Page 39 of The Perfect Guests
We both tilted our boxes toward Leonora to show her. Inside each was a delicate gold charm bracelet twinkling with reflections from the dining room lights.
We lifted them out and helped each other to fasten them around our wrists.
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks, Dad.” Nina ran around the table to give Markus a hug.
“The charms represent the wildlife around the lake.” Markus’s voice was gruff with a sudden shyness. “There’s a flag iris, a greylag goose, a reed warbler...” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m glad you like them. And for my beloved wife—” He produced a third box, which turned out to hold a beautiful necklace, the same shade of gold as our bracelets.
“These aren’t small presents,” Leonora said quietly.
Markus looked uncomfortable. “I know, but”—he turned to Nina and me—“I thought they’ll always remind you of Raven Hall, when you’re grown up. And you know, maybe you’ll want to pass them on to your own daughters, for their sixteenth birthdays, say. I just thought it was a nice idea...”
He turned back to Leonora and helped her fasten the necklace under her hair. She didn’t look as happy with her gift as I thought she ought to, but that was Leonora for you. She wasn’t like normal people. I knew that by now.
She’s in love.
This is nothing like the childish feelings she had for the young doctor. What she feels for Markus is real love. Proper, soul-mate, meeting-of-minds, forever-and-ever love.
It took her a while to hitch a lift to anywhere even vaguely close to Raven Hall today. She’s now taking the field route around the village rather than risking being recognized walking down the high street. Not that she doesn’t have every right to be here—it’s a free country, isn’t it? But she can’t bear the thought of questions—or worse, pity—from the people she used to feel mildly sorry for because they all live so clustered together in the village instead of somewhere proud and magnificent like Raven Hall.
But she doesn’t mind taking the long route; she’s content to be alone with her thoughts. The sun is high, and her T-shirt sticks to her skin, but she smiles to herself as she strolls along. She’s thinking of Markus.
On their third meeting by the lake, she told him an edited version of her life story—that her father had died last year; that she now lodges with a distant relative of her mother’s, who barely speaks to her from one week to the next.
“I feel like my whole life was stolen from me,” she blurted out, in an unguarded moment as they watched a hobby catching dragonflies above the lake. “Mum, then Dad, then my home...” She bit the rest of the sentence back; this was dangerous territory. What would Markus do if he discovered she was the “poor girl” who’d been turfed out of Raven Hall when his girlfriend’s parents bought the place? Would his sympathy be replaced by awkwardness? Would he feel obliged to tell his girlfriend’s parents he’d found this strange, traumatized young woman roaming around their property? And what would they do then? Prosecute her for trespassing? Or worse—offer her pity and fake condolences?
Markus tried to comfort her. “I expect things will look brighter next year. If you do apply to art college...”
But he inadvertently touched on her greatest fear, and a tear slid down her cheek.
“What if things never look brighter, though? What if I can’t ever move on? I’m just soangryat the man who did this to us.”
Markus looked surprised. “Who?”
She wiped at her cheeks. “The Backstabber. That’s what my dad used to call him. He was supposed to be my dad’s friend, but after Mum died, he accused my dad of making mistakes at work, of being drunk.” It was a relief to say it out loud, to feel listened to. “He got my dad sacked, in the end. And he—he—”
“What, Lara? What did he do?”
“He kept trying to buy our house from us. That’s what he was after, all along...” She covered her face with her hands, forcing herself to stop talking before she blurted out anything more incriminating—that that was why she was here, the day she and Markus first met: she had been spying on her beloved former home, to see whether it was the Backstabber who’d finally succeeded in buying it.
“Hey.” Markus shuffled closer to her, and even that single word managed to comfort her. He touched her lightly on her arm. “You can alwayscome and stay with me, you know. In London. If your mum’s cousin, or whatever she is, doesn’t mind...”
And so, the following weekend, she told her mother’s relative she was going to meet up with an old friend, and she took the train to London. Markus cooked for her in his student flat, and he made her laugh, until she forgot about her sadness for the first time since her father died.
And a couple of weeks later, when she went back for a second visit, Markus opened the door with a charmingly sheepish expression.
“What is it?” she said. (She can tell when his emotions are high, even when he tries to hide it. She knows this is a sign they’re meant to be together.)
He waited until the door was shut, and then he blurted it out.
“I’ve broken up with Kat.”
“Oh, that’s—I’m so sorry.” She tried to look sympathetic, but her heart swelled with a joy that felt tainted—like relief mixed with triumph. The young woman in the orange crop top still had Raven Hall, but she’d lost Markus; perhaps there was some fairness in the world after all. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Ah.” Markus scrunched up his face. “We weren’t that well suited, really. We wanted different things in life...” He hesitated, as though tempted to say more, and she leaned closer to him.
“I think,” she said, “we’re well suited. You and I. Don’t you think?”
