Hattie parts her lips and says, ‘You look like the last girl.’
An unsettling shot of adrenaline bolts through me. My eyes flit between each of them, reading the room in the split-second before anyone can rearrange their expression. Justin stares at his mother. Beth stares at her plate. And Hattie, bless her, stares vacantly ahead, as if she’s in a different world. I turn to her. ‘What girl, Hattie?’
‘Mother,’ Justin says. ‘Behave yourself.’
I look around at them all.
Beth glares at him.
Justin continues, as cool as the glass of water I’m gripping. He gives a brittle laugh. ‘Mother gets confused. We’ve had lots of agency staff in and out of here helping to look after her.’
I can’t leave it there. ‘I get that a lot. People mistaking me for someone else. I must have one of those faces.’ I force a laugh. ‘What girl do you mean, Hattie?’
‘What time is Harold coming home?’
Beth butts in. ‘Tomorrow, Hattie. Tomorrow.’ If I’m not mistaken, there’s a strain in her voice she’s trying to hide.
I open my mouth to repeat my question and quickly shut it. Not now. Not in front of the pair of them.
I stab a piece of lamb with my fork, forcing a smile.
I need to get Hattie on her own.
Whatever she knows, I’m going to find out.
31
SCARLETT
I tap my foot on the dried-out grass, anxiously waiting for the right moment to bring up this other girl.
Hattie fiddles with her pearl clip-on earring beside me on the bench on the far side of the lake, the wooded area beyond stretching across to the edge of the vast grounds. She’s impeccably dressed as if she’s going to a tea party: yellow A-line dress, blue eyeshadow, red lipstick, straw sunhat. On her lap sits a neatly ironed yellow handkerchief.
The afternoon sun is hot on the back of my neck. She slaps one side of her face then the other, moaning and groaning like a whining child about the sun cream I insisted she apply before we came out for the walk.
I yawn. I spent the first half of last night feeling as if I needed to keep one eye on the door handle. In the end, I wedged the desk chair up against it, or I’d never have slept at all.
From here the tennis court and house are in view. A movement at the annexe window catches my attention. I sit up straight.
‘What is it, dear?’ Hattie asks.
I could be mistaken, but the slats of the blind moved. I think.
‘Dear?’
‘Nothing, Hattie.’ I study the window, but all appears still.
The beautiful lake ripples in the sunshine. A fish breaks the water and flops back. On the walk around, the water was clear right down to the bottom, and peering down into it now, it looks so inviting. I could kill for a swim. Normally, I exercise daily. But since Daisy died, I can’t find my usual motivation. I haven’t exercised since that swim in the pool in Cambridge. Another fish flies into the air. I can just picture myself diving off the jetty into the chilly water. Perhaps I’ll swim later. It’s too hot to do any other form of exercise. I have my costume with me as I’d planned to swim in the hotel pool in Edinburgh, but I ended up staying in bed.
‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’ she says.
I nod. She appears to be having a good day today. I had a coherent conversation with her during breakfast. She was telling me again about her catwalk days and how she met her husband in a bar in Soho. Then she asked me to read a book to her. An Agatha Christie, her favourite author. Beth was hanging around, although I told her to go. ‘I’m fine on my own with her,’ I said, but she loitered, pretending to do jobs that didn’t need doing. Who polishes cutlery from the dishwasher before putting it away? Or cleans a sink twice? When I suggested taking Hattie for a walk around the lake, she insisted on coming, much to my annoyance. When we got outside, she said it was too much for her, but thankfully, Hattie insisted I still take her and Beth went for a lie-down.
‘Hattie, you said yesterday evening at the dinner table that I look like the last girl.’
‘Which girl?’ she says.
‘I don’t know. Do you think you can tell me about her?’
