Page 72 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

“I come bearing gifts!” Harold bustled about Sidney, shooing Ginevra off the ottoman to arrange the food, and gave an excellent impression of a mother hen as he fluffed and tucked the blankets. It didn’t annoy Sidney as much as he would have expected, and he accepted Harold’s ministrations without fussing. Though the spot where Ginevra had leaned against his leg now felt cold.

Gin gave an approving nod. “I think we all need to nap and laze about today, and we can face tomorrow with a fresh perspective.”

“Jolly good. I’m comfortable here.” Harold sat and propped his feet on Sidney’s ottoman. “If you don’t mind, of course, old boy.”

Sidney grunted in assent and leaned deeper into his own chair. He turned his head against the soft cushion and tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t bear to look away until Ginevra’s silhouette disappeared through the doorway.

It was dark when Sidney woke again.

He had fallen asleep in the armchair, and the new crick in his neck reproached him for the decision. But it was more pleasant to awaken to the cozy glow of a dying fire than those crimson bed-curtains. There was a note from Harold on the empty chair beside him: Dining downstairs with the girls, back soon.

Sidney rose, wincing. He felt steadier on his feet, his skin no longer clammy nor pulse racing. He drifted toward the window, steeling himself for yet another glimpse of the hedge maze. But a thick twilight obscured the view beyond the lamps that glowed on the immediate terrace.

An absurd desire to walk inside it surged through him, poking and prodding like the devil at his shoulder. It was only a clump of hedges, after all—not even the maze that plagued his dreams. What sort of power could it have over him?

Before hesitancy won out, Sidney strode for the door that led outside.

He exited onto a long veranda with a sculpted stone balustrade that ran nearly the length of the house and descended to the terrace. The clipped grass was so lush and even it might have been green velvet, and he shuffled lightly across it. When he passed the bright lamps, he could just make out the darkened hollow of the maze’s entrance on the far side of the tennis lawn. A cold wind brushed his bare chest, and he knotted the robe tighter. He barely remembered tossing away the pajama top now. Everything from that morning felt like peering through a dull, dirty piece of glass.

Everything except Ginevra’s delicate hands pouring tea.

At the entry to the maze, Sidney hesitated. It seemed foolhardy to rush in and get lost, especially without telling Harold where he’d gone. But he didn’t want to complete the maze, only proceed far enough inside to prove to himself it was harmless. He brushed a hand over the privet leaves, and the soft scrape against his skin reassured him that this was indeed real and not another nightmare.

Sidney held his breath and entered.

The garden’s night sounds instantly dampened, and the towering hedges framed the vast night sky like a painting. It was the first time he had felt alone—truly alone—in years, and for a moment he felt untethered from the outside world. He could wander to the heart of the maze and never come back out, and the idea settled into his bones with a comforting weight. That sounded much better than going home and risking a panicked episode in front of his parents. Last year, he had fought so hard to be quiet when the nightmares came, but their concerned faces over breakfast said enough. Echoes of the war would always cling to him.

There was a light step behind him, and Sidney whirled, every muscle braced for attack.

“I’m sorry,” Ginevra gasped, rushing forward. She grabbed his shoulders as though afraid he would topple over. “I didn’t mean to startle you. The shrubs muffle everything.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. She had probably taken several years off his life, but the pressure of her hands steadied him. Carefully, he reached up and removed one and then the other. If she noticed that he held them a little longer than necessary, her face betrayed nothing.

“You are not fine,” she said. “If you don’t want to discuss what’s troubling you, I understand. But you needn’t pretend around me.”

Sidney’s throat bobbed, and he rubbed at it, trying to disguise how neatly she had hit the issue on the head. He was so well-versed in lying about how he felt because that was the only way to survive. The truth didn’t set you free; it entrapped you. Only when Ginevra Bishop looked at him as though they were the only two people in the world, he didn’t mind so much offering himself up to the manacles.

“You know I helped gather intelligence during the war.” The words fell like bits of coal chipped out in the mines, and Sidney reached for the privet and squeezed until it hurt, forcing himself to continue. “I was younger than some of the others, and it was easy for me to slouch about the French countryside pretending to be an out-of-work farmhand while I delivered and collected messages from the Rook’s spy network.” He ground his teeth, waiting for the words to form. “The last job I worked for him was at a chateau occupied by the Germans. The grounds had a maze nearly identical to this one. I—I still dream about it sometimes.”

Ginevra drew closer, and the scent of her perfume caught him in a heady wave of jasmine. Clinging to its tether, Sidney allowed himself to sink into the roiling memories.

“My contact there was named Amélie. She ran messages for someone undercover high inside the Germans’ camp. We’d swap ciphers and chat for a while, and then I’d slink away and return the following week pretending to inquire about work again. The maze was far enough from the house that security was looser, and the other French workers on the estate didn’t pay much attention to us. Maybe they thought we were having a tryst and turned a blind eye. Or maybe they were biding their time to report us…”

Sidney wasn’t sure when Ginevra had taken hold of his arm again, but her fingers knotting into the housecoat rooted him as the cloudy memory sharpened.

“One morning, a pair of German soldiers entered the maze. I don’t think they expected us to fight back so fiercely when they tried to take us in. We got away and ran farther into the maze, but one of them got off a shot that clipped my side. Blood started coming through my jacket, and Amélie shoved me one direction while she bolted the other…”

He had steered Amélie in front of him as they ran, expecting the soldiers to fire, but little good it had done her in the end. She had outmaneuvered his efforts to save her, and the horror that had seeped through him in that moment still bled from the past. It did not seem fair that he should have escaped death while someone else fell in his place.

Sidney closed his eyes and focused on the last bitter drop of poison to extract. “When I finally dragged myself out, I realized she’d pushed me toward the exit. I could see them marching her back to the chateau in the distance. I was carrying return messages to the Rook that day, and maybe she thought it would go worse for me if caught … but that—that was the last time I saw her.”

“That must have been dreadful,” Ginevra murmured.

“It was, and then I learned the contact inside was also captured and executed.” The knots in Sidney’s stomach twisted harder. “My wound became infected, and I was sidelined … and then the war ended not a month later.” He hesitated, his free hand toying with Ginevra’s sleeve cuff. “I still wake up sometimes, drenched in sweat, thinking I’m running through the maze. Sometimes I’m running for my life, sometimes I’m trying to find Amélie.”

When Gin didn’t answer, Sidney glanced up. She stared over his shoulder, deeper into the maze, a thoughtful wrinkle between her brows. Her lips were pursed as though holding in her thoughts, and Sidney gently tugged on her sleeve until her eyes refocused on him.

“It’s a heavy story, I’m sorry—”