Scarlet Wakefield 03 - Kiss In The Dark Page 19

  I shut the door and turn to confront Taylor. I place my hands on my hips and stare at her sternly.

  “Will you please tell me what the hell is going on between you and Plum?”

  Taylor is slumped on the bed, looking drained. Her hair is sweaty from being pasted down. Without a word, she stands up and walks over to the computer, scrolling through the photos.

  I remember Plum’s comments about Taylor and the basket ball girls. I brace myself for what Taylor might be about to show me. My guess is some picture of her kissing a girl.

  Suddenly, with a flash of insight into my own motives, I think: So what? So what if she’s kissing a girl? And then I realize why I may have been so confused about the entire idea.

  It’s not because I’m freaking out that Taylor might be gay. It’s because I hate the idea that Plum might know more about my best friend than I do.

  This revelation is such a big relief that my limbs go all loose and floppy. I even hear myself giggle a little, a silly titter of release.

  “What’s so funny?” Taylor asks incredulously over her shoulder.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. “I’m just so wound up with everything that’s been going on. It was just a nervous thing.”

  And then I see what she’s been searching for on the screen, and my eyes widen. This is not at all what I was expecting.

  “Okay,” I say slowly.

  It’s an older, male version of Taylor. Dark shaggy hair, pale skin, green-gray eyes under dark brows. Taylor’s high cheekbones are unmistakable, but the square jaw, the dark stubble, are unequivocably manly. He’s frowning, just like Taylor. And he’s a few years older, closer to a man than a boy.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “A distant relative?”

  “Funny,” Taylor says with a faint trace of a smile.

  No question that this is Taylor’s brother, Seth. The one who goes to Cornell University in America. I had no idea they were that alike.

  “What does this have to do with Plum?” I ask, totally bewildered.

  Taylor heaves a long sigh, and swivels her chair round to face me.

  “You know this winter Plum went to Venice?”

  “Of course I know she went to Venice,” I say, rolling my eyes. “She’s been banging on about it ever since. Those bloody glass bracelets that she never stops playing with. ‘Murano glass, of course, hand-blown!’” I mimic Plum viciously.

  “That was all about sending me a message,” Taylor says, lowering her voice. “Keeping me in line so I didn’t talk back when she was picking a fight with you.”

  I stare at her blankly, not understanding.

  “Tonight wasn’t the first time Plum was looking at photos on my computer. I don’t know how she did it, but she snuck into my room when I wasn’t here and rifled through my digital photo albums,” Taylor says.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I comment dryly.

  “Anyway, Plum saw pictures of me and Seth from a couple years ago. So when she saw him in Venice at a highsociety party, she asked the hostess if she could be introduced to Seth. But when the hostess brought Plum over to Seth, she said his name was Will Michaels, heir to some fortune.”

  I furrow my brow, still completely in the dark. Why would Seth need to hide his true identity?

  “So of course,” Taylor continues, “that totally set Plum off. She called him on his BS and she said, in front of everyone, that he was my brother and he was lying about who he was. But he kept on denying it.”

  “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “You could say that,” Taylor says in the voice you use when you’re making a gigantic understatement. “After Plum blew his cover, he had to get out of Venice and abort the entire, um, mission.”

  “Cover? Mission?” I honestly can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  Taylor takes a deep breath.

  “Scarlett, you know how I told you that my folks are archaeologists?”

  I nod. “They’re on a dig in Turkey.”

  “Well, that’s a cover story too. They work for a government agency. And so does my brother. It’s like a family thing.”

  “You mean they’re spies?” I gasp.

  Taylor winces.

  “We never use that word,” she said hastily. “My parents hate it. But, um, pretty much, yeah, it’s sort of in that general vicinity.”

  I stare at her, mesmerized. This is probably why Taylor has been training so hard—not to be a PI, but to work undercover for the government someday.

  This is the definition of surreal.

  “Plum knows something big was up in Venice,” Taylor continues. “The first chance she got, she started dogging me about it.”

  “You should have told me before,” I say reproachfully. “I can totally keep a secret. And I could have helped you come up with a plan to fend her off.”

  Taylor sighs, long and hard. “She threatened to sic one of her Tatler reporter friends on the story of Will Michaels, mysteriously vanishing millionaire. If the Tatler printed something like that, it could so easily lead back to my mom and dad. And that wouldn’t just be the end of their careers. It could actually put them in danger.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. I know what it’s like to be hounded by journalists. I had that experience after Dan’s death. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, except for my worse enemy.

  Now Taylor is choking back tears. “I could see the way you looked at me when Plum would say things and I wouldn’t react. It drove me nuts. I so wanted to tell you, Scarlett. But you know, this is a huge secret, and it’s not just mine. When I talked to Seth about it, he was totally, totally against me saying a word to you. He doesn’t trust anyone outside the family, and he’s my big brother. I couldn’t go against him.”

  Seth sounds like a bossy twat, I think. But then again, he’s only trying to protect his family. I suppose I get that.

  “Well, it’s obvious what we need to do now, isn’t it?” I say firmly.

  Taylor stares at me.

  “Is it?” she asks.

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “We need to get some deep, dark dirt on Plum. Whatever her worst secret is, we need to find it. Then we’ll have some serious leverage.”

  I give Taylor a long, wondering look as she sits there, contemplating my suggestion.

  “I still can’t quite get my head round all of this about your family,” I admit. “I mean, I wouldn’t believe a word of it if it wasn’t you telling me.”

  “Scarlett? Are you still there? Scarlett?”

  It’s Lizzie’s high, fluting voice, sounding more nervous than ever. She’s tapping on the door convulsively with her knuckles, like a woodpecker with OCD.

  “Scarlett!” Her voice rises even higher. “Scarlett!”

  “Oh, just let her in and we’ll get it over with,” Taylor says with resignation.

  I go to the door and ease it open a crack.

  “What is it?” I say angrily. “Don’t you think you’ve bothered Taylor enough for one day?”

  Lizzie’s face crumples.

  “I’m so sorry,” she moans. “I knew it was wrong. But Plum just makes you do things….”

  “Forget it,” Taylor says. “Seriously.”

  I start to close the door.

  “Wait!” Lizzie says urgently. “I just want to tell you something. It’s important.”

  “Okay, but make it quick,” I say.

  She points at my collarbones. I look down, and realize that she’s gesturing at my pendant, which is still hanging outside the neckline of my sweater.

  “It’s about your necklace. That’s not an aquamarine, believe me. I’ve seen all my mum’s stuff that my dad’s keeping for me, and I’ve got some good pieces of my own. I know precious stones.” Her words are tumbling over each other, she’s talking so quickly. “Scarlett, that’s a round-cut blue diamond. It’s really, really rare.”

  I gape at her.

  “And obviously, that means it’s incredibly valuable,” Lizzie emphasizes, in the tone of a self-made
billionaire’s daughter who takes jewelry very seriously indeed. “How could you not know you had a round-cut, brilliant blue diamond round your neck?”

  twenty-three

  WAKEFIELD BLUE

  “So both of you want to see Lady Wakefield?” Penny asks, looking from me to Taylor.

  “Um, I’m not sure,” I mutter.

  Clearly, decision-making is pretty much beyond my range of available skills at the moment. The apocalyptically huge events of today have burnt out that part of my brain. I still haven’t got anywhere near to processing Taylor’s family secret. I mean, you know there are spies, obviously. Not just in films, but in real life, too. But you never think you’re going to meet someone who’s related to several. Though, thinking about it, anyone more likely than Taylor to be a spy-in-training, with her investigative skills, toughness, and loner personality, would be hard to find.

  “Maybe talking to your grandmother isn’t the best idea in the world,” Taylor suggests. “No offense, Scarlett, but you need to be totally on the ball when you meet with her, and you’re kind of coming across like a boiled vegetable right now.”

  Penny raises a hand to cover her smile. She’s very well mannered.

  “I must say, Miss McGovern does have a point,” she says, positioning her pince-nez more firmly on her nose. “Would you like to make an appointment for tomorrow, perhaps? Is this about young Jason Barnes?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not really about Jase.”

  My grandmother will hear all about the Barnes family drama soon enough from Jase’s solicitor, Jas Ramu. I just don’t feel up to giving Penny a sketch of the latest developments, and having to deal with all her consequent shock, disbelief, and sympathy.

  I glance down at Penny, who’s seated behind her desk, which is a delicate, late-eighteenth-century, with elegantly slim, curved legs and an elaborately inlaid top. It would make anyone larger than a waif look hulking by comparison, but Penny has the bones of a bird. She can wear old-fashioned tweed suits with twinsets underneath and still look tiny. She’s been working for my grandmother ever since Lady Wakefield turned the Hall into a girls’ school, and, in true aristocratic style, she’s probably wearing the same tweed suits now as she did over forty years ago, when the school was founded.

  A thoughtful light is shining in Penny’s eyes, behind the lenses of her gold-framed pince-nez.

  “I don’t suppose it’s anything I could help with?” she asks.

  It can’t hurt, I think.

  “It’s about this,” I say, leaning forward a little to show Penny the pendant.

  “My goodness!” she exclaims, one hand fluttering up to touch it for a second. “Your mother’s necklace! Oh, I remember that so well.” She sighs. “Oh dear, that does bring back memories. So sad.”

  “When did she get it?”

  Penny looks amazed.

  “You don’t know, Scarlett? It was given to her by your father on your fourth birthday. To match the color of your eyes. People said they would fade—sometimes that bright blue doesn’t last beyond a couple of years with babies, you know. But your mother always said your eyes would stay that color. She called it Wakefield blue. It was a joke between them. And on your fourth birthday, he gave her that necklace as a present. A Wakefield blue diamond.”

  There’s a lump in my throat as big as a tennis ball. I can’t speak.

  “Should you be wearing that out, though?” Penny asks, her brow creasing into hundreds of tiny little horizontal lines. “It’s terribly valuable. Why isn’t it in the jewelry safe?”

  “It was lost,” Taylor says, since I still can’t say a word. “Scarlett found it.”

  “Really?” Penny’s brow creases still further. “I really do feel it ought to be kept in the safe, Scarlett.”

  “Not just yet.” I wrap my hand around the pendant as if Penny is going to try to wrench it off my neck.

  “You poor girl,” Penny says softly. “Well, come and find me if you ever change your mind.”

  Penny is a fervent protector of everything Wakefield, so meticulous and proper that my grandmother has absolutely no hesitation giving her a writing desk for daily use that’s probably worth a small fortune too. I know it goes against every instinct she has to let me leave her office with a Wakefield diamond hanging around my neck, rather than safely locked away, and I’m more grateful to her than I can say for not pressing the point.

  “So your dad gave it to your mom on your fourth birthday,” Taylor says as we walk down the corridor. “Which is …?”

  “April tenth,” I say automatically.

  “Right. And she had it that summer, at the village fete, because you saw it in the newspaper photo. So sometime between the fete and her dying, Mr. Barnes got hold of it and gave it to his wife.” She shakes her head. “That just makes no sense at all.”

  “Could my mother have given it to Mr. Barnes?” I speculate, though I hate even to say the words.

  “Why would she have done that? I mean, given him anything at all, let alone something that pricey?” Taylor asks with her usual common sense.

  I clear my throat, which has suddenly become dry and scratchy. “I think they might have been—involved in some way.”

  I could barely get those words out.

  “Your mom and Mr. Barnes?” Taylor looks so astonished I nearly burst out laughing.

  “Jase says his dad was really good-looking when he was younger,” I say. “And Aunt Gwen and Jase’s grandmother hinted about him and her.”

  Taylor pulls a face.

  “Your mom? With the groundskeeper? I don’t believe it. Remember that photo of you with your folks at the village fete? They were so happy. They were, like, beaming! No way was anything going on with your mom and the help. I mean, she’d have to be insane to pull anything like that.”

  It’s a huge relief to hear this, even if Taylor is wrong. I stop dead and enfold her in a gigantic hug, and to my great surprise, she actually hugs me back just as hard, which is very unlike her.

  “Thanks for this afternoon,” she mumbles into my ear. “I couldn’t have done it myself. She’s been riding me for so long, and it’s been getting worse and worse.”

  “You can’t let Plum own you,” I say firmly. “We’ll sort this out together.”

  “Together,” Taylor says, pulling back a little and bumping fists with me. Then, without meaning to, she does a comical double-take: her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth falls open as she realizes something she’d completely forgotten.

  “Ohmigod, Scarlett. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even ask you what’s happening with Jase!”

  I grimace at how crazy this day’s turned out to be.

  “Let’s go back to your room and lock the door, and I’ll tell you everything, okay?” I hesitate for a moment, and then, bravely, because Taylor really doesn’t do sentimental or slushy, I add:

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Taylor. I really don’t. You’re the best friend I could possibly have.”

  “Shut up,” Taylor says gruffly. But she hugs me again, a quick rough hug that’s more like being squeezed by a bear.

  “Same for me, okay?” She lets me go and heads off down the corridor, her shoulders back, her stride more confident than ever.

  As if she’s determined to show the world that she’s not at all the kind of girl who would ever do anything as soppy as hug her best friend in public. Twice.

  Jase doesn’t ring me till nearly nine that evening. I’ve been waiting and waiting for his call, but after last time, I know better than to ring him or, worse, go to see him when he’s told me he needs to be by himself. I’m really trying to be mature. I know that talk with his grandmother must have been unbelievably horrendous, judging by the kind of nastiness she was prepared to spew out to me. And seeing her taken away by the police … well, if he needs time after that, I completely understand.

  Taylor agreed, which was a relief, because all I know about boys you could write on the back of a postage st
amp and still have quite a lot of space left over. She said that when Seth goes off on his own, in a sulk or just to have some thinking time, she’s learned to leave him alone.

  “I just let him, like, go into his cave and get his head together,” she explained. “It’s like this process he has to go through on his own. But when he comes out of it, he’s always really happy to see me, and thankful for the space.”

  Even with all my good resolutions, though, I don’t know how much longer I could have held out without at least texting Jase to ask if he was okay. I almost cry with relief at the sound of his voice, though I do my best not to let that show.

  He asks me to come over to the cottage, saying his grandmother isn’t there. He sounds exhausted, but I try not to read too much into that. I’m down the drainpipe almost in a flash. It’s getting easier and easier the more I do it. If this keeps up, in a couple of weeks, I’ll be more used to scaling the pipe to go home in the evening than walking in the front door and going up the stairs.

  The door of the cottage is open a crack. I hesitate on the steps for a second or two, unable to believe it’s okay for me to go inside. I still half expect Jase’s grandmother to come hobbling into the doorway and brandish her cane at me, yelling at me to go away and never come back.

  Finally, I push the door farther open, and walk inside a few paces.

  Then I freeze. Jase is coming down the stairs, a bulging gym bag slung over his shoulder. It isn’t zipped up yet, and a sleeve of his favorite red sweater is trailing out from the opening.

  I know exactly what’s going on. And it makes me panic.

  “No!” I say instantly, in complete and utter denial.

  “Scarlett,” he begins.

  “No! You can’t just go!”

  Jase drops the gym bag to the floor.

  “Let’s sit down for a moment, okay?” he says, taking my hands and pulling me toward the sofa.

  It’s very old and very saggy. We sink into it till our bottoms hit the ancient springs below. Jase and I wriggle to face each other. He’s holding my hands tightly, and the warmth of his fingers calms me down a bit, though I’m still glancing over at the gym bag as if it’s a bomb about to go off.