She heads up the basement stairs, gently opens the door at the top, and steps into the immaculate kitchen. Still no alarm sounds. If she can just find something, anything, to help explain what is going on, why this woman is here, who she is, and how she knows Chris.
Zara takes in the Victorian kitchen, full fruit bowls, fresh flowers in vases, and wonders when the doctor actually has time to do all of this. Perhaps the house is serviced. Because it’s perfect. So effortlessly perfect.
She tears her gaze away and wanders on through into the living room populated by deep sofas and expensive rugs. But thankfully, it’s messier in here, a soft cashmere throw tossed haphazardly on the sofa, a smudged wineglass on the floor beneath, a tannin stain chalky inside, a dirty plate. So, Dr. Lewis is a human after all.
And then Zara sees it. A glint. The edge of something poking out from under the rich fawn of the throw. The matte silver sheen of it. She reaches down and pulls it out. Emma’s laptop.
Zara sits down on the sofa next to it, one hand resting lightly on its smooth brushed-metal lid. If she does this then there’s no going back, she thinks. But then, she’s already come this far. She’s already broken into someone’s home. What difference would looking make?
Still she hesitates. She might find something she doesn’t like. There could be emails from Chris, more messages. What if looking through her laptop somehow changes everything? She would have to go home to Chris knowing but not being able to say.
No. It’s better to look, she decides. Yes, better to know.
She flips the lid and spins the laptop around to face her. It opens to desktop, the tab open on the last page Emma looked at—Chris’s Facebook page.
Zara’s heart skips a beat, her jaw hardens.
She minimizes the screen and pulls up Emma’s iMessages; she scrolls to Chris’s name and reads.
Sorry to text so late. Would it be possible to get a list of past employees at Waltham House? I can’t say why just yet but I think it might be helpful. Also, might have to rain check that drink. Snowed under.
Emma x
No problem, totally understand. I’ll get on it & let you know asap & I just want to say it was great to see you today Marn. Chris x
It’s Emma, Chris! X
Shit, sorry x
Zara stares at the screen, frowning. She reads the messages again, trying to make sense of them. She sits in stillness for a moment and then pulls up Google.
She types “Marn Lewis” and taps search.
Nothing.
She tries “Dr. Marn Lewis” and taps search.
Nothing.
She tries “Marn, Norfolk.”
The search autocorrects to “Marni, Norfolk” and below it pages and pages of search results appear.
Marni Beaufort. The Beaufort family.Christ.
Zara catches her breath.Holy shit.
A giggle of pure joy bubbles out of her beautiful screen-lit face, because, finally, Zara cannot believe her luck.
33
DR. EMMA LEWIS
DAY 11—PEOPLE ARE COMING
The call comes at 10:07 that night.
Up until then it had been a comparatively uneventful day of memory exercises and talking through Matthew’s positive response to his antianxiety medication. The lack of drama making me feel my decision not to resign yesterday had been the right one. Joe had been less understanding when I tried to explain on the phone. But it would be crazy to leave without knowing how Matthew has come to know so much about me and my father. But of course, I couldn’t tell Joe my reasoning in that respect. If he’d wanted me to leave before, he’d have dragged me off himself if he knew my reasons for staying.
