Suddenly uneasy, she starts walking back around the side of the building to the front of the lodge.
A few moments later, she stops in her tracks.
A sudden flicker of light between the trees below.
The beam momentarily catches their trunks, bouncing them into color, the dull brown of the bark alive with lurid fingers of moss.
A crisp snap of twigs.
Elin’s pulse quickens.
Silly, she reprimands herself. Probably a member of staff, a guest, but the fear is instinctive. Despite her bravado only moments before, her mind flickers to what Michael Zimmerman had told her about the person he saw near the rock, the figure she’d glimpsed earlier.
The light flashes on again.
This time the beam is moving more erratically, jerkily twitching from tree to tree, intermittently swallowed by the undergrowth as the person moves. Elin wills herself to stay calm: There’ll be an explanation.
But what? Why would someone, even staff, be in what looks like pretty impenetrable woodland at this time of night?
Disconcerted, she walks quickly around the side of the building, then stops, her back against the wall. Waiting a few moments, she peers around the corner of the lodge and into the gloom.
A silhouette pulls clear from the tree line.
The person is wearing a hooded top, the hood pulled low over their face so it’s impossible to see any distinguishing features.
Stopping, the figure glances about as if looking for something, and the flashlight comes back on, the beam bouncing across the ground to the back of the lodge.
As if they’re searching for someone. For her?
Elin stays back, against the wall, heart pounding, but the flashlight is extinguished. She waits for a few moments, but it doesn’t come on again.
Whoever was following her has melted away into the darkness.
* * *
—
Nearly at the villa, Elin’s about to take the hard left onto the path when someone steps out from the shadows.
There’s a soft shuffle of footsteps. Her thoughts lurch to the silhouette she’d glimpsed in the woods.
“Elin?”
Farrah. “I thought you were back in the villa.”
“I took a walk instead.” Exhaling heavily, Elin puts a hand up to her hair, immediately aware of how she must look—hair bedraggled and coming loose from her ponytail, her red, clammy skin. She pastes on a smile. “What about you? Seeing Will back?”
“No, I was going to, but . . .” She pauses and Elin notices something that she hadn’t picked up on in the midst of her own embarrassment—Farrah is flushed, her eyes moist.
She’s struck by the thought that Farrah’s been crying, then dismisses it.
“Sorry about earlier.” Farrah breaks the silence. “Will’s stressed about the award, and like I said, I go into protective sister mode, defending him.”
“It’s fine.” Farrah’s words had immediately neutralized the awkward atmosphere, and Elin reflects on how she must have come across, leaving the table. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have put a downer on things, midway through the meal—”
“Forget it. It’s been a tough day for everyone.” Farrah smiles. They talk for a moment before she looks down at her watch. “Anyway, it’s late, I’d better let you get back. My brother will be in full-on search-party mode if we talk much longer.”
Saying goodbye, Elin starts back down the path. She’s only gone a few yards when she spots a figure at the top of the steps leading down from the yoga pavilion. She turns, confused. There’s no way Farrah’s got up there that quickly . . .
Looking up, she finds she’s right: Farrah is still making her way up the path.
Elin lingers, watching, and something curious happens: rather than move on, the first figure is stationary, waiting.
For Farrah?
Her assumption is right. When Farrah reaches the bottom of the steps a few minutes later, she and whoever it is stand there for a minute talking, before they move in unison up the steps.
It takes a few seconds for the realization to hit. She remembers Farrah’s hesitation when Elin asked if she’d walked Will back.
Was the apology just now actually a deflection? Had Elin almost caught her with someone she didn’t want to be seen with?
She feels a bitter sting of disappointment. It’s always the same with Farrah. Two steps forward, one step back.
Raising her fob to the door of the villa, Elin can’t help but feel naive, as if Farrah’s pulled the wool firmly over her eyes.
DAY 3
32
Elin jerks awake the next morning after a broken, fitful sleep. Despite the bright glare of the sunshine flooding the room, fragments of a dream are lingering: flashes of her running through woodland in darkness, brambles snagging on her face, clothes . . .