would be for the best.’
Tommy gasped, wounded.
‘You may leave the children here until you make other arrangements,’ Mrs Whitfield said.
Tommy paled and she whispered, ‘You’d really do that, Mother? Make the three of us go? And what about Molly?’
Barbara stared coldly. ‘What about her? She stays here with me, of course.’
Fred stood up as well, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Mrs Whitfield, of course I will leave if you wish it, and I’m distressed that you think I would ever abuse your hospitality. But Tommy’s done nothing wrong!’
‘She has let me down,’ said Mrs Whitfield. ‘And now she is a force for division in this house.’
‘That’s not true, Mother. I did my best,’ Tommy said in a shaking voice. ‘I always did my best and it was never good enough. I don’t know why you prefer Barbara over me.’
‘Because,’ Mrs Whitfield said in a bitter voice, ‘at least she is respectable.’
There was a moment of horrified silence and then Gerry burst into tears.
Tommy turned and ran out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Are you all right?’ Nicholas said when Caitlyn answered the door the next morning. ‘You look like you’ve had a terrible night.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said mechanically but she knew she looked awful. The tears had come at last, a great storm that had possessed her and shook her to the depth. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t believe it until I heard her voice. Who were you, Patrick? Did I ever really know you?
When she woke, zombified, in the first light of dawn, the first thought that floated into her mind was, I hope I fucking terrified her, calling her from Patrick’s phone. She was drunk. For a minute I bet she actually thought he might be calling from the spirit world. Or else she’s so spiteful, she wanted to take the opportunity to rub in her supposed love for him.
Caitlyn looked down now at the girl standing next to Nicholas. She was fair, with a broad open face with freckles and large, wide-spaced brown eyes under straight fine brows. Caitlyn smiled at her. ‘Well now, you must be Coco.’
Coco smiled, revealing a double set of train-track braces, and said, ‘Hi!’
‘Come in and meet Max. I’m just packing up a picnic and we’ll be on our way.’ Caitlyn ushered Coco in and Nicholas followed, looking concerned.
‘Seriously, Caitlyn. What’s wrong?’
She turned to him with a sad smile. ‘I have my proof.’
‘You do?’ He looked around. ‘What is it?’
‘A nearly nude photo on his phone. And I called the number of the last person he spoke to before me, th
e same person who sent the photo. And guess who answered.’
‘Oh my God.’ Nicholas put out his arms and pulled her into a hug. ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’
‘I think she was drunk. She was certainly crying. She couldn’t wait to tell me that she loved Patrick more than I had.’
‘Nice.’ Nicholas stepped back. ‘Are you really okay to go out today?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Well . . . not fine. I feel like my heart is breaking again, in a different way.’
‘We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’
‘No, I do want to. I think it will help me.’
When the picnic basket was packed, they went outside to where the MG was waiting and Nicholas strapped it onto the back. The soft cool bags were stowed at the children’s feet and they sat on the picnic rugs.
‘Come on, then,’ Nicholas said, getting behind the wheel. ‘Ready? Let’s go.’
Caitlyn was just about to climb in when there was a movement from a car across the road, a little way up. The next moment Sara was stalking towards them, a cream hat low over her eyes and a pair of sunglasses hiding their expression. She looked elegant as ever in white trousers and a floating pale green cotton top.
As she got closer, she called out, ‘Well, this looks nice. Where are you going? Aren’t you going to invite me along?’
Nicholas groaned and muttered, ‘Oh God, she must have followed me. Sorry. I forgot she might be on the lookout.’
‘She might not have,’ Caitlyn replied quietly. ‘She might have been there already.’ As Sara came up next to the car, Caitlyn looked her straight in the eye. ‘Not today, I’m afraid. There’s only room for us.’
‘Very cosy. But I don’t think that’s very friendly.’ Sara’s voice hardened. ‘It’s not very friendly at all.’
‘You know all about not being friendly, Sara.’
Sara stared at her and a smile curled over her mouth. ‘So you’ve finally worked it all out, have you?’
‘How could you?’ asked Caitlyn, her voice raw with hurt and fury. Then she remembered Max, sitting there listening. ‘Actually, I don’t want to know.’