Page 44 of The Perfect Guests
“That’s not true,” she says. And again, louder. “That’s not true! You just wanted to get your hands on Raven Hall; you didn’t care who you hurt. You never thought about me while you were taking away my home, my memories of my parents...” She curls her fists and fights back a sob. “You don’t even remember my name, do you?”
In her peripheral vision, she sees the front door swing open. A large figure in a billowing dress shuffles forward onto the top step.
“Hendrik?” the woman says. “What’s going on?”
But neither of them glances up at her. They hold each other’s gaze, and he scowls as though he’s searching his memory, desperate to recall this trespasser’s name and prove her wrong. And somehow, on top of all the very real harm he’s done her, this feels like the ultimate insult.
“I’m Leonora Averell,” she says, “and Raven Hall should be mine.” She steps forward, but before she can say any more, a single word punctures her fury.
“Lara?”
It’s like ice-cold water sluicing over her skin.
She spins around on the gravel and—it’s quite inexplicable. On the far side of the large pale-faced woman, supporting her on his arm, is Markus. And Leonora looks from Markus’s straw-colored hair to the Backstabber’s; from the Backstabber’s tall, broad-shouldered frame back to Markus. The facts stir and rearrange themselves like autumn leaves picked up by the breeze, and they settle with deceptive gentleness into a new explanation.
This never was the home of the girl in the orange crop top. Markus wasn’t visiting his girlfriend, Kat, here. He and Kat came together to visit his parents.
She can see it, now. She can’t believe how stupid she’s been. Markus is the Backstabber’s son.
She runs for her bicycle and flees.
Beth
December 1989
Ileaped out onto the gravel in front of Raven Hall, and I forced myself to dip my head to say something to Jonas before slamming the door on him.
“Thanks for bringing me back,” I said. “But please, just go now. I’ll explain everything later.”
“Well, when?” he said. “Tonight? Will you ring me?”
The prospect of trying to explain any of this on the phone from Raven Hall, where I might be overheard, made me shake my head quickly. But I was afraid Jonas would refuse to leave if I didn’t suggest an alternative, and I feared it would make everything worse if I burst back into Raven Hall with an inquisitive Jonas hard on my heels.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Wait for Markus’s dad to get back to the B and B after he visits us, and then”—I glanced at the frozen lake—“just—park up on the road, so they don’t know you’re here, okay?Walk across the ice to the island, and I’ll sneak out and meet you there.”
Jonas muttered a few words of annoyance, clearly thinking my caution was over-the-top, but he put the car into gear and left me to it.
I was more than a little relieved to find the front door of Raven Hall wasn’t locked against me. I hurried inside, straining my ears for any sound of the family’s whereabouts. The drawing room and dining room were empty, but in the kitchen, I found Nina, perched on a breakfast stool and finishing off a mince pie, with an empty mug beside her. Enticing savory aromas drifted from the oven—they hadn’t eaten lunch yet.
“Back already?” she said, sounding more wounded than hostile. “Didn’t you like the food at Jonas’s?” Then her tone sharpened. “Hey, what are you doing?”
I grabbed her mug and tilted it toward the feeble light from the window, but there was nothing unusual to be seen. Just tea dregs. No oily residue. I eyed her plate, my pulse still jumping.
“How many mince pies have you had?”
She opened her mouth, but it took her several seconds to answer. “What the hell’s got into you?”
“Nina, seriously. How many have you had?”
“Two—I was starving, and lunch’ll be another half hour. Is that okay with you?”
“Are they—” I snatched the remnant from her fingers and examined it in the palm of my hand. “Are these the ones your mum made? Who gave them to you?”
“Beth, you’re scaring me.” She slipped off the stool, gazing at me, wide-eyed. “Mum gave them to me, just a few minutes ago. She warmed some up for all three of us. Why are you being so dramatic about it?”
“I think—” But suddenly, I didn’t know what to say. What if the substance in the hot chocolate really was something innocuous? How could I blurt out the wordpoisonwithout making my position here completely impossible? How could I expect Nina to ever forgive me if I wrongly accused her mother of deliberately making her ill?
I set the fragment of pastry back on the plate, thinking frantically.
