into the Lodge, and the garden will be open from Easter next year - to any ghoul wanting to see where your sister was murdered.”
8
Fifteen Years Previously
When Natalie had finally walked out of the Lodge, carrying a bulging suitcase in one hand and Sarah’s old typewriter in the other, she’d hoped to never see it again. She was headed for student life and destined for greater things. This would be her one opportunity to do something with her life and get away from everything that held her back. The past.
Strange how things turn out.
Her father’s accident happened a week after Sarah’s death. His car had gone over a cliff and fallen fifty feet onto a sandy beach. If he’d hit rock he’d never have survived; the car would have blown up and taken him with it. Instead the soft sand acted as a cushion, leaving him paralysed and with serious head injuries, but alive. This, as everyone had said at the time, was the important thing.
With her father incapacitated, Natalie thought she and her mother would have to find somewhere else to live. Instead, she came home from school one day and found Sir Henry Vyne sitting in the kitchen, talking closely with her mother and drinking coffee from her father’s favourite mug.
For a man in his fifties he was still striking in appearance, having the red hair and pale-blue eyes typical of all the Vyne family. He was also very tall, a fact Natalie appreciated when, ever the gentleman, he got to his feet as she entered the kitchen.
“Little Natalie,” he smiled.
If he added ‘My how you’ve grown’ to that sentence, she’d walk right out of the kitchen and probably the house too. She doubted her mother would object. The way Magda was currently looking daggers at her, it appeared she’d interrupted something important. But what?
Uncertainly she flicked her gaze between the two, recalling how close Magda had been sitting to him, how he had been sprawled in the chair as though he owned the place (which he did) and how her mother was back in her immaculate mask of make-up for the first time in days, if not weeks.
Oh God, surely it couldn’t be?
Sir Henry and her mother ?
“How are you coping, sweetheart?” Sir Henry patted Natalie on the shoulder, leaving his hand resting there quite casually while he smiled benevolently at her.
“OK,” she muttered.
He was so close she could smell the faint mustiness of the castle upon his clothes and the tobacco on his breath. She could see a pulled thread in the tweed coat he wore and the hint of ginger stubble on his chin. She wanted to pull away from him, to tell him to keep his old man hands to himself, but one glance at her mother’s grim expression and she thought better of it.
Was Sir Henry going to be her new step-father? Would that mean she’d live at the castle? No one in Calahurst would be able to look down their noses at her again.
“I do hope you’re being a good girl for your mother?” he said.
She eyed him askance. What did he expect her to reply? That she’d been getting drunk every night and shagging her way around Calahurst? Biting hard on her tongue, she kept her eyes to the floor and her smart-arse comments to herself - and doubtless appeared to be the dozy teen he thought she was.
Sir Henry conceded defeat, patted her shoulder once again, and returned his attention to her mother. “That’s agreed then, Maggie? Things can carry on, to the same arrangement as before. Whatever you may have heard from Cla - er, to the contrary, the Lodge is yours for as long as you want it.”
He paused, as though expecting Magda to make some comment, or at least thank him. When neither was forthcoming, he took his coat from the back of the chair, winked at Natalie and left through the back door. Before the door closed, a blast of cold air sent a swarm of dead leaves swirling into the kitchen.
Natalie took his place at the kitchen table, and tried not to think about how the seat was still warm. “Does that mean
8
Fifteen Years Previously
When Natalie had finally walked out of the Lodge, carrying a bulging suitcase in one hand and Sarah’s old typewriter in the other, she’d hoped to never see it again. She was headed for student life and destined for greater things. This would be her one opportunity to do something with her life and get away from everything that held her back. The past.
Strange how things turn out.
Her father’s accident happened a week after Sarah’s death. His car had gone over a cliff and fallen fifty feet onto a sandy beach. If he’d hit rock he’d never have survived; the car would have blown up and taken him with it. Instead the soft sand acted as a cushion, leaving him paralysed and with serious head injuries, but alive. This, as everyone had said at the time, was the important thing.
With her father incapacitated, Natalie thought she and her mother would have to find somewhere else to live. Instead, she came home from school one day and found Sir Henry Vyne sitting in the kitchen, talking closely with her mother and drinking coffee from her father’s favourite mug.
For a man in his fifties he was still striking in appearance, having the red hair and pale-blue eyes typical of all the Vyne family. He was also very tall, a fact Natalie appreciated when, ever the gentleman, he got to his feet as she entered the kitchen.
“Little Natalie,” he smiled.
If he added ‘My how you’ve grown’ to that sentence, she’d walk right out of the kitchen and probably the house too. She doubted her mother would object. The way Magda was currently looking daggers at her, it appeared she’d interrupted something important. But what?
Uncertainly she flicked her gaze between the two, recalling how close Magda had been sitting to him, how he had been sprawled in the chair as though he owned the place (which he did) and how her mother was back in her immaculate mask of make-up for the first time in days, if not weeks.
Oh God, surely it couldn’t be?
Sir Henry and her mother ?
“How are you coping, sweetheart?” Sir Henry patted Natalie on the shoulder, leaving his hand resting there quite casually while he smiled benevolently at her.
“OK,” she muttered.
He was so close she could smell the faint mustiness of the castle upon his clothes and the tobacco on his breath. She could see a pulled thread in the tweed coat he wore and the hint of ginger stubble on his chin. She wanted to pull away from him, to tell him to keep his old man hands to himself, but one glance at her mother’s grim expression and she thought better of it.
Was Sir Henry going to be her new step-father? Would that mean she’d live at the castle? No one in Calahurst would be able to look down their noses at her again.
“I do hope you’re being a good girl for your mother?” he said.
She eyed him askance. What did he expect her to reply? That she’d been getting drunk every night and shagging her way around Calahurst? Biting hard on her tongue, she kept her eyes to the floor and her smart-arse comments to herself - and doubtless appeared to be the dozy teen he thought she was.
Sir Henry conceded defeat, patted her shoulder once again, and returned his attention to her mother. “That’s agreed then, Maggie? Things can carry on, to the same arrangement as before. Whatever you may have heard from Cla - er, to the contrary, the Lodge is yours for as long as you want it.”
He paused, as though expecting Magda to make some comment, or at least thank him. When neither was forthcoming, he took his coat from the back of the chair, winked at Natalie and left through the back door. Before the door closed, a blast of cold air sent a swarm of dead leaves swirling into the kitchen.
Natalie took his place at the kitchen table, and tried not to think about how the seat was still warm. “Does that mean
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