The door opened, and Hayley turned towards the sound. “Any news?”
“They won’t tell me shit,” Gemma said. Her words were strong, but her posture was stooped and defeated. “But guess what?” Gemma kicked off her flip-flops and slumped onto her bed.
Hayley just shrugged, in no mood to play guessing games.
“Tate wants to see us at the house.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Hayley asked. “Maybe he’ll tell us what’s going on with Ellie.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is—I’m tired and pissed off and I want to know what’s happened to her.” Gemma ran her fingers through her sweaty hair before leaning back on the bed.
But Hayley didn’t want to sit and mope anymore. She wanted to go to Tate, who surely would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Tate would tell her what was going on. She and Tate had a connection. He would be straight with her.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Ellie had whispered to them. That quiet, raw voice and those few words… He comes at night. And she shivered. It cast a shadow over this place, over Tate even…
“That man Ellie was talking about,” Hayley said. “Do you think he hurt her?”
Gemma sat up. “Yes, I do.”
Hayley could barely bring herself to say it. “Do you think he raped her?”
Gemma nodded. “Why do you think Ellie stayed? Maybe Tate wouldn’t let her leave?”
Hayley was on her feet in an instant. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Gemma said, still on the bed, but turning to follow Hayley as she paced the length of the room. “What do we know about him except he’s a rich white dude with a bunch of young people taking drugs at his parties?”
“Yeah, and you took those drugs and danced the night away,” Hayley pointed out.
“And? I didn’t know what was going on.”
“You still don’t,” Hayley said.
“No, but something isn’t right,” Gemma pointed out.
Hayley finally stopped pacing and stood by the door chewing on a thumbnail. When she’d first arrived at the farm, Gemma had seemed the one who fit in and she’d been the outsider. Now, after just a few days, their roles had reversed. But did Gemma have a point about Tate? After all, Hayley had only spent an afternoon with him. Had his charms blinded her to the unsavoury underbelly of the farm?
“Okay,” Hayley said. “You might be right. We don’t know Tate. We don’t know the man in the truck, Rodney, or Ellie, or anyone, really. We’ve not been here long enough to make a judgement call, and I’m seriously confused about everything. But Ellie is our priority, right? She’s a girl in pain, away from her family, and we need to make sure she’s okay. So, let’s storm up to Tate Llewellyn and demand to find out what’s happening.”
Gemma stood and brushed dirt from her shorts. “All right. But if we get even a bad feeling about Tate, and the farm… or… I dunno, anything. We’re leaving. Right?”
“Okay. Deal.”
Hayley chewed on her bottom lip as they left the room.
It was Eoin who took them up to the farm again. But this time he took them into the house, through the living area and up the stairs to what appeared to be a sparsely decorated white room with a built-in cupboard along the wall and three oversized armchairs.
“Take a seat. He’ll be back soon.” Eoin left without a smile. He’d been silent on the way there. Perhaps it was because of what happened to Ellie. Walking through the compound, Hayley had noted a more sombre air than usual.
“This is the room I saw Ellie come to with Tate,” Gemma said. “So, it wasn’t a bedroom after all.”
Despite everything, Hayley felt relieved, and it annoyed her that she felt that way. Like she’d said in their room, Ellie was the priority. Despite her prominent position at the farm, Ellie had felt so alone that she’d slit her wrists.
“Hayley. Gemma.”
Hayley hadn’t even noticed the door open from the opposite side of the room. Tate stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, as always, and his head tilted to the left. His shoulders were low, tired, as though he was exhausted. His eyes were darker than usual. He lifted one hand out of his pocket to rub his temples with finger and thumb. How long had he been there?
“Thank you for coming.”
Gemma didn’t speak, so Hayley decided to not say anything either.
Tate walked at a leisurely pace towards the final chair, which was positioned on the opposite side of a coffee table. “You both must be feeling very upset. I’ve ordered chamomile tea for you both. It will be arriving in just a moment.” He crossed one leg over the other and gave a thin-lipped smile.
“Poor Ellie. I was sad to see her in that way. Hurt and upset. I can’t even imagine what was going through her mind at the time.”
“She wanted to die,” Gemma said with a hard voice. “Who is Rodney, the man in the truck? The man who hurt Ellie—who is he?”
Tate’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but there was a soft rap at the door. “Come in. Ah, thank you, Sophie. You can place the tray down on the table.”
The receptionist walked in, smiled politely, and moved towards the coffee table in the centre of the room. She silently poured the tea into three cups before leaving again, closing the door quietly.
“You’ll have to be more specific I’m afraid,” Tate said as he handed a cup to Gemma. “I don’t remember a Rodney, but then, I am bad with names.” And then he handed the second cup to Hayley, who couldn’t help thinking about how quickly Tate had learned her name.
“When we found Ellie,” Hayley explained, nestling the fine china into her palm, “she kept mentioning this man. She said he came to her at night and she was afraid of him. She didn’t want to come back to the farm, and I really don’t think she should have been brought here. She needs to go to a hospital and see someone.”
Gemma nodded in agreement.
“Girls, I know you’re both upset. I am too. I hear you.” He sighed heavily, and from the way his eyes cast downwards, he seemed in genuine distress. “Look, why don’t we do a quick meditation to calm ourselves.”
“What?” Gemma said. “Just answer our questions. We haven’t come here to meditate.”
“Even still. I believe in the power of meditation to heal emotional wounds. I’ll answer every single one of your questions after the meditation. You have my word.”
Hayley glanced at Gemma who was still scowling straight at Tate. She shuffled in her chair, turned back to Hayley, and shrugged in a way that suggested they should get it over and done with.
“Okay,” Hayley said. “How do we do this?”
“The tea is important,” Tate said. “Take a sip.”
They both took a sip of the tea.
“Gemma,” Tate said. “Relax a little. I swear all your questions will be answered in due course.”
Hayley could see that Gemma was resisting, from the expression on her face. But something switched, she sighed, and drank a big gulp of tea. Her expression changed to something more neutral.
“Are you going to tell us why Ellie was afraid of that guy? Rodney?” Gemma asked.
“Gemma, the ancient Chinese were ritualistic about their tea. There are monasteries even now that use tea as part of meditation practises. This tea has been brewed for the perfect length of time. It’s chamomile, to soothe your troubles,” he said, ignoring the question altogether.
It had been a long time since Hayley had drunk chamomile tea because she’d tried it once and didn’t like it. She preferred PG Tips with plenty of sugar and a digestive biscuit. But she took another sip to show her willingness to join in the meditation.
“Take a deep breath in,” Tate said. “And out. In. And out. More tea.”
Any more and she’d need the loo, but anything to get to the actual answers.
“I’m going to count to ten,” Tate said. “Take another sip. Good. Now. When I reach the number ten, close your e
yes, relax, and empty your mind. One… Two… Three…”
Hayley was still breathing deeply. The chair was soft, the room was warm. She felt her shoulders begin to relax. It was so simple, and yet this did seem to be helping her reach an uneasy kind of calm.
“Four… Five… Six…”
Gemma was quiet and still next to her. She was following it all with Hayley, which was surprising to see. Gemma was so angry, and yet her face was more serene now. Hayley stopped looking at Gemma and concentrated.
“Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…”
Hayley closed her eyes.
“Another beautiful day on the farm,” Tate said.
The girls echoed his words. It was like a reflex.
“You’re safe here. You’re home with family.”
Home with family.
“Listen carefully to my words,” he said. “Listen deeply.”
We will.
“You went camping at the creek in hot weather. Unfortunately, Ellie tripped on the rocks and hurt herself. She had a touch of sunstroke from the heat. You helped her along with Eoin and Clay, but you were both struggling through sunstroke, too, which is why your memory of the event is hazy. Ellie is fine. She isn’t afraid of anyone on the farm. No one has even met Rodney. You will forget that name and forget all of your trouble. Ellie has been treated now, and her injuries are healing well. But she decided that she wanted to go home and visit her family in Portugal. She loves you all. She loves her family at the farm. The farm needs to be protected at all costs.”
At all costs.
23
Gemma
Gemma sat cross-legged on the patio, hair hanging like a veil, sketching. She hadn’t sketched since she was a kid. But there were dull stretches of time at the farm in which there was nothing to do. Time was slow here, embroidering itself into the fields like a spiderweb—a web that caught everything and held it tight.
A long week had passed since the day at the gorge. She and Clay had sneaked off to his cabin three times since then. She hated to admit it, but each time it’d been like something was missing. Actually, not something, but someone. Tate.
Today had brought a welcome cover of dark clouds, rain pelting down. For once, scents of red soil drowned out the ever-present reek of ripe mango.
The wet season had started in earnest.
She was alone on the patio. Everyone else who was awake was either still having breakfast or playing cards in the hall. There was no work today, due to the weather.
A girl raced across from the food hall, her arms overhead in an attempt to block out the rain. Hayley. She was drenched by the time she reached the patio, laughing as she shook her head, sending water spraying. She knelt beside Gemma, inspecting the drawing, her forehead and cheeks bright with sunburn. Sunburn was a constant risk here.
“What’re you drawing?” Hayley asked, munching on the apple she had with her.
Rolling her shoulder into a shrug, Gemma erased the line she’d just drawn. “A wallpaper design. Stupid, huh?” Her design was of wildflowers floating in water, the stems making a repeated pattern.
“Not stupid at all.” Hayley bit into the apple again. “It’s good. But why wallpaper?”
Gemma exhaled silently, watching rain pour from the top of the roof for a moment. “When I was ten, I lived in a house with old, mouldy walls. I used to lie on my bed, wishing I could just cover them all up. So that I couldn’t see the black spots anymore.”
Hayley’s mouth pressed into a sympathetic smile.
The rain intensified, moving across the fields in sheets, sending a fine spray of water across Gemma’s work. Gemma tipped her sketch pad, letting the droplets of water run in thin lines. Spiderweb lines.
Hayley’s brow puckered. “It’s ruined.”
“I don’t care.”
Unfolding her legs, Hayley stretched them out on the deck. “Gem, what do you think Ellie’s doing right now?”
“Ellie? I dunno. Hanging with her family, I guess.”
“Wish she was still here. I liked her. She was fun… when she let loose.”
“You talked with her a lot more than I did. I didn’t see her fun side.”
Hayley chewed a piece of apple reflectively. “Maybe we should write Ellie a letter and try to send it to her. Because we didn’t get to say goodbye. Tell her that we hope her scratches have healed up nicely or something. You could draw her some mango trees to remind her of the farm. She’d like that.”
“You can. My drawings suck.” Gemma tore out the page and balled it up. The thought came to her that she hadn’t liked Ellie very much, but she couldn’t remember why.
Hayley flicked her apple core into the bushes at the side of the deck then looked guilty when a lanky figure appeared behind them.
“Good morning girls,” said Tate. “Look at you both sitting there. Like a pair of lovely flowers waiting patiently for the sun to return.”
Gemma put her sketch pad down out of Tate's view, the whole idea of designing wallpaper suddenly seeming childish. Tate looked unruffled as usual, his handsome face making Gemma’s nerves fizz.
“I hope the rain isn’t dampening the spirits of my little orchids,” he added with a wink.
Hayley’s face broke into an impish grin. “I’m all for it. It means we get the day off.”
He laughed in response.
Gemma watched the exchange between them. Hayley had developed a rapport with Tate that she envied. If the farm operated on an invisible spiderweb, then the fine lines of the web were vibrating in ways that Gemma wasn’t privy to.
“Actually, Hayley,” Tate said, “I could use some assistance in the lab today. It’s your choice though. If you have other plans…”
Hayley stood, dusting off her hands and then wringing her saturated hair. “No, no plans. Should I run back to the cabin and grab some dry clothes? There's an umbrella I can use for the run back here?”
“That's not necessary,” he told her. “Just come as you are.”
Shooting a nodding smile at Gemma, Tate stepped away with Hayley.
Picking up her sketch pad again, Gemma started furiously drawing again. Dark, jagged lines became a distorted mango tree, rotten fruit splitting and its flesh spilling out.
Why didn't Tate ever ask her to help him with special jobs? The thought of Tate and Hayley together in the lab made the inside of her chest burn. They’d end up sleeping together. She was sure of it.
Another person made a dash from the hall. A guy. He ran all the way to the entry of the farm—where the SUVs were parked—an oilskin coat over his head. Opening a door, he jumped up and into the driver’s seat. He remained sitting there, gripping the wheel.
Gemma squinted to see better. The cars were a long distance from the patio, and the view was fuzzy through the rain. But she was certain it had been Clay—the wiry body had looked just like his.
Eoin emerged from the hall, jogging across to the patio as he noticed Gemma.
He brushed his wet black hair back with his fingers, his blue eyes less startling a colour in the dull colour of the air today. “Hey, seen Clay? We’re meant to go out to the rifle range as soon as this rain eases.”
Gemma glanced in the direction of the cars, watching Clay duck down. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. Can I come out to the range? I’m bored as hell.”
“Sorry. Gun prac is for the farm leaders and managers. No exceptions.”
“Can’t I just shoot tin cans? I used to do that with my brother when I was a kid.”
He shook his head. “The rifles are all kept at the range.” Muttering under his breath, Eoin ran off in the direction of the cabins.
Leaving her drawing pad on the deck, Gemma rose and padded over to the railing. Something was happening, and she was curious to know what. Eoin and Clay had been as thick as thieves since she’d met them. But today, Clay seemed to be trying to get away from Eoin. If she wasn’t going to be allowed out to the range, she needed something else to occupy herself with.
A fe
w stiff oilskin coats were hanging on hooks on a wooden patio column. Taking a coat, she checked it for spiders and then drew it overhead. She sloshed through puddles as she made her way across the ground to the cars. It was definitely Clay in the car. She climbed in beside him, pushing the wet coat to the floor.
Clay, slumping down to apparently avoid being seen, looked across at her with a mix of alarm and annoyance on his face. “Go back to the hall, Gem.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Look, I just… need to get out of here for a while. Clear my head.”
“Eoin’s looking for you.”
“I know. I saw him.”
A thought burned through her mind. “Tate told him to watch you, didn’t he? You’re the one being watched now. Tell me why.”
He blew out a stream of air, his gaze darting about the farm. “Hold on, we’re heading out for a while.”
Taking out a set of keys from his shirt pocket, Clay started up the SUV and drove it through the open gate and out onto the road.
“Did you ask Tate for permission to take one of his cars out?” She glanced back at the rain-whipped mango plantation.
Clay shook his head, fixing his gaze on the road ahead.
Maybe Tate wouldn’t be as strict about the cars as he was normally. He was busy this morning. And Clay was one of the farm’s supervisors—surely Tate would give him more leeway than the others.
Besides, she was at a loose end. “Where are we going?”
“Into town. I’ve got an appointment.”
“With who?”
He hesitated before answering. “A psych.”
“A psychiatrist?”
“Psychologist, I think. I just need to sort some stuff out. You can come along for the ride. There are some things I want to talk to you about anyway. Maybe it's good that you're here.”
“What kind of things?”
“Let me talk with the psych first. Get my head straight.”
Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller Page 18
