Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3)

by Sarah A. Denzil

  “Wrongfully accused, sir.” I make my eyes go big, like a puppy dog, but I do it in a mocking way.

  “Let’s not play games,” he says. “I know what you are.”

  “What’s going on?” Owen steps into the room and lazily addresses the television.

  I put on my best Scottish accent. “There’s been a murder.”

  Uncle Lloyd practically leaps to his feet, leans over me and strikes me across the face with the back of his hand. I go tumbling to the carpet, grazing my knees and landing awkwardly on my hands, like a dog on all fours. I spit out a glob of blood onto his plush, cream carpet and then stand, wiping my face.

  “Fuck. You. Sir.”

  “Get to your room.”

  “No.”

  “I will throw you both out of this house!”

  “Go on then, it’s not worth staying here, you aging, ugly, paedo.”

  “Isabel shut your face,” Owen says. “I’m so sorry, sir. Let me talk to her and ensure none of this happens again.” He grasps me by the elbow and marches me out of the study.

  Uncle Lloyd follows us as we leave. “You’d better get her under control. Or I’ll sell her to the highest bidder. I swear it.”

  “I’ll cut the throat of anyone who buys me,” I say.

  “Shut up,” Owen warns. He lowers his voice as he practically pushes me up the stairs. “We need his money. You know that.” He bundles me into his room away from Lloyd and his nosy servant.

  When he finally lets me go, I don’t give him the satisfaction of rubbing my arms. “The man is a paedophile.”

  My brother dismisses the word with a wave of his hand. “You’re a murderer.”

  “He used to molest me.”

  He simply shrugs his shoulders. “We’re psychopaths and so is he. You’re easily as bad as him. You murder at will, sis. What gives you a moral compass all of a sudden?”

  I could claw his eyes out, but I manage to curb my frustration. If there’s one person in this world I need, it’s Owen. “It’s not a moral compass, it’s a matter of fact. He hurt me when I was a child and now I want him dead. I hate him and what he does.”

  Owen cocks his head to one side. “You spent too long with that nurse. Maybe stop mutilating people for pleasure if you’ve developed an appetite for justice.”

  “Maybe stop obsessing over money and recognise that Uncle Lloyd needs to die.”

  “I like money,” he says. Owen’s tone never veers from bratty. For the first time I find it completely infuriating and wonder what it would be like to mutilate him. “I can see your murderous thoughts, dear sister.”

  “Then you’d better stay on my good side.”

  Owen lets out a long sigh. “Arguing is getting us nowhere. Perhaps we need to develop a plan.” He sits down on the bed and crosses one leg over the other. I take a seat in the armchair across the room.

  “What sort of plan?” I pause and stare at the ceiling. “Wait.” I lean over and press play on Owen’s speaker. “I wouldn’t put it past Uncle Lloyd to listen in on our rooms.”

  Owen simply shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s doing that. He would have heard you leave last night if he was.”

  “I was in my room all night, thank you very much.”

  “Save it for someone naïve, sis.”

  I stick out my tongue at him. “What sort of plan did you have in mind? Does it involve Uncle?”

  “It involves us keeping out of trouble so we can use his money.”

  “That sounds boring.”

  “Hear me out.”

  ***

  For the rest of the day, I played nicely. I apologised to Uncle Lloyd and helped him prepare lunch. For some reason, he decided we should do it together. Once we started, I understood the real reason he wanted my help: showing off his skills with a knife.

  “You do have impressive abilities, Isabel,” he says as he cuts salmon into thin slices of sashimi. “I noted that most of your victims are women. But this time you overpowered a man.”

  I glance at him, sideways on. “Are you wearing a wire?”

  “Are you wearing a wire, sir,” he corrects; a smug grin spreading across his face. “Not very trusting, are you? The answer is no. You’re already a criminal. All I’d have to do is call the British embassy.” He laughs. “There’s no need for a wire.”

  “Yes, well it’s lucky no one knows you exist,” I reply. “Mummy hasn’t told the police, as far as I know, and I’m guessing that you’ve been out of the country long enough for everyone else to have forgotten about you. Daddy rarely mentioned you after you stopped visiting.”

  “Well, we had a falling out.”

  I nod my head. “Why was that?”

  He ignores the question. “How do you surprise your victims? You weigh nothing. You’re not physically intimidating.”

  “Small things hide easily. Weak people give in easily.”

  “You prey on the weak and vulnerable.”

  “A hunter finds the easiest target.”

  “Some like the challenge.” He begins to chop the herbs, rolling the blade back and forth. “Leah Smith is that challenge for you, isn’t she?”

  “What do you know about Leah?”

  “I know everything,” he says. “I’ve always known everything.” In one fluid motion, he drops the knife, grasps hold of my wrist and pulls my arm behind my back, pushing my face down towards the kitchen counter. “I’ve had people watching you ever since you escaped from Crowmont Hospital. My half-brother failed you.” He leans down so that his face is close to mine. “With me you would have been magnificent.”

  “Let me go,” I say, remaining calm despite the pain. My heart rate quickens slightly and adrenaline floods through me. Sweet adrenaline. My drug. But this is different because I’m not the one with the power. He is, and he always has been. Rage trembles through my body.

  “Don’t fight it. I want you to learn.”

  “Learn what?”

  “Who is in charge. I want you to stop your silly murders. Carving bird wings into skin is so juvenile. If you worked for me you could achieve much more. I can make you rich. I can give your life purpose again. And perhaps if we do, we can arrange for a few of the women to come your way. Perhaps, once a month.”

  “What do you mean ‘come my way’?”

  “I mean you could do what you want with them. Chop them up. Carve your marks. Whatever.” He releases me and I straighten up.

  “You mean you’d give me a job and access to prey?”

  He grins. “Exactly that.”

  “What about Owen?”

  He leans against the counter in a strangely relaxed pose that I’m not accustomed to seeing from him. “Well, what about him? You know your brother better than I do. What will he want?”

  “Drugs. Money. Parties. Money for drugs and parties.”

  Uncle Lloyd grimaces. “We can’t have that. A man needs a purpose. Perhaps I can find him a job working for me.”

  “He wouldn’t accept it,” I say. “It’s not in his nature.”

  “Then perhaps a small allowance, but not enough for excesses.”

  I lift my chin. “And what would be expected of me in return for this arrangement? What do you get out of it?”

  He stares at me for a very long time, and then his finger traces the shape of my cheekbone. I let him move it all the way down to my jaw. And then I pull out the oyster knife. His blood sprays my face first. Once I’ve slashed his throat, his hands climb up to the wound, eyes almost coming out of his sockets in shock. I keep stabbing, both hands on the handle, throwing my weight behind the blade. It takes effort. It takes stamina. My wrists ache. A primal scream erupts from my throat. I used to dream of this moment.

  When it’s over, he drops to the kitchen floor, blood spreading over the expensive tiles.

  I hear footsteps behind me and spin around to see Apinya hovering in the doorway. I expect a scream but nothing comes from her mouth. It’s then that it hits me. She isn’t a faithful servant, s
he’s a woman forced into slavery.

  “You’re free now, Apinya. Why don’t you leave and go back to your family?”

  She nods. “He keeps money in his desk.”

  “If you’d like to keep some, we can go there together. Now.”

  Her expression falls. “No. I leave.”

  “Good girl.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cassie

  The Christmas lights twinkle through the dark streets of York. There are tipsy people everywhere, walking to the next pub, standing outside bars puffing on e-cigarettes. Most of them without a coat, relying on their beer jackets to keep them warm. On the other hand, I’m not drunk and I regret not wearing a warmer coat.

  Halfway along the street, I check behind me but there’s just a group of guys laughing at a private joke. I’m not certain why I keep thinking Isabel is following me, but I can’t help it. Even now I find my mind going back to the time I visited her in prison, and the way she leaned forward, listening to me talk about the movie, about how I was going to play her. It’s almost an obsession of mine.

  A group of women pass me, giggling excitedly, their heels clattering against cobbles. They jump into my taxi and speed off to their next destination. I wrap my arms around my body and head towards the restaurant. Filming starts on Monday, and Neal is treating the main cast and crew to a meal and a night out to celebrate.

  The place isn’t particularly special, though it is decorated nicely with a few faux chandeliers and linen on the tables, but Neal has a room especially reserved for us. I head down there and the group cheers when I walk in.

  “Hide the knives, boys,” Neal cries in his typical blokey manner, “Sweeney Isabel is in town.” They erupt into laughter and I can’t decide if they are laughing at me or with me. He grabs me and places a sloppy kiss on my cheek. Did he do the same to Jess?

  “Hi everyone,” I say, far too quietly to be heard over the din. I’m about thirty minutes late, and it seems that the group is already a couple of bottles of champagne in.

  “We saved you a seat,” Neal says, gesturing to the chair next to his. He pats the cushion and winks at me.

  “Thanks,” I say, shedding my jacket.

  He pours me a glass and nudges it towards me. “You were amazing in rehearsals, darling. I can’t wait to get the camera on you on Monday. You’ll come alive even more, I know you will.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say. “She’s such a tricky character.”

  “You’re fucking awesome. And I should know, I’ve directed Dame Judy. Trust me, I can see talent and you have it. Along with everything else.”

  Neal is a handsome guy with a big personality. With designer stubble and chestnut highlights in his hair, he could be mistaken as gay, but Neal has a wandering eye for women. Fresh from his divorce, he’s an even worse flirt than before. I’m under no illusions that the rest of the cast and crew have been winked at and patted on some part of their body. His pretty young assistant eyes me with that blazing expression and I’m convinced that she’s jealous.

  I didn’t want to come tonight. Neal makes me nervous. He sends jitters up and down my body. Who is he? What is he capable of? I keep thinking back to my conversation with Leah.

  “Are you okay, Cass?” Neal asks, and his dark eyes express what appears to be real concern.

  “I’m deep into this character,” I admit. “There’s a lot of darkness and pain. It’s hard to shake.”

  “Then don’t shake it.” He sips his drink and around us the others seem to continue their night almost as though it’s separate from ours. “Embrace it. To a point, obviously, but keep hold of it. Be her if you have to be. It’ll translate, trust me.”

  “The psychological toll, though.”

  He frowns and lifts his arms as though to say, so what? “It’s for two months. And then awards. Fame. Glory. Every actor goes through this to achieve greatness.”

  “You think there’s greatness inside me?”

  “I know there is. Cassie, you are important, and not only to this film, but to the world. You’re going to be the next big movie star, trust me, I know these things.” He leans closer. “I’m going to make you a star. I’ll create you. This role will create you.”

  “That’s what I want.” I lick my lips before taking another swig of champagne. The bubbles hit the back of my throat and I suppress a cough. “But I’m worried about the backlash. Will I be vilified by the press for taking on this role?”

  He shakes his head. “The press can go fuck themselves anyway.”

  “I’ll need them,” I say.

  He whispers into my ear. “The only person you need is me.”

  ***

  The rest of the evening goes by in a blur of drinks and laughter. We order food and I pick at it, too scared to eat too much in case I put on weight. The champagne goes straight to my head. Neal talks to me for hours about Isabel and her family, her relationship with her father. We talk about the darkness inside her and where it comes from, the fact that it’s almost preternatural.

  Then we go to a nightclub. Neal buys the VIP area and we order bottles of vodka. One by one, the other members of the cast slip away. I chat with one of the producers for a while and he tells me not to take any of Neal’s shit. We laugh and then he says goodnight. I stumble out of the club and I swear I see her face in the shadows. That open face, so average, so neutral. Nothing would ever frighten Isabel. Nothing would faze her. Neal is by my side and everything I said to Leah fades into the distance. He’s going to make me famous. He’s going to create me.

  We get into a taxi.

  “Do you miss Jess?” I ask.

  Neal looks at me and his eyes glisten with every headlight. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Honestly? She was difficult to work with.”

  “Because the two of you had a relationship?”

  “No, not because of that. Because she kept trying to change the script.” He sighs and stares out of the cab window. “You know what? I do miss her in some ways. But Jess wasn’t as nice as she made out. She was trouble.”

  “Do you think I’m trouble?” I ask.

  A forefinger slides down my face and he smiles. “No, you’re too well-behaved to be trouble.”

  The champagne has loosened everything inside me. I lean into him, thinking about the fame, the accolades, the part I’m about to play. Isabel wouldn’t care what Neal had done in the past. Isabel would take her pleasure.

  Neal’s hand slips underneath my top and the taxi continues on to the hotel.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Leah

  I wake up thinking I’m bleeding, but I’m not. My dream had been about Tom’s birth, except that the baby pulled from my body wasn’t Tom. It was a baby with demon-black eyes. No iris. No pupil. No white eyeballs. Black.

  There is a note on my pillow. Let’s have lunch today. It makes me smile. Even when I sleep through his alarm, he thinks of me before he leaves. But the lingering memory of my dream makes the smile fade away. Yesterday, when he asked me about the doctor’s appointment, I told him they took blood and that they were going to let me know the results. I didn’t say what the blood was for. I didn’t tell him anything about the possible pregnancy. Lunch together means I have another opportunity to tell him, but once I do, it’ll be real.

  The baby that might not be there makes me vomit before breakfast, but after a significant portion of bread and jam, I’m feeling much better. I tip out my usual medication dosage and then stare at it. I put it back in the bottle and close my eyes for a moment. With a shake of my head, I reach for the tea canister and then stop myself. This is it. This is the moment I acknowledge what is happening to my body. I move away from the tea and pour a glass of water while I wait for Dominic to finish in the shower. He’s the last other member of the household left this morning and I want to check up on him.

  But I get distracted Googling about my particular kind of medication and their possible side-effects on pregnancy,
that I hear the back door open and close, missing my opportunity to talk to him. He hasn’t even told me how his interview went yet.

  The revolving door life at the cottage has to stop. There’s so much to talk about and yet we’re playing a game of chess with each other that allows us to avoid those unspoken things.

  As I leave the house, I come to find that the possibility of the baby makes everything I do feel extraordinary. As I walk down to the farm shop for my shift, it feels like I’m doing it for the first time. Stacking shelves is strange knowing that there’s a person growing inside me. Every time I serve a customer, I can’t help but think that I have a secret they don’t know about. They could never guess that I’m pregnant by looking at me. Sometimes I feel like blurting it out. My life has altered forever, and you don’t even know. The more the morning progresses, the more I believe this baby exists, and that it’s the new normal for me.

  At around 11, Josh comes in with some fresh meat for the freezer. It’s awkward seeing him again after the disastrous lunch the other day. After working in silence, he comes closer, rubbing his jaw, hovering like a bee over a flower.

  “I messed up, Leah.”

  I want to say, yeah, you did, but I give him time to continue.

  “I let all of my frustration out on you and that was a shitty thing to do. I’m so sorry. Look, I’ve apologised to Seb and we’ve cleared the air, so I want to do the same with you.”

  “I appreciate that, Josh,” I reply.

  His face relaxes. “And that’s a weight off my mind.” He rubs his jaw again. Out of all of Seb’s brothers, I think Josh is the most like him, both in looks and personality. It’s probably why they clash. “You must hate us right now. Or at least you must be wondering what you’re stuck in the middle of.” He laughs. “Sorry about that.”

  “You were an arsehole the other night,” I say, smiling to let him know that I’m being gentle. “But you weren’t wrong. I’ve brought a lot of stress on you all.”

  “None of that’s your fault,” he says.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Look, I don’t want to overstep my place or anything, but I came from a family that no one should have. Take it from an outsider, it doesn’t matter how dysfunctional your family is, you still love each other. That’s what matters, and I’m glad to be a part of it.”