The Perfect Guests

by Emma Rous

  Zach’s eyes widen. “You don’t think she’s the owner, do you? I mean, why would she join in as a guest without telling us? And why would she . . . ?”

  Sadie feels nauseated again. Yes, why would Leonora want to hurt them?

  Everett’s voice rumbles from the depths of his armchair. “Because she’s deranged, that’s why. The woman needs locking up.”

  Nina ducks her head, but not before Sadie catches a flash of emotion in her eyes, and Sadie feels desperately sorry for her suddenly. The others clearly don’t know that Nina is Leonora’s daughter, and whatever Leonora has done isn’t Nina’s fault. Does Nina think Leonora is capable of it? Sadie rubs her temples. Her thoughts are like darting fish sparking across her mind and slipping out of reach. Despite the hot tea and the flames in the grate, she still feels cold all over.

  Nina gets to her feet. “I need something stronger than tea. Anyone else? I saw whiskey in the pantry earlier.” The others sit in silence while she’s gone, and she returns quickly with a bottle tucked under her arm and a stack of crystal glasses.

  Everett leans forward eagerly. “Good girl.”

  “Yes,” Nazleen says, smiling. “This might warm us up a bit.”

  Nina clatters the glasses onto the coffee table, and she sloshes generous servings of whiskey into each of them. As Sadie watches, she finally catches hold of one of the questions that have been niggling at her. She takes the glass offered and sits back.

  “If you saw the fire,” she says slowly to Nina, “from your window . . . why didn’t you call the fire brigade?”

  Nina’s condescending expression reminds Sadie so strongly of Leonora, it’s almost amusing. “Well, I tried to, obviously, but you know how the phones can be, out here in the Fens . . . Cheers.” Nina knocks back the contents of her glass, tucks her chin into her neck, and shivers. “Gosh, that’s good.” She nudges Beth’s arm next to her. “Drink up.”

  Sadie is frowning. “But the landline, surely . . .”

  Nina’s tone has a distinct coldness in it now. “Well, yes . . . That’s a funny story, actually . . .”

  Sadie makes eye contact with Beth. Something’s not right here. But Beth lowers her gaze and stares down into her glass, and Sadie’s heart sinks. Yet again, her mother seems to be withdrawing, refusing to engage.

  “So, I’ll tell it to you from the beginning,” Nina says, refilling her glass. “Anyone for a top-up?”

  The guests murmur politely and shake their heads; they haven’t started on their first servings yet. They settle back in their seats to hear Nina’s story, lifting the glasses of golden liquid to their lips.

  Beth

  No!” It’s out of my mouth almost before I know I’m going to say it. “Don’t drink it!”

  The others stare at me, their mouths hanging open, and slowly they lower their glasses. All except Everett, who tuts and tips his glass back to swig from it anyway. I spring toward him and knock the glass from his hand, sending it hurtling through the air to smash against the black marble fireplace in an explosion of glittering icelike shards.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Everett barks.

  I’m not sure exactly when I knew something was wrong—perhaps when Sadie’s worried gaze hit mine, or when I saw a coldness in Nina’s eyes that wasn’t there thirty years ago—but I’m as certain as I can be. There is something in that whiskey.

  I ignore Everett and swing around to check on Sadie. She looks so young, suddenly. She gives me that same trusting smile she always used to when she was a child, and then she peers down into her own glass.

  “There’s definitely something in it that shouldn’t be there,” she says, swirling the contents gently. “Something oily . . .”

  Everett is all bluster. “What’s going on? Are you saying that Averell woman is trying to poison us, now that she’s failed to burn us in our beds?”

  I turn to Nina, who’s just swallowed a whole glass of the stuff. I’m concerned for her, but I can’t help thinking, How could she not have had something to do with this? I desperately want to believe, like Everett, that Leonora is wholly responsible. But Leonora is locked in the study, and how would she have known we’d end up drinking the whiskey?

  “You just drank it . . . ,” I say to her, stupidly.

  She gazes back at me. “You were right, you know,” she says eventually. “About Mum poisoning me, when I was a child.”

  The room is utterly silent as the other guests absorb this revelation that the photographer is in fact Nina, Leonora’s daughter.

  Nina gives a heavy sigh. “I made Mum admit it. After—you know, after Markus died. She said it was”—she mimics Leonora’s voice—“just a gentle herbal preparation, that’s all. Just enough to keep me out of the way when my grandfather visited.” Nina’s face crumples. “Can you imagine how that feels?”

  I swallow hard. “But what about now?” I gesture at the whiskey bottle. “How did this happen?” I search her gaze, and there’s plenty of emotion there—anger, frustration, self-pity—but no surprise, no shock or anxiety at having drunk another dose of her mother’s poison. And suddenly, I’m thinking of the last time I was in this house, of the horror and fear on Leonora’s face before she ran up into the smoke to look for Nina . . .

  “My God,” I say. “I always thought it was your mum who started the fire in my bedroom. I was sure I hadn’t left anything on. I thought maybe she was creating an excuse to get rid of me, but”—I shake my head—“Leonora loves this house. Too much. Definitely too much to risk burning it down—either then or now. Whereas you . . .”

  Nina doesn’t take her eyes off me. She says nothing, but even after all these years, I can still read her—her wounded air of always being in the right, no matter what.

  I step closer to her, my heart pounding painfully. “You did this, didn’t you? Brought these people here. Put something in their food to make them sleepy. Started the fire . . . It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Nina shakes her head and laughs softly. “Oh, Beth. You’re being ridiculous. You must be exhausted.” She sits forward, as if that’s an end to the conversation, and she pulls a white scrunchie hair band from her pocket, scoops up her hair, gathers and twists it until it’s captured in a bun on the back of her head.

  Deflated, I glance around at the others. Is Nina right? Is this my exhaustion talking? I’m hoping that Sadie, at least, might offer me some reassurance, but she’s staring at Nina with a fascinated expression, and when she blurts out a question of her own, I genuinely believe I’ve lost my grip on the whole situation.

  “What time is it, Nina?” Sadie says, enunciating her words with care.

  Nina raises her eyebrows, then draws back the cuff of her coat. “Ten past four.”

  “Your watch . . . ,” Sadie says. I follow her gaze to Nina’s white sports watch. Sadie sounds both amazed and triumphant. “You’ve been sitting in your car outside Mum’s house, haven’t you? These past few weeks. In a dark gray Audi . . .”

  I look from Sadie to Nina, my bewilderment greater than ever. “Is that true? Why? Why would you do that?”

  Suddenly, Nina’s face collapses into a childlike expression—hurt and resentful, as if she’s been the victim of a cruel trick. She glares at me as though it were all my fault, and she can’t seem to resist bouncing the blame onto me.

  “I rang your old workplace, but they’d only say you didn’t work there anymore; they wouldn’t tell me anything else. I watched your house for hours, Beth, and you never went in or out. All I saw was this sad daughter, and people carting away your furniture . . .” She shakes her head bitterly, as if the whole world has conspired against her. “You never answered your invitation, Beth. You made me think you were dead.”

  Sadie

  Sadie scans her memory. All that post of her mother’s that she scooped up and dropped unopened into the cardboard box in the hall . . . B
eth had assured her, before she left for the retreat, that all her bills were settled; there’d be nothing that needed Sadie’s attention. And, of course, Sadie had believed her; she’d barely glanced at anything in that box. How easily an invitation to a murder mystery weekend might have been lost among the pizza leaflets and charity letters and free newspapers . . .

  Beth stares at Nina, and her voice is faint. “You really thought I was dead . . .”

  Nina presses her lips together, and Sadie suspects she’s regretting her outburst.

  “So it was you who sent the invitations,” Sadie says to her. “But I saw you watching Mum’s house weeks before I got my invite. Was I—?” She glances at Beth. “Did you invite me here as a replacement for my mum?”

  Nina ignores her. She looks utterly exhausted now; she slumps back on the sofa, and her next words are quiet and directed only at Beth.

  “What does it matter, now, anyway?” she says. “The whole thing has failed, hasn’t it? I concede defeat, Beth. Congratulations. You win again.”

  Leonora watches Markus and Nina from the kitchen window. Mallets clacking, they’re playing croquet on the lawn, Nina shrieking indignantly every time Markus knocks one of her balls out of place. It’s a joyful, vicious game.

  She glances at the clock; she wishes she could be as relaxed as they are.

  It’s been three weeks since Stephanie’s phone call. “Sorry, Leonora. I thought I should let you know. I’ve just taken a booking for a Mr. Hendrik Meyer for next month, and his secretary said she was booking an appointment with the local estate agent too . . .”

  At first, Leonora had felt hopeless. This was it: Hendrik was coming back to put an end to all her dreams. He’d sell the house, throw them out . . . Markus tried to reassure her, but she had to face the truth: their chances of persuading Hendrik to let them stay at Raven Hall were virtually nil. But then, Markus—her wonderful, kindhearted, clever Markus—had come up with a plan . . .

  She glances at the clock again. Their guest will be here in a few minutes. She raps on the kitchen window to summon Markus and Nina in.

  By the time the car draws up on the gravel, the three of them are lined up on the top step, and Leonora shoots a quick look at Markus over Nina’s head: Can they really pull this off? Are they making a mistake? Is it too late to change their minds?

  The car door opens, and out steps the child, blond-haired, round-cheeked, her face a mask of self-protection that Leonora recognizes only too well: the face of a survivor, the face of an orphan. Leonora’s heart squeezes with a painful mix of sympathy and terror. This girl is their best chance—their only chance.

  Leonora hurries down the steps to greet her.

  Beth

  This isn’t a game, Nina!” I shake her by the arms, trying to make her look at me. “Why did you do it?”

  Nina’s expression is closed now; she turns her head away. Sadie moves to the window, to the gap in the curtains, and the relief in her voice makes my heart ache.

  “The police are here.”

  I’m shocked to feel tears welling up. Jonas has called for help. We’re going to be okay. I turn back to Nina, but still, she refuses to look at me, and I feel my anger rising.

  “What was this all for?” I gesture at Sadie and the other guests huddled in their dressing gowns and overcoats; at the abandoned whiskey glasses; at the door that hides the blackened staircase beyond. “Just tell me, will you?”

  “Yes, tell us.” Nazleen’s voice is indignant. “You don’t even know me. Why would you want to hurt me?”

  “Yeah,” Zach chimes in plaintively. “What did we ever do to you?”

  Finally, Nina meets my gaze—only for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to make my blood freeze. I stumble backward, away from her, away from the ice-cold fury in her eyes. I know what some of us did to her.

  Leonora made her sick, hid her from the world and from her own grandfather. Jonas switched his attentions to me when I came on the scene. And as for me, I took her place, pretended to be her, stole her only friend away from her . . .

  “There’s no point in looking for a rational reason,” Everett growls from his armchair. “She’s a criminal. She needs locking up.”

  Nina gets to her feet. Blue light slices through the window and washes over her face. She moves closer to the armchair by the fire.

  “Dr. Everett,” she says, “I notice you haven’t asked me why I invited you here.”

  Everett’s tone is aggrieved. “I’ve never met you before either.” He glances around the room nervously. “I had no idea that woman was your mother until just now.”

  “That woman,” Nina says, “has a name. Leonora Averell. Do you remember her? Please tell me you haven’t forgotten driving her back to your house, years ago, when she was alone and vulnerable.”

  Everett’s dark eyes widen, and Nina nods as something tightens in his expression.

  “I see you do remember,” she says.

  Blue light fills the room now. Car doors slam outside; boots pound across the gravel.

  Everett barks at Zach. “Get them in here, quick. They need to take her away, lock her up.”

  Nina tilts her head, and she looks him straight in the eye. “Dr. Roy Everett. We haven’t properly met. I’m Nina Averell. And I’m your daughter.”

  Sadie

  For a long, breath-holding moment, no one says a word. Nina stares down at Everett, and Everett gazes back at her with mounting horror.

  “It’s not true, Dad,” Zach says. “Is it?”

  Everett is saved from having to reply. The front door crashes open in the hall, and a woman’s voice shouts, “Police!” Beth leaps to her feet, and Sadie moves to stand next to her.

  Two uniformed officers burst into the drawing room, firing questions at the guests, and more than one trembling hand rises to point directly at Nina. The officers converge on her, and they take her to one side to talk.

  “I don’t understand,” Sadie murmurs to Beth after a few minutes have passed. “How did you live with this family for so long? The mother poisoning the daughter, the daughter setting the house on fire. It all sounds . . .”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Beth pulls a face. “I mean, okay, those bits weren’t good, but apart from that—most of the time—it was a pretty wonderful place to live . . .”

  Sadie remains unconvinced. “But you said they made you pretend to be Nina—why?”

  Beth answers slowly. “It was to do with the house. Leonora didn’t want to lose the house.”

  “Well, that turned out well.” Sadie mulls it over, frowning. “Do you think they dreamed this up together, then, Nina and Leonora?”

  For a long moment, Beth doesn’t reply. They both watch as Nina repeatedly shakes her head in response to the police officers’ questions, and Sadie thinks perhaps Beth doesn’t think it’s fair to speculate.

  But eventually, Beth sighs. “I just can’t imagine Leonora agreeing to anything that would damage this house.”

  Sadie catches hold of Beth’s hand. “We’re going to be okay, Mum, aren’t we?” She searches Beth’s gaze, feeling like a child again, desperate for her mother’s reassurance. “Aren’t we?”

  “Oh, Sadie.” Beth draws her into her arms, and she holds her tight. “Of course we are. We’ve got each other, haven’t we? We’re definitely going to be okay.”

  Beth

  Ihold Sadie close to me as I watch the police officers caution Nina and arrest her.

  My poor, damaged friend, Nina.

  Nina isn’t Markus’s daughter. She’s the local doctor’s daughter. I can hardly believe it. And yet . . . I glance from Nina’s slim frame to Zach’s, then from Zach’s fine dark hair to Nina’s. Although her half brother must be a good few years younger than she is, the genetic link between them seems suddenly, glaringly clear.

  Finally, after thirty years, the b
izarre rules of Nina’s childhood begin to make sense. Leonora kept Nina hidden, not just from the village doctor himself, but from anyone local who knew him, who might have put two and two together. Nina looked nothing like Markus, and all it would take would be one nosy neighbor to remark on her similarity to Dr. Everett or his son, and the secret might escape . . . And what if that secret found its way to Hendrik?

  There was no love lost between Leonora and Hendrik. I’d seen that right from Hendrik’s first visit. Would Hendrik have allowed Markus to continue living at Raven Hall with Leonora and Nina for as long as he did if he’d known the truth? Would he have been happy with the idea of Nina eventually inheriting the house? I think not.

  It’s entirely inappropriate, but I feel a sudden urge to laugh. Anyone else in Leonora’s position, wanting to hide the paternity of their baby, would have had an easy option: they’d have moved away from where the father lived. But Leonora’s obsession with Raven Hall made that solution impossible.

  Then my anger returns. It was one thing for Leonora to hide Nina away from her biological father and the other locals, quite another for her to scour children’s homes for a more convincing granddaughter for Hendrik. Whatever terrible things Nina has done here tonight, the ultimate blame lies with Leonora; of that, I’m certain.

  Perhaps Nina catches a flash of sympathy in my eyes, because she calls out to me suddenly.

  “My mother always loved this house more than she loved me; you know that, don’t you?” She suddenly looks desperately sorry for herself. “I’m not obsessed with Raven Hall like them. All I wanted was a tiny bit of justice.”

  I say nothing in reply. My mind is still reeling. She tried to kill my daughter this evening. But she used to be my best friend—how will I ever come to terms with this?

  As the officers lead Nina toward the door, she looks over her shoulder and locks her gaze on mine.