Page 16 of Payback

We walked under the magnolia trees holding hands. Only a few pink flowers remained on their branches, now replaced by dense, green foliage. The faint scent of citrus wafted down to us through their canopy, but it did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves.

I glanced up at Henry, who turned his gaze down to me and smiled. It was a bitter-sweet curve of the lips, perhaps a more cheerful variation of the British stiff upper lip, but it struck at my heart.

A flock of butterflies took flight in my belly, urging me to use this opportunity to patch up our relationship. “Henry, I—”

“Let go of my person!” screeched a voice from behind.

A gang of fifth-year girls crowded around Charlotte. I recognized a blonde girl whose hair was cut in a bob from a conversation I had overheard earlier in the term. Patterson-Bourke, the shortest rugby player in the school, had accosted her in the hallway for having dumped him.

“Finally decided to show your face?” said the blonde. “What do you have to say for yourself after nearly killing us with a cocktail of drugs?”

Charlotte flung her arm out in my direction. “That American trollop put the drugs in your drinks. If you want retribution, go to her.”

I rolled my eyes. That girl’s desperation knew no bounds.

The blonde placed her hands on her hips. “The trollop wasn’t even on the boat.”

Her friend snuck up behind Charlotte and yanked at her hair. “You promised us the Yank wouldn’t be there, so we know you’re lying!”

My heart sank at the irony. I had endured so much to stop Charlotte from exploiting these girls, yet they still despised me. Maybe this was why Edward hadn’t wanted me to speak up against Charlotte. Little had changed since the first term. The other students had only stopped calling me names because I was now under the protection of the triumvirate.

“Ignore them.” Henry placed an arm around my shoulder and walked me further along the path of magnolia trees.

Blake and Edward stood outside the steps of Elder House, still clad in their school uniforms. The limo waited at the side of the building.

Edward raised his brows in silent question about how I was faring following Rudolph’s letter. I tilted my head to the side and grimaced to indicate that I was still freaked out.

“We’re going to Maison Saint-Nazaire.”

I pictured the friendly old French couple who ran the quaint, little restaurant in the village. “We’re seeing Jean-Paul and Françoise?”

Blake beamed. “He made us something special but told me it was a surprise.”

The tightness in my shoulders unwound. An evening away from Charlotte sounded like heaven.

* * *

After a round of effusive hugs and kisses, Françoise led us to the table by the kitchen, which she explained the boys had used since the Duke of Mercia had brought them over as first years. I sat next to Henry and opposite Blake, while Edward sat opposite Henry. Françoise served a round of Kir Royal, the most delicious aperitif of crème de cassis, which I learned was a blackcurrant liqueur, and champagne. A few diners sat at the front, but there was enough space between us so they wouldn’t overhear our conversation.

The first dish was bouillabaisse, a rich, garlicky stew made from a dizzying array of seafood ingredients, served with bread Françoise had baked in her special baguette oven.

As Françoise poured us glasses of sauvignon blanc, she turned to Edward. “Your father was here today with his friend. It was good to see him.”

Edward straightened. “How was he?”

“Happy, and that is all that matters, no?” The old woman retreated into the kitchens.

Edward leaned across the table and clasped Henry’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough.” Emotion choked his voice. “What you have done for Father has been beyond my wildest expectations.”

Henry shook his head. “There’s no need—”

“I know what it cost, and there has never been a truer friend than you.”

“Hear, hear.” Blake raised his glass of sauvignon blanc.

I peered at Henry under my lashes, pondering the nature of the sacrifice he had made. Edward might have been referring to getting disinherited, but I couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t a subject I wanted to raise because I had endangered their plans by calling the police.

Later, Jean-Paul brought a pot of cassoulet, a rich casserole containing a variety of meats, beans, and sausages, which he had made using the recipe of a chef who worked for the Bourneville Group. Françoise brought a vintage Chateauneuf du Pape that had arrived earlier in the day from France. As she chatted with Edward and Henry in rapid French, I leaned over to Blake and asked, “What’s this sacrifice Edward was talking about?”