Page 28 of The Perfect Guests
“I hate you,” I said to him. And then I laughed. “Itoldyou it was too cold.” I kicked away from him and felt warmth flood back into my body as I swam clumsily farther away from the shore and then back again.
We clambered out, teeth chattering, and Jonas’s face was unusually serious. He insisted on my replacing my own soaked blouse with his dry T-shirt, turning away as I made the switch. Then he wrapped his arms around me.
“I admit,” he said, “that was maybe a bit stupid of me.”
And then we were kissing, just like that. As if it were the most natural ending to our first swim of the season. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Later that evening, when Nina came home, she tapped on my bedroom door. I was already in my pajamas, sitting in my bed. She came in, full of gossip about the rehearsal, her costume, the makeup she was planning to wear. It took her several minutes to ask me how my afternoon alone had been.
I hesitated, and it was in that fraction of a second that I realized—Iwasn’tdependent on Nina for my happiness; I didn’tneedher approval of everything I did. I was fifteen now, and the adult world was within touching distance. Suddenly, I knew I had a future ahead of me, with or without the support of the family at Raven Hall.
“Oh, Jonas called round,” I said, “so we just went for a walk around the lake.”
Nina stilled. “And?”
I pulled a face. “And nothing.”
She went off to her own bedroom soon after that—to her round Rapunzel room in her fairy-tale tower. But as she passed my emptylaundry basket on her way out, she glanced into it—so fleetingly, it wouldn’t have registered if I hadn’t had a guilty conscience.
I waited until the next morning—until the last minute, as our taxi was turning onto the driveway and heading toward us—to scurry back up to my room, claiming I’d forgotten my math homework. I snatched my damp clothes from under my mattress and dropped them into the laundry basket, hoping the daily cleaner wouldn’t comment on their state. Jonas’s T-shirt I’d already washed by hand in the bathroom next door and dried on my bedroom radiator. I sat in the taxi and plotted how soon I could return his T-shirt and see him again.
I did feel guilty about keeping a secret from Nina, when up until now we’d shared everything, but I also felt—powerful. Independent. Strong. For the first time in my life.
Unfortunately, that feeling didn’t last. Events at Raven Hall had no regard for my blossoming love life. It was only a few weeks later, on a Saturday, when I was skipping into the house after a brief secret rendezvous with Jonas, that Leonora called me into the drawing room.
“Oh, Beth,” she said. “There you are. I’m afraid I need to ask you a favor.”
I hovered in the doorway, my heart sinking. “Yes?”
Her gaze ran over my hair and down to my new sandals, and I stiffened—had I failed to straighten my clothes after kissing Jonas so passionately just now? How much did Leonora know? But I discovered her mind was on another subject entirely.
“Markus’s father has announced a surprise visit, Beth. He’ll be here in a few hours. And poor old Nina’s feeling unwell again, and—well, now that he’s met you, it would be so hard to explain anyway, and... Beth, we need you to play the game again.”
Sadie
January 2019
Sadie is ridiculously relieved to find the other guests still sitting around the dining table as if nothing has happened.Nothing has happened,she reminds herself sternly.It’s an old, creaky house; you have to expect odd noises now and then.She returns to her seat, and Nazleen breaks off midsentence to ask her if she’s feeling better. Sadie nods briskly, and as she picks up her spoon, Zach leans closer.
“You missed the speech about the evening’s clues being at an end,” he murmurs.
“Uh-huh.” Sadie pushes her lychee aside and scoops up a spoonful of mango and cream.
“And now we’re getting the legend of Raven Hall,” he says. “It’s very rich, isn’t it?”
It takes Sadie a moment to realize his second statement refers to her pudding. She nods and sets her spoon back down.
“Ah, perfect timing,” Nazleen says. “Here comes the coffee.”
The trolley clatters and clanks as the waiter wheels it into the room, and the rich aroma lifts Sadie’s mood instantly. She sits up straighter, admiring the tall coffee jugs and the dainty china cups and saucers. The waiter turns and nods stiffly at the photographer, like a prearranged signal, and the photographer approaches Nazleen discreetly and dips her head. She murmurs something about the roads icing over, and Nazleen waves a gracious hand.
“Of course,” Nazleen says to her. “I’ll take it from here.”
As the two staff members hurry away, Nazleen stands and pours coffee for all of them. Sadie declines cream, but she drops a granular brown-sugar cube into her cup; she doesn’t normally take sugar, but this evening, she feels a need for it.
“So,” Nazleen says, taking her seat again. “Yes. The legend of Raven Hall. Let me begin by asking you, ladies and gentlemen—have you ever felt desperately, horribly, painfullylonely?”
The gentle noises of the room—clinks of spoons against china, soft coughs, slurps of coffee, and murmurs of appreciation—all fade to silence. Sadie focuses on the delicate handle of the espresso cup in front of her, sensing that the others, too, are avoiding eye contact. She curls her fingers around the cup, using the heat from the china to drive away the ache she feels from missing her mother. When Nazleen speaks again, her voice is lower, as if she knows for certain she has their full attention.
