by Aitana Moore
He didn’t say anything, he only took her hand and pulled her close to dance with her as if no one else were there — and that was his third and winning bid.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Before sunrise, when the sky was still dark, the guests that were left gathered on the beach and sent twenty-one sky lanterns into the air and out to the sea.
Having ditched his jacket, James stood with one arm around Lee and another around Caitlin to watch the lanterns fly away like good spirits. “Hope this doesn’t burn the place down. Did you make a wish for each one?” he asked his sister.
“I only really have one wish,” she said. “Happiness.”
Don’t we all? Lee thought.
“And that means happiness for you too,” Caitlin told her brother. She reached over him to take Lee’s hand. “And for you.”
“Little bit drunk, are we?” James remarked.
Caitlin spluttered with laughter.
“Maybe more than a bit?”
She looked up at him unsteadily. “Don’t make me go to bed, don’t!”
“I can’t make you do anything, you’re of legal age,” he said, looking over at the blond young man who kept throwing glances at Caitlin as if waiting for her. “Is what’s-his-name staying in the house tonight?”
“His name is Mike. And he’s staying in town,” Caitlin said.
“What happened to the Mexican bloke?”
She grimaced and kissed James. “Long story. Gotta go!”
James turned to Lee. “I don’t trust anyone who calls himself Mike.”
“You just don’t trust anyone near Caitlin,” Lee said. “You pay the price of all brothers, knowing what men are like and seeing the sister you love go off with them.”
He looked down at her. “Are you sloshed too?”
She measured an inch between her fingers.
As they went back to the house, many guests were leaving — some limping from dancing too much, some drunk, all praising the party. Some stayed, still dancing in the ballroom or slung, exhausted, over sofas and chairs.
They met Attie just as he was climbing the stairs to his room.
“Alone?” James asked him.
“They were too young for me, too old for me, too desperate,” he said. “And I’m too tired for anyone. See you later.”
The sky was turning lighter by tiny degrees, and James said, “We shouldn’t waste this sunrise.”
He led her over the lawn through the shrubberies, and when they reached the river, the Chinese pagoda was softly lit by lanterns, and breakfast had been laid out inside. James grabbed fruit from the table and took her to the swing under a willow tree. He put a cashmere blanket around her shoulders, and they watched the early-morning flight of birds while sharing a peach.
Lee leaned against his chest as he moved the swing softly with his foot on the ground. “Disgusting life.”
“I hope you give me five stars on TripAdvisor, is all I can say.”
“Four and a half because there’s compulsory horse riding.” She sighed. “Imogen said I would never forget the party when I go away, and I don’t think I ever will.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Wish you’d stop threatening me with leaving.”
“I don’t mean to threaten you.”
“What are you doing, then?” He pulled up her chin to look into her eyes. “Didn’t you just sing I was your bonnie lad?”
“Yes,” Lee said, almost without sound.
“Then, as the good book says, let the morrow will take care of itself."
They waited until the sun was up to have their breakfast and walk back to the house. The guests had all disappeared, except for two or three who now slept across benches. Members of the staff were clearing the debris of the festivities and wished them good morning as they passed.
James went to find Mrs. Taylor, and Lee climbed to the room. The corridor on the second floor ought to be clear of people, as everyone had retired, but someone had just closed a door. Lee peeped around the corner.
Attie walked out of the suite where James had lived with Mia. What had he been doing there? He entered the room that had been assigned to him, shutting the door.
When James arrived at their room, Lee was standing by the bed. He slowly tugged on the silk straps that held her dress together. She closed her eyes, leaning against him. They were tired, with just enough energy for what they had longed to do all night. He lowered her underwear until it fell around her feet as she removed his shirt and trousers. They stood kissing, almost dancing again. James put her on the bed and stopped to look at her for a moment.
“So beautiful,” he said.
They slept till the afternoon, as did everyone else, but by three o’clock luncheon was being served in the dining room. Robert and Imogen were there.
“You're off already?” James asked as he inspected the food on the side table.
“Time waits for no man,” Robert said, and kissed Imogen’s hand. “And for no poppet.”
Lee had tied her hair back with a scarf and pinned the diamond brooch on her black top, something that James noticed with a smile.
“Vivien still looks in character,” Imogen remarked.
“She’s a Southern belle,” James said. “They have a timeless sense of style.”
Lee tried not to look at him. Why had he said Southern belle? Had he found out that she had lied to him from first to last? James wasn’t a man who would appreciate being lied to or cheated, but he had said that he would let her keep her secrets.
When she looked up, Imogen was watching her thoughtfully. Lee smiled, and Imogen responded. Had she also perceived something false in “Vivien”? Would she warn her nephew and niece that they might have a con artist in their house?
Robert was talking about business, and James had just agreed to go to Devon. The property there also belonged to the family, and James — as Lee had suspected — paid for its upkeep.
“It will be very nice to return your hospitality,” Imogen told Lee. “I hope you like lamb and Yorkshire pudding, that’s cook’s specialty.”
“We’ll have time to worry about the food later, Mo,” Robert said, taking his wife by the hand again. “Now we’d better run before the house fills up.”
They told the two young people not to bother accompanying them to the door.
“You’ll come, won’t you?” James asked Lee when they were gone. “It’s just a weekend. The house is beautiful, and it will make Aunt Im happy.”
“Of course."
“Good afternoon,” Attie drawled as he entered. “How are the love birds?”
“How is the Ancient Mariner?” James countered.
“Does feel like I’m carrying an albatross around my neck.” Attie looked at the food. “What are we doing today, playing croquet? Not going to see knights’ tombs or anything devoid of all interest, I hope?”
Lee watched him. It was safe to assume that he had been to Deerholt often, as he seemed to know it well and feel at home. Perhaps he had been in Mia’s suite to look out the window, since it faced the driveway. He might have been trying to see who was still at the party and who had left.
There was no time to think about it. Caitlin also appeared, sleepy-eyed, to bend over James, wrap her arms around him and kiss his cheek noisily several times. She also kissed Attie and Lee, but refused food and nursed a cup of tea.
“How can you bear to eat now?” she asked in a raspy voice.
By five o’clock, everyone but Attie was gone. They took advantage of the beautiful day to sit in the ample shade of trees and talk. James, Attie and Caitlin ended up playing a soft version of cricket, but Lee pleaded exhaustion and took advantage of their absorption in the game to go into the house and up the stairs. She found the hall empty, since the rooms had already been cleaned and the beds made. There was no staff about; they must all be downstairs, as was their custom in the afternoons.
She ran into James’ study, took a letter opener and carefully moved to the room at the
end of the corridor. Had Attie really gone into the wrong room, or could he have been searching for something?
If there were anything in the suite — photographs or letters that a lover might want to destroy — Lee would find it. She was an expert at finding things, but she had to do it fast. Once she shut the door, she avoided looking in obvious places, as the police or James would have been through them. Instead, she concentrated on detecting false bottoms to drawers or hollow panels in the wardrobe. She searched behind photographs, large and small, felt the frames, looked under the mattress.
She found nothing, except ventilation ducts. There was one on the floor and she unscrewed the grille with the letter opener, but the hole was empty. Glancing through the window, she saw that drinks were being carried outside, and that James, Caitlin and Attie were sitting in the shade again, still chatting and laughing.
Another duct was hidden behind the antique chest of drawers. Lee felt the usual sense of excitement as she unscrewed the grille and felt inside the hole, bringing out a small, rose-gold notebook. It was covered in feminine handwriting.
The days take forever to pass ...
… would not notice anything ...
... I don't love him, or I don't know, but he loves me …
Lee read random sentences as she leafed through the notebook. Mia had kept a diary. A woman that beautiful would hate to admit that she wasn't loved. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself.
The few words Lee had read made her more certain than ever that Mia had been murdered. She was just as sure that the identity of the murderer would be in that notebook.
Lee tucked it inside the back of her waistband, ascertained that everything in the room was as she had found it and silently left.
TWENTY-EIGHT
January 5th
The days take forever to pass when we are at Deerholt. I hate, hate, hate it here.
James goes riding or swimming, and then he reads and watches films or football. We hardly ever go to another town. When we do, he likes the old pubs, not the foodie ones. He thinks the old ones are funny, but they're full of smoke. They don't even have decent wine.
Sometimes he goes with me wherever I ask, but I can tell he's bored. He asks me what I want to do, but I know he doesn't want to go meet our friends or to parties.
I haven't seen any of my friends in a long time. People in the fashion world move on quick. James wouldn't stop me from seeing them, but he wouldn't come. He doesn't have patience for any of that.
He's too sure of things, or at least he seems like that. He’s sure of what he likes and what he doesn't like. He says it's because he's older than me — and also, I suppose, because he spent such a long time on his own traveling.
I'm the one who will have to have patience, I guess. In the beginning all that mattered was to be with him. It's still like that for me, but he has changed.
January 16th
Big huge fight last night. I couldn't help my jealousy, I asked him if he was seeing someone else. Why does he have to go to Nepal? He says he invited me, and I didn't want to go — but there was Cathy's engagement party, I couldn't miss it. How do you miss your childhood friend's engagement party?
I asked him to please, please tell me if there was another woman, and he went mental. He said he was no liar, no cheat and that if he saw another woman, I would be the first to know because he would tell me.
I just didn't believe it, because that's what any man would say. I kept crying — I couldn't stop. He almost brought the house down, he was so angry. I was hanging on to his arm so he wouldn't walk out, just being dragged on the corridor. He shouted at me to leave him alone for my own sake and left slamming the door.
He hasn't come back. God help me, I still think it could be another woman. Why would he have changed so much otherwise?
February 18th
Got a diamond pendant for Valentine’s. It’s beautiful. Cathy says it must be worth hundreds of thousands.
February 21st
Yesterday I kept writing on this diary when James came to bed. He kissed me, took up his book and didn't ask me what I was writing.
I went to Smythson and bought this on purpose, it says MY THOUGHTS on the cover, because I wanted him to read it. I can't find any way of telling him how I feel, because I start to cry. I decided to write things down right under his nose so that he picks it up and reads it.
My husband cares so little about me that he isn't remotely curious about what I'm writing here. He doesn't ask me, but not because he wants to find out later, when I'm not looking. It's because he doesn't care.
I start talking, and I see that he is looking for something to say because what I'm telling him doesn't interest him. He's not interested in people, or in the things I find out, even when they're funny, like the story about Maggie and Richard. He doesn't care about what I did today, or where I went or how I felt. He just humors me, and he thinks I don't realize it.
It's breaking my heart, it really is. I don't care if he reads this, but he won't.
February 26th
James won't talk about having a child. He says it's too early, that we have only been married a few months. I think if we had a child, he would love us both. He is a loving person, I see how he is with Caitlin, and he has always been kind to me. But I have never seen him be unkind to anyone, except to people who really deserve it.
Then I'm not much more to him than anyone else, and I'm less than his sister, that's for sure.
What's the point of not having a child? It's not like we are living a honeymoon.
March 2nd
S looks at me a lot. He also put his hand on my waist when he was coming out of the living room and I was going in. It could be an accident, just sort of holding on not to bump into each other, but he left his hand there longer than he should and looked me in the eyes.
I find myself flirting with S under James’ nose so that he will notice. It would make him beyond furious, and at least that would be something.
March 5th
So sad, so sad, so sad. He said it was better that we should part, that it would be better for me.
How could it be better for me? I will die if I'm not with him. It makes me so sad, so deep inside, that he said that. We've only been married six months, and he doesn't love me?
Did he love me before? He has never, ever, ever said it. Why did he marry me? I should go, but if I do I'll only take those pills again. My mother said to me once that if a man doesn't love you, he never will and it's no use waiting. I didn't think at that time that I would adore someone, and that he wouldn't love me. I can't stop crying.
March 11th
S says that I'm so beautiful, I shouldn't be sad.
I hadn't thought so before, but he is attractive. He noticed what James never sees.
But what can I do, I still love James. I've only ever loved James, and that's a tragedy.
April 10th
I haven't written in a while because everything has changed, and I don't know what to think.
S seduced me, and I've been living with this for a month now. He didn't force me, I can't say that, but maybe I was too lonely. I met him by accident in the city, we had lunch and we ended up in a hotel. Now I'm afraid that James will know. When he gets angry, he does crazy things. James could kill someone.
Would he even be angry, because of his closeness to S? Would he even notice?
May 16th
My birthday yesterday. James has given me the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. It’s worth millions of pounds, and it’s a rare blue diamond. I know that he does that because he can't ever say he loves me. I'll come out in all the magazines wearing that ring, and my heart inside will be broken.
May 23rd
I don't love S, or I don't know, but he calls me.
If I never tell S about the child, if I tell James that it's ours, maybe he will see things in a different way. What if it was just me being too anxious about him and what he feels? James is different, he doesn't get anxio
us. He's either calm or really furious.
Maybe I just wanted too much, bothered him too much, got too nervous. If I relax and don't expect so much, maybe things will come. Maybe he will see that he does care for me, and he will want the child.
The truth is, though, that people don't love other people just because they have children together. Look at so many couples who hate each other, sometimes because of the children. It could make everything worse.
I don't know what to do. I wish there was someone I could speak to, who could help me, but I can't tell anyone this.
I have to tell James — or I have to tell S.
I can only tell one of them, and say: this child is yours, what do we do?
Maybe the reaction helps me to decide what I want.
TWENTY-NINE
In the diary there were many pages covered in the same frantic handwriting blurred by tears, but Lee could only read it when James went off with Caitlin and Attie, and she managed to stay behind.
“S” could be Steve. Or was it some sort of code? Wouldn’t Mia have called him “A” for Attie as well?
Mia wrote that she wished that James would find the diary, but once she slept with S, she never hoped so again. She must have started hiding it inside the grille then, and she had died at Deerholt. That’s where the little rose-gold notebook had stayed, almost as if she knew she might end up smashed against rocks and wanted the record of her story to outlast her.
On the morning after the party, had Attie been in the suite looking for the notebook? Did he know of its existence? Why would he visit that room one year after Mia’s death, when the police had gone over it, when James would have already found anything there was to be found?
And if he wasn’t S, who was?
