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Ragnar hadn’t said anything about visitors, and the house was so off the beaten track it couldn’t be anyone looking for directions. It was probably just another delivery of work papers for him.
She glanced up at the discreet security video screen in the wall and felt her spine stiffen. That didn’t seem very likely. Standing in front of the camera was a young, very beautiful woman with white-blonde hair, wearing ripped jeans and some kind of shaggy astrakhan coat.
A young, beautiful, weeping woman.
Heart pounding, Lottie punched in the security code and opened the door.
‘Oh, thank goodness—I thought there was no one here.’
Storming past her without a word of explanation or even a nod of acknowledgement, the young woman pulled out her phone and with tears still pouring down her face began frenetically typing.
‘You can bring that in,’ she called shakily over her shoulder.
Lottie watched in stunned silence as a slightly apologetic-looking taxi driver carried in an expensive, monogrammed suitcase.
‘Oh, you need to pay him. You do understand English, right?’
Still too stunned to speak, Lottie nodded.
After paying the driver, she closed the door and turned to face the young woman. She had stopped typing into her phone, but she was still crying, and yet her smudged mascara and swollen eyes didn’t detract from her quite extraordinary beauty.
Lottie stared at her in confusion. Who was she?
The question was barely formed in her head when the woman finally looked at her straight on and her arresting blue eyes instantly and unequivocally provided the answer.
‘You must be Marta.’
The woman frowned. ‘Yes, I am.’ Despite her tears she spoke disdainfully, as though her identity should be a matter of common knowledge. ‘Is Ragnar here?’
Lottie nodded. ‘He’s in the gym.’
Marta sniffed. ‘He must be in holiday mode.’ Her eyes narrowed on Sóley, as though seeing her for the first time. ‘I’m surprised he lets you bring your baby to work.’
‘Oh, I don’t work for Ragnar,’ Lottie said quickly. ‘I’m Lottie—Lottie Dawson. And this is Sóley.’
She hadn’t been expecting to meet Ragnar’s sister, so she hadn’t given much thought to how Marta would react to her words, but blank-eyed bewilderment probably wouldn’t have been high on her list—or on her list at all.
‘Who?’ Marta stared at her, her lip curling.
‘Lottie...’ She knew there was a slight tremor in her voice, but there was something unnerving about Marta’s cool, dismissive gaze, so like her brother’s and yet not. More unnerving still was the stinging realisation that Ragnar’s sister had no idea who she was, or what she was to him.
The happiness and certainty of earlier fell away. She felt as though she was gripping on to a cliff-edge.
Breathing in against the feeling of vertigo filling her head, she held her daughter closer, taking comfort in the tight grip of her arms.
What should she say? Even if she had the right words, the thought of saying them out loud was just too daunting—for how could she reveal what Ragnar had so clearly decided to keep secret? Only why would he keep his daughter a secret from his sister? And was it just his sister or his whole family?
‘Marta—’
Lottie turned, her heart pounding. Ragnar was walki
ng down the stairs and clearly he’d dressed in a hurry. His hair was wet from the shower and his shirt clung to his body, where his skin was still damp.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said softly.
Bursting into tears, Marta bolted towards him and, watching his arms pull her close, Lottie felt suddenly like an intruder. Whatever it was she needed to ask Ragnar, right now he needed to take care of his sister.
‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ she said quietly and, sidestepping Marta’s sobbing back, she forced herself to walk upstairs.
