Page 16 of The Perfect Guests
“He’s changed his mind.”
She blinked and gave me a tight smile. “Exactly. And the thing is...” She came toward me with the dress clutched against her chest, and she perched on the bed as if about to confide a great secret. “Obviously, Nina’s in no fit state to meet him this afternoon. So we’re very much hoping you’ll help us, Beth.” She gave me an earnest, pleading look. “We’d like you to put this dress on, and plait your hair, and pretend to be Nina, just for a little while.”
I stared at her. “But—he’ll know I’m not Nina.”
“He won’t. He’s never met her. He never asked for photos, and we never sent them.”
Sympathy for Nina blossomed in my chest—her only living grandparent, and he’d never even asked for a photo of her.
“Can’t you just explain to him she’s ill?” I asked.
“The thing about Markus’s father is”—Leonora closed her eyes and grimaced, as if remembering some previous, traumatic encounter with him—“he likes to get his own way. He’s flown thousands of miles to meet his granddaughter today, and—” She opened her eyes again and looked sorrowfully at the dress in her hands. Then she thrust it toward me. “Just—trust me. All our lives will be much easier if we give him what he wants.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I took the dress from her anyway. Leonora and Markus had done so much for me; of course I’d do what they asked, even though it sounded bizarre.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try my best.”
“You’re an angel.” Leonora placed her hand over mine. “Thank you. And don’t look so worried. Just think of it as—a little game.”
Sadie
January 2019
And so the game begins.
Nazleen leads the two men across the drawing room toward Sadie.They look like father and son,Sadie thinks; they share a similar wiry, angular frame. The elder must be over seventy, but his gaze is sharp, his expression suggesting a lively enjoyment of the situation they find themselves in. The younger man looks to be in his late thirties, and he has softer facial features and collar-length dark hair.
“Professor Owl,” Nazleen says to the older man, “allow me to introduce Miss Lamb.”
Before Sadie can shake Professor Owl’s hand, he grabs hold of hers and bows over it to kiss it. He doesn’t mime either; the kiss is decidedly enthusiastic. Champagne whizzes through Sadie’s arteries, and she feels fleetingly unsettled by their character names—lamb, nightingale, owl... As quickly as politeness allows, shewithdraws her hand from the old man’s talons, and then she laughs inwardly at her silliness.
“Enchanted, mademoiselle,” Professor Owl says. “Please, call me Everett. Everyone else does.”
She suspects they’re not supposed to be using their real names, but she smiles anyway. “Sadie. It’s nice to meet you.”
He turns back to Nazleen. “My word, if all the guests are as pretty as you two, we’re in for a marvelous evening.”
Nazleen’s professionalism doesn’t falter, but Sadie’s smile evaporates, and she turns away to greet the younger man as Everett and Nazleen fall into conversation. In contrast to Everett’s dinner jacket and deep maroon waistcoat, this man is in black jeans and a casual shirt. He gives Sadie an apologetic smile.
“I’m Zach,” he says. “Sorry about the old man.”
“Sadie.” She gestures at his clothes. “You didn’t fancy dressing up, then?”
“Nah.” He pulls a face. “I wasn’t going to come at all, actually, but Dad talked me into it, last minute. He’s been going on about how we should support local businesses and all that. I think he was just flattered they asked for his endorsement, really, you know.”
“You live locally, then?” she says.
He drains his glass of champagne as if he’s parched. “Yep. Born and bred just down the road.”
The young waiter steps forward and refills Zach’s glass. A photographer moves around the room at a discreet distance, taking pictures, and Sadie tries to ignore her. She declines a top-up of her own glass, and her gaze settles on an amateurish but rather charming painting of Raven Hall, hanging over a polished bureau in the corner.
“Well, it’s a stunning house,” she says. “Do you know the owner?”
“No.” Zach peers around at the luxurious furnishings. “It’s been empty as far back as I can remember. This is high-end stuff, though, isn’t it? I hope the food matches up.”
They both turn as the next guest enters the room: a dark-haired, high-cheekboned young woman in a striking crimson dress. She dips her head slightly as Nazleen leads her across the drawing room toward the others. She must be in her early twenties, Sadie thinks. Everett can’t take his eyes off her.
“Everyone,” Nazleen says, her accent slipping slightly, “this is Miss Mouse.”
