“You can’t think—someone killed him? Murdered him? Because of this thing he was going to tell us?” I concentrate on breathing, trying to push the distressing image from my mind. “Please, Danny. It’s not true. It can’t be true.”
We hold each other’s gaze, and I feel as though I’m waiting for him to leap up and grab me by the shoulders and tell me itistrue, it’s horribly true. But as he’s just pointed out, no one was there; how can we be sure either way?
Danny breaks eye contact first. “I’m sure you’re right, sis.” He sighs. “This is probably a normal reaction. Looking for someone to blame, or whatever. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He takes a bite of his bacon sandwich. I tip my muesli intothe sink, flushing it down the waste disposal. Through the window I glimpse a slim figure with white-blond hair gliding past the railings and pushing open the Winterbourne gate. I turn back to Danny.
“But you think he might have been going to tell us something about all of this?” I say, waving my hand toward the dining room. “This weirdness. Laura.”
The doorbell rings. My twin brother sits and looks at me for another moment, and then gets to his feet, still holding his sandwich.
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” he says, and pads out to the hall with me close behind. He turns to me as I start to climb the stairs.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asks. “Are you going back to Summerbourne?”
“Yep.”
He gives me a long look.
“Don’t do anything stupid, will you?” he says. The doorbell rings again.
“What, like going on a walking tour of the city on the hottest day of the year?”
He pulls a face at me, and I dash up out of sight before he swings the front door open. From the privacy of my bedroom, I ring Alex Kaimal’s work number, and a friendly sounding man assures me that he’s in the office all day. The address is on an industrial estate in a suburb south of Leeds. I hope Alex is going to prove easier to talk to than Laura.
I shower and dress and wait upstairs until I hear Danny and Brooke leave, and then I set off. Roadwork stretches the journey to over four hours, and when I eventually switch my engine off in front of Alex’s steel-framed block of a workplace, I realizemy stomach is growling. I can’t afford to mess this up. I need to get on with it. I brush my hair, apply lipstick, and attempt to smooth the creases from my dress before I leave the car.
At one end of the low-ceilinged reception area is a horseshoe arrangement of chunky padded chairs in sherbet colors, and a water dispenser. At the other end, a woman and a man murmur into phones behind the reception desk. I catch the man’s eye as he hangs up.
“I’d like to see Alex Kaimal, please,” I say. “Quite urgently. Could you ask him to come down and meet me?”
The man smiles. “Sure. Is he expecting you?”
“No, I—I did mean to e-mail him, but—” What can I say? I was afraid if Alex saw my name on the e-mail he’d refuse to see me? After the reception Laura gave me, I’m not confident that Alex is going to welcome me wholeheartedly.
The receptionist is unruffled. “Who shall I tell him...?”
I swallow. “Seraphine.” He holds his smile as I press my lips down on my surname at the last moment. “Harris,” I say. I grip the counter.
After a murmured conversation into his phone, he cups his hand over the mouthpiece and tilts his head at me. “I’m sorry. Mr. Kaimal’s in a board meeting. His secretary says you can make an appointment for next week if you like?”
I fight the urge to snatch the phone from his hand and force myself to smile, as if it doesn’t matter in the least. “It’s fine,” I manage, and I turn away as he replaces the handset. I feel light-headed and walk over to the water dispenser, glancing at the elevator as I pass. Could I march confidently into it without being challenged? The receptionist is busy again, paying me no further attention; I think I could. Could I open every door on each floor and peer inside without someone stopping me? I grit my teeth. Probably not.
I press a jet of chilled water into a plastic cup, and choose a seat with a view of the elevator doors. I’ll wait. I know what Alex Kaimal looks like, and I’ll catch him as he leaves the building. I browse through several magazines over the next hour, and nobody says a word to me. Around half past four, a young woman with a pink streak in her dyed black hair walks in and smiles at me, but she takes a seat at the far end of the horseshoe and concentrates on her phone.
I count thirty-four people out of the elevator before it opens to reveal the man I’m waiting for. He’s slightly heavier in the face, clearly older than in the company photo, but this is definitely Alex Kaimal. I get to my feet, but the woman with the pink and black hair is closer to him, and she rises between us and says, “Hi, Dad.”
“Kiara,” he says, smiling.
They embrace briefly. They’re oblivious to me.
I follow them outside.
“Mr. Kaimal,” I say, but it comes out as a croak, and he doesn’t hear me.
“Mr. Kaimal!” I call, louder. The daughter turns first.
When Alex Kaimal finally swings round to look at me, we stand facing each other wordlessly. Cold needles prickle down my neck and arms. His frown deepens as he stares at me. The girl looks curiously from one of us to the other.
