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Alexia wasn’t sure how she made it back to her rental car. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she sat motionless, staring straight ahead.
The voice wasn’t in Billy’s head.
It was real.
It called me too.
What else had been real? Milo Bates’s murder? Had Billy really been forced to watch his friend die, like he told the police? And what about the threats to his daughter?
“Was that what you were you trying to tell me, Billy?” Alexia said aloud, her cracking voice echoing round the empty car. “Why didn’t I listen?”
She must find out who “the voice” really was. Not just for Billy and Jennifer Hamlin’s sake, but for her own.
Because whoever it is, they’re not done yet.
They’re coming after me too.
Chapter Thirty-six
Roxie De Vere looked out of the French doors that led from her room onto the gardens and took a deep, calming breath. There were few places more beautiful than Somerset in springtime. The gardens at Fairmont House, the stately-home-turned-exclusive-rehab where Roxie was currently living, were some of the most exquisite in the county. One couldn’t help but be uplifted by the blossom-laden buddleia bushes, smothered in butterflies, or the peaceful rose garden with its formal box hedges and gently winding gravel paths. There was a lake with a man-made island and folly in the middle, across which “guests” (Fairmont House wasn’t crass enough to have patients) could row for picnics or meditation or sunrise yoga sessions. All in all it was a bit like living in an illustration from a Jane Austen novel: tranquil, idyllic, and utterly unreal.
Opening the doors, Roxie allowed the warm air to flood her room and turned the radio to Classic FM. Today for the first time, she would permit a tiny slice of the outside world to intrude upon her safe cocoon. Summer Meyer was coming to visit her, the first friend Roxie had agreed to see in almost six months. The prospect was both exciting and nerve-racking.
“I feel like an Indian bride about to meet my arranged-marriage husband for the first time,” Roxie told her therapist, Dr. Woods, a gentle, professorial Canadian in his sixties who’d inevitably become something of a father figure. “The stakes seem so high.”
“They’re only as high as you let them be,” Dr. Woods reassured her. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. It’s tea with a friend, that’s all. You can do that, Roxanne.”
Roxie had thought she could do it. But now that Summer was actually coming, would be here any moment in fact, she felt all her old nervousness returning.
Roxie had been so ill when she first got to Fairmont, haunted by terrible dreams about Andrew and gripped by daily panic attacks. I mustn’t allow Summer’s visit to set me back. It had taken weeks for her to accept that it was Teddy, her beloved father, who had shot and killed the man she loved. But knowing the truth and changing all one’s emotions to fit it were two very different things. Why couldn’t it have been Alexia? Hating her mother was easy. It had become a habit, like slipping on a familiar overcoat. For the better part of a decade, Roxie had defined herself as a victim of Alexia’s cruelty and selfishness. That had become her identity, her self. But now, in the midst of her shock and grief over Andrew, she was supposed to do a complete about-face. To accept that Alexia had been loving and unselfish all along. Acknowledging that fact meant negating her whole adult life. As Dr. Woods said, it was like another death. Like her death. No wonder it was frightening.
In the course of a few months, Roxie had lost her brother, her father, and Andrew, all over again. Everything she’d believed for the last ten years of her life had been a lie. Nothing was what it seemed. The world outside of Fairmont House had become a frightening place. And now Summer Meyer was arriving to bring her news of it. To remind her that it was still there . . . that one day she would have to go back.
“Wow, Rox. You look so well.”
Summer had walked into the room unannounced. Before Roxie had time to think about it, she found herself enveloped in a hug. Instinctively she hugged her friend back.
Roxie felt relieved. The real Summer was nothing like the frightening visitor of her imagination. Having her here felt right. She smiled.
“It’s a gorgeous day out there. Shall we go for a walk?”
Summer stretched and swung her arms as she strolled down toward the lake, with Roxie wheeling her chair beside her. At Fairmont House, everything was all about helping oneself, becoming independent physically and emotionally. Roxanne’s days of being wheeled around by other people were over.
It had been a long, hot drive down from London. Summer’s joints ached from being cramped up in her tiny Fiat Punto, so the fresh air and space felt like a luxury. European cars all seemed to have been designed for either Munchkins or children.
“This place is stunning.” She sighed. “No wonder you don’t want to leave.”
“I’m not on vacation, you know,” Roxie said defensively. “It’s a hospital. I’m here because I need to be.”
“I know that,” said Summer. “I only meant that it’s a beautiful setting. Peaceful. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m a little tense. It is peaceful. And you’re right in a way. I am lucky to be here.”
“Is it very expensive?”
Roxie shrugged. “Probably. Dad’s health insurance pays for it, so I haven’t seen a bill.”
The mention of Teddy was unexpected. Part of the reason for Summer’s visit was that it was Teddy’s sentencing next week. Alexia was due to fly to London for the hearing and had asked Summer to sound Roxie out in advance, to see if she might be willing to meet her mother face-to-face.
