by Kait Jagger
It was because of that look that Luna said yes when Isabelle invited her to sit next to her and her friends in the lunch room a few days later. And to use her newfound ability, her gift with words, to Isabelle’s benefit over the ensuing weeks. For like alpha do-gooders the world over, Isabelle also enjoyed doing bad, from time to time, and had a few enemies at St Catherine’s on whom she was only too happy to unleash her new pet. What she failed to anticipate was that Luna was completely incapable of controlling her urges, and just as happy to hurt Isabelle as anyone else. So she hadn’t stopped, during her first visit to Arborage, at suggesting that the love of Isabelle’s life fuck off back to Sweden. After a subsequent day of silent treatment, during which Isabelle worked herself into a fury that culminated in her confronting Luna in the portrait gallery to inform her of the hell that awaited her on their return to school, Luna had simply rested her cold gaze upon Isabelle and said, ‘But he still won’t love you, no matter what you do.’
Isabelle could come up with no reply and settled for storming out of the gallery with the rest of the girls, leaving Luna alone, blood singing through her veins at her latest kill. The rush passed as quickly as it had come, however, just like it always did. She felt herself deflate, her head dropping.
‘Shall I show you a secret?’ came a voice from behind her, and Luna turned to see the Marchioness standing there, dressed in black as ever, smiling conspiratorially at her. If she’d heard the exchange between Luna and her daughter she gave no sign of it. Instead she led the way through the gallery, naming the Wellstones in the paintings, telling Luna a little about each of them. Eventually they reached the panelled door that led to the hidden staircase, and Lady Wellstone led her up to the landing, where they looked down on the gallery below.
Looking back, Luna found it difficult to remember exactly what they talked about, there on the stairs. The Marchioness did most of the talking anyway, telling Luna about her plans for renovating the east wing, about the problems they had with woodworm and damp, and the general difficulty of living in a Grade I listed house.
Lady Wellstone touched only briefly on Luna’s own situation at the very end of their chat, and she was careful to offer neither censure nor instruction. No, what had taken place on that staircase was a simple act of kindness, one that came at a time when Luna was at a crossroads, faced with a choice as to what kind of person she was going to become.
She returned to school and though she remained a loner she worked hard to curb her unkind impulses. She came up with the coping mechanism of imagining her mother’s apothecary chest when her emotions got the best of her. She regrew her hair and, as if she had given her body permission to grow, shot up four whole inches between her thirteenth and fourteenth birthdays, finally getting her period just before she turned fifteen. She managed, with help from her headmistress and, she suspected, the unseen hand of the Marchioness, to get a scholarship at the University of Manchester, and a job working as a secretary in the History Department there.
And no, Luna did not believe in fate, but years later, when a headhunter contacted her in Miami to tell her about a role that was opening up at a historic home in Berkshire, it felt that she had come full circle, back to the woman to whom she believed she owed everything, every good thing, that had happened in her life since her parents’ deaths.
But some old habits would not die, among them her lasting aversion to conversations that entailed talking about her feelings, and her deep reluctance to discuss her parents. Looking out of her bedroom window in the direction of the Dower House, Luna still couldn’t imagine being able to talk to Stefan about them, even knowing how this looked to him.
She couldn’t leave it, she knew – not after their confrontation in the barn. But as she quickly changed into jeans and a tunic, grabbing her jacket and walking downstairs to the outside door, she had absolutely no idea what she would say to him.
The door of the Dower House opened as Luna approached along the darkened path and Stefan came out in a hurry, pulling on his jacket. He stopped when he saw her.
‘You’re on your way out,’ she said, hovering a few feet away, poised to retreat.
‘I was coming to see you. Luna—’
She held up her hand. If she let him keep talking, she’d lose what little nerve she had.
‘After my father died,’ she began without preamble, ‘they told me that I needed to talk about it, that talking was the only way I was going to feel better, the only way I’d get over it.’ She paused. ‘But talking isn’t for everyone. It wasn’t for me. It didn’t help me and for a while it made things much, much worse…’
Stefan nodded at her, the shaft of light from the doorway briefly illuminating the side of his face.
‘I became a…bad person for a time. I discovered that I had a gift for saying things that hurt people, so I said them. What you saw on that walk with Isabelle, that was nothing. And it took me a long time to stop being that way, to become a normal person again…’
Stefan began to move towards her and Luna stepped back, away from the light of the house, away from him. He froze, lifting his hands slightly to assure her that he would come no further. ‘And yes,’ she said, ‘I’m ashamed of the way I behaved, and no, I don’t want everyone knowing how my father died, but those aren’t the reasons I haven’t talked to you about this.’
This was much harder than even she had thought, speaking in this way. Her chest was aching with the stress of it, the difficulty of articulating emotions she had never shared before. Luna clenched and unclenched her fists, searching for words.
‘When I was little, I used to have nightmares that one of my parents had cancer or they’d abandoned me, or they were dying. I think it’s probably pretty common, that sort of thing?’ She looked at him for confirmation and Stefan nodded. ‘And you know when you have those dreams and it’s like no emotion you’ve ever experienced when you’re awake – the feeling of dread and hopelessness? I can’t even think of the words to describe it…’
The wind blew a pile of leaves onto the path and they danced around Luna’s legs. ‘Every day was like that, after my father died. Like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Every day for months.’ She was shaking now, at the limits of her endurance. ‘I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I can’t, Stefan, I can’t—’
His self-control broke then and Stefan closed the gap between them, throwing his arms around her and lifting her against him. Luna was almost hyperventilating, shaking uncontrollably as he pulled her into the house and kicked the door shut.
‘Min älskling, min älskling,’ he was saying. He kept his arms around her, backing her into the living room and pressing her down into an armchair. Then he knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. ‘You asked me to give you time to talk about your parents and I didn’t. Like a selfish, self-centred bastard, I decided to force the issue. It is me who is at fault here. Please, please forgive me.’
Luna looked away, shaking her head. She hadn’t come here for apologies. But Stefan persisted. ‘I promise you, I will never press you on this again. It will be for you to decide if and when you want to talk about it.’
Sometime later, after he’d made a fire and pulled her onto his lap and Luna was resting, drained but calm, against his chest she said, ‘He didn’t know I was there. My father. He never would have done it if he thought I’d see.’ Stefan kissed her hair. Then she asked, voice reedy, ‘Do you think I’m fucked up?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I think you are wonderful and I think I don’t deserve you.’ Tightening his arm around her, he lifted himself up slightly in the chair and reached into his trouser pocket. Moving his hand down to hers, he opened her fingers and placed her motorbike keys in them, re-closing her fist around them.
Chapter Thirty–One
Luna was running through the formal gardens, the skies around her still dark. It was the morning before the board meeting, and after a week of winter sunshine the weather had begun to turn. Neither stars nor
moon were visible through a heavy layer of cloud and the temperature was hovering at around freezing, with snow predicted for that night. Joyous news for school children hoping to finish a few days early for Christmas, but not so much for a hard-working PA trying to ensure safe passage for twelve board members travelling from all ends of the UK and beyond.
As Luna completed her sixth circuit of the garden, skirting the entrance to the maze, her phone buzzed in her pocket and she slowed to answer it. It was the Marchioness.
‘Luna, can you be in the office early today? I need you,’ she said, skipping any pleasantries.
Lady Wellstone was sitting at her desk when Luna arrived at 7.45. ‘Come in and shut the door,’ she instructed. She was wearing her black suit and looking extremely alert, tense, even. Looking Luna straight in the eye, she said, ‘I am going to sack Paul Walker today.’
Luna swallowed. ‘Why?’
‘Stefan’s interviews with him earlier in the autumn uncovered some…irregularities, and now that the accountants have had a chance to make further investigations it appears that Paul has been embezzling money from the estate. For some time, and in some amount.’
Luna nodded and the Marchioness steepled her fingers on her lap.
‘I need you to arrange for two men from security to go down to his little shack,’ Lady Wellstone’s lip curled at this last word, ‘and escort him directly to HR. It is extremely important that he not be given the opportunity to steal company property, or commit any acts of vandalism, or place any phone calls.
‘I want you there when security escorts Paul off the property, Luna. And the very minute that happens you’re to call Florian and tell him I need to see him.’
Luna felt a strange flipping sensation in her stomach. ‘And if Mr Wellstone refuses?’
‘Impress on him the urgency of the matter,’ Lady Wellstone said coldly.
Almost an hour to the minute after this, Luna sat in the passenger seat of one of the estate Land Rovers, watching as two of their toughest security guards, both, she knew, ex-army, stood speaking with Paul outside the gatehouse. The entire thing had gone like a military procedure. They hadn’t found Paul in his cottage, but out in the forest repairing a release pen for his pheasants. He’d gone along relatively quietly, though as the Marchioness had anticipated, he’d apparently requested three times to be allowed to make a phone call.
Truth be told, Luna was not at all comfortable with being here to witness his humiliation, him standing in his battered wax jacket holding a small box of possessions whilst the guards warned him of what would happen if he was ever found on the estate again. She had wondered many times, since that night he’d run her off the road, whether she’d done the right thing in not at least trying to report him to the police. But she’d made her decision, for better or worse, and it sat uneasily with her that he might think she’d had a hand in this morning’s events, as some twisted act of revenge.
Her worst fears were realised when a taxi she had pre-booked for him arrived and he went to get in, pausing only to gaze in the direction of the Land Rover, looking like he wanted to spit at her, or worse. Moments later, the taxi was gone and the security guards were walking her way, and Luna found herself gasping suddenly, having forgotten to breathe for the past several seconds.
‘I’m afraid now isn’t terribly convenient,’ Florian drawled minutes later when she phoned him as they drove back to the house.
‘She has asked me to stress that the matter is both extremely urgent and highly confidential,’ Luna said.
‘And I don’t sssuppose you’d like to illuminate me on the nature of the urgency?’ he asked irritably. But she could tell she had him interested now, that he was hoping and praying it was something to do with his brother’s health. After that, it didn’t take him long to agree.
Indeed, by the time she got to the office, Florian was just ahead of her, preparing to shut the Marchioness’s door in her face. But something caught his eye – Lady Wellstone gesturing from her desk, Luna assumed – and he reluctantly left it open.
As previously instructed by the Marchioness, Luna walked into the office and handed her the large envelope containing everything security had confiscated from Paul. Emptying it out on her desk, Lady Wellstone said, ‘I’ve just had to summarily dismiss Paul Walker.’ Before Florian could gather his wits, she continued, ‘He’s been skimming money from the accounts, Fox. We have sworn statements from two hunting clients saying that he requested payment from them in cash – cash that never made it into Arborage coffers. It’s a mess, quite frankly.’ She paused, letting her words sink in.
‘And you’re…quite certain about this?’ Florian asked, visibly blanching.
‘Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Stefan raised the alarm earlier this year and the accountants have completed a thorough investigation.’ The Marchioness waved a hand. ‘I know you will be as appalled as I was about this.’
‘I’m absolutely shocked.’
‘Of course,’ she said sympathetically. ‘It’s always difficult when a long-time associate abuses one’s trust in this way. I must ask that you decline any efforts by Paul to contact you.’
‘I— Yes, yes, of courssse,’ Florian stammered.
‘There’s always the possibility that he may consider legal action, so we need to completely disassociate ourselves from him.’
‘I understand.’ Florian seemed suddenly very eager to depart, making his excuses and casting a quick malevolent glance at Luna on his way out.
Luna, meanwhile, was frankly amazed by the little piece of performance art her boss had just served up. From the emptying of the envelope on her desk, to the calculated noises of sympathy she made to Florian, this entire exchange had been carefully staged. That Florian hadn’t noticed was testimony to his collusion with Paul Walker.
Possibly the accountants hadn’t managed to produce evidence linking him to it, or, if they had, perhaps the Marquess and Marchioness had jointly decided not to pursue it. But…it didn’t feel like that to Luna. No, she’d be surprised if the Marquess knew anything about this. What she’d just witnessed felt like a pre-emptive strike, a shot across Florian’s bow. The timing of it, twenty-four hours before the board meeting, couldn’t have been a coincidence.
*
The snow began to fall in the mid-afternoon, just flurries at first, but becoming heavier as night fell. Fortunately, most of the board members had already arrived at Arborage for dinner with the Marquess and Marchioness in their private quarters.
Luna and the Marchioness left the office together that evening, walking out to the main hallway just as Sören and Stefan entered from the portico, shaking the snow off their coats, Sören removing a wide-brimmed black felt hat. Stefan’s hair was, quite fetchingly to Luna’s eyes, full of snow.
‘Augusta! And Luna!’ Sören cried, taking the Marchioness’s hand and kissing it, before moving to place an arm around Luna’s shoulders. ‘You are a sight for sore eyes after the madness I have witnessed on the road from Heathrow. Such driving, eh, Stefan?’
Stefan nodded vigorously, shaking a combination of snow and water onto the floor. ‘A little bit of snow…’ he began.
‘And the English completely lose their wits!’ Sören concluded. And father and son’s expressions were so similar, their faces so united in horror, that Luna had to draw a knuckle to her mouth and look away to keep from laughing. Unfortunately, she caught Lady Wellstone’s eye in the process and saw that she was similarly affected. And that was all it took; the two women burst out laughing.
Sören looked between them in confusion. ‘What is funny?’ And then to Stefan, ‘What is funny?’
The four of them walked up the stairs together, Luna making her excuses when they reached the landing, from whence she walked into the darkened east wing.
‘We’re using the state dining room for the meeting tomorrow,’ she heard Lady Wellstone explain. ‘Luna’s just checking to make sure everything’s in order…’
They’d decided to u
se the state dining room because the conference room was slightly cramped for a full board meeting, and as the east wing was now closed for Christmas, using the dining room wouldn’t impact on the tour.
It wasn’t one of Luna’s favourite rooms, its oak panelling and heavy gold-inlaid furniture making it seem dark, oppressive somehow. As she entered from the hallway, however, she was pleased to see that it was currently bustling with activity, with staff dusting wall fittings, cleaning the fireplace and fireback, and laying out leather table protectors on the massive oval table in the centre of the room. Marta was waiting for her, a lunch menu in hand, and Luna sat with her for a few minutes on one of the velvet-upholstered love seats arranged against the wall.
Later, after the catering staff had left, Luna sat staring up at the ceiling, where baroque artist James Thornhill had depicted the Fall of Bellerophon. It was one of many gems in Arborage’s crown, much treasured by art historians and restored a year ago at great expense. Luna suspected the Marchioness had chosen this room for tomorrow’s meeting for that very reason, to visibly demonstrate the fruits of her labours. And, by extension, the board’s wisdom in supporting those labours.
Thornhill had done a masterful job of depicting the terror on Bellerophon’s face as he fell through the sky; Bellerophon, conqueror of the Minotaur, tamer of Pegasus the winged horse, who had flown to Mount Olympus daring to believe himself the equal of the gods. Many of whom were also painted on the ceiling, Zeus most prominently, his face stern and severe as he punished the Greek hero for his sin of hubris.
Luna stood and turned out the lights in the room, then went to the windows and looked out onto the garden below, where snow was still falling, blanketing the lawn.
She heard the main door to the dining room open and close, but didn’t turn away from the window. She hoped it was not someone from the catering staff, come to collect some forgotten item, or a member of the security team, come to hurry her along. She thought it was not. She thought it was…ah, a hand around her waist. Luna smiled and leant back against the tall, lean body behind her.