All Your Secrets: A taut psychological thriller with a NAILBITING finale

by Jane Holland

  ‘David must have known though.’

  ‘Of course he knew.’ She is almost contemptuous. ‘We agreed to keep it quiet, for everyone’s sake. When my pregnancy became too big to hide, I lied to Madame. I told her it had been a one-night stand with one of the crew at the wrap party. She accepted that and said nothing.’ She shivers, as though remembering. ‘It was only years later, when Jean-Luc and Robin were playing together, that your aunt began to question the resemblance between the two boys.’

  ‘She must have been furious.’

  ‘I thought she would dismiss me on the spot. But David intervened. Madame always deferred to him, even after he had betrayed her,’ she says, and, remembering Tamsin’s affair with the charismatic film producer, I can readily believe that. ‘David had been supporting Jean-Luc secretly up until then. But once the secret was out, he set up a trust fund in Jean-Luc’s name. He told me I should stop working for Madame, that he would buy me and the boy a house in Hollywood.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘How could I leave and move to America? I loved Madame. She meant everything to me.’

  ‘More than your own son?’

  Lucille fixes me with a baleful stare. ‘You don’t know Jean-Luc or you wouldn’t say that. I know it’s a terrible thing to say of my own flesh-and-blood. But Jean-Luc …’ She shudders. ‘He’s not a good person. He never was, not even as a boy.’

  I glance towards the guest bathroom. The door is still shut.

  ‘My aunt’s cat, Cleopatra …’

  I stop, remembering the bloodcurdling scream I heard that night, more animal than human. Then the limp, white body in the bath, the bright splashes of scarlet everywhere, the grinning face …

  ‘Jean-Luc cut the cat’s throat, didn’t he?’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Her lip is trembling, but she nods. ‘Yes, yes … He killed Cleopatra.’

  I put a hand to my mouth, sickened. Even now, I’d been hoping I was wrong. ‘So why was I blamed for that? Why was I the one who got sent home?’

  ‘You weren’t blamed. We all knew who had done it. Madame sent you home to England because she was afraid for you. We were all afraid.’ She swallows. ‘Jean-Luc was a difficult child. But it was only that night that we realised how dangerous he was becoming.’

  ‘But that poor cat.’ I shudder, wishing I could blot out the memories I’ve been suppressing for years. Small wonder I couldn’t bear to remember what I’d seen that night. ‘Why on earth did he kill Cleopatra?’

  ‘He wanted to hurt your aunt.’ Lucille has tears in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t the first time either. He had started to do strange, upsetting things … Things aimed at Emily, in particular. He was obsessed with her.’

  I recall how Emily had always treated Jean-Luc with furious contempt. I’d assumed she was being snobbish towards the child of a servant. But now I realise there was more to it than that.

  Emily was scared of him.

  ‘Madame decided he must be sent away. I had cousins living in Picardy in the north of France, and arranged for them to take Jean-Luc. We thought a quieter life in the country would benefit his mental health. Away from the constant travelling and stress of life in Madame’s entourage.’

  ‘But he didn’t want to go.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not simply tell me what was going on? I thought, all these years, that I’d been sent home in disgrace that day.’

  ‘David was terrified you would tell someone about Jean-Luc. His wife didn’t know about the boy, you see. Neither did Emily. And if the newspapers had got hold of the story …’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘When you came to stay that summer, Jean-Luc took such an interest in you, Madame became worried something awful would happen. We kept him locked him in his room most days. But he was too cunning. He was forever climbing out of the window when we weren’t watching, or sneaking out of the kitchen door at meal times.’ Her shoulders heave, and she gives a sudden sob. ‘Jean-Luc looked so much like Robin, even back then. We thought you might put two-and-two together and realise whose son he was. And we couldn’t allow that to happen.’

  ‘So you kept him locked up? No wonder he was disturbed.’

  She is crying silently, head bent, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘He was still sent away after that summer, because of what he did to the cat. Not to Picardy as we’d originally planned, but to a mental health clinic in Paris. It was a special place for disturbed teenagers.’

  ‘You didn’t go with him?’

  ‘How could I? This is my home, and Madame needed me.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You don’t understand. Madame refused to have him in the house while Emily was still living at home, and David thought his condition could be helped by specialist treatment and medication. I did what I thought was best for my son. I wanted him to be cured.’

  ‘Only it didn’t work.’

  Lucille wipes her face, looking up at me. ‘Wh … What?’

  ‘He came back later and he wasn’t cured. Was he?’

  She says nothing.

  ‘He started impersonating Robin, didn’t he?’ My eyes widen and I stare at her. ‘It wasn’t Robin who set the fire that killed his wife and child. It was Jean-Luc.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Just as it wasn’t Robin who broke in and raped Emily,’ I say. ‘She thought it was him because they looked so alike. But it was Jean-Luc masquerading as his half-brother. That’s why Robin kept protesting his innocence to the police. Because he really was innocent.’

  ‘No, no,’ she says again, her tone light and urgent. ‘You’re wrong, quite wrong. My son’s treatment was successful. He was granted a visa and flew out to America after the clinic discharged him. David paid for him to go to college in California and study acting. Jean-Luc stayed on in America for a few years after graduation, and got work in the film industry.’ Her voice is firm, convinced, but I don’t believe her. ‘His father pulled some strings for him, it’s true. But Jean-Luc didn’t know Robin was his half-brother. Not until …’

  ‘Not until just before David Halifax died,’ I say, interrupting her, ‘when he came home to the Cap and discovered who his father was. Which is when everything started to go wrong for Robin.’

  Lucille pretends to look shocked. ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘Jean-Luc didn’t know who his father was before then, did he?’

  Her lower lip quivers as though she wants to deny it. Then her shoulders drop and she says wearily, ‘No.’

  ‘My God. That’s why I was really sent away. You and Tamsin were scared I might spot the resemblance between them. Because I might have said something. Not to the paparazzi. But to him, to Jean-Luc himself.’

  She moans. ‘Yes.’

  ‘He knows who his father is now though, doesn’t he?’

  ‘David started having health problems. I suppose he was afraid he might die without ever …’ She puts a hand to her mouth. ‘I begged him not to tell the boy. But of course he wouldn’t listen. When Jean-Luc came back from the States, David invited him over to the villa for dinner one night. He explained what had happened, why his real parentage had been kept secret. David warned Jean-Luc not to tell anyone. He promised he’d be taken care of financially, but only so long as he didn’t reveal the truth.’

  ‘Nice.’

  Lucille is pale. ‘David was only trying to protect your aunt. He loved Tamsin so deeply. It would have caused a terrible scandal.’

  ‘It sounds to me like he was trying to protect himself.’

  She looks away, miserable. ‘The reasons didn’t make any difference to Jean-Luc. By then, he hated us all. Even me, his mother.’

  ‘He must have hated Robin the most, though. The legitimate son who got drunk and took drugs and messed about, yet was still blessed with all his father’s love and attention. While Jean-Luc got … nothing.’ I shudder. ‘No wonder he burned down the villa and killed Robin’s wife and child. It must have felt like the perfect crime, to be
pinned on his hated half-brother.’

  ‘My son is not a murderer.’

  I shake my head at her naïvety. ‘When did you last see Jean-Luc? He came back for Emily’s funeral, didn’t he?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Jean-Luc isn’t even in France.’

  ‘Where is he then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says lamely.

  ‘Who else sent that thug to attack me in Vieil Antibes, and then to run me down this morning? And someone’s been watching me, I’m sure of it. Hanging around the chateau. Maybe even inside the house … Watching me through that damn spyhole.’ My skin crawls at the vile thought. ‘Did you give Jean-Luc the key codes to the unmanned gates?’

  She shakes her head wordlessly, but I can see how scared she is.

  ‘Then all the odd things that have happened. My diary going missing. I thought Robin was behind it, but now … Did your son give you the diary to look after?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that.’ She licks her lips, clearly nervous, and looks over her shoulder. ‘I have to go. I … I have other things to attend to.’

  ‘Wait.’ My gaze widens on her face. ‘There was a rose on my bed when I arrived. Jean-Luc put it there, didn’t he?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘God, he’s been here all along. Right from my very first day on the Cap.’ I catch my breath, a sudden realisation striking me. ‘He killed Emily, didn’t he? Jean-Luc murdered her. He took her out swimming, late at night, when she’d been drinking, and then … Made it look like an accident.’

  Lucille’s face crumples. ‘No, no. My boy would never … Not my dearest Emily.’

  But it’s the only thing that makes sense.

  Jean-Luc murdered Emily.

  Perhaps she suspected him of ruining Robin’s life, and was too close to the truth. Then when I returned to France, he began haunting me, watching me from the shadows, perhaps intending to kill me too.

  Only to be thwarted by his half-brother again.

  I think of Robin, in pain for years, suffering, not understanding why his life was being systematically destroyed by some unseen enemy. No wonder he’s had addiction problems and has been acting so erratically. No wonder he wouldn’t come anywhere near the chateau. He must have been in torment these past few years, shut out and accused by those he loved most in the world.

  Yet he was still willing to be friends with me.

  To be more than friends.

  I rejected Robin at Les Baux because I didn’t understand the devil that’s been driving him. The devil that is Jean-Luc. But perhaps it’s not too late …

  ‘I have to find Robin straightaway,’ I say abruptly, and head for the stairs. ‘I have to tell him about Jean-Luc.’

  Lucille grabs at my arm. Her voice is choking, barely coherent. ‘No, you mustn’t. You can’t do that.’

  Angrily, I unpick her fingers from my forearm. ‘Tamsin is dead. What does it matter who knows about Jean-Luc’s parentage now? Don’t you care that an innocent man has been accused of rape and murder? That Robin’s life has been ruined by his own half-brother, out of sheer spite and jealousy?’

  Her eyes are wide and pleading. ‘Jean-Luc can’t help it. He’s sick. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘That’ll be up to the courts to decide.’ Impatiently, I put her aside. ‘Look, I’m sorry. But it’s time this house of cards falls down. Even if it means your son goes to prison.’

  ‘Please, Caitlin …’

  But I pay no attention, running down the stairs without looking back while she screams my name.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  It’s only when I’m standing on the top step of the chateau that I realise I’ve left my phone upstairs, don’t know where Robin is living at the moment, and have no car to drive into town anyway. My BMW is still sitting where I left it, motionless in the sun. No sign of anyone from the hire car firm yet. It’s hard not to suspect that Jean-Liuc had something to do with my car breaking down just as I was planning to leave France. And the paparazzi are still massing at the gate, though a few seem to have left in pursuit of Tamsin’s body, perhaps driving to the local morgue in hope of some gruesome picture. As soon as I appear on the steps, I hear them shouting.

  ‘Is Tamsin dead?’

  ‘Did she take her own life?’

  ‘Was there a suicide note?’

  Sickened, I stare at them in silence, and wish I did not have to listen. But I’m not going back inside to face Lucille again either.

  The Halifax villa is only a brisk eight to ten minutes’ walk across the Cap, and I know a back way out of the villa grounds that will take me straight there. The police said his place looked uninhabitable, still undergoing renovations after the fire. But it’s the only lead I have. And my head is buzzing and confused, full of false memories and real tragedies, and I just need to be alone for a while.

  I set off downhill through the steep gardens, then open the side gate using the key code I’ve memorised, and take the secret path Emily and I always used when visiting Robin. It leads through thick undergrowth for the first few hundred yards, then opens out into a shady track that later meets the main road as it curves round the bend.

  After that, it’s a short walk in the warm afternoon sunshine. Free of shouting hordes of paparazzi and the intrusive glint of camera lenses.

  To my disappointment though, the approach to the Halifax villa does not look promising. The drive is overgrown and there’s no security on the rusted iron gate, which stands open and leaning slightly, its lowest hinges broken. There are deep, fresh tyre marks in the gravel-encrusted mud leading up to the house though.

  A builder’s van, perhaps?

  One glance at the villa tells me it’s not fit to be lived in. There are still blackened timbers towards the back of the house, and the roof is partially covered in plastic sheeting, which suggests the renovations have been halted unfinished. But the imposing porch with its white stone pillars is in reasonable repair, and someone has swept the fallen leaves away in front of the steps. The white wood-panelled front door looks new too. A large warning sign in French is attached to it, stating that the property is protected twenty-four hours a day by guard dogs, beside an image of two aggressive-looking German Shepherds.

  The place seems deserted though.

  No guard dogs.

  No sign of anyone, in fact.

  I creep onto the porch and peer in through the dirty front window, hoping to catch a sight of any occupants. But the large and once luxurious room is empty, devoid of furniture, just as the police suggested. The floor is covered in plastic sheeting, the walls only partly replastered. The whole place is a mess.

  I knock at the door. No reply.

  Where is Robin?

  After what happened to his wife and child, what will it have done to him to be rejected by me too, to be disbelieved again?

  He must hate me.

  Full of guilt, I wander round the side of the house, peering in through other equally dirty windows. Some of the rooms are still fire damaged, others showing signs of recent occupation. There’s a kettle and dirty cups in the kitchen, and some pots on the stove top, plus a collection of unopened mail lying on a cupboard top.

  Suddenly, still staring in at the kitchen, I catch a brief movement out of the corner of my eye.

  Just a flash.

  Then it’s gone.

  Like somebody just glanced round the kitchen door at me, framed in the window, then hurriedly shifted out of sight.

  I back away, breathing hard, and press my back against the wall.

  There’s someone in the villa, no doubt about it.

  It’s not Robin though.

  It’s a face I could never forget. A dark, grinning face with missing teeth and dreadlocks.

  The man who tried to mow me down today in the old Citroen. The man who attacked me in Vieil Antibes.

  I’m completely confused. What the hell is my attacker doing in Robin’s house? Do they know each other? How is that even possible? Perhaps h
e’s waiting for Robin to come back. Maybe Jean-Luc has sent that man to hurt Robin. Perhaps even kill him. His own half-brother, for God’s sake. The ultimate revenge for what their father did.

  My heart is thumping violently.

  I need to call the police, get Captain Joly out here fast. Only I didn’t bring my phone, did I? It’s back at the chateau, sitting uselessly in my bedroom.

  Suddenly, there’s the sound of a motorbike engine slowing for the gate, then tyres grating their way up the drive.

  Shit.

  I can’t see the front of the house from here. Could that be Robin on his way home? I need to warn him about the man with dreadlocks. The motorbike stops, then the engine shuts off. I hear the crunch of footsteps on the overgrown gravel path.

  I run back round the house, not caring how much noise I make.

  ‘Robin?’

  He’s standing on the porch, motorbike helmet in his hand, dressed all in sombre black as though for a funeral, with a thick leather biking jacket and no shirt under the V-neck sweater beneath. I’m biased, of course, but to me he looks damn sexy in black, his chin unshaven, his hair mussed-up.

  He looks round at me as I emerge from the garden, his face curiously blank.

  ‘Caitlin? What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘There’s no time to explain,’ I say quickly. ‘Look, there’s a man waiting for you in the villa. The same guy who attacked me in Vieil Antibes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He tried to kill me this morning. To run me over.’

  ‘Slow down …’

  ‘I think he may be working for Jean-Luc.’

  Now he looks shocked at last. ‘Jean-Luc?’ he repeats slowly, staring at me as though I’ve grown two heads.

  I step up onto the porch. ‘Lucille told me about him.’ His eyes widen, and I hurry on, fearful that the man with dreadlocks may appear at any minute. ‘That’s when I realised the truth, Robin. It must have been Jean-Luc all along, don’t you see? He’s the one who set fire to this place. The man who killed your wife and son, who attacked Emily. He wants revenge on you, Robin. Because of who your father was.’ I have his attention now, his gaze fixed incredulously on my face. ‘Because of David Halifax,’ I finish.