‘He could have left me a note?’ she says. ‘He could have got in touch with the solicitor and let them know he wanted to meet me? But instead, he’s hiding out in the attic like a weirdo.’
‘Well, maybe he is a weirdo?’ says Dido.
‘What did you find out about him?’ Libby asks Miller. ‘Apart from him being my brother?’
‘Nothing, really,’ says Miller. ‘I know he went to Portman House School from the ages of three to eleven. His teachers said he was a clever boy, but a bit full of himself. He didn’t really have any friends. And then he left in 1988, had a place offered to him at St Xavier’s College in Kensington but didn’t take it up. And that was the last anyone heard of him.’
‘I just don’t get it,’ says Libby. ‘Lurking around, slinking through tunnels and bushes, hiding upstairs when he knew I was downstairs. Are you sure it’s Henry?’
‘Well, no, of course not. But who else would know you were going to be there? Who else would know how to get into the house?’
‘One of the others,’ she answers. ‘Maybe it’s one of the others.’
28
Lucy checks the time on her phone when Michael is briefly distracted by a wasp that is bothering his plate. He flaps at it with his napkin, but it keeps coming back.
It’s nearly three o’clock. She wants to be home by four. She needs the passports, but she also knows that in asking for the passports, she will be quickening the inevitable journey towards Michael’s bed.
She starts to clear their plates. ‘Here,’ she says, ‘let’s get this stuff inside, that’ll get rid of your annoying friend.’
His eyes are glassy and he smiles at her gratefully. ‘Yup,’ he says. ‘Good plan, and let’s get some coffee on too.’
She leads the way into the kitchen and starts to load the dishwasher. He watches her while the coffee machine grinds beans. ‘You really kept your figure, Luce,’ he says. ‘Not bad for a forty-year-old mom of two.’
‘Thirty-nine.’ She smiles tightly and drops two forks into the cutlery basket. ‘But thank you.’
The atmosphere is clumsy, slightly sour. They’ve left it too long for what comes next. They’ve drunk too much, eaten too much, sat for too long in the languorous air of the garden. Lucy says, ‘I need to get back to the kids soon.’
‘Oh,’ says Michael lightly. ‘Marco’s a big boy. He can look after his little sister a while longer.’
‘Yes, sure, but Stella gets a little anxious when she’s not with me.’
She sees his jaw twitch a little. Michael does not like to hear about weakness in others. He abhors it. ‘So,’ he says with a sigh, ‘I suppose you’ll want the passports?’
‘Yes. Please.’
Her heart thumps so hard under her rib cage that she can feel it in her ear canals.
He cocks his head and smiles at her. ‘But don’t rush off just yet? OK?’
He goes to his study and she can hear him opening and closing drawers. He returns a moment later, the passports in a felt drawstring bag in his hand. He waves it at her.
‘I am nothing if not a man of my word,’ he says, walking slowly towards her, his eyes on her, dangling the felt bag in front of him.
She can’t work out what he’s doing. Is he expecting her to snatch them from him? Chase him? What?
She smiles nervously. ‘Thank you,’ she says.
And then he is standing up against her, the small of her back hard against the kitchen counter, the felt bag clutched in his hand, his mouth heading towards the crook of her neck. She feels his lips against her throat. She hears him groaning.