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4
ISLA
It’s taunting me. Staring at me from the table where I left it.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, turning my back on the brown envelope with the secretive contents.
It’s dark out now, still raining with snow on the way according to the weather forecast. Shivering in my pyjamas, I pull my oversized house cardigan tighter around me and pick up my glass of red wine to take a sip.
I nearly jump out of my skin when my mobile rings. It’s almost 10 PM. Who would be calling at this hour? Is it my parents? We aren’t close at all, and they live hundreds of miles away, but still. Snatching it up in case of an emergency, I see a number I don’t recognise. Cautiously, I answer in case it is the hospital or whatever, and tentatively murmur, “Hello?”
“Isla.”
Huffing as I instantly recognise the smooth, beautiful songbird voice of Sophia Richardson, I fold my arms. “What do you want?”
“Have you signed the NDA yet?”
“No. Forgot all about it.”
“Did you,” she snickers but then goes quiet. “Look, Isla. I want to tell you everything, but I need to know you won’t repeat anything I tell you. That’s all.”
“I don’t gossip.” Cringing when I realise that isn’t entirely true, I stick my chin out defiantly even though she can’t see me. It’s not that I’m agossipas such. I would never betray a confidence or a secret, but people talk in small towns. It’s drivel, like did you see May Carlson’s new hairdo, or So-and-so caught the snooty Mrs Figson not picking up after her dog in the park again.
“I get that, but you are threatening me with a lot of money if I accidentally slip up and say something I’m not supposed to. This isn’t something I’m used to, and I don’t know what I can and can’t say.”
“You don’t say anything.”
“Easy for you to tell me that. You aren’t the one who will be bankrupt into my next life if I say something you don’t want me to.”
“Fair enough,” she murmurs. “I’ll start with a small titbit. Come to the window.”
Crossing over to the small lounge window of my first-floor flat, which looks out over the quiet street below, I see the Range Rover parked under a streetlight. The door opens, and Sophia gets out, popping her umbrella open as she looks up at me and waves.
“Can you see me?”
“Yes.”
“Isla, my name is Sophia Hawthorne, and I need you to trust me.”
“Why did you lie about your name? Not really invoking a whole lot of trust there.”
“It’s a necessary evil. Please look up to the hill.”
Automatically turning my head to see the looming, foreboding building that presides over our village, I shiver. “You live there?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re the mystery man. Boy, did they get that wrong.”
She giggles. “Definitely not the mystery man. But his sister.”
My head snaps back to the woman standing in the rain under my window. “Oh?”
“Please sign the NDA. I will be waiting at the park at 8 AM tomorrow morning. If you show up, I know you’re ready to talk. If not, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. I’m not trying to scare you, Isla. I need you.”
