Unbind (Sub Rosa Series Book 1)

by Lynch, Sarah Michelle

  Oh my beautiful man. I shuffled over to him and kissed his cheek. Our arms wrapped around one another, we both started shaking.

  “If we don’t deal with this, it’s going to get worse. Her aim at the moment seems to be that we split up. So we’ll do that.”

  His head whipped up. “As a cautionary measure?”

  “Let her think she’s won, yes,” I explained, “I’ll get a hotel and hole up there. I need a place to lay low and think. We’re not seeing everything here, Cai. If I can just have some time to think! There has to be some way of undoing her. She isn’t innocent after all. There has to be some way to show her for what she really is.”

  “I’m so sick of this, I’m so empty. Chloe…” he said shaking his head, “…I want this to be over now.”

  “She may be your mother, Cai. She may even be ill. However, there is something that doesn’t work out here and I will discover it. In the meantime, finish your project and I’ll finish mine.”

  “Okay,” he nodded reluctantly.

  “Until this is over,” I gestured, and stood.

  I left him there, in the dark. She wanted us over so we’d play like we were over.

  Chapter 61

  Past

  CLAIRE THE HOUSEKEEPER looked forward to payday even though some days, she was tested almost beyond her limits. The job was bearable when Chester Matthews was in charge because he was mostly travelling and only came back for the holidays, or for a medical conference in New York. As young men, he and his younger brother Baldwin Matthews were debauched. Years ago when Baldwin used to visit from London, they’d open Sub Rosa up to have sex parties and Claire and Dirk would be sent on holiday for the week.

  You have to really think about how that kind of thing might have affected Karen—Claudia and Jennifer’s mother. Struggling with two little girls, knowing her husband was playing away with the consent of his brother Chester, the epitome of bachelorhood. She’d have probably known what was going on while married to the man, even the help knew about these parties and people amongst high society talked even more than them.

  Why Baldwin even married Karen was a mystery. Perhaps an unexpected pregnancy, or something? He certainly never seemed the settling-down type, nor a father figure even. He was content with his shenanigans and his liquor.

  Chester married Karen later on—an even more bizarre outcome. Didn’t Tudor history teach people anything? Yet when they first visited Connecticut together, they did seem honestly in love. Only a few weeks after the end of their honeymoon, they were found buried in a ditch somewhere in Surrey, England, the brakes on their car having failed.

  When Claire and Dirk found out it was Claudia who would naturally inherit everything, they had their reservations for sure. If that were the moment to finally throw in the towel, when wasn’t? Chester used to joke, “God help you if she’s still alive when I kick the bucket. She’s next in line.”

  This thought used to horrify Claire and low and behold, what should happen but a few months later, the young woman came dragging her brushes and paints up the drive with her.

  What was known about Claudia was that she was a law unto herself. Stories of her protesting around London were often reported in the Press, the only problem that it reflected badly on her sister, the sensible one who was assistant editor at Elle. Claudia wasn’t always caught imbibed though, sometimes she was just demonstrating for peace or painting a mural on a church wall. She got into trouble for a lot of things, so it seemed.

  Claire and Dirk didn’t know how bad it was to begin with. They knew she was reclusive and obsessed with painting, but it was only after she met the gardener that they really got a lick of what was wrong with her.

  It started off so sweet, really. A normal romance. Philippe began the affair, bringing roses inside from the garden. He filled vases all over the house with the damn things, but Claudia didn’t mind the pungency, everywhere she turned. Eventually she got the courage to go outside and ask him how he kept the roses in bloom… how was there enough to fill the whole house? He explained he’d cross-pollinated to produce a breed that would outlast most others. Then and there, he called it (unofficially) the Claudia Rose. Nobody knew how Chester came to employ Philippe, only that he was certainly green-fingered. He’d worked untroubled for Chester for two years before Claudia came along.

  Claire and Dirk began to notice Claudia hanging off Philippe’s words more and more, following him around like a lost puppy. They laid in bed together for days on end, quietly making love. Whispers were heard behind the door when Claire came to bring them breakfast.

  They laid on the lawn sometimes for hours on end, talking and lolling together, taking walks or swimming in any one of the nearby lakes. You could always tell when they’d been for a swim because Claudia’s hair frizzed up to the natural curls she usually ironed out. It was when she began to grow a belly that something happened. Claire and Dirk didn’t quite know what, but something in her transformed.

  Part of Claudia understood she was pregnant and the reasons why, while another part of her had no comprehension of this. Philippe ran through the house white-faced when one morning Claudia screamed, “Rape! Rape! He’s raping me!”

  What had gone from an idyllic little romance for two lost souls suddenly transformed into a nightmare. It only got worse after the birth, which Claudia wasn’t much present for. It was the other one, her nastier side, which was present. Swearing and cursing, causing havoc enough that she had to be restrained.

  Claire bottle-fed Caius, even Philippe did, but Claudia wouldn’t have anything to do with the baby. The first doctors that saw her said it was post-natal depression but everybody knew it was more than that—they just didn’t have a name for it. Eventually Philippe decided she had multiple personality disorder and he searched for specialists that might help—but Claudia wasn’t interested in salvation.

  It became more evident as the years wore on that there was Claudia, then there was the girl Claudia. The mature version was the beautiful, mysterious, broken artist whom Philippe had evidently fallen madly in love with. The girl Claudia was venomous, spiteful, scornful, mischievous, always wanting to get herself into trouble. She and Philippe’s beautiful romance turned into a sick affair of depraved sex games that not many people would have understood. From the outside looking in, maybe the interpretation was that the pair of them knew what they’d had was lost, but there was no wallowing in it—all that was left was a mutual defiance against what could have been.

  Philippe began growing opium—no threat of visitors to the crazy farm.

  Already attached to the boy Cai, neither Dirk nor Claire considered leaving. They were a little relieved in fact that Philippe gave them money for repairs and food.

  Chester was a cruel man and it was one, last laugh at Claudia—that in his will he left the crumbling ruins of Sub Rosa to her—yet all his investments in Silicon Valley he bequeathed to the next male Matthews. If no male heir was produced within 100 years, the money kept in trust would be donated to charities. Chester also stipulated that any male heir who inherited be given the Matthews name if they didn’t already carry it. The sum was seven-figure but who knew how much it would grow before an actual heir that might take the Matthews name was provided?

  Then of course, Cai came along.

  Time passed. Some days Claire and Dirk felt sorry for Philippe, who’d been dealt a rough hand when you thought about it. At other times they wished he’d show some affection to his son Cai, or even to Claudia.

  PHILIPPE wasn’t ignorant of Claudia’s skills as a mechanic. Often in the night, she crept down and out of the house, cutting the hoses on the Lincoln’s brakes. She didn’t give up. She tried again and again, even though Philippe always repaired them. He thought it was hilarious… her perseverance. Philippe only used the Lincoln to deliver his product, once at the end of every week, driving out into the night to put it in the hands of people who’d distribute it around Manhattan and beyond.

  It was only a matter of
time before he gave up on the madwoman and left, choosing one day to write a ‘suicide note’, take the Lincoln… then push it off a bridge.

  It was all part of The Plan.

  CLAIRE grimaced when one morning, two weeks after Philippe was gone, Jennifer’s chauffeur-driven Mercedes crept up the drive—and she into the house.

  There was something about Jennifer that Claire didn’t like at all. Claire being a country girl, she’d spent lots of time around people and sensed something about the woman, though she didn’t quite know what it was.

  In the kitchen as Dirk and Claire served the woman tea and biscuits, Jennifer portrayed herself as the loving sister worried about how Claudia was doing. Jennifer seemed to have no knowledge of Claudia’s disorder… even seemed to think Claudia was cured of all that years ago, despite being uncured of addiction and her flamboyant, wild tendencies.

  The young Claudia may have been enamoured with her younger sister still, but the elder wasn’t. Some animosity existed there.

  When Claire saw Jennifer and Claudia go into the drawing room together, she panicked. The possibilities… if Jennifer were to discover how ill Claudia really was.

  Claire snuck into the study next door and pushed a chair up against the wall. She looked through the peepholes in a painting hanging above, a portrait of the former lord of the manor. Through Chester’s eyes she saw them in the next room. He’d made little spy holes all around the house—probably came in handy for the sex parties. He might have thought these perverted little windows everywhere were hard to find but years of Claire cleaning the place and being up close and personal had failed to keep certain scenes from her curiosity.

  Claire watched on while Claudia opened up to Jennifer about the things she had never told anyone before. The old lady felt horrified as the whole, epic mess spilled from her mouth. Abuse? A loveless mother? Sexual deviance and mental illness? None of it surprised Claire, in fact so much made sense all of a sudden, but it was still hard to hear.

  Then Jennifer shot herself.

  Her nephew, Klaus.

  The other son.

  Claudia picked up the gun. Pressed it to her own temple. Shut her eyes.

  Appeared, intent.

  Decisive.

  Except her hand shook.

  Claire almost left her hiding place to stop her.

  Instead… a shot was fired into the ceiling and Claudia was heard repeating her sister’s name, over and over, over and over, and over again.

  Claire watched Claudia cradle her sister’s head in her lap for at least an hour. No sound. Just the facial contortions of unbearable existence. Silent tears. Madness.

  A madness seemed to leave her, eventually, and give way to something else.

  Claudia removed her clothes and put them on her sister. She juddered and shook all the way throughout.

  Claire could only remain hiding, watching, waiting.

  Numb and broken—as devastated as the sister tending the light that had just gone out. Claudia left the room holding the outfit Jennifer had arrived in. She ran upstairs and a few seconds later, Claire heard an animalistic, shrill, brutal scream ring out through the house.

  Claire ran as fast as her feet would carry her, taking as many steps at once as she could. She arrived at Claudia’s bedroom to find the woman clutching the bloodied suit, her body violently shaking.

  Claire fell to the floor and took Claudia in her arms, wrapping her up as tight as she possibly could.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

  No matter how many times Claire repeated it, she knew it would never be enough.

  “Help me dress. Help me,” Claudia begged after a time.

  “Okay. What do you want to wear?”

  “Whatever is best. I have to get into the city. Pretend I’m her. I did it before… didn’t I? I managed it before. When we were young I liked to pretend I was her… just so I didn’t have to be me. It was better being her. It even worked with him… when he thought I was mad, I was just playing her. So he didn’t like me anymore. It worked. It worked on you all… I’m not mad. I’m a polymath. I’m the most intelligent person you’ll ever meet, Claire and right now, god damn, right now… I wouldn’t wish this mind on any of you. Not even my worst enemy… not this mind… not right now. Not this mind…” She continued to ramble.

  Claire ran a bath and while Claudia scrubbed, they discussed how they could make it work. When suddenly… Claire’s mind rested on a certain question.

  “Why would you do this?”

  “Because, dear Claire, HE is out there in the world. You should have told me and none of this would’ve happened.”

  “Philippe… you mean?”

  “Of course, who else?”

  “What is the meaning of all this effort to rid yourself of him?”

  “Dear, Claire,” Claudia said manically, “I know that man like you and nobody else ever will. Whilst I know he still lives, I will not rest.”

  “You could have taken a knife to him, a gun… you had a gun! All this trouble…?”

  “Oh, so if I produced a gun… he’d not turn it upon me? Hmm? What do you think, Claire?” Claudia still looked half-mad, sat in a bath of bloody water. “That man could argue the tail off a dog. You don’t know him like I do. It had to be the brakes but you must have told him, yes?”

  “Well, yes… Dirk found them cut all the time.”

  “God damn,” Claudia whined, jumping from the bath, snapping her fingers for a towel. “I’ll resolve this stupid mess. Help me, now.”

  After drying off, Claudia sat at the dressing-table mirror instructing Claire to cut her hair, pluck her brows, put make-up on. Ordering her about.

  The sisters looked very similar even though Claudia was prettier. Their hair was the same. Their eyes were different but only in colour. Claudia just needed to develop a palate and stop eating so much junk food, lose ten pounds, and then she would be a perfect replacement.

  “The best dress you have is the black one,” Claire announced while finishing off the fringe and sides of Claudia’s new haircut.

  “It’ll do.”

  She zipped Claudia into the dress and thankfully it fit. What the dickens am I doing? Claire inwardly cried with despair. As if reading her thoughts, Claudia told Claire, “No crime took place here. When I leave, you call the police. Identify the body if you have to. That body is Claudia’s. I’m Jennifer, do you hear me? Cai need never know about this… we do whatever it takes to maintain this ruse. In my will, I left Jennifer in charge of his wellbeing anyway… so he’ll move to New York with me, take his freedom at last like I always wanted him to.”

  “Okay,” Claire nodded like she believed this plan might work. She held out Jennifer’s bag and told Claudia, “her diary is in here. I’m sure you can start with this.”

  Claudia took a deep breath, probably still in shock, just riding a wave of denial. She pointed at the painting that rested on the easel by the fireplace and gestured, “Hide it, never let it be seen. Not until after my last breath is drawn. An artist has to have their last work, Claire. You know that, right?”

  “Whatever you want, Claudia.”

  After Claudia left, Claire read the suicide note left pinned to the last painting Claudia was ever meant to paint. It read: I’m going to be at peace.

  Could we ever have peace? While we lived and there was a fight to face? Was there a peace on the other side, or not?

  The painting was just as foul as all the others. Something out of a nightmare, yet a truth Claire now understood. It might have appeared even more nightmarish than usual, now that Claire knew Claudia was fully awake, fully aware and operating.

  Claire decided two things:

  The first… to hide the painting as requested.

  The second… to hope nobody ever saw it again.

  Chapter 62

  I WENT BACK to basics. To my early training days, as a rookie on the Sheffield Telegraph. If there was something to solve here, I’d get to the botto
m of it. There was a source… always a source. Of everything. It was just getting to that source.

  I holed up in a nothing hotel in Harlem where nobody could find me. I used a pseudonym and didn’t specify the length of my stay, even though days stretched into a week and then longer.

  I chased round town in a hat and big coat, evading anyone who might know me.

  Sherlock Holmes said that when you’ve ‘eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’… and so I tried to bear that in mind.

  The first thing I came to the conclusion of was that Claudia/Jennifer was too calculated to be split. Too rational. The multiple personality disorder was a cover, a way to get Cai’s sympathy. People who had it often lost track of time while they switched from one alter to another—she was far too able for a person meant to have lost her marbles. Maybe she’d researched it, even, and knew exactly how to pull it off—make people think she really did suffer this particular mental illness.

  I just needed motive.

  Money: always a motive.

  Nobody was beyond needing money, wanting it, chasing it.

  $50,000,000. That is how much Cai was set to inherit, so I’d been led to believe.

  I spent time in public records and called some friends in London to see what they could dig up. What I discovered was papers relating to the aforementioned investments, which apparently did exist after all. Chester did invest. Those shares did accrue. That part was true.

  So who’d want money? Well, Claudia had enough. Who else? Cai, perhaps. Although I felt certain even just one million bucks would be enough for him. So… somebody else in the mix was interested in that money.

  Why did Jennifer/Claudia treat Cai so badly? Perhaps he reminded Claudia of Philippe? Perhaps he was corrupted. I had to consider every angle if I were to nail this.