‘Only about a week or so,’ Helen murmurs. ‘She just turned up one night.’ She rubs her eyes. ‘It was the night of our anniversary. I thought she was in some kind of trouble. Did you see those marks on her neck?’
‘You can hardly miss them. What happened to her?’
‘Well, she wouldn’t say exactly but … she was so upset. I felt so bad for her. I felt I couldn’t say no.’
‘I can see that,’ I say carefully. ‘But now – what? She’s driving you both bonkers?’
Helen laughs half-heartedly. ‘No – I mean, well, yes – she is – but it’s more than that.’ Her face clouds over. She brings a cardigan cuff to her mouth, starts chewing on a thread. ‘The thing is, I think – I know this sounds mad, but – I feel like she might have another reason for being here.’
‘What do you mean, another reason?’
Helen looks away, colour rising to her cheeks. She places her hands together, as if in prayer, drops her head. A confession is coming.
‘I know I shouldn’t have, OK,’ she mumbles into her sleeve, ‘but I went into the room where she’s staying and looked in her suitcase.’ She flicks me a guilty glance.
I shrug. ‘And what?’
‘And …’ She stops, covers her mouth, as if she doesn’t want to let the words out.
I try to sound firm. ‘Helen, what was in her suitcase? What are you worried about?’
Helen winces.
‘Serena, I think Rachel might … I think …’
Just then, I hear Rory. ‘Only a delivery,’ he calls. ‘You know, darling, I think I will pop out and get more champagne.’ I can tell without looking that Rory is studying himself in the hallway mirror, smoothing his hair down at the sides. When he steps into the kitchen, he sees Helen.
‘Ah, sis!’ He grins widely, plants a kiss on Helen’s cheek. Helen closes her eyes. ‘Where’s my present?’ Rory jokingly pokes her in the ribs. She makes a stab at a laugh but manages only a sort of cough. She brushes at her eyes with her cuff. Rory looks at my face, then back to Helen. His smile wilts slightly. ‘What are you two looking so serious for?’
Helen straightens her spine, shakes her head.
‘Forget it,’ she says, giving Rory a strange look. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
HELEN
Serena and Rory’s living room is empty, as I had hoped it would be. It looks even lovelier than usual – the high ceilings, the huge bay windows looking to the front and the back. There is a grand piano at the garden end, and a courtyard of sofas at the front, arranged around a mango-wood coffee table holding architecture books with gold-embossed spines and the bowls they bought in Morocco.
Serena has made up a log fire; the kindling crackles and spits softly, a plume of smoke rising. It doesn’t seem possible that it is the time of year for fires, already. The thought of winter fills me with gloom. I think of the early darkness, the layers of scratchy clothing, of collars pulled up against the wind.
I hear snatches of laughter from the dining room. I should go in, but I just need a minute. A minute to sit. And be away from Rachel.
After our awkward breakfast this morning – and Serena’s visit – Daniel stood up as if he could take no more. He grabbed a bag and strode out of the house saying he was off to play squash, even though he hadn’t mentioned anything about it before. Rachel said she was going out, too. Something about getting her nails done, for the party, as she kept calling it.
As soon as I heard the door close after them both, I was in Rachel’s room, throwing open her suitcase. No more messing around. I had to know what she was up to, why that note had been in her bag. I couldn’t bear to think about what I might find. A whole load of those red envelopes, a whole string of her and Rory’s letters to each other? A diary, photographs even?
I searched through her case, carefully at first. Then – deciding it was such a mess she’d never know either way – I turned the whole thing upside down, slid my hands inside all the pockets.
But there was nothing. The laptop had gone. The note addressed to W was nowhere to be found. Nor were the things missing from my book – the note I found at Rory’s, and the taped-together photograph – even though I’m sure, now, that it must be her who has taken them.
I looked everywhere, then. The chest of drawers, the bedside table. Behind the books on the shelves. Under all her clothes on the floor. No sign. By the time I got to the end, my hands were shaking.